#so I have no choice but to scramble to sign a lease right after if/when I get hired

[grassbreads]

A single email has disrupted my entire day

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 23

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

It doesn’t feel real until she sees the flutter on the ultrasound, the grey and white pixels flashing erratically confirming a healthy ten-week pregnancy. The doctor gives them a due date of September 17th, and she explains to Mulder repeatedly that the due date is only an estimate, that the baby will most likely arrive sometime in the two weeks before or after that day. Nonetheless, he prints little numbers in the corner of each date on the calendar, counting down.

She is lucky to experience very little nausea, but the time saved clinging to the toilet is instead allocated to bursting into tears at every tiny inconvenience. Mulder comforts her with a confused expression when she cries because she can’t find a Tupperware lid that fits, or her latte has too much foam, or she realizes she can no longer see her toes. She cries because she’s crying, because she feels out of touch with her own body and thrown off by her own emotions. They marvel at the growth of her belly as well as her breasts, which are even more sensitive than they were before. Her libido kicks into overdrive at the same time that she becomes incredibly self conscious about her protruding belly, her fuller face, her swelling feet. This leads to more tears as she grapples with both wanting desperately to be touched and not wanting him to look at her.

He tells her each day how beautiful she is, her hair growing longer and thicker, her skin glowing, her rounding belly housing the perfect little life that they created together. When he’s home, he rubs her feet every night, fetches her countless glasses of water and then helps tow her out of the bed so she can pee ten times in the night. When he’s on the road with Monica, he calls three times a day, asks Missy and her mother to go by and check on her, calls in dinner to be delivered so she doesn't have to cook. As her due date nears, he stops going on out-of-town cases, needing to be close enough to be by her side immediately when she goes into labor. He will not risk missing the birth of his child.

The apartment becomes cramped with a bassinet, changing table, pack n play, and various other baby gadgets. They consider moving, but the idea is too overwhelming for Scully so they decide to stay put until the baby becomes mobile and they really need more space. Mulder breaks the lease on his apartment and moves his fish tank into the living room, putting the rest of his furniture in storage until they buy a house. Priscilla breaks in all the baby gear, sleeping in the car seat and jumping into the swing, covering the tiny onesies with her black fur and making Scully cry yet again. Mulder refuses to let her scoop the litter box, even though she insists it’s safe if she wears gloves and washes her hands afterward. Other tasks she’s forbidden to complete include cleaning the toilet, carrying in the groceries and hauling laundry to the washing machine. When he’s on the road, she misses him as much as she is relieved to be able to be independent, not much caring for being treated as though she’s made of glass.

For the majority of her pregnancy, Scully insists that she doesn’t want to know the sex of the baby, that she wants to be surprised. Mulder respects her decision, even though he would personally like to know, and they create two lists of potential baby names, Scully crossing off “Lisa Marie'' each time Mulder tries to add it to the “girl” column. When she reaches 39 weeks, her pelvis widening as the baby drops into the birth canal, she is so miserable that she has a change of heart, needing to feel connected to this thing that is destroying her body and stealing her sleep. They call the doctor together on a Thursday afternoon as Scully sits on the couch in tears, having woken that morning to find angry red stretch marks marring her previously lily-white belly. When Mulder relays the doctor’s message that the baby is a girl, she sobs harder, and he’s not sure whether it’s because she’s happy or disappointed.

She wakes him at 3:00 am on September 21st, the irregular Braxton-Hicks contractions she’s been feeling for weeks having taken up a predictable cadence, now ten minutes apart almost on the dot. He starts rushing around, scrambling for her hospital bag and his shoes, and now it is her turn to provide comfort, to let him know there’s plenty of time. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital until the contractions are five minutes apart, and so they wait. The progression to nine minutes, then eight, then seven is alarmingly fast, and by the time she agrees that they should head to the hospital she’s starting to feel pressure low in her pelvis. Mulder drives too fast, the streets thankfully still quiet in the early morning, and she is wheeled into labor and delivery with not enough time for an epidural, much to her lament.

Molly Katherine Mulder has blue eyes and a dark shock of nearly-black hair. She barely cries at her entrance to the world, instead searching the room with a curious gaze, squeezing her daddy’s finger with an impressively strong grip and latching like a pro. They are able to go home the following day, Scully wincing as she moves gingerly from the bed to the couch, rinsing her tender stitches with a bottle of warm water and bleeding through entire packages of overnight maxi pads in a day.

Mulder takes off work for two weeks and they spend blissful days curled up in bed with the baby nestled between them as Priscilla curiously sniffs around her, licking her hair with a rough tongue and making them laugh. Each time Scully wakes at night to nurse, Mulder insists she go back to sleep while he changes the baby and walks her around the quiet apartment until she is asleep, singing softly and lulling them both.

When Mulder returns to work, Scully insists that he get a full night's sleep and let her wake up with Molly, reasoning that she can take naps during the day. She does not, of course, take naps during the day. Instead she tries to keep the apartment clean, the clothes washed, the diapers taken out to the dumpster, the litter box scooped. She does too much, and he sees it each day as she grows more and more weary, more and more defeated, the bags under her eyes deepening in color and her mouth rarely hosting a smile. He begs her to let him do more, to ask less of herself, but she is stubborn and strong-willed, the very things he loves about her now keeping her from properly taking care of herself.

They struggle through sleep-deprived arguments over who left the breast milk out on the counter all night, why it matters if he changes the baby on the floor instead of the changing table, why Scully doesn’t want to supplement with formula so he can take some of the night feedings. Her doctor releases her as medically clear to have sex after six weeks and she cries as she tells him that she doesn’t feel ready, that she can’t imagine anything worse than sex right now, and he holds her as he tells her that he doesn’t care, that she should take as much time as she needs, that he can wait.

They struggle, and they thrive. Moments of absolute unadulterated joy are punctuated by intense despair and overwhelm. The gain of a family against the loss of a life where you could pick up and go, stay out until 2:00 am and make love in the middle of the day. They are happy, and they are stressed, and they face it together.

On a Saturday in December, Mulder wakes early and takes care of every conceivable task in the house; the laundry, the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, scooping the litter, buying the groceries. He checks every item off Scully’s to-do list and then takes Molly for a long drive, leaving Scully alone with nothing to do in hopes that she will rest for once. When they return from their excursion, he creeps into the quiet apartment with a sleeping baby in his arms and sets her in the bassinet by the couch. At first he thinks maybe Scully has gone out, but he finds her in bed asleep with soaking wet hair, Priscilla curled up behind her knees. He watches her for a bit, affection clutching at his chest, then changes into sweats and kicks Priscilla out so he can snuggle up behind Scully. It feels so infrequent that they just lay like this anymore; one of them is always about to get up with the baby, about to get ready for work, or doesn’t want to be touched after a tiny person has clung to them all day. He pulls in a deep breath, smelling her lavender bubble bath and feeling the rise and fall of her ribs against his chest. He doesn’t want to disturb her, but he can’t resist pressing a tiny kiss to the side of her neck.

“Mmmm,” she hums in response, twisting her body around so they are face to face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s asleep in the living room.”

She sighs and snuggles closer to him, pressing her forehead into his chest and pushing one of her legs between his.

“This feels nice,” she says contentedly, and he brushes his hand softly up and down her back.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Tired. Frumpy. Like I haven’t put on real clothes or a stitch of makeup in three months,” she laments.

“Well, I’ll give you tired,” he says softly, “but I can’t agree on frumpy. I think you look very beautiful.”

She scoffs against his chest.

“You don’t have to placate me, Mulder. I know I’m a mess.”

“Maybe so, but you’re my mess,” he retorts, pushing his fingers into her hair to gently scratch her scalp.

She tilts her head up to look at him, appraising his face with a skeptical eye.

“Is this what you thought it was going to be like?” she asks, her tone open and vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “I guess I didn’t really know what to expect.”

She sighs. “I just wish I knew when I might start to feel like myself again,” she says sadly. “I can’t help but feel like you’re not getting what you signed up for.”

“What do you mean?” he asks with a concerned frown.

He sees her eyes growing glassy, dampening with impending tears. “I mean the woman you asked out in the autopsy bay isn’t the one you’re with now,” she whispers, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

“That’s not even a little bit true,” he implores, cradling the back of her head with his hand. “You are everything you were then, and more. I’m amazed by you every day.”

She closes her eyes, a tear rolling across the bridge of her nose. He feels his chest ache; the need to make her understand is overwhelming.

“Hey,” he says, pulling the blankets back, “come here.”

He pulls her into a sitting position and slides off the bed, towing her along with him to sit on the edge of the mattress. He kneels on the floor between her knees, his hands on her hips.

“If you think for one second that I want to be with anyone but you, you’re fucking insane. I don’t care if you wear giant milk-stained T-shirts and have spit up in your hair for the rest of our lives, Scully. You’re it for me, okay?”

She pulls in a shuddering breath and wipes at her eyes, but won’t look at him.

“Stay here,” he commands, and disappears into the bathroom for a moment. When he comes back, he returns to his post kneeling at her feet.

“We knew this was going to be hard,” he says tenderly, holding one of her hands in his. “You said it yourself before Molly was born, that it would be the hardest time in our lives, and that we’d be at our worst. And I’m telling you that if this is your worst, sign me up, okay? It hasn’t changed how I feel about you.”

He holds up his other hand, a diamond ring perched between his thumb and forefinger.

“If you’re not ready to say yes yet, that’s okay, but I need you to know that I still want to marry you, Scully. I’ll wait forever if that’s what you need, but there hasn’t been a single day since I asked that I haven’t still meant it.”

Her tears have stopped, though her eyes are still wet and the tip of her nose is red. She looks from him to the ring and back, her eyebrows stitched in contemplation.

“I didn’t hear you ask me a question,” she says quietly, and he picks up on the slightest lilt of playfulness in her voice, which makes him break out into a smile.

“Dana Katherine Scully, love of my life, mother of my child, will you marry me?”

She smiles then, and he thinks his heart may burst right out of his chest.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she answers, and he takes her left hand, slipping the ring on her finger.

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him repeatedly, soft pecks devolving into lingering smooches as he shifts up slightly, pushing her back gently to recline on the bed. He moves over her, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, not going any further, not wanting to rush her.

She brings her hands to his hips, letting the tips of her fingers slip under the waist of his sweatpants, and his cock stirs. It’s been so, so, long, and he wants her desperately, but not until she’s ready. She pushes her hand down the front of his pants, gripping him as he grows hard under her touch. It’s overwhelming in the best way; he feels like a teenager being touched for the first time.

“I wanna have sex,” she breathes into his ear, the words rushing out quickly as though she’s afraid she might change her mind if she waits too long to say them.

He pulls back to look at her. “Are you sure?” he asks, and she nods, bringing her palm to his cheek before glancing at the ring on her finger and smiling.

They move slowly, though still with a sense of urgency that a baby sleeping in the next room brings. He pushes her shirt up and she lets him take it off, then slips the yoga pants off her hips, leaving her in basic black cotton briefs. He sees the hesitancy in her eyes as he looks at her body, now softer than it was before Molly, curvy in different places, purple streaks running from below her belly button to disappear under her panties.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing her chest, her breasts, her belly, running his tongue along the grooves of her stretch marks. He loops his thumbs under the waist of her panties and tugs them down slowly, quickly undressing before he rejoins her in the bed.

“Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” he asks with a serious expression, and she nods, letting her legs fall open as he settles between them. He lines himself up with her entrance and pushes in achingly slowly, watching her face raptly. Her mouth opens slightly, and she takes in a sharp little breath. He’s about to ask her if it hurts when she closes her eyes and her mouth drops open further as she breathes out “oh,” in a way that he knows means pleasure, not pain. When he’s all the way in, their hip bones pressed together tightly, he stills and kisses her for a while, feeling like he could melt into a puddle for how good everything feels. His heart, his mind, his body, he is all wrapped up in her and it’s exactly where he wants to be.

He begins to move, and she responds with an arch of her back and a little gasp, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Little by little, he increases his pace until he knows he won’t last much longer.

“What do you need?” he asks, and she brings her hand to her breast.

He dips his head, flicking at the hardened bud of her nipple, and feels her clench around him. He plays with the level of pressure, licking and sucking, pleasantly surprised that she is enjoying it even as her breasts have taken on a purely functional role these last few months.

She pulls in a huge breath, arching her back and pressing her head into the mattress and he groans as he feels her tighten around him. She emits a single piercing cry when she comes, stifling it with an arm slung across her mouth. He pours into her, burying his face in her neck, clinging to her like a life raft. She is, in fact, all he needs to survive.

Resting half his weight on the mattress beside her, he stays inside as they both come down, panting and smiling, brushing hands over each other’s skin, reconnecting.

“Ah!” Molly yells from the living room, and Mulder laughs.

“You’re being summoned,” Scully says with a tender smile.

He withdraws from her, handing her his T-shirt to clean up while he slips on his sweatpants and retrieves Molly from her bassinet.

“Guess what, Goose?” he says, using his special nickname for her, “Mommy and Daddy are getting married.”

“AH!” She squeals, flapping her arms.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the FF15 Changing Fate Zine! I wanted to change Nyx + Crowe's fate, but alas, we could had to do minimal changes. T_T

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There were very, very few times that Libertus found Insomnia beautiful. It was a cluttered city, crammed to the brim with people and buildings. Day or night, there was a constant stream of sound, of angry horns and high-pitched laughter. For all that Insomnia was alive, it was never quiet, not in the way that Galahd was. There were no slow-running streams here, no frogs to serenade him to sleep. At home, the only lights at night were the moon and fireflies.

Still, it was safe here. Libertus had learned long ago that there were few things people wouldn’t trade for a peace of mind. As piss-poor as the food here was, he could get used to it. As much as the guards cussed him, it was a better fate than death. And for all of his homesickness, he had his best friend and a little sister of sorts here.

“Libertus, get your slow ass up here already!” Crowe yelled from above.

Libertus frowned, staring at his plate. Well, she certainly was like a little sister, all right. Sometimes he wondered if she loved him at all, or just loved insulting him. Before she could yell at him again, he shouted back, “Hold your horses, I’m coming!”

“Bring a drink while you’re at it,” Nyx called out.

It was bad enough the locals treated him like a servant, he didn’t need his friends doing the same. Libertus shot a dirty glare at the door leading to the roof. When he’d first gotten this flat, he’d thought he was lucky. If he’d realized how often Crowe and Nyx would eat dinner at his place, he’d have never signed the lease. Biting back an angry swear, he picked up two beers with his free hand and headed over to his friends.

As he stepped onto the roof, his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. Just ahead of him, perched on the edge of the roof, Nyx and Crowe chatted quietly. Their plates were beside them, forgotten, and Libertus wondered what they were talking about. Not another mission, he hoped—he never wanted to talk about the work outside of the job. As he approached them, Nyx looked over his shoulder. “I was starting to think you’d injured more than your leg.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.” Rolling his eyes, Libertus tossed the beer can. Infuriatingly, Nyx caught it with ease. “Make some room.”

“Didn’t realize you were so fat,” Crowe teased, shuffling to her left. Patting at the spot between her and Nyx, she smirked up at him. “All yours.”

“I’ll remember this the next time you’re injured.” With a groan, Libertus lowered himself. His plate wobbled precariously as he sank onto the roof. “Next time, we’re eating out.”

“Sure, I have to watch out for my elders.” Crowe dodged his half-hearted swipe, laughing.

“Leave the old man alone,” Nyx reprimanded. Whatever sternness he was aiming for was undermined by his laughter.

“We’re the same age!” Libertus smacked Nyx. “Anyways, what were you talking about?”

“Nothing, really.” Nyx shrugged, gesturing at the city sprawled out ahead of them. Hundreds of lights flickered on and off below them, various shops opening and closing as time passed. It looked almost like the fireflies at home. Almost. “For a city with shit food, it’s not half bad to look at.”

“You know, you keep saying shit food but never bother to cook actual Galahd food,” Crowe pointed out. “When are you two planning on enlightening me?”

“I guess you’re ready for some real food.” Libertus wasn’t a great cook, not by any stretch, but even a taste-blind amateur was better than the cooks here. “After you come back from your next mission, okay?”

“I’ll make sure to get the healers ready,” Nyx added, unhelpfully. He laughed as Libertus swiped at him now.

Still, Libertus had to give him a begrudging point. The city was beautiful, if only for the fact that they could have nights like this.

-x-

There were very, very few times that Libertus found Insomnia beautiful. And now he would never think that again. Shell shocked, he stood at the gates to the city and watched as his new home burned to the ground. It had been unbelievable when he’d raced through the darkness, guiding Nyx and Luna across the collapsing terrain. It was even more unbelievable now as the sun rose, revealing just how much the empire had destroyed the city. How much hehad destroyed the city—unintentionally or not, he had lent his hand to this invasion.

God, he’d been stupid, thinking that for one minute the empire would have freed Galahd. The only thing they wanted was to watch everything burn. The only thing they’d leave behind was rubble. As the sun rose, Libertus forced himself to stare at the city and witness exactly what he’d wrought. Demons disappeared as the sun hit them, the giant guardian statues shattered into a thousand fragments now that their duty was over.

“It’s over,” he muttered, half to himself.

“No, unfortunately it is not,” a quiet voice replied and Libertus snapped his head to find Luna standing next to him. He’d almost forgotten that she was still here, that there was at least one survivor in the city. She looked at him with tired eyes, exhaustion wearing her down to the bone. Dirt smudged her skin and it would be easy to think of her as another ragamuffin on the street and not the princess of a lost country. “This night might have ended, but there is a longer one ahead of us.”

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say in response to that? And what was that answer, anyways? Her words were so cryptic, he wasn’t even sure that Crowe could have deciphered them.

Libertus covered his mouth. Crowe was dead. In the rush of everything, he’d almost forgotten that he hadn’t just lost a city. Crowe was dead and Nyx—he took a step forward, already scanning the city. “I have to go get Nyx.”

A cool hand grabbed his, stopping him in his tracks. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Luna shook her head. Her eyes were so big and sad he almost didn’t need to hear her speak to know what she was about to say. “I am afraid it’s too late.”

“How do you know?” he growled, yanking his hand free. Whirling around on her, he grabbed her shoulders. “What do you know?”

“Not enough,” she admitted, her voice cracking. Luna wasn’t looking at him, her gaze instead on the smouldering ruins behind him. “If only I could have prevented this. I wanted to save Nyx, to save the King, and instead all I managed to protect was this.” She held out her palm, revealing a small ring.

The king’s ring. He had seen what’d happened to Ravus. What must have happened to Nyx.

To the foolish, heroic Nyx.

“No…” Libertus uttered, staring at the ring.

“I am truly sorry.” She closed her eyes.

“No!” he cried, collapsing to his knees. His hands slid down her arms, fingers digging into her skin, but she didn’t cry out. “Nyx…he…”

Nyx was dead. Crowe was dead. Galahd was taken over and Insomnia destroyed. There were few things that Libertus could call his own and all of them were gone. Libertus wanted to cry. He wanted to yell. Losing his home had taught him a thing or two about loss but that didn’t make it any less of a gut punch.

“Please, take care of yourself. He would have wanted that.” Luna gently pried his hands loose, still giving him that sad smile.

What did you know about loss? he almost screamed, but even he’d heard of Tenebrae, of her mother’s death. The empire was cruel to everyone, whether they were princesses or the most common of folks.

Gravel crunched underfoot as she slowly walked toward the city’s gates. Whatever purpose had brought her to the city, she clearly hadn’t finished achieving it yet. Despite her kind words, her expression had been determined. Libertus had seen that expression on Nyx and Crowe a thousand times. She was a woman with a mission.

And he…he had none. He didn’t even have bodies to bury. All that he had was a wellspring of grief that threatened to bury him. Libertus forced it down, fighting back his tears. This wasn’t the time or place to mourn. He glanced behind him again, at the crumbling city. Should he go back to Galahd, hoping for the off-chance that Nyx might have pulled the impossible? Should he just disappear quietly, fading away like thousands before him must have?

Or a third choice. He turned back to Luna, to her slowly shrinking figure. Nyx had given his life to protect her. And while Libertus could care less about royalty, he didn’t want Nyx’s final act to go to waste. Didn’t want this night to have come to nothing. Crowe had died for this princess. Nyx had sacrificed himself for her.

The least Libertus could do was make sure she at least got to her destination in one piece. Scrambling to his feet, he jogged after her.

“Hey, Princess, wait up!”

And if he didn’t have to deal with his grief now, well, that made it all the better.

[megaera-of-pigeon]

[Shining Nikki fan fiction, 3,447 words, superhero au concept courtesy of @deadcereus. Janus content courtesy of @just-love-nikki-things] 

Mercury stood outside of the door. In one arm, he was carrying a duffle bag stuffed so full it was straining at its zipper. In the other, he h​​eld a top-of-the-line luxury cat carrier. As he brought a fist up to knock on the door, he glanced down into the cat-carrier and caught the glowing golden topazes that were his cat’s eyes looking up at him.

He bit his lip and slowly lowered his fist. Was he really ready to do this?

It was much too soon, wasn’t it?

Did he really need to go to this conference?

Before he could manage to second guess his decision and get out of the building before he was spotted, the door flew open.  

“Mercury! You’re late! That’s unlike you.”

Mercury managed to tear his eyes away from Janus’ and meet the gaze of his younger half-sister. “Ophelia,” he nodded to her, banishing any trace of worry and allowing his face to settle into its comfortable frown. “Traffic was backed up.”

“Oh, no! The morning you’re to leave on your big exciting trip, too! Well, come on in; I’m all ready to see my pretty little nephew Janny-poo!”

Mercury bristled as he stepped into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. “I’ve told you not to call him that.”

Ophelia just grinned. “He likes it, though! Don’t you, Janny-poo?”

The cat in question, who’d been calmly sitting in his carrier for most of the journey like the well-behaved little gentleman he was, had perked up at the sound of Ophelia’s voice, and now started to claw at the fabric and meow in indignation. Mercury heaved a sigh and knelt down so that he could set the carrier on the floor and unzip the door. The second there was enough space open for Janus to get out, he scrambled his way out of confinement and dashed across the floor to jump into Ophelia’s waiting arms.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too, my little angel!” Ophelia cooed as she cuddled his cat into her chest and stroked his head. For his part, Janus seemed to return her greeting with a loud, rumbling purr. Mercury did his best to stamp down his jealousy at how openly affectionate his cat was acting towards his sister. It was just a fact of life that everyone loved Ophelia—animals, small children, all of their relatives. She couldn’t walk down the block without finding something or someone to befriend. It was her naivete that held the effortless charm that drew everyone in, and he’d long outgrown his envy of that particular characteristic. He had honed his own brand of ‘charm’ that served him just as well, after all.

As Mercury stood up and slid Janus’ bag off his shoulder, he happened to notice that unlike the last time he’d visited Ophelia’s apartment, there were about a dozen pairs of shoes sitting next to the front door. Several of them appeared to be thin, strappy heels, which didn't suit his sister’s style. He furrowed his brow and glanced around, and noticed some other things that had escaped his notice before: two coats hanging on the hooks; two purses sitting on the table. That was twice as many as one young woman needed.

“Is there someone else here?” He asked, gesturing towards the purses. She’d have told him if there was a girlfriend in the picture, and his sister didn’t strike him as the type to do a one night stand, so he was having trouble coming up with a logical explanation….

Ophelia’s shoulder tensed as she leaned down and released Janus, who strutted off to begin his inspection of the apartment. When she stood back up, her face had gone blank.

“Uh, yes. There is. Didn’t I mention? I have a roommate now. She moved in two weeks ago.”

Mercury gaped at her. “A roommate?” He’d never have agreed to leave Janus in an apartment with a stranger! He’d have at least had a background check done at first! “Please tell me one of your friends from London moved here and needed a place to stay, or something like that, and that you didn’t invite a random person to come live with you!”

Ophelia tucked some of her hair behind her ear and glanced at the floor. “Um. Well. I put up some flyers…”

Mercury took a deep breath and then exhaled as slowly as he could, but when he finally spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “Where did you put them up? How many were there? And what personal information were you publicly advertising?”

“I put up maybe half a dozen here and there… you know, the coffee shops down by the college, the student center, places like that. I just had my first name and phone number, not my address! They had to call for that—”

“You’re getting a new phone number,” he said firmly, glaring at her. “God, Ophelia, how could you be so foolish? Do you even know what types of dangerous people lurk in this town? For all you know, this ‘roommate’ of yours is one of them!”

“Calm down, Ashley is fine. And I’m not changing my phone number, that’s such a hassle!”

“We can talk about it later,” Mercury said firmly, although he was already planning on instructing his assistant to take care of changing his sister’s number once he made it to the airport. “Tell me why you decided to get a roommate in the first place. We never discussed this as an option when you were moving here.”

Ophelia shrugged, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I’ve been struggling to make the rent on this place with my budget. I can’t move to a cheaper part of town, because if my mum comes to visit and my living situation is not up to her standards, I’d never hear the end of it! You know how she is, she’d have me moving back to London before I could even defend my choices!”

“If you need money, you are to come to me,” he said sternly. “Taking care of your rent would be nothing to me, but instead you neglect to tell me there’s an issue and decide to invite a stranger off the street into your home? How irresponsible can you get!”

Ophelia scoffed. “You’re right, it would have been nothing to you. What about for me? I can’t come running to my brother to fix every little problem I have for the rest of my life, now can I? I’m an adult, I need to find my own solutions to things. That’s being responsible. The solution to making rent on this ridiculously huge apartment that you found for me is to split the burden with a roommate!”

Mercury opened his mouth to continue berating Ophelia for her ridiculous views on something as trivial as asking for his help, but before he could, his watch beeped, notifying him that he was running out of time to get going and make his flight. Despite his personal, feline-related reluctance to leave the city right now, this conference was one he couldn’t afford to miss. He’d have to deal with Ophelia’s roommate situation when he got back… although there was one thing that had to happen. “Where is this ‘Ashley’? I need to meet her before I leave Janus here.”

“Is that really necessary—?”

“The other solution is for you to go pack a bag right now, and go stay with Janus at my house for the week. I am not leaving my cat in the hands of someone I’ve never met!”

Ophelia glared back at him for a long minute, before finally sighing and looking over her shoulder. “Hey, Ashley,” she called. “Can you come here?”

A moment later, light footsteps sounded down the hall as the mysterious roommate approached. “What do you need now? Is your brother gone yet?”

The owner of the voice turned out to be a slender young woman with long, dark hair, and large, bright blue eyes. With her high cheekbones, symmetrical facial features, and full, red-tinted lips, she’d be considered conventionally attractive in most people’s estimation—but most people were incapable of looking past a surface appearance and judging what truly lurked beneath. And Mercury happened to know first hand that this woman’s angelic beauty was all a lie; she was none other than Lilith, a master manipulator and a scourge he’d thought he banished from his city long ago.

For her part, Lilith looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. Her eyes grew wide as she glanced between Mercury and Ophelia, and Mercury could almost see the wheels turning in her scheming little brain. After a moment though, her neutral mask fell back into place and she stuck out her hand. “You must be the big brother I’ve heard far too little about. I’m Ashley; I moved in with Ophelia not too long ago.”

“Ashley?” He tried a smile, so as not to make Ophelia suspicious of any prior involvement with her new ‘roommate’, but he couldn’t stop it from turning into a sneer as he shook her hand, squeezing more firmly than was strictly necessary. “And what brings you here?”

A sneer of her own pulled at Lilith’s lips as she returned his iron handshake with just as much force. “Just a job. I won’t bore you with the details; from what I hear, you’re quite busy. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” She nodded to the door behind him, and he decided that her smug little dismissal wasn’t going to do at all.

He dropped her hand and stepped back, his eyes never leaving Lilith’s. “Ophelia; I’d like to have a word with Ashley for a moment. I just need to make her understand the responsibility that comes with living in the same apartment as my… cat.”

Ophelia glanced between the two of them and seemed hesitant to leave them alone, but he gave her a pointed stare, and that was enough for her to clear her throat. “Alright, I’ll just go find Janus wherever he’s wandered off to so you can say goodbye. Uh. Be nice.”

Once his sister had disappeared further into her apartment, Mercury stepped closer to Lilith again so he could tower over her and hiss into her ear. “What the fuck are you playing at? You moved in with my sister?”

“Well I didn’t know she was your sister until two minutes ago,” Lilith snapped, taking a step back and crossing her arms while glaring up at him. “Trust me, if I had, I definitely wouldn’t have signed the damn lease.”

Mercury glared at her for a minute, trying to decide if he should believe her. Because honestly, what were the odds that his old, forgotten rival would move in with one of his family members? Although, no one at the League besides his assistant even knew he had a sister, as he’d hidden her existence for years, and Ophelia didn’t know what he actually did for a living, so it was somewhat plausible that this was just an unhappy accident. In either case…

“You’ll have to move out immediately.”

Lilith gaped at him. “What? No way! I just finished unpacking yesterday, and I already did all the paperwork—I can’t afford to break a lease!”

Mercury narrowed his eyes. “So whatever ‘job’ lured you back to my city doesn’t even pay well? I’m very curious to know the details.”

She scoffed and flipped her head to send her curtain of dark hair back back over her shoulder. “My life these days is none of your business, actually. As is who I’ve chosen to be my roommate. Trust me, I’m not stupid enough to do anything to your precious little kitten while Ophelia is catsitting. So you can go ahead and go now. We wouldn’t want you to miss your big photo op with the UN.”

“Your life became my business when you chose to involve yourself in my sister’s affairs,” he said through gritted teeth. “And that’s another thing—you can not say a word to Ophelia about our past or reveal my secret identity.”

Lilith blinked several times. “Wait… she doesn’t know that you’re Silver Boy?”

“It’s Silver Bullet now,” he snapped. “And no, she does not; I don’t like to bring my work home with me. She’s clueless, and she will stay that way if you know what’s good for you.”

Lilith furrowed her brow, but nodded slowly. “My past is dead and buried, so she won’t hear it from me.”

Mercury pursed his lips, but glanced at his watch. He would have preferred to keep talking so he could get more information about Lilith’s sudden return as well as impress upon her further the importance of keeping his secret from Ophelia, but he really had to get going this time.

“Hey, are you two done yet?” Ophelia asked as she entered the room again, this time with a wriggling Janus in her arms. “I thought you had a flight to catch.”

“I’ll have to leave in a minute,” Mercury confirmed, stepping closer to take Janus from her so he could say goodbye. Learning that Ophelia had a roommate and then Lilith’s reappearance had distracted him from his previous worries, but now they all came rushing back as he was moments away from stepping out the door. Janus leaned his head into Mercury’s chest and purred softly, and all Mercury could think of was how he was abandoning his son. They hadn’t been apart for any extended period of time since Janus had come home with him! If Lilith hadn’t been standing there, he would have told Janus that he loved him very much and would be back soon, that he was sorry to have to go and would rather just stay with him. As it was, he simply squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a firm kiss atop Janus’ head in between his ears.

“Cute cat you’ve got there,” Lilith said, and Mercury glared at her again. “How old is he?”

“About six months,” Ophelia answered as she reached out to stroke Janus’ fur. “Mercury found him when he was a kitten. Isn’t he just the best little boy?”

“You found a kitten six months ago, huh? I just bet there’s some great pictures of the two of you together back then.” Lilith smirked at him, and Mercury knew that she’d just figured it out. His grip on Janus tightened.

About six months ago, he—well, the superhero known as Silver Bullet—had raided an underground lab belonging to the evil scientist known as Gray Raven. After the fight, the League’s Media Liaison had shown up and had him pose for pictures holding some of the rescued animal test subjects—including a very young black kitten. After the photos, the League’s cleanup crew had taken all of the animals away so the results of Gray Raven’s experiments could be professionally monitored. It wasn’t until he’d gotten home that night that he’d realized the tiny black kitten he’d posed with had somehow snuck its way into his bag as he was leaving, and fallen asleep!

He should have notified his handlers immediately and turned the kitten over to the League like the rest of the rescued animals, but… he couldn’t bring himself to part with the little guy. So the kitten was named Janus and became his companion, and no one at work needed to know he’d gotten a cat. Ophelia had only found out after an unannounced visit shortly after that, which he’d never regretted, at least until now. Her mother had allowed her to have cats and other pets while growing up, an indulgence their father never allowed for him, so she had been able to fill him in on some of the knowledge he was lacking. It also meant that he didn’t have to trust a stranger in his home or consider boarding his precious cat when compelled to travel for work.

If he’d known Lilith would be in the picture, though…  

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew it would be his assistant checking up on him to make sure he was on track to make his schedule. There really was no more time to linger.

Mercury sighed as he released Janus and tried to brush some of the cat hair off of his suit. He kept a lint roller in his car, so the rest of the evidence would be gone by the time he made it to the airport. “I really need to go now, but this discussion isn’t over,” he said, glancing at Lilith before fixing his gaze on Ophelia, who had the good sense to appear guilty about the shock she’d put him through at such an inopportune time. “I’ll see you in a week. Behave yourselves until then.” After a forced smile and quick hug from Ophelia, he turned and left. With every step he took away from the door, he was regretting his decision. It had been hard enough to agree to this when it was just leaving his cat with his sister, but now she was there!

He swore to himself that if any harm came to his cat or his sister and he could find the slightest bit of fault with her, then that demon woman would have hell to pay.

X

“So.” Ashley was standing with her arms crossed and was glaring at the door that Mercury had vanished through just minutes ago. “Your brother is Silver Boy.”

Ophelia took a deep breath and stood up from where she’d knelt to comfort Janus, who had started mewling in protest when his dad left, but had quickly been soothed when she dug out some cat treats from his bag. “Well he’s the Silver Bullet, now. The League rebranded him when he turned twenty.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Right. Rebranding. I’m forever thankful I ditched the League before I had to go through my own stupid ‘image update’. But regardless of what he goes by these days, did it not occur to you that this fact might be something I needed to know? We’re supposed to be partners!”

Ophelia crossed her arms to match Ashely’s stance. “You’re the one who said that just because we’re assigned partners doesn’t mean we’ve got to spill all of our secrets! You weren’t supposed to meet him in the first place, I told you to move your stuff from the entryway and keep quiet while he was here!”

She scoffed. “I forgot, ok? But this is a pretty big secret, a little heads up might have been nice! And he thinks you don’t know? What’s that about?”

“He and dad always made such a big effort to keep their identities from me when I came to visit, I didn’t have the heart to tell them mum had spilled the beans ages ago. So I played dumb… and so they just keep assuming that I am dumb. Anyway, it works to our advantage now, right? If I had been part of his Super world when my powers showed up, there’s no way I’d get a chance to complete the Justicar Trial with you. I know him; he’d have me carted off to the League and working as a registered Superhero on his team faster than you could say ‘Solar Flare’!”

“Right. Does Zoey know?”

“Zoey knows everything,” Ophelia confirmed, and Ashley finally relaxed her arms and shook her head.

“Well, as long as Ms. Butterfly is in on it, I suppose I can’t complain. She’ll have made all her little plans with him in mind. Your brother has no idea you’re powered?”

“None whatsoever, and it’s going to stay that way for as long as possible.” Ophelia tried to fix Ashley with a fierce stare to let her know Ophelia meant business. She knew she wasn’t nearly as capable of intimidation as her brother, but she had picked up a few things from him.

Ashley just scoffed. “No need to worry about him hearing it from me; I’d have been happy never to see his face again, and shall strive to avoid him as much as humanly possible while living with his sister. Next question: that cat. You do realize it came from an evil scientist’s lab, likely has some sort of mutant ability as a result, and will now be roaming freely around our apartment?”

That made Ophelia smile. “Yes, I know that, and understand where your concern is coming from, but there’s something you have failed to consider.”

“And what’s that?”

“He might be an evil science experiment, but Janus is also a very good boy.”

[that-salty-bitch]

So time I live up to my name and create some salt!

I had a Miraculous AU idea, heavy in Adrien salt.

WARNING! EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AND ABUSE. No physical abuse, but still, you have been warned.

In so many salt stories, Lila getting the class to bully Marinette makes Marinette stronger, she begins to stand up for herself. She learns to say no when Adrien becomes obsessed with her.

Not in this.

When Lila gets the class to turn against Marinette, she shuts down. She becomes more quiet, resigned. She doesn’t reach out to anyone, and she has no support system. Tikki trys to help, but can’t do much. She becomes Guardian, and there are more weights on her than ever. Eventually she and Chat Noir defeat Hawkmoth. Adrien is shocked, and Marinette comforts him. They reveal themselves to each other, and start dating. Marionettes crush has subsided, but Adrien is adamant, and she can always fall back in love, right?

Wrong.

She never really likes him in the same way, but he guilt's her so much that she feels like she can’t leave, that it would be selfish. All the kwami see what’s happening, but they can’t convince her. Eventually they move to Gotham. It could be that Marinette needs to create balance there, or that Adrien wants to be a hero again. Either way, they move to Gotham and become vigilantes. Marinette and the kwami don’t really want to infringe on Batman’s turf, but Adrien wants to, and there can’t be a black cat without a ladybug, so she has to come along too.

Eventually, they come across the Gotham Sirens. Marinette, who knows they’re (mostly) reformed, waves, and goes over to say hi. She goes to swing her yo-yo over, but Adrien grabs her arm to stop her. The Sirens have heard about two new vigilantes that the bats have had trouble with, and were having a girls night/ scouting mission. So, they saw someone in read wave, get ready to come over, and was that a yo-yo?, and someone in black stop them.

Adrien: “What are you doing? They’re villains!”

Marinette: “They’re antiheroes now, they help the bats for the most part.”

Adrien: ”So if my father decided to just help us one day, we just forgive him? You know how I feel about that Bugaboo, are you trying to make me mad?”

Marinette will instantly start on the apologies, and by the time the Sirens are over, they’ve left. Harley didn’t hear what they were saying, but she sure knows what she saw. She saw someone doing absolutely nothing wrong, and then try to placate someone else, taking the blame for nothing at all. She sees the signs of an abusive relationship. And she sees red.

When Adrien and Marinette get home, he takes her earrings. This is something common, when she does something ‘wrong’ he will take Tikki. Time and time again she has been told that she didn’t deserve having Tikki to talk to when she ‘misbehaved.’ And she believes him every time. She truly believes that she deserves being alone for doing something (or most of the time nothing) wrong. She decides to go out to get ingredients to make an apology dinner for Adrien, and either runs into one of the Wanyes, or into Harley, who’s been looking for the two she saw earlier. You can decide who she runs into.

If it’s Harley, she will try to avoid her, remembering that she got in trouble for trying to talk to her earlier. Harley will take an interest though, and while Marinette is trying to get away, and will accidentally let slip that she’ll get punished for talking to her. Harley is concerned, but will ‘leave her alone,’ as not to get her in trouble. In reality, she is totally following her, and telling everyone (Sirens, Batfam) about a potential abuse victim.

If it’s a Batfam member that she runs into, (Not just the boys because I need more interactions w/ Steph Cass & Barbra) she could start up a conversation while shopping, (crushes are up to you, one sided or otherwise) and she accidentally lets slip that this was an apology dinner. When asked what for, she vaguely answers about talking to the wrong people. They get concerned and alert the rest of the gang, including the Sirens because they help victims of abuse.

Either way, everyone decides to look out for her, someone befriending her, (probably one of the girls because Adrien has convinced her that spending more time w/ boys is cheating on him) and they will subtly interrogate her. They figure out that he ‘depends’ on her to help him, and that something went on in Paris that made them closer.

This leads to the Justice League finding out about the Paris Situation, and Wonderwoman and Aquaman getting very upset at Green Lantern or whoever ignored them. (I stan Aquaman knowing about the Miraculous due to Plagg sinking Atlantis.)

After Marinette gets off the bench, she is extra careful to not set Adrien off, as she is best at getting the Bats off their backs about vigilantism. The Bats offer to train them, knowing they might not be able to stop them, and Marinette is all for it. There’s just one problem.

Adrien doesn’t want to do it.

Batman and bird of choice will notice Marinette’s immediate change from being enthusiastic about the training to being against the idea as soon as Adrien speaks against it. They leave not long after, and there is no doubt in anyone’s minds that they need to get her out.

While Marinette is on patrol one day, a large flower appears in her face, and sprays some kind of pollen. The earrings are providing her some resistance, but most of her energy is going to staying awake. While trying not to pass out, she accidentally stumbles off of the roof. She doesn’t notice, nor does she notice that a giant plant caught her. Finally, the pollen combined with a general lack of sleep get to her, and she passes out.

When Marinette comes to, she notices that her hands are tied. There are vines wrapping around her arms, with a red flower sprouting from the top. As she looks around, she realizes she’s... on a couch? In an apartment? With all the Sirens just hanging out?

Wait.

She scrambles to get up and get out, but she trips in her haste, drawing attention to her. Ivy uses her plants to gently guide Mari to the couch, being careful not to hurt her, but making sure she knows that she can’t leave.

Marinette is just confused.

She’s been kidnapped before, both in and out of costume. Most of the time, they want her miraculous, and the rest usually want dates. However this was new. Glancing at the clock, she realized how late it was. She really didn’t want to loose Tikki again, so she hoped Adrien would understand why she didn’t get back in time.

Harley: “Don’t worry, we’re rescuing you!”

Marinette looked at the vines, then back at Harley.

Harley: “Oh, right. Let me rephrase. We’re rescuing you even though you don’t know you need to be rescued!”

Now this makes Marinette confused. What did she need to be rescued from? Maybe the Bats were mad at them? She really needed to smooth things over for her and Adrien quickly if that were the case. Noticing her confusion, Poison Ivy took over.

Ivy: “Look, we just need to check a few things then you can go. We’re concerned that your boyfriend is abusing you, and we need to make sure you’re safe.”

Oh. Marinette can deal with this. Adrien had never hurt her outside of akuma attacks where he got mind controlled, and that wasn’t his fault. Just because he was in charge of the duo didn’t mean he was hurting her. She was just about to tell the Siren this, when she got sprayed by another flower. She got ready to fight off sleep again, but was surprised when she didn’t feel any more tired.

Ivy: “Don’t worry about that, it’s just something that will compel you to tell the truth. We won’t ask any secret identity questions, we’re just making sure you’re ok.”

They ask their normal set of questions, like, ‘has he ever hurt you’, and received odd answers like, ‘not outside the influence of the miraculous.’ When asked more about the miraculous, bubbles flew out of her mouth. as they were about to ask more, her earrings gave a loud beeping, and there was a large flash of light. When the Sirens opened their eyes, they saw a girl wearing civie clothes, with the same red and black domino mask, and a bug... thing? floating in front of her face. Marinette felt a mix of shock and relief. Shock that Tikki had released the transformation, and relief that Adrien had warned her to wear a mask underneath because she was bound to get the earrings stolen at some point. Looking at the shocked faces, she realized that she had said that out loud. She was left speechless when Tikki flew up to her face (Ivy noted how her plants seemed to grow much faster as she flew by) and ripped her mask right off. There were shocks of recognition from all of the Sirens, and as Marinette was about to ask Tikki what in kwami’s name was she thinking? Tikki cut her off.

Tikki: “*Bubbles* no. I am not about to sit by and watch you make excuses. I have been trying to warn you for so long, but you refused to listen. If it takes me revealing your identity for you to leave *Bubbles*, then so be it. Now, you are going to sit there, while I tell these three exactly what’s going on. I don’t care that you think it’s not abuse, because it is. So please, after this, take back the ring and leave. Kaalki can take you anywhere you need to go, even if not for yourself, do it for us.”

Marinette was left speechless, and Tikki turned around and started to explain the whole story. As she couldn’t say their real names, she would just use their hero names while clarifying on whether they were civilians. After the whole story, they were ready to go skin a cat. Selina would normally take offense to this, but at this point she was too angry to care. When Marinette finally broke down, everyone comforted her, and they created a plan. They would broadcast having her hostage, (after telling the bats so they wouldn’t come) and get Adrien to come rescue her. Or at least, Marinette hoped. She knew there was a slight chance that he wouldn’t come after her, or at lease leave her there for a bit as a lesson. She fought the part telling her that she would deserve that, and got ready. After feeding Tikki, she transformed and got into place. After broadcasting the video, they sat and waited. About an hour later, Adrien came crashing through the window, landing in front of her. He used Cataclysm on the chair, and that was when Marinette struck.

Marinette: “As Guardian of the Miracle Box, I, Marinette Dupain Cheng, hereby revoke Adrien Agreste’s right to wield a miraculous.”

In a flash of light, Adrien was de-transformed, ring having flown into Marinette’s finger, with Plagg looking relived. Adrien was fuming, ranting at her, until he decided to attack. The moment he lunged, he got a mallet upside the head, knocking him out.

The relief of it all being over got to Marinette, and she broke down on the floor.

Now the ending is open for interpretation! This was kind of a prompt, maybe more of an idea, but there are a few ways this could play out.

She could get adopted by the Sirens, and gain three new aunts. Maybe eventually she’ll feel up to joining them on their nights out.

She gets with Batfam member of choice. She is an adult here, so pair her w/ whoever while being mindful of that

Bruce adopts her. She fits the Wayne criteria, and his kids love her.

Come up w/ a completely original ending! Go wild!

That’s all for now, night all!

[silwenworld]

Fic: A Truth for a Truth. A study in Confusion

Title: A Truth for a Truth. A Study in Confusion Rating: T Word Count: 12 474 Summary:  Mr Gold returns to Storybroke after a one-year absence with a kid's backpack swung over his shoulder. Has he kidnapped someone? Made a deal with the child parents and holding the kid as a ransom? After all the stories Belle has heard about her landlord, she hopes it's not the case. AN: Suprise and Merry RCIJ @boushh2187! I really enjoyed being your Santa this year and our talks! I must admit I was a little nervous as this was my first time participating, but it was a lot of fun, getting to know you and all! :D Hope you’ll enjoy your gift :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505929/chapters/61878064 ----------- Belle French had never liked crowds - That was the first thing she had always said to everybody when asked about her choices. Why move to a small town and not a big city, like New York? Too many people were always the right answer. Of course, in that crowd, one could have easily become anonymous, a status almost impossible to achieve in Storybrooke. She realized, as she began to unpack her second box of things, that she missed that feeling very much so. It had been two days since she had arrived in Storybrook, a small town in Maine that she hoped to be her new home soon. Two days and there already had been curious glances thrown in her way. It wasn't like she didn't expect them - on the contrary, it was only normal as towns like this hardly ever got new residents. Why on Earth would anyone in their right mind want to move here? To a place where time almost stood still? Well, she didn't have the correct answer to that, not yet anyway, but as soon as she crossed the town line she had known, it had been exactly where she was supposed to be.

That had been two days ago. Now, Belle wasn't so sure anymore. Those people she had met so far had been kind and friendly, but it hadn't stopped her from worrying. Belle had never been good at those people stuff, preferring sitting on her own with a book than partying or gossiping. Others had found her strange, but she had never felt like that herself.

Bookworm - they had called her. Well, they had meant it as an insult, but she had never seen it as such. She still needed to work on her confidence tho.

Belle sighed as she looked around her new flat. It was small, but it already felt like home. She was yet to meet her landlord as his coworker, Mr Dove, was the one who signed the lease agreement with her.

"Mr Gold is away on business, he will contact you as soon as would be able to," he had said.

Well, it didn't stop her from asking shyly around. 

The first thing she had learnt was that people had a very firm opinion on Mr Gold. One she didn't know what to think of herself. The image the others had painted had her question her decision whenever renting a flat from the man was the right choice. Not that she had so many other options to choose from, he seemed to own almost the whole town.

A Ruthless Beast some had called him.

A Right Manipulative Bastard said the others.

And those were just the nicer ones. 

Belle had already felt anxious at just the thought of meeting the man. He sounded like someone who would probably want to know every personal information she had, and that didn't sit well with her at all.  She didn't like sharing her personal matters with others. With the experience, she had one answer lead to more questions, and before you could know it, everyone knew everything about you.

No. Belle was perfectly comfortable in her own inner world. It was a lot safer that way.

But the days had gone by, and there was no sight of one Mr Gold. The sign on the doors of his shop was still flipped to closed, and Mr Dove was the one to collect the rent. Ruby Lucas had a theory that the man had some gangster connections and disappeared to strike some shady deal.

"If we're lucky maybe he won't be back," she said one day, leaning against the table, throwing the kitchen towel over her arm.

"Is he really that bad?" Belle asked shyly waiting for the answer with strongly beating heart.

Ruby Lucas looked around then leaned conspiratorially towards Belle with a glint in her eye.

"The worst."

"Ruby! Stop maltreating the poor woman and go back to work!" It took all of Belle's willpower not to jump startled at Granny's loud shout. Ruby didn't seem too fazed tho, and she just smiled mischievously.

"Gotta dash!"

And so the days had gone by.  Each month Belle opened the door to see Mr Dove patiently waiting for the envelope containing her rent. And when the calendar on her wall told her one day that it had been half a year since her arrival to the small town, she began to worry. What if something really happened to the man? But Mr Dove would surely have told her if that was the case, wouldn't he? Looking at the clock, she realized that for someone who so good at interacting with others, she was thinking about the man she had never met quite a lot recently.

Those thoughts were persistent. They would sneak up on her without warning during her break at work in the library or while making coffee in the morning. There were also days when Mr Gold whereabouts didn't worry her mind at all. People moved on with their lives, and almost no one was discussing their landlord's sudden prolonged absence.

In all her wildest dreams, Belle couldn't have predicted how her eventual meeting with her landlord would go. And to be honest none of Storybrooke residents would have thought that the first time Mr Gold would have been spotted in town in a year would be with a child's backpack swung over his shoulder.

And so the gossip mill in Storybrooke had started. Belle tried not to take part in it. It wasn't like people like to chat with her, she was too closed in for most of them to engage with any sort of meaningful conversations, and it wasn't like she minded that or something. Still, she would be lying if she had said that she wasn't even slightly interested in the sudden change in the town's atmosphere. Funny, how things have changed for her in a year since moving here herself.

There was also one place one could hear the latest gossip - it didn't matter if they wanted to or not. Granny's Dinner for better or worst was the place Belle had her work break, and Ruby Lucas was even more willing to spill some beans without being prompt to do so.  

"Maybe he had kidnapped someone," she said without missing a beat, making Belle almost choke on her coffee.

"Who? A child?"

The woman just shrugged her shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal.

"I wouldn't put it passed him, the man's shady."

"Surely not shady enough to kidnap a child."

"Maybe it's a ransom? Or insurance? Oh! I know!" She shifted slightly to get even more close to Belle. "Maybe, the kid's mother sold them in a deal!"

"Are you sure I was the one who has read more books at the Uni? Because I have doubts."

"You're saying that now, but you will hear my words when you meat the man! He has always given me the creeps." She shuddered theatrically, and Belle couldn't help herself and softly giggled.

"Well, some of your boyfriends had given me creeps, and I've never complained."

"Iw, Belle! You implied Gold as your boyfriend, and now I want to gauge my eyes at the mental image."

Belle looked pointedly at the other woman knowing exactly what she was playing at. It had always been like that, since the day they had been pared as roommates at the Uni. Ruby was probably the only person in the world who had known almost everything about her. Belle had always been more closed in, but it didn't stop Ruby from putting up with her. Not even up to the point of convincing her to move into Storybrooke.

"Is he bad looking then?" She asked after taking a sip of her iced tea.

"Well, I wouldn't say so, but you know - it's Gold."

"I'm still lost."

"Put it this way," Ruby pulled her hand up, counting her fingers. "He wears nothing but three-piece suits with double cuff shirts and a cane - fits him right, but who dresses like that all the time? Granny would probably have a stroke if she saw him in jeans. Anyway, that's one. Two - he drives a vintage Caddy. Three - he owns most of the town and most people, including the mayor, hates his guts. Four - he's got some suspicious blokes working for him. You've met Dove, but there are more. Five - he's a dick. If that doesn't scream mafia or other shit like that, I don't know what does." Ruby sat back very satisfied with the points she had made, looking expectingly at Belle.

"Couldn't it be his nephew or a son? When was the last time you saw him?"

"I dunno. Seven? Eight years ago? Haven't been in town that much, but believe me he did not have a kid back then, I would have noticed, others as well. You need a second party for that to work and he sure as hell wasn't banging anyone in town."

"If you finished your charming summaries of other people's affairs, miss Lucas, would you kindly go back to what you get paid for by your grandmother or should I go back later when you finished your entertainment?"

Ruby visibly blanched, and Belle couldn't help herself this time around - she did jump startled at the low, accented voice as she wasn't expecting anyone other than her friend to speak. She didn't need to hear Ruby's hurried reply as she scrambled to her feet to know who was standing next to her.

Mr R. Gold.

He wasn't a tall man, that much she could tell even tho she was seated. He would still be taller than her, despite her wearing heels, but it wasn't something hard to achieve. From all the tales going around the town about the man, she would expect someone tall and heavily built, instead who she saw was a shortish, lean man. There was an aura around him tho, and in an instant, Belle understood why people were wary of him.

The aura that screamed power.  He didn't need to be tall for others to know who was calling the shots and not to be messed with.

A frown marred his brow, his lips pursed in a thin line as he leaned on his distinguished cane, shotting daggers at Ruby as he listened to her babbled apologies. Belle tried not to stare, but a thought very quickly crossed her mind that Ruby had been wrong - he didn't look old at all. His hair still brown had strands of silver woven in them, but it strangely suited him as did their unusual length as it reached his shoulders in soft waves.

"Mr Gold, I didn't see you come in," said Ruby, trying to smoothen down her short uniform skirt.

"I could tell," he shot back not even trying to sound friendly.

"What can I get you then?" Asked Ruby trying to sound calm, but failing.

"Two burgers one with extra pickles the other with extra cheese."

"Have a guest staying?" If Ruby tried to be subtle then in Belle opinion she was failing spectacularly. It was tough not to cringe. Gold's mouth twisted, clearly annoyed.

"No, a prisoner in need of rations, before I sell him to some drug lord or human traffic ring. Now, would you mind?"

Ruby visibly gulped, but Belle had to try really hard not to smile. The man had a very dry sense of humour. She could tell he was joking and wondered how others couldn't see the difference.

"Would that be all, Mr Gold?"

"Quite."

Belle watched as her friend all but fled to the kitchen, leaving her alone with her landlord. Her palms felt suddenly sweaty as she could feel his gaze boring into her. What one said to a man who you didn't know yet, whose life you were chattering about only a moment ago and who had heard you doing so?

The silence felt heavy, and with each beat of her heart, it was becoming less bearable.

"I'm quite good with faces," oh thank God, thought Belle, although her relief was shortlived, he was the one to speak first. "But I must say I haven't seen yours, Miss...?"

"French," she replied hurriedly shifting in her seat to look up at Mr Gold.     "it's Belle French. I'm, well, I'm actually one of your new tenants...?"

She didn't intend for it to sound like a question, but Gold's gaze was so intense it brought back all those memories when others looked down on her that her body did what it did involuntarily. At least her cheeks didn't burn. Not yet, anyway.

He was assessing her now, but she managed to keep still and not to fidget in her seat. She couldn't read his expression, but she hoped he wasn't weighing his options whenever to evict her or not. After what felt like forever, he nodded once.

"The apartment above the library?"

"Yes."

Another nod.

"I hope you find it satisfactory both the flat and the librarian post? It's quite late for the landlord to ask questions like that, but I like to think Mr Dove would tell me if something was wrong."

"Oh, no! It's perfect, it really is. More than perfect, even!"

Still having a roof over her head then, better to keep it that way and not offend the man, so it didn't matter she sounded stupid.

Gold's mouth twitched just so slightly at her sudden reply, but then his expression was back to neutral as he turned to check if his order was ready.

"Um, Mr Gold?" He looked back at her. "Would you care to sit down? There's no point in you waiting like that." It surely wasn't good for his leg.

He seemed to be weighing his options, but seeing that Ruby was nowhere yet in sight, he relented and limped around her booth to sit across from her.

Belle busied her hands with the half-empty glass of ice tea, trying very hard not to glance the man's way.  At first glance, he looked calm, but his fingers fidgeted with the handle of his cane in a way that told Belle he wasn't as comfortable as he would like to seem.

She squeezed the glass very hard, forcing herself to focus and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. Gold turned his head towards her, raising his eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Whatever for, miss French?"

"Um, for earlier? We shouldn't talk about you like that. It wasn't any of our business. Ruby was out of line."

There it was again - that soft twitch of the man's lips, and suddenly Belle thought how Gold would look like while fully smiling. She didn't know where the thought had come from.

"Miss Lucas might have been away from the town for some years, but I can't say her absence improved on her character."

"Nevertheless it was uncalled for."

He tilted his head slightly to the side as if amused.

"Well, you must have heard a lot of things about my person. If you haven't found out already, people in this town are hardly shy about their attitude."

"Having been on the receiving end of the people's tongues before, I somehow have a feeling their opinion to be greatly exaggerated," she admitted, too late realizing that she had revealed more about herself to this man that she had to any other person in a year.

"You may find that there is more truth in rumours than you think."

"Oh, so you do kidnap infants in their sleep and deal in firstborns?" Her eyes winded, and she almost clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as the realization of what she had said had struck her. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest.

Belle couldn't remember when was the last time she had been forward like that, probably never, but something about this man was pushing this side of her to the surface. She watched him in trepidation fearing his reaction and waiting for a frown to appear on his face.

Nothing like that had happened.

Instead, Gold grinned broadly, the light catching in what appeared to be a gold tooth on the left side of his mouth.

He was amused, and Belle had to try really hard not to let her eyes to bulge even more.

"Be careful, miss French. People might get ideas. Some would say that teasing the beast might not end well."

"Then I will remember that when I see one."

The broad grin transformed into a soft smile, and he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement.  As quickly as the expression had come, it disappeared as Ruby excited the kitchen with Gold's order packed to go. He was back to frowning, and Belle felt a sudden pang in her chest at the change. Gold tightened the grip on his cane and stood up. It struck her that throughout their short conversation, his fidgeting had stopped and he had looked almost relaxed. Weird, how quickly he could snap back into the cold exterior he was presenting now while facing Ruby.

"Your order Mr Gold. Granny's sends her regards," Gold didn't look amused or glad at the notion. He pulled out the bill and passed it on to Ruby, taking the bag in exchange.

"As much as your grandmother would love that, I won't choke on it. Good day, miss Lucas. Miss French," he nodded once in Belle's direction and without waiting for a response swiftly left the restaurant. For a man with a limp, he walked very quickly.

The bell above the door jingled, and once again two women were left alone, Ruby's shoulders sagged in relief.

"How did I miss him coming in? He walks with a cane - how could I not hear him?" She muttered under her breath. Just as quickly, she straightened up and turned around to look intensively at Belle. A crease appeared on her forehead as she frowned, and Belle had to look around to make sure there was nothing out of the ordinary anywhere near her. Finding nothing, she looked back at her friend, confused.

"What?"

"You flirted with him."

"I did not!" She all but yelled back offended at the accusation, feeling her cheeks heat at the same time.

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes -"

"Ruby!"

"Oh, please, you so flirted with the man."

"I don't even know how to flirt!"

Ruby sighed and leaned on the table, looking expectingly at Belle.

"That thing you did? The I-will-remember-when-I-see-one line? That was flirting."

"That was a conversation, Rubs."

"Well, I had both and trust me on the judgment." Ruby looked all too pleased with herself and Belle didn't know what more to say. Was she really doing that? "He flirted back."

"What?"

"I said, he flirted back," she repeated pointedly.

"He was being polite."

"Yes, exactly. It's Gold we're talking about. And he smiled at you - he never does that, thus flirting."

"You're jumping - wait. Did you watch us?"

"Maybe..." she smiled sheepishly. "I didn't want to intrude. Look, do you like him?"

"Ruby, I just met the man."

"So? Me just meeting Shawn didn't stop me from sleeping with him."

Belle groaned into her hands, then rested her forehead on the table, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Hey, it's OK," suddenly Ruby was seated beside her bumping her on the shoulder. "I know you're not like that and it's fine too."

"I've never even kissed a guy before, not starting on sleeping with him." The table muffled her voice as she still didn't raise her head. That was another reason she decided to move away. There were talks at Uni about her. While pretty much everyone she had known had had at least one past relationship, she had none. She didn't know why, but it was how it was, and she couldn't help it. So yeah, the chances the guy she had just met was in some way interested in her were close to none.

"Belle? Come on chin up. There you are," Ruby smiled as Belle finally lifted her head and looked her in the eye. "I wasn't kidding, you know? I really think he liked you." Belle winced still not convinced, and Ruby tilted her head to the side. "Do you fancy him?"

Belle bit down on her lower lip, casting her eyes down. Was she?

"From all the talks I've heard over the year, he wasn't what I expected," she started slowly. She might have known Ruby for over close to six years now, but it didn't mean opening-up to her had become any easier. "He has a funny sense of humour - what?" Ruby was looking at her as if she had grown two heads.

"No, nothing. It's just, it's still Gold we're talking about, right? Ok, Ok, stop looking at me like that! I guess sarcasm can be counted as a sense of humour."

"I don't know what I feel, Rubs. At first, I was horrified he had heard us gossiping about him, but then he smiled, and he really does have a nice looking smile... And - stop grinning like that!"

"Can't help it, girl. I'm just happy that someone has finally caught my bestie's eye. Not sold on the choice, but it won't be me banging him."

"Can we stop with the innuendo, please?"

"You haven't been to his shop. He's got all weird things there - "

"You're not helping. It's not going to happen."

"I am willing to take one for the team and ask him out for you."

"Please don't. I would have died from embarrassment if he said no, besides I don't know I would."

"Listen to Aunt Ruby, Belle. My nose is hardly wrong. Just you wait."

Somehow, deep down, Belle knew Ruby was right because all she needed was a memory how Mr Gold had reacted to her words to know she was in deep. She had wanted to see more of those soft smiles and wondered how his laugh sounded. Did he use to laugh? Did the child he had brought a burger for had heard him laugh like no other?

Belle groaned and banged her head on the table. She was in trouble.

******

Mr Ronald Gold felt confused, and he wasn't sure why. To add to that, he wasn't used to feeling that way. All because of a small, and at first glance, unimportant woman.

Belle French.

He didn't know what had come over him. He had never spoken to anyone in a way he had with her before. He had been all too ready to snap at her in the same way he had at miss Lucas, but something had stopped him. Maybe it had been the fact that he had seen her suppressing a smile at his comments about keeping someone prisoner, perhaps something different. He even had abandoned the idea of snaping at the woman altogether and started what he had aimed to be a normal, polite conversation. But then she has surprised him with her bold retorts, and what had been even more amusing, she had seemed to be even more surprised by her words than him.  He had not only joked with her, no. He had smiled at her. A genuine, even if small, but still  - a smile. She had taken him by surprise, and he was yet to shake that confused feeling she had awaken in him.

"Are you OK, papa?" he looked up from the food he had bearly touched across the table at the source of the childish voice.

Oh, yes. The reason for his yearly absence, and also the topic of the latest Storybrooke's rumour mill much to Gold's dismay. His ten-year-old son who was looking at him with concern while still holding onto the remains of the hamburger.

"Yes, why shouldn't I be?"

The boy shrugged.

"You looked weird, that's all."

Gold sighed. Weird was one way to put it. He was about to run a hand through his hair in frustration but stopped mind motion as he saw the look on his boy's face.

"Neal?" The kid had bowed his head, leaving the hamburger on the plate suddenly forgotten. Gold stood up and limped to kneel next to the boy. "What is it? You can tell me. I promise I won't yell or anything." Neal mumbled something bearly audible. "Come again?"

"You won't hand me over, right?"

"Of course I won't," he answered, not missing a beat, he wanted to scream the words out but thought better of it. Instead, he frowned in confusion. It seemed he was better got used to the feeling. "Whatever gave you such an idea?"

Neal shrugged again still not looking at him.

"You were frowning and looked weird. I thought... I thought that maybe you had second thoughts, maybe - "

"Neal, look at me, son. That's right. I will never give up on you, ok? You're not getting back to your mother, and nothing and no one will make me change my mind. And if someone comes after you? He will have to get through me first. Now, come here."

His boy didn't need more prompting, and he all but threw himself in Gold's arms. Gold held him close as he manoeuvred the both of them into a sitting position on the floor that was less murderous for his ankle. He gently ran his fingers through the curly mop of hair, waiting for the sniffing to lessen a little.

"I know, I haven't been around - "

"Wasn't your fault, I know. It was mum's."

Gold bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying what exactly he thought about his ex-wife. Some language his son was better not to hear. It didn't change the fact that she was the reason why the boy was as insecure as he was. Instead of speaking, he tightened his arms around Neal.

"I won't let you go now. That's what matters."

"Sorry for being silly."

"You weren't. It's fine, and I don't mind the hugging."

Neal giggled then wiped his nose with his sleeve after unwrapping his small hands from around Gold's torso.

"Wait till I tell that to the others," he said while grinning and Gold poked him playfully on the chest.

"Others are not you. Besides, they wouldn't believe it anyway."

Neal laughed, and Gold counted that as a victory. He watched his son closely for the remaining hours of the day for any sights of changes in his mood, but everything went fine. They managed to work on his math homework, and when the clock had struck eight, he tucked the boy to sleep.

Gold sat down in the armchair in the living room nursing a glass of whiskey, thinking. Soon he would have to enlist Neal to a school. He knew the boy needed it, but dreaded the day anyway. It would be a lot easier for the boy if he didn't have his surname. Also, Neal was still adjusting.

Gold winced, then emptied the whole glass in one go. Damn Millah for taking his son away from him. Damn her for running away with him not from love but out of spite. And damn the court for being so lazy about the whole case.

He ran a hand over his face, suddenly weary. He wondered what else he could do for Neal to make him feel better, and the change in his life easier. Getting a pet was out of the question, at least for now. What else... He sat up straighter.

Belle French was the librarian. Neal had enjoyed being read to when little, hadn't he? Maybe Gold would visit the library and got some books for him. The additional benefit of seeing Miss French again had nothing to do with it, of course. He had bearly known anything about the woman, he had an inkling that few people did, but the idea of seeing her caused that weird feeling of confusion to bloom inside of him again. He didn't know what it was, but the sooner he found out, the sooner he would be able to move back to normal. Neal needed normal.

That settled it. He would visit the library tomorrow, get his son some books and deal with the confusion that was Belle French. With that in mind, Gold stood up and limped towards the stair. What could go wrong?

********

It turned out that nothing ever could have run as smoothly as you could plan it, and Gold was soon about to find this out.

He left his home promptly first thing in the morning with the sole purpose of going straight for the library and conducting his business. Neal accompanied him very eager to be out of the house even for the change of the scenery that was Gold's shop where the boy was supposed to spend his day. The boy looked curiously over the window as they drove past the streets. Gold drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in unease with only one thought repeating itself in his mind. The sooner he could get this over with the better.

The confusion he had felt the day before lingered.

He had slept poorly all the while thinking if Belle French also had the same problems. Stupid. Why would she?

So his mood was foul since even the morning coffee couldn't have done the trick, and he slightly wished for someone to get in his way just for the sole purpose of having his way with them.

His mood didn't improve upon arriving at the library's door as he had found them closed. Gold frowned and checked the time on his watch. There was no mistake that it was past the opening time - only a couple of minutes, but still. He tapped his cane on the pavement in annoyance then turned his back to the door in the intension of crossing the street to his shop where Neal was keeping himself busy.

He made it exactly four steps down the pavement.

Later on, he would probably blame it on the lack of sleep and the fact he was too wrapped in the fact that the first person who would be unfortunate enough to encounter him later that day would be the one to face the full stock of his displeasure to notice someone else coming his way. Someone who clearly wasn't paying attention to where they were going as much as he wasn't. And yeah, at one point in time, they would be both laughing about it, but right now no one felt this way.

Two things had happened.

One: Someone walked into Gold with full force, almost knocking him down, making him react like on reflex as his hand darted forward towards the other person, preventing them from falling as well.

Two: Something wet and hot splattered over his chest, burning him through his clothes.

Gold didn't know who had yelped. Maybe he (unlikely) or the one who had dared to walk into him (more probable). The yep had been definitely woman's, and he was about to show her how displeased he was when he got the first good look at who exactly had walked into him, and spilt, what he assumed had been, a hot coffee all over his front.

Belle French.

Of all the people...

Her face was the perfect picture of a mix between horror, embarrassment and something else eternally that he wasn't able to name. From her eyes opened wide to her open mouth, she looked as if she wanted to both run away from him and hide right here and there.

The empty paper cup rolled away from them towards the middle of the street.

He was still holding her by the wrist.

Belle's mouth moved silently in shock a couple of times before she snapped into action.

"Oh, my God! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" She was on him in an instant. Unsure and hesitant, but determined at the same time. She freed her hand from his and opened her bag, looking for something in it.

She was mumbling apologies, and all he could do was stand stiffly still. He was about to say something, wasn't he? He was annoyed. Yes, that was it. He was supposed to show her just why people were so wary of him and why no one ever dared to spill coffee on him.

Yes, he would do just that. He had even opened his mouth ready to show her a piece of his mind, but then she produced a handkerchief and started to pat his chest with it.

All he was able to do was to open and close his mouth like a fish.

And just like that. The confusion he had felt before, and up to this moment, decided to be dormant, was back in full force. That weird feeling starting deep inside his chest, spreading outwards that had nothing to do with the hot liquid still seeping through his clothes.

"I- I can't believe I did that. I'm so sorry."

Belle really didn't mean any of it to happen. Her coffee machine had broken, and she had decided to pop to Granny's for a cuppa and be back before the opening, but there had been a lot more people there than usual as Granny herself seemed to be out, living Ruby alone at the Dinner, and she had found herself running late.

How could she had such bad timing concerning one man was beyond her comprehension. First the gossiping now this. Oh, she was so, so screwed.

Belle was about to let out another stream of apologies when he noticed Gold wincing after her last touch, and she was even more mortified. Had the coffee burned him?

She looked around the street and not noticing anybody she caught him by the arm and spun him around in the direction of the library.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Gold. Really, I am."

"Miss French - "

"The coffee could have burned you. It did, didn't it?"

"It's fine. No harms done."

"I beg to differ. Would you, Um. Would you come with me, please?"

He was about to decline yet again, but the agitated look on her face had stopped him. What was wrong with him? Firstly he didn't bare her (which was his intention, the words just hadn't left his mouth), then this.

"As you wish."

Belle sighed in relief, then all but pushed the man into the library, closing the doors behind them. She was late, to begin with. People could wait. She ushered Mr. Gold to the small bathroom that was behind her desk after he claimed it was fine and they needn't go to her flat while she was mumbling apologies.

As soon as he disappeared behind the doors, she buried her face in her hands, sinking into a chair. God, she was so useless. How can one person mess up so much in a matter of two days? Well, at least one thing was certain. Any chances she might have with the man were done for.

"Miss French?"

She jumped startled and was on her feet, immediately facing the bathroom door. She stopped in her tracks almost at once. Mr. Gold stood just behind her, wearing only his dark red shirt. With the first two buttons undone, and missing the tie, he looked almost like a different man. She had met him only twice now, but by the way, the was standing awkwardly, not meeting her eyes she could tell looking like this was almost equal to being undressed. She blushed fiercely at the thought and tried to mask it by coughing.

Great, Belle. Let's make it more awkward than it already is, why don't you.

"Please tell me the coffee didn't burn you." 

The corner of his lips twitched just so slightly.

Now he probably thinks me stupid.

"The layers of clothing have many advantages it seems," he answered, and Belle's eyes moved to his jacket and waistcoat that he draped over his arm. She nodded.

"I'll get it cleaned for you."

His head snapped towards her, his brow furrowed.

"There's no need - "

"Mr. Gold," she interrupted, aiming for a firm tone. "I ruined it so at least let me make up for it." He was hesitating she could tell. "Please?"

He looked at her closely as if assessing if she had some ulterior motive or not. Finally, after what had felt like forever, he extended the bundle of clothes towards her.

"You can tell the dry cleaner to add it to my bill."

"There's no need. I'll pay for it."

"Miss French - "

"I think I can afford a dry cleaner once in a while, Mr. Gold," she cut in, raising an eyebrow at him. He bowed his head.

"Of course. I've never assumed otherwise. My apologies."

"I threw a coffee at you. It's me who should be apologizing."

"Well, I assure you others would pay to do just that. You might have just gained new popularity points with that."

"I, ah, I've never aimed for that..."

"A woman like yourself and not popular is a hardly believable thing."

"Um, no, actually not," she answered awkwardly, casting her eyes down. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Belle didn't know what to say to make it disappear. How was it possible that at the same time, she wanted to keep things to herself and to share them with this man? She hugged his jacked closer wishing to disappear. And it was going so well.

Mr. Gold cleared his throat.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable in any way, Miss French."

"No! You didn't! I mean... Look, " screw it. Ruby had said to be honest once, what she had to lose? "I'm not especially good at sharing... It's-It's a work in progress." She finished lamely. 

She couldn't look him in the eyes and was sure that she had messed this up, but when she glanced his way, he was smiling faintly.

"I quite understand what you mean; believe me." 

Her shoulders sagged in relief, and she risked a small, timid smile. Something warm bloomed inside her chest. Huh, a weird feeling - confusing even. Gold kept looking her way with a look on his face she couldn't interpret then cleared his throat and tapped his cane on the floor.

"I must get back to open my shop. If you excuse me."

"Mr. Gold?" she called him before he could reach the exit. "Didn't you want something from the library?"

The look on his face could be comical, and she suppressed the urge to giggle.

"Oh, yes. Wouldn't you happen to have something for a boy of ten?"

She smiled.

"Any particular subject?"

"He happens to be quite fascinated with the dinosaurs lately and dragons." He added after a thought. She nodded already looking through the catalogue in her head.

"I may have just the thing. I'll be right back. In the meantime, you can fill in the form for the library card, would that be all right?"

He nodded, and she disappeared between the shelves. It didn't take her long to locate the one book she had in mind. She got back and put it on the desk, sliding it towards Mr. Gold.

"There are others, but I think your son would enjoy this one first."

Gold's head snapped up from where he was reading the title on the cover. He was staring not saying a thing, and she was beginning to berate herself for saying too much when his expression cleared and he nodded.

"I think he'll love it. Thank you."

He tucked the book under his arm and limped towards the exit. Belle let out a sigh and began to enter the data to the computer, trying not to think about the way he looked like just in his shirt and sleeve garters.

"Miss French?"

She looked up startled. He didn't leave yet. Instead, he stood with one hand on the doorknob, looking hesitant.

"Yes, Mr. Gold?"

"May I offer you a deal?"

She frowned, not completely understanding.

"What kind?"

"Truth for a truth. You tell me something about yourself, and in exchange, I do the same. Each time we met."

"Two socially inept people helping each other out?"

The corner of his lip curved upwards. 

"Exactly."

Her heart rate increased. Was she able to do that? She was about to say her excuse why it was a bad idea when something had stopped her. Mr Gold looked just as uncertain as she did, even tho he tried to mask it. He was taking a leap of faith, why she didn't know, but she could see hope hiding in his gaze. Could Ruby be right? 

Do a brave thing.

Belle smiled. "It's a deal, then."

Gold broke into a broad grin.

"To the next time, miss French."

As he left the library, the grin transformed into a soft smile. Gold still didn't understand what was going on with him, but he was beginning to suspect. The deal was a  bold move - he had almost left without saying a thing, before deciding to throw caution to the wind. And it had paid off. 

Gold crossed the street with a lightness to his steps. Curiosity, that what it was. It had been s many years since he had felt it that it must have been it. Confusion and Curiosity were almost the same things, after all, so that had to be it.

The bell above the door jingled announcing his arrival.

"Well, it seems the hell has frozen over - Mr Gold in nothing but a shirt. I should take pictures because nobody will believe me."

Gold grimaced suddenly remembering his state of undress, before turning towards the owner of the voice.

"No word will get out, and your next rent will be surprisingly lower."

"Careful, Gold. At this rate, you will find me walking rent-free."

Missus Lucas stood behind his counter, arms crossed with a satisfied, smug look on her face. Gold restrained himself from any further comments that just asker for being said.

"I hope Neal didn't cause any trouble."

"That boy? He couldn't be trouble even if he wanted," Granny shook her head and circled the counter. "No idea who he got that from."

"Believe me, Missus Lucas, I keep asking myself the same question."

"Papa!" and speak of the devil the boy in question ran out at full speed from around the curtain and collided with Gold's knees, wrapping his small hands around Gold's waist. "Granny has brought me the apple pie!"

"Did she now? Is there anything left?"

"He would have eaten the whole piece," missus Lucas said, shaking her head. "I've always said he would grow up to have a sweet tooth."

Considering the fact that Gold up to this day put three sugars in his tea, it wasn't surprising at all.

"I got you something from the library," he handed the book to his son whose eye's timidity brightened upon seeing the dinosaurs on the cover.

"Cool!" He was evidently going to say more but then frowned as if noticing something.

"Papa? Did you had to leave your clothes in exchange for the book?"

"What?" Gold spluttered taken aback by the question. He could hear Granny snorting behind his back.

"I mean... Isn't it what happened? You had your jacket before - "

"The clothes are fine, Neal. They got dirty, and I had to take care of them. No, why won't you go to the back while I say Goodbye to Missus Lucas?"

Neal nodded, satisfied with the explanation.

"Goodbye, Granny!"

The older woman shook her head in fondness, but her expression changed as soon as the boy disappeared behind the curtain. Suddenly Gold felt very unease under her gaze.

"So, you happened to be in the library and leave your clothes there, didn't you Gold?"

"There was a coffee accident if you must now, nothing inappropriate happened," he snarled back.

"Not from the lack of trying, I'm sure."

"Are you insinuating something? I really hope not, or the rent might go up after all."

"Just remember that if you hurt that girl, I'll come after you."  With that she turned around and left, leaving Gold speechless in her wake.

His fingers tightened on the golden handle of his cane as he scowled at the door. Just what exactly was the old hag thinking? That he did what? Went to the library, threw himself at the poor woman, taken the children book with him and forgot to take back the rest of his clothes?

His expression darkened.

He wasn't even in love with Miss French. He was curious about what he was. Of all the stupid assumptions...

Mr Gold turned his back to the door and limped towards the back room.

Him. In love. Ridiculous.

Or was it?

*****

Neal Gold didn't know what to think of Storybrooke. He knew that he had been born and raised here before his mother had taken him away, but that was it. No memories from his early childhood lingered, accept of some hazy flashes of his early-childhood home. He didn't know anybody yet, and some people were throwing him weird looks from time to time, but that didn't bother him. He knew it probably was because of his papa.

People didn't like his papa, and Neal couldn't understand why. Papa read him to sleep, told stories and hugged him. He bought him ice cream and made him a plush rabbit out of the old polar fleece. Yet people were throwing him nasty looks or crossing the street hurriedly when they spotted him. So at first, Neal thought he was alone in thinking it unfair, but it soon had changed.

The first time he had met Miss Belle was when he went to the library to return the dinosaur book two weeks after his papa had brought it to read. She smiled at him, and Neal had a feeling she knew who he was just from looking at him. Granny had told him once he had his papa's eyes, maybe that was how miss Belle had known.

Neal decided quite early on that he liked Miss Belle. He much preferred to stay at the library than with Granny when he needed to be looked after. Miss Belle was quiet, but she seemed to understand Neal's shyness. And yes, she smiled at him, but it was a completely different smile than when his dad was in the room. It was hard to miss. Well, hard to miss for him, his papa seemed to be oblivious to it, but she did smile more broadly, and it looked to Neal as if she acted more open. Papa's way changed too. He joked more, smiled and, on one occasion, even laughed.

Every time Neal had seen them together, they were also saying some weird stuff.

"I can't drive a car," miss Belle would say.

"I can knit," his papa would answer.

"I can play the piano."

"I can't swim."

There were many silly things like that said between them.  Always by the end of their conversations. Neal was sure there were more when he wasn't present. And sometimes, when his papa would send him to play or to look for a book he would like to read, but he wouldn't get as far as not to hear them, they would say stuff that didn't sound silly.

"My mum died when I was little. Sometimes I still miss her."

"My father left me. He died before I could make peace with him."

"I'm a slow learner. I always have this feeling of not being enough."

"I have dyslexia. Been picked upon a lot because of that."

No. Neal didn't understand one a bit why they had been saying all those stuff to each other, but he knew two things. Miss Belle liked his Papa. And Papa liked her back.

Neal was just a boy, but he wasn't stupid. They didn't like each other like he and Emma, the only kid who was willing to speak with him at school, but more like Emma's parents. Neal was sure of it. It took him a couple of months of watching them, but he couldn't understand how he was able to see this, yet both of them could not.

"How was school?"

Neal jumped surprised, clutching the papers he was holding in his hands, so lost in thoughts that he didn't hear his Papa come in into the kitchen after saying his Goodbyes to Granny. He flashed him a big smile and slid off the stool. He carefully extended one of the papers towards his father while still holding onto the other one.

Gold took it carefully into his hand, arching a curious eyebrow.

"Missus Nolan said to draw places that mattered to us," Neal said while watching carefully for his father's reaction.  The man smiled softly.

"My pawnshop?" Neal nodded, then took a step forward, peering at the page as his father lowered it slightly, so it was easier for him to see.  The boy tapped the painting with his index finger.

"That's you."

"Yes, I can see the resemblance." There was a hint of humour in his father voice - not a mocking one, but slightly amused, and Neal beamed proudly at him.

"I should really buy you a painting kit," Gold added as he saw the happiness on his son's face.

He wasn't joking - the picture was very good for a nine-year-old. From the details of various items on the displays to his person standing behind the counter leaned over what seemed to be the ledger.

Gold ruffled his son's hair fondly before limping towards the fridge and pining the picture to its doors with a magnet. He turned around with a smile. Neal looked at his work with big eyes as if not entirely believing his father would put it on display like that. Gold shook his head. The next time Neal would paint anything for him, he would definitely put it in his pawnshop if only to make his son even happier.

Only then did he notice that the boy was still holding another sheet of paper.

"And what's that?" He asked.

"Oh," Neal looked down suddenly shy, and Gold limped towards him waiting patiently for him to continue. "I-I also drew this?"

Gold gently took the shily offered sheet into his hand and had to draw a sharp breath as he saw what it depicted. It was the interior of the town's library, but the bookshelves were by the walls and a huge chandelier hanged from the ceiling. In the middle, there was Belle, but not dressed as she used to, but instead in a long, golden dress. She was holding a book, reading it with a soft smile. There was another person there. Dressed in blue. Gold had to swallow hard because he knew who the other person was, just as he had known with the other picture. It was him.

"I finished it yesterday," Neal was saying, and Gold had to force his eyes away from the painting back to his son, who rubbed his hands together in a gesture very similar to his father's. "Do you like it?"

"Of course I do," he answered without missing a beat despite his shock. "It's beautiful," he added when seeing Neal was still looking down.

Neal raised his head, smiling shyly.

"It was our homework. We had to draw a fairytale."

"And what a kind of a fairytale is this?"

"Beauty and the Beast," Neal fixed him with a look that said the answer was obvious and Gold was stupid not to see it. He looked back down at the picture giving it a second look. Oh yes. The Disney version. He shook his head with a fond smile.

"Of course, it is."

He was the Beast. And Belle was Beauty. Both of them ready to dance, by the look of it, and Gold really didn't know how to feel about that.

"Um, Papa?"

He looked up, realizing he was still staring at the picture. Neal was looking at him expectantly.

"Can I go and play with Emma today?"

"Don't you have any homework to do first?"

"I thought, maybe we could do it with Emma later?"

The boy sounded hopeful, and Gold knew one thing - it was tough to say no to his boy when he was looking at him like that.

"You are aware I'll check with Missus Nolan if it happened or not, aren't you?"

"Does it mean I can go?"

Gold couldn't help it. He smiled.

"Pack your bag. I'll drop you off."

"Yes! Thanks, Papa!"

The boy ran up to him and hugged him around the middle then bolted towards the stairs.

"Slow down, I won't drive off!" he shouted after him with amusement. "Bring the library books with you when you get down!"

"Yes, sir!" came the muffled shout from upstairs.

Gold shook his head, then put the picture on the table. He would have to think about where to put it later. Gold patted his pockets, then frowned when not finding his car keys. He limped to the living room and sure thing, he found them on the table. He heard Neal's fast footsteps as he ran down the stairs and turned around to see the boy disappearing in the kitchen.

"In here!"

The boy popped his head around the doorframe all ready a moment later with his backpack and stack of books in his hands smiling happily.

As they left home, Gold didn't notice that the fairytale picture no longer laid on the table. Nor did he see the small corner of a white sheet of paper sticking out from between the books he was about to return to the library.

He dropped Neal by the Nolans with a promise to pick him up later, then drove off towards his shop. There were still things he could take care off, like looking through the inventory, while Neal was away, but first, the stop at the library was in order. He picked the books from the backseat and after locking the car, limped across the street.

"Mr. Gold! I didn't expect to see you so soon!"

"My son, it seems, put his mind on reading every book in your children section, miss French," he answered with a smile at the enthusiastic greeting as he closed the library doors behind him.

"It's good then that there are many books left to read in there yet." She smiled at him as he approached and something stirred inside of him at this sight. That confusion that changed into the curiosity that now he believed was neither of those two and possibly never had been. In the months he had been talking with the woman, that feeling should go away. Instead, it had become stronger. It was harder to deny it for what it was.

"If you have anything about pirates I would gladly accept it," he said despite his thoughts.

"I do actually, but I might have something even better. Wait a moment."

He put the stack of books at the desk and watched her from the corner of his eye as she made way between the shelves. She was dressed in a blue dress that matched her eyes and Gold had to try very hard not to stare. He caught himself thinking how she would look like in a dress like the one Neal had drawn her in, the thought alone made his heart rate quicken.

He was hopeless.

"Here you are," Belle returned with a book in her hand and stood close to him watching his reaction. Gold arched his eyebrow in curiosity upon seeing the title.

"'20,000 Ligues Under the Sea'. Yes, I see what you mean."

"I'm a little surprised Neal's not here with you." She said while checking out the book.

"Oh, he's at the Nolans. It seems, my worries about enrolling him in school were farfetched," he answered while leaning slightly on the desk. Belle smiled at that.

"I'm happy he found a friend in Emma. She's a lovely kid, even if she's a little troublemaker."

Gold grimaced.

"Yes, well. I'm not sure who's worse influence on whom."

It was a wonder the Nolans didn't have any objections to their daughter spending time with his son, considering him being Neal's father and all. Belle seemed to read his mind as she tilted her head to the side, watching him.

"You're a good father, Mr Gold. And a good man."

"My ex-wife may differ."

"With all due respect, Mr Gold, I don't believe a woman who in all rights kidnapped her son just almost to abandon him has a say in that matter."

Gold dipped his head to hid his expression. It was almost surreal how this woman was supportive of him ever since she had learned of the story why he was away for a year. Finding his son, winning the custody battle, and then taking time away with Neal before coming back to town to make the change easier for the boy - Belle French had learned about it all. Nobody else knew the full story. Just her. And her constant support was something that Gold couldn't be grateful enough.

"Well, it's not like she's the only one in thinking that."

"They don't know you as well as I do."

"Of that, I am glad, Miss French," he answered with a small smile. She slid the book towards him, then bit down gently on her lower lip, nervously tugging a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You can call me Belle if you want. I won't mind," she said after a while, looking up at him shily.

He shook his head, fondly. He would like that very much, but it would be no good.

"As tempting as it is, you must think about your job here. Too much fraternizing with the town's villain may not sit well with others."

"There are only a handful of people whose opinion matters to me, Mr Gold. I learned a long time ago I wouldn't satisfy everyone."

"Didn't we all."

Belle smiled, not put off by his somehow bitter sounding response.

"The offer stays, and won't go anywhere."

"I'll keep that in mind, Miss French," he said as he tucked the book under his arm.

"I like dancing," Belle said which made him turn his head towards her puzzled at the sudden change in topic. "That's today's truth. I like it, but others think I don't."

"And why's that?"

She shrugged her shoulders, averting her gaze.

"I've never the been one for clubbing, probably that's why. But I do enjoy it, even tho I don't have anybody to dance with." She added.

Gold watched her closely after she threw a small smile his way. There was a trace of sadness in her eyes.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "I'm not much of a dancer, not since the car accident, but I used to enjoy it."

Her gaze snapped up to him, and he smirked at her surprised expression.

"Is this an invitation, Mr Gold?"

"It could be if you're not afraid of a crippled man stepping on your toes."

"What would people say," she said with a small smile, throwing his earlier words at him. He taped his lame leg with his cane.

"I believe that someone said something along the lines of it being overrated."

The doors to the library opened as someone walked in and Gold straightened up, his shoulders tensing at someone else's presence. It was time for him to leave.

"The offer stays, miss French," the corner of his mouth curved upwards just for her. She caught it just as the use of her previous words. He didn't wait for her replay, but limped out of the library, feeling her gaze on the back of his head.

He couldn't quite believe himself. Did he just do what he thought he did? Did he more or less invite the woman for a dance?

Gold couldn't remember the last time he had danced, but somehow Belle's confession (and she was Belle, not miss French, no matter how he denied it out loud) pushed him to say what he had thought all way since Neal's picture - that he would like that scene to happen for real. So he had said it without thinking, but as he limped towards his shop, Gold couldn't say he regretted it. On the contrary, it was as if some weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Weird. Maybe it was because he had finally understood what that thing he had been feeling towards Belle. It wasn't confusion, nor curiosity. It was love. And Robert Gold was utterly screwed because he didn't know what to do about it. He would be lucky if the woman would like to have anything to do with him (which surprisingly seemed to be the case), but to reciprocate the feeling? Improbable at best.

The mental image of her in a golden dress didn't help matters at all.

***

Belle kept her gaze on the doors up to the moment she couldn't see Gold anymore beyond them, their conversation running in her mind on a loop. She hadn't expected him to respond as he had. More than that, she was still surprised at how easily she was teasing the man. After all those months it still shocked her, because every time she had been talking with Mr Gold, Belle felt like someone else eternally. With no one else she was able to be so open, not even with Ruby. And Gold understood her. He had never rushed her or pushed her to say more than she was willing to.

Belle caught herself smiling. God, she was helpless. And Ruby was right - she did fancy her landlord. Belle would even risk saying it was more than a simple crush. A crush would have passed, yet the emotions she was feeling lingered. It didn't help tho that despite her willingness to open more to Gold, she was still afraid to make the next move. Because for all the talk about bravery, Belle was scared of rejection. At least this way she had something akin to friendship. Even tho she couldn't seem to convince the man to use her first name.

Belle shook her head in fondness. How could anyone think this man some sort of an evil imp, she would never understand. All others had to do was to look at the way he acted with his son to know who he really was. It seemed some people prefered to see what that they wanted to. Oh, she wasn't stupid or naive; she had seen him interact with others, especially when crossed with them, he could be quite brutal with words then. But she had also noticed quite early on, that when acting like that he usually had very good reason to.  Yet, in all those months, Gold had never raised his voice at her, not even once.  To her, he was an excellent gentleman.

And then there was today's conversation. She really didn't know what to think.

Belle looked at the clock. Aside from Gold, only three people had visited the library so far, and it didn't look like any more would come anytime soon. It would be a good time to put the returned books to their places. Those from yesterday's evening were the first to go. Soon only one stack was left. Belle looked to the side where Neal's books were lying and smiled while picking up the first one. Mr Gold was right, with a tempo like that the boy would soon finish all the age-appropriate books. She was about to move to replace them on the shelves when a paper sticking out between the volumes caught her eye.

Belle's curiosity changed into shock as she saw the painted picture that was hidden. A child's drawing and unmistakenly Neal's. Her throat felt suddenly tight as she looked at her face staring at her from the paper. And she wasn't alone.

Why would Neal draw his father and her in what looked to be a scene from Beauty and the Beast? It was beautiful, but what caught Belle's eye the most was the expression on Gold's face. It was soft and unguarded (as much as she could tell, Neal was very good for his age, but he was still just a child.). Was he always smiling at her like in the picture?

Belle swallowed and tore her eyes from the drawing with difficulty. Her heart was beating wildly, and all her instincts were telling her to stay where she was and not do a thing. But she couldn't. Not this time.

Do a brave thing, and the bravery will fallow.

Belle grabbed her keys from the desk and walked out from the library with the drawing still clutched in her sweaty palm. She crossed the street, not really looking at her surroundings as the nerves were almost eating her alive. If she were more focused, she would have spotted two small figures following her from a distance. But she wasn't so Belle reached the pawnshop oblivious to the spies on her tail.

The small bell above the door jingled at her entrance. The shop looked deserted, but as it wasn't closed, then the owner must lurk somewhere. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Gold?" Her voice sounded nervous, and she had to clear her throat. It didn't help much.

"I'm sorry the shop is closed - Miss French," Gold limped from the back room, but stopped short upon seeing her. He quickly recovered and leaned on his cane. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Did something happen?"

"Um, I think... I think it belongs to you?"

She nervously approached him and watched as the smirk on his face gave way to confusion to be then replaced by understanding as she handled him the drawing. He didn't say anything, just looked intensively at it as the silence stretched between them. It felt heavy, more than ever before, and Belle couldn't stop herself from stepping from one foot to the other with a twisting feeling in her stomach.

"Where did you get this?" He finally asked, almost in a whisper. 

"It got caught between the books. I, well, I thought you might want it back."

"It's Neal's. I hope you don't feel offended by it."

He still wasn't looking at her, and Belle frowned at how distant his voice sounded.

"Why would I?"

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. He's just a child."

Her frown deepened. 

"Mr Gold, why would I be offended by Neal drawing me as a princess?"

"I'm sure you would prefer someone other for the prince. I don't know why he did that. I apologize and promise it won't happen again."

He turned around hastily to move away. His posture stiff as putting an invisible wall between them.  It was as if he wanted to escape from her, and all of it because of the drawing. She didn't want it - him pulling himself away from her. Belle's heart screamed for him not to do it, and her body followed.

"Mr Gold, wait!" her hand shot out clutching him by the elbow, stopping him in his tracks. He stood utterly still, and only then, Belle realized that it was the first time any of them had touched one another aside from the dreaded coffee accident. She swallowed hard, suddenly out of words.

Gold slowly turned around, finally looking her in the eyes. They were uncertain, and Belle wondered if hers were too. Her mouth felt dry, and she had to wet her lips, hoping it would help. It didn't.  Her hand still didn't let go. She wanted to say something to reassure him. To say it was alright that she didn't want anybody else for the prince, that for her, it was perfect. To ask why his son had drawn them as he had, what had he seen that made him do it, but at that moment, while looking Gold in the eyes, she knew. And something else eternally left her mouth.

"I have never been kissed before."

His eyes winded, and she watched him swallow.

"It's not good to tell lies, miss French," he replayed with a strained voice.

"It's not a lie. The absolute truth."

He watched her, his eyes danced over her face for any indication that she was making fun of him, but finding nothing. She held his gaze steadily, even if her heart was beating so fast it hurt.

"I'm sorry, it's hard to believe that the woman so beautiful as you haven't been kissed even once."

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

"Well, it seemed I wasn't interesting enough for men," she said, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

"Then those men were fools," he huffed offended without missing a beat, making her smile widen.

"It was supposed to be a truth for a truth, Mr Gold."

"I wasn't lying about that either, Miss French. But I guess it wasn't personal enough..." He stopped himself before looking down. It seemed he was wrestling with something before he raised his gaze back up, and Belle had to try very hard not to gasp at the look in his eyes. "There is one thing I've wanted to do for some time... I didn't really know I wanted it at first - too much of a coward, I suppose to admit what was staring right at me..."

He drifted off, but slowly his left hand came up to tug the stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Belle had to suppress a shudder at the contact.

"What is it?" she whispered, mesmerized by his gaze.

Gold took a step closer, his gaze fleeting for a moment to her parted lips, before meeting her eyes again and swallowing. They were so close, their chests almost touching.

"You can hate me after knowing, Belle."

Belle. She loved the way he said her name. His voice bearly above the whisper, his eyes dark pools that she couldn't look away from.

"We won't know it, till you say it."

"I would better show it."

He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and Belle closed her eyes as his lips closed over hers. The kiss was soft, almost like a brush of a feather, as if Gold was still little afraid of her reaction. Afraid she would push him away. She didn't. The anxiety she had felt before coming to the shop that lingered up to this moment, simply vanished, leaving her lightheaded. The kiss ended as quickly as it happened, and Belle opened her eyes to see Gold looking at her worriedly still only a breath away from her. She smiled.

"I may need to check one more time to decide about the hating part, Mr Gold," she said teasingly and beamed with happiness at seeing his features relax before he broke into a wide grin.

"Ronald. My name's Ronald."

He leaned down again, and this time she met him in the middle. Belle moved her lips against his slowly, hesitantly, not eternally sure of what she should be doing. Gold didn't seem to mind her clumsy efforts; he just smiled softly against her, before tilting his head slightly to the side to make it more comfortable for her. Belle didn't know when her hand ended on his neck or when his on her arm, just that it felt more wonderful than anything that had experienced before. She wanted more, couldn't wait for more, and the thought Robert seemed to feel exactly the same made her want to weep from joy. 

Ronald.  He had given her his name. As far as she knew, no one used his first name. And with his lips moving against hers, their bodies so close to one another, she felt like flying.

"I don't believe hate is the right word to describe what I feel," she admitted after they finally broke apart.

"And what is?" He asked.

"Love. How about that?"

He smiled, his eyes glinting with mischievous, but loving sparks, making it hard to resist kissing him again, once she had tasted what it felt like Belle didn't want to stop.

"Yes. That sounds about right."

Belle grinned and pulled him towards her, stealing a small peak to the lips before throwing her arms around his neck. Gold hugged her close, closing his eyes, his heart finally slowing down.

Yes. It took him some time to properly name his emotions, but now that he had, it felt liberating. A weight that was constantly on his shoulders lifted, not only because admitting to his feelings but also because of the other thing - Belle felt the same. At this moment he promised himself one thing, he would make it right. For Belle and Neal, he would make it right, for them to be happy. He felt Belle's lips curving in a smile against his neck and promised himself he would do everything in his power not to screw it up.

"Just so you know, I'm still counting on that dance," she murmured, and he relaxed pulling away slightly, but not letting go. Gold brushed his fingers over her cheek astonished, by the loving look she was giving him.

"We can dance for forever if that's what you want."

"Oh, but then there would be no time for other things, right?"

"Close to forever then."

Belle laughed, and he couldn't help himself and let out a chuckle.

Yeah, life was looking good.

Neither Gold nor Belle noticed two small figures watching them between the blinds from outside the shop window.

"I told you the drawing would work."

"Yeah, but I was the one who drew it!"

"But the idea was mine!"

The children grinned in triumph before straightening themself and bumping their fists together. Their plan had worked. From Emma giving the idea for homework to her mother to this point and Neal couldn't be more satisfied.

"So a milkshake at Granny's?" He asked while they made their way away from the window. It would do no good for the grown-ups to spot them now.  

Emma nodded.

"Miss Lucas is waiting for the news and as the news are good... " She looked towards Neal with a smirk. Free milkshakes were too tempting to pass. "Race you!" Emma clapped him on the shoulder and runoff.

"Hey!" Neal ran after her with a lightness to his step, not missing a beat. He felt happy. Free Milkshakes were one thing, but nothing would beat the other - His Papa was happy, that was enough to make Neal laugh.

And it was just the beginning.

[kpopfoyoseoul]

Little One; Prologue

Mafia au

Word Count: 1309

Stray Kids Chan x Reader

Story by Admin A

Why do I even bother showing up? You thought as you walked home from yet another boring day being the secretary for a man who rarely ever shows up and cancels everything when he does. For the last two weeks though, no one had seen him at all. Every morning you dropped off any paperwork he needed to do at his home, only to return the next morning and find it untouched. A few times you considered using the spare key that you had accidentally found last week, just to make sure he was alright, but the stories of what happened to his previous secretaries once they entered kept you from doing so.

All of his previous secretaries had been fired, only to be found dead; their bodies barely recognizable, a few days later.  Every time, all the evidence pointed to the members of SKZ, a mafia lead by the elusive CB97. The first time they thought it was a coincidence but after the third the police realized the pattern. They made the mistake of making the information completely public, so now everyone has been spreading rumors that your boss is a member of the group.

You never believed them of course but weren't willing to risk your life should they be true. You would've already quit if your landlord hadn't upped the rent suddenly. Five times already this week the police had shown up at the office asking to speak to him, only to be told once again that he hasn't left his house in two weeks. 

Tonight you were late leaving the office because someone had only faxed over the ginormous packet of paperwork you needed to get signed by the start of business tomorrow three minutes before you were supposed to clock out. Your boss, Jiyong, had long ago made a rule that all work, other than his own, had to be done at the office for some reason. This of course, led you to being at the office for two hours later than normal, reading over every single word of the packet to check if it was correct and signing on the many lines that required it. By the time you finally got to leave the sun had long set and the last bus had shut down for the night, leaving you to walk the half-mile to your apartment completely in the dark, save for your phone flashlight, in the five-inch heels that your uniform requires.

As if that wasn't bad enough your phone battery was getting quite low. With at least 8 minutes left and the flashlight burning through the last 15 percent of your battery, there was no doubt that you would have to finish the walk in total darkness unless you took the shortcut through the alley. Normally you would, but at this time of night no one dared to go through there except criminals.

Your neighborhood is controlled by SKZ and everyone knows it.  Your landlord, Felix,  is a member of the inner circle. Even the police know but the group is so powerful that no one other than rookies desperate to prove themselves will ever do anything about him.  Despite being among CB97's highest ranked, Felix has never been anything other than nice to you.  He is honestly the best landlord you've ever had.  The only reason he upped the rent is to discourage all the people who tried to sign a lease without intending to ever pay.

Thinking about it now, you probably should have called him the second you realized your battery wouldn't last the whole walk.  He likely would have come to get you since he treats you like family.  At this point though, your battery won't even last long enough to get the call through.  You eventually decide to screw it, you're going through the shortcut.  Though you don't want to see anything illegal, you're well within SKZ territory.

By complete chance, the alley is empty tonight and you walk through undisturbed to your street.  It's a good thing that you took the shortcut because the second you get your door unlocked, the phone dies, plunging you into darkness for the few seconds before you switch on the light.  Locking the door, you drop everything on the couch, plug in your phone, and finally go to bed.

The next morning, you get up early, change into your uniform and head over to Jiyong's to drop off his paperwork as usual. When you get there, however, the door is ajar.  From what you can see without opening it any more, the inside is trashed.  Furniture flipped on its side, vases shattered, paintings splattered in red.  Of everything, this is what alarms you most. Without another thought you push the door open more and step inside, intent on finding your boss.

Carefully, you make your way through the mess, scanning for anything living.  At one point a cat scampers from the stairs to the kitchen but you pay it no mind. Seeing that he isn't on the ground floor, you slowly walk towards the stairs.  As you begin your ascent, voices slowly become audible.  Although you can't hear what they're saying, you can tell where they are, so you go in the opposite direction in hopes of finding your boss, preferably alive, before having to risk running into the owners of the voices.

Once you confirm that, no, your boss isn't on that side of the house, you start toward the voices, freezing as you get close enough to hear what is being said and recognize the deep voice and accent of your landlord.

"Chan, we can't find it. Maybe it's not here. It might be at his office instead, or maybe our intel was bad and he never had it to begin with."

"Keep looking, Bobby's intel has never been wrong before," replied Chan, "He has it and has hidden it somewhere in the house."

Another voice chimes in, "It took a while, but he's finally out. He just kept refusing to die."

"You're getting slow, I think we need to start you on anatomy training again," Chan teased.

"Whatever.  We need to get out of here before his secretary gets here," the last voice reminds as all three of them start walking.  At that, you snap out of your scared stupor and scramble to hide under an overturned armchair.  Apparently, you don't breathe quietly enough, since the footsteps stop right next to your hiding place.  A moment later, the chair is flung away, leaving you exposed to the three men.  The first two have pistols aimed at your head, while the third, Felix, just stares at you, surprised.

"Wait.  Chan, Jisung, don't hurt her.  She's one of my tenants and completely harmless."

"Then what do you suppose we do? We can't just let her go…"

"Yes we can.  She won't go to the police, and if she does we know where she lives!" Felix points out.

"He's right Jisung, we do know where she lives, but how about we give her an option.  Either she goes on with life as normal, forgets everything she saw or heard and be constantly monitored for the rest of her life, or she can come with us and we will take care of her needs. Either way works, she doesn't say anything to the cops.  But we did just kill her boss, didn't we?" reasons Chan.

Felix confirms, "We did.  She would have to find a new job."

"Those are the choices. Come with us and never have to work again, find a new job and be constantly monitored, or we do the same to you as we did to your boss.  Of course, I'd rather not have to hurt someone who accidentally got involved," Chan said as he turned back to face you, "so what do you say little one?"

Part One Coming Soon...

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Chapter: 6/7 Word count: 1980 Summary: Now attending the university here in their hometown as he begins his Master’s, Tobirama develops a problem with falling asleep in the strangest of places. Madara, poor innocent never-deserved-any-of-this Madara, gets mistaken for a mattress one too many times. All he wanted to do was focus on his career but instead he finds himself forcibly tasked with herding his secret crush towards better sleep habits. It’s driving him up the wall.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI in the blog header!

Chapter 6: Clearing The Air

Boxes. An entire sea of cardboard boxes filling up that one barren corner of his living room that he’d always meant to do something with but never really got around to it. Until now there hadn’t been anyone around to make him feel pressured in to the task and even when Tobirama had appeared he’d figured the fool wouldn’t notice anything that wasn’t food or schoolwork.

Now there were boxes and Madara had a couple of guesses as to where they came from but he was having a hard time figuring out why they chose now to appear. Luckily the man he was after had flopped down in the middle of the mess as though he intended to make himself a homework fort.

“Should I ask?” he drawled. Tobirama looked up from his phone, on which he appeared to be googling some kind of rare chemical compounds.

“My lease came up for renewal but my building manager told me he had some people willing to pay more for the apartment and he wanted me officially gone. So I suppose I really just live here now.” One careless shrug and he was lost to his research again.

Madara sat down hard on the bed-couch, still hovering in the doorway between living room and kitchen at just such an angle that he could watch TV while his self-declared roommate slept. It was too much. He had suffered quite a bit for this man, through confusion and frustration and not a few nights when it took all his self-control not to just roll his hips and take a bit of pleasure no one ever had to know about. Unfortunately he was a police officer who knew right from wrong. He was also, however, hoping to see a promotion to detective someday soon and detectives liked to find answers.

“I think I’m drawing the line,” he said.

“Hm?”

“You can’t just keep playing with me like this.”

Curious, Tobirama resurfaced from his phone. Madara had enough brainpower to at least appreciate the amount of attention he was getting as opposed to last week when Hashirama came to visit and spent over an hour trying to entice Tobirama away from the page of calculations he was studying. The rest of his brain was busy scrambling to tie the loose ends of his sanity back together so he wouldn’t fly apart under the constant confusion of this ridiculous situation between them.

“I am not playing anything,” Tobirama said, a hint of curiosity in his tone. Madara snorted.

“You sleep on me! With cuddling! And you get mad at me when I sleep without you or I can’t be there when you want to sleep and–! You kiss me! Now the moving in and I can’t! I can’t anymore!” Pulling at twin handfuls of hair, Madara’s eyes squeezed shut with the force of his emotions. “There’s no way you can tell me you haven’t noticed I’m in love with you! So just stop! No more! Okay!?”

Tobirama slowly lowered his phone down to his lap, jaw falling open to gape in shock. “Wha–?”

“Any more of this and I’ll have an actual break down and you know I’m ugly when I cry! Everyone says so! I just need…I don’t know.” Madara deflated as easily as he had gotten himself riled up.

What he needed was to hibernate for at least three seasons until these stupid feelings went away or until he starved himself to death, whichever came first. At this point either would have been good.

“No, you misunderstand me.” Tobirama set his phone aside and stood. When he stepped forward Madara scowled and leaned back. He was met with the back of their bed-couch and stayed trapped there as the other man approached, pinning him in place with narrowed eyes.

“Stop it, whatever you’re doing!”

“Be quiet for a minute and listen!” With a huff Tobirama poked him in the middle of his chest. “You think I fell asleep on you every day for several months, laid my head down on your chest when I was tired and looked for you – only you – when I needed rest, but I’m still too stupid to think there might be something between us? Why the hell would I kiss you if I didn’t like you?”

Madara pinched his lips together. “Fucked if I know.”

“You’re an idiot. And here I thought it was perfectly clear where we were headed! It’s hardly my fault you never made a move so I kissed you myself. Are you telling me you still don’t realize we’re already dating?” Tobirama poked him in the chest again with one thin finger but Madara was too busy staring to react.

“Wait what?” he asked faintly.

“Is there a specific part of that you needed me to repeat?”

“Dating!? You think we’re already dating!?”

Finally Tobirama paused, looking unsure of himself for the first time. “Are we not? You didn’t oppose me when I kissed you…” He had the gall to look more confused when Madara flailed with violent exasperation.

“Of course I didn’t ‘oppose’ you! I wanted it – and more! But I don’t want you kissing me or thinking we’re dating just because I happen to make a comfortable pillow!”

“That isn’t it at all!”

“Then tell me what the deal is here because you’ve never shown any signs that you might want something from me other than a bed buddy! I’ve been going crazy this whole time trying to hold myself together with you draped all over me and you’re telling me suddenly that you think we’re dating?” Madara snarled out of sheer frustration. “I don’t like having my feelings played with. I’ll be the first to admit that some parts of having you here have been amazing but it’s – I – this is too much. You can’t live here. You have a whole room at Hashirama’s house waiting for you! Go move in there!”

He was panting by the time he finished, a little surprised by himself. It was hard to remember the last time he’d said so much all at once without being interrupted or giving testimony on the witness stand. Tobirama gaped at him in naked shock.

“Um…can we go back to the part where you said you were in love with me? I sort of passed that over because I didn’t think you meant it seriously but…” Shuffling awkwardly, Tobirama scrubbed at one arm with the opposite hand and let his voice trail off without finishing his sentence. Madara swallowed thickly.

“We don’t, er, need to focus on that, do we?” he mumbled.

“I think we do. Namely because I…hadn’t realized. Truthfully, I hadn’t realize that you felt anything for me beyond a mere acceptance of my presence.”

“Acceptance?” Madara parroted in disbelief.

Tobirama wrinkled his nose slightly. “Knowing how you truly feel makes it seem a bit of a ridiculous assumption, I agree. I thought I had broadcasted my desire for a relationship quite clearly and yet you never seemed to have an interest so when you allowed me to rest on top of you and it turned out to be the best sleep of my entire life I saw no downsides to asking that we continue to do so.”

“Hn, ‘ask’.”

“Fair, I don’t suppose I ever truly asked anything.”

“No, you demanded,” Madara said, “with little regard for what my answer might be.”

“In any case, I kissed you because I was growing impatient and I wanted to know once and for all if you saw anything between us. Your only qualm seemed to be that you wanted more than just kissing and I thought…”

“You thought that meant we were suddenly dating!?” Madara wondered, faintly, why he made such poor life choices as to fall in love with a man stupider than himself.

Actually that wasn’t true. Tobirama wasn’t stupid, he was just socially oblivious and didn’t care much for learning how to be otherwise. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow that he had been suffering for nothing this entire time just because they both refused to open their mouths and talk like regular people with regular emotions.

He unashamedly placed most of the blame for this on Tobirama’s hands. Madara would be the first to admit that he was bad at flirting but Tobirama had given off absolutely no signals other than hatred in all the years they had known each other, right up until the day he–

“Oooooh.” Madara’s empty body drained off tension, his face going slack with wonder. “When you were off at university that first year – holy shit. That’s why you made me sit next to you and keep you warm when the heater wasn’t working.”

“Mhm.”

“You liked me back then?”

“Clearly. Why else would I have let you cuddle me like that?”

“Let me? That was another demand! You gave me no choice!” Through sheer force of will Madara managed to avoid sticking his tongue out. He was a grown man up for promotion to detective in a very respectable precinct and he would not resort to such childish measures.

He would, however, resort to crossing his arms and snorting pointedly in Tobirama’s direction. The head tilt he got in return was incredibly unsatisfying as far as reactions go.

“Question. Are we fighting right now because we’ve both been wanting to date each other but neither of us realized that the other was interested so now that we’re both on the same page we’re releasing all of that pent up tension we couldn’t discuss before?” Tobirama furrowed his brows while Madara snapped his jaw shut, both of them glaring thoughtfully across the small space between them.

“I think so,” Madara said.

Tobirama grunted. “So we could be making out instead now that we both get what’s going on?”

“We could. I’m still a little mad at you.”

“Understandable.”

Madara nodded slowly. Then he lurched upwards off the cushions and crushed their mouths together. It obviously wasn’t the first time they had kissed but it was the first time he had been able to reciprocate without feeling like he was bracing himself for some inevitable fallout afterwards. The arm of the couch behind him was all that kept him upright then as his knees went weak, hands clutching the back of Tobirama’s shirt both to hold himself up and to keep the other man as close as possible.

When Tobirama groaned against him he swallowed the sound eagerly and tilted his head for a better angle. The kiss tasted like relief, like frustration bleeding out to leave room for everything he had been pushing down to spring up instead and fill him. He felt buoyant when they pulled apart. If his feet had lifted from the ground right then he wouldn’t have been surprised – though he would have held on tighter to make certain that Tobirama came with him because just the thought of separation after such a revelation was painful.

Finally achieving the one goal he had deemed hopeless years ago, now that was a rush not even cracking the hardest case could beat.

“I guess you can stay here and live with me officially,” he murmured, deliberately offhand.

“Can we sleep in the bed now, then?” Tobirama asked. “You’re very comfortable but I’ll bet you’d be much more comfortable if I had you on a mattress.” Madara choked.

“Don’t phrase it like that!”

“Are you turning down sex?”

“Why can’t you just let me have one nice moment? Huh? Just one, that’s all I’m asking!”

Tobirama’s laughter was as pleasing to the ear as ever but it didn’t do much to dampen his annoyance this time. Still, Madara couldn’t find it in himself to get truly angry at the man – not when he finally had a chance to taste that laughter right from the source.

[braindamageforbeginners]

A New Doctor

Cycle 9, Day 10

So, I now have at least a half-dozen physicians on my case. If you believe the BMJ stat that “medical misadvenure” (which is a broad category that includes, but is not limited to, doctor error, nursing error, pharmacy screw-ups, misdiagnosis, accidental overdose/drug interactions, opportunistic infections - the list goes on) is the third-leading cause of death in America (according to the same study, heart disease is #1 and cancer is #2). So, for those for those of you setting odds on my life expectancy (and, frankly, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t), it’s been an odd, extended game of “Clue,” except I’m Mr. Body, to see if disease, side-effects, or my possibly-insane physicians will get to me first. I hate to say it, but I think I’ve finally figured the odds-on favorite in this one: my GP.

This isn’t a plea for help, or even a serious medical development on my part, it’s a warning for you, the readership, as insurance enrollment comes around. First of all, if you can’t pay, hospitals or physicians can throw you out on the street (this is something able-bodied people are so disbelieving of that took a poor black woman freezing to death on-camera in Baltimore). They are only required to treat you if you in an emergency situation, thanks to some federal laws called “EMTALA.”If you have a disease that drives you to the emergency room, the prognosis gets worse. People tend believe that just because it’s the healthcare industry, the health insurance industry isn’t a corrosive force that has a vested interest in denying care and killing you. Which is odd to me; you don’t get this anywhere else (or I haven’t experienced this sort of self-delusional attitude); you don’t see people defending McDonald’s or Nabisco or RJ Reynolds or Exxon as having their best interests at heart (and, to my friends who think they’re bullet-proof because of their health insurance, read the fine print, very, very carefully; you don’t want to get a nasty shock as you’re being rolled into the OR). So, thanks to my parent’s generosity/desire not to see me die, I rolled in last year with a very expensive PPO (there are a lot of acronyms to keep track of, but PPOs allow the patient to see anyone in a preferred provider network, which tend to be large and give the patient lots of choices, so you can directly get a referral to a neurologist if you hit your head). Unfortunately, because I have pre-existing conditions (and to my bullet-proof friends, read through the list of pre-existing conditions that’ll disqualify you, your jaw will drop)(also, it’s telling that Congressmen and Senators have the option to buy into a separate, federal employee health insurance option that’s not available to us serfs)(it’s also telling that the ACA required Congresscritters, for the first time ever, to tough it out and find health insurance like their constituents)(which is why I assume all the GOP higher-ups had melt-downs over the ACA - a slight removal of privilege to help sick constituents isn’t a part of Congressional ethos, let alone job description), my premiums went from “expensive” to “leasing a sports car” within a few months. I’m extraordinarily grateful to them for providing that financial backing, because it allowed me to continue getting treatment during the crucial 6-10 week GBM post-diagnosis period that might turn this from “Guaranteed doom” to “far too close for comfort.” So, this did give me some time to do my homework (in writing about this, I’m realizing I really should consider applying to law school, because I’ll know more about medical and insurance law and ethics than some lawyers before this is up)(Hell, I probably know more than some of them right now). Anyway, I found that all the specialists I see for cancer, do take medicaid (even the specialized pharmacy I use at the cancer center). Which is good for me, especially since being on disability in California is an automatic qualification for Medicaid. Now for the bad news; although all the specialists there take medicaid, the GPs don’t. AND the specialists only take medicaid if it’s done through an HMO carrier that the state sub-contracts with.

Great Kraken’s Balls.

There are a number of documentaries and documents (including an “Adam Ruins Everything” segment) on why HMO’s are unnecessary and lethally incompetent (like many other aspects of a for-profit medical system), but here’s the most basic deal: They act as a gate-keeper for the entire medical-industrial system. You can get your care at any of a dozen pre-approved hospitals, and nowhere else. Now, if an HMO or their doctors can’t treat you (or refuse to treat you - which is still the case for a lot of GBM patients), they are required to send you to a specialist who can. The economic incentive is to give less care, and keep all the patients in the system for as long as possible.

I suspect that delaying tactic is why heart disease and cancer are considered so deadly - you can’t sit long on either of those.

So, based on the financial folks at the cancer center, I picked one, and promptly forgot about it; because I’m already in the system there (the receptionists and pharmacy staff recognize me on sight)(which is comforting, until you realize it’s a cancer center, and then the panic briefly cuts in until you remember you’ve gone eight months without regowth or metastastis). I only remembered it when I got a call from the medicaid HMO telling me I should schedule an appointment with one of their physicians. This isn’t a big deal, I just need them to sign-off on any further black magic-based treatments with the Warlocks or Radiation Oncologist.

Now, before I go further, let’s talk about the people who go into medicine. Like anything in healthcare, we tend to give assume that an entire industry is moral, and just; when people go in for a variety reasons (as recently as 20 years ago, the vast majority of medical students said it was for money), and it’s worth noting that cuts across a vast majority of demographics and motives. And, for better or worse, that cuts across vast swathes of competence - for far too many folks, it’s a job - a rewarding job, but just a job. My father recently inquired about board exams and recertification as a way of guaranteeing some basic level of competence from everyone. He’s right, but the key word there is “basic.” Again, “basic” is fine for first aid and most major medical issues; it’s unacceptable if you have a disease with a 90% fiver-year mortality rate.

I bring this up because I think I chronicled my first appointment with my insurance-appointed GP five or six weeks ago and seemed perfectly satisfactory to my ongoing addiction to experimental chemotherapy. I’m certain it was within that time frame, because I had schedule a six-week follow-up. Which, sadly lands on my “week off” chemo. So, yesterday, after infusion #2 for this cycle (for those of you wondering what I’m doing to stay busy during infusions these days, well, rewriting Christmas carols for cancer patients)(”On the first day of chemo, the nurses gave to me, zofran in an IV”). I also convinced dear old Dad to take me out to lunch, because, again, when the Marizomib side effects hit, you do not fee like eating. This was in the neighborhood of the latest addition to my collection of medical people, so I thought I’d reschedule then. And was told by the receptionist to wait for everyone behind me to check in lest they be late for appointments. That would be fine, but it seems a fundamental misunderstanding of how queus work. And, any time post five-ish hours on infusion day, even though zofran might keep me from puking, it does give me an odd, oily, queasy sensation. I think I deserve some sort of gold star for not puking on this woman right away (again, if you have unconventional problems, feel free to start with an unconventional approach)(my next writing project will be titled, “Life Lessons from Necromancers”). I eventually - using the traditional method of looking down the reception counter, noticed someone not otherwise occupied, and manage to get an appointment more amenable to my schedule. For a physical.

Again, I’d love to use some four-letter words here, but even Finnish fails to meet the requirement. Now, it should be noted that, even though I’m well-aware that I’m physically Adonis-like; I am in chemo and recovering from radiation treatment, Radiation Oncologist implied a few months ago that, even though my scan was clean and looked good for someone with brain cancer, anyone unfamiliar with my case would probably freak out about them. Same thing with my abnormal, uh, “lab sample” I wrote about recently - the nurses agreed, a single abnormal test is hardly unexpected toward the end of chemo, especially since I’m now on a diet consisting mostly of protein, fiber, cafeine, and dangerous, experimental substances. However, I’d prefer not to have to point all that out to a new medical person who has the power to yank the plug on me (sadly, my original GP will be on vacation that week. (I’ll also be on Temodar, so there’s a solid chance my brains will be thoroughly scrambled and incapable of comprehension).

ANYWAY… WEIGHT: 198 lb CONCENTRATION: Pretty good, APPETITE: Normal (but this is 24 hours post-infusion. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Not great; the fatigue side effect definitely caught up with me and chewed me up last night. SLEEP QUALITY: Okay. although I’ve noticed that I definitely thrash around on chemo days. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Lousy. Thank Gods I don’t need the walker, and I don’t even think I need my magic ankle support, but my left leg is definitely unreliable today. MEMORY: Not bad, although I did forget my sheets were in the wash earlier today (although I recall stripping the bed and tossing them into the washer). PHYSICAL: Tired and kind of wobbly, but still a lot better than this time a year ago.. EMOTIONAL: Okay. It might just be that I spent yesterday next to my zofran-and-CDB salt-lick, but I’m starting to think I might make it through all this somewhat intact. Hang on. Am I really starting to believe my own bullshit? SIDE EFFECTS: Tired, somewhat sore (either chemo or increasing the difficulty of that stupid elliptical), and in the wrong time-zone, but, other than that, not much.  CURRENTLY READING (For Donna): Gonzo Girl, and The Explorer’s Guild (A Passage to Tshamballah)

[renaroo]

Sweet Home (2/4)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, PTSD and past trauma, Mentions of wartime Rating: T Synopsis: [Modern AU] In the aftermath of war, Wash is left with little direction in his own life. On his own, he takes up an ad for a roommate and suddenly finds himself wrapped up in the perplexing life of Doctor Emily Grey.

A/N: Okay I apologize that this chapter took SO very long to post, but I had a huge move across states and holiday shenanigans to wade through which, I know, isn’t much of an excuse but! Hopefully now I’m back and on schedule... right before Christmas. No promises but much appreciation for all of your patience!

A special shout out to Silverhuntress, Yin, @secretlystephaniebrown, and BraveSeeker3 from AO3, ffn, and tumblr for the feedback and support! You guys really help to make this experience that much more rewarding!

Home Cooked Meals

There’s something that Washington can only describe as an itch that starts inside of his skull. It visits him every time he lays his head on his pillow and tries to close his eyes, tries to fall to sleep.

It starts as a small irritation and then it grows, a throb he can’t quite place, a pressure behind his eyes that makes him nauseous.

Even in the off chance that he falls asleep, he rolls with motion in every limb. He feels flushed, and sick, and his heart will beat so wildly that he swears sometimes it’s loud enough to wake him up.

And he does wake up.

Every night, Washington wakes to darkness that fades into a dim, burning morning light through the blinds. And every night he’s certain that he’s going to be in the exact same place he was when the itch first started.

Some tent, a barrack, somewhere humid with the air stealing his breath as he tried to sleep. Somewhere not far enough from the cries and moans and groans of the triage tent. Somewhere where reveille threatens every moment. And where reveille doesn’t, gunfire does.

But as much as Washington expects the normalcy of the abnormal, the thing he can’t quite get used to is the fact that when he opens his eyes anymore it’s not to these things but to a hotel room. To a real room. To a transient halfway home. To a ward. To a home.

To Sweet Home.

Washington lays on his back in the bed that is too soft on the sheets that have too high of a thread count, and he stares at the ceiling wondering why there’s a vent blowing in cold air instead of stealing the moisture from his mouth.

He’s uncomfortable with the sweet comforts of a home that even with a lease signed doesn’t quite feel like his own.

Quite plainly, he hates it. He thinks it might be time to move on again.

But his bones ache at the challenge of relocating. His mind throbs with past scars too hard and too binding to struggle against. His eyes feel bloodshot even as he lacks the ability to sleep.

The world is too quiet. The land is too peaceful. It doesn’t feel real.

Civilian life does not feel real after war. It feels sickly naive and purposeless.

By four in the morning, still waiting for reveille, Washington gets on the floor and begins his pushups for the morning.

There isn’t an alarm clock in Washington’s new room, but there is a clock. And the moment it tells him that it’s seven he knows that he probably shouldn’t still be lying around. After all, as much as he could justify it to himself and not move for an entire day when he’s on his own, there’s this weird sense of obligation to acknowledge the day when he has a roommate.

That is something he honestly wasn’t expecting from the whole situation.

Is Emily the type of person to judge? If she is the type of person to judge does that mean she’s not someone Wash should be spending his time concerned with?

Would it be a bad thing if he just laid back and melted into his mattress during the day and found out he lived with someone who didn’t notice or care.

The itch inside Wash’s skull is acting up again so, for no other reason than to at least justify having a change of scenery.

Washington dresses himself mildly. Jeans, a worn out shirt, things from a life he barely remembered that fit like an alien skin. But it is enough to look presentable and not take the hit of a utterly terrible appearance on their first morning as roommates. Awkward and presentable and hiding beneath a persona that isn’t his own anymore but could act as a shield at least for a little while.

When he looks into the mirror, Washington doesn’t really recognize himself, but that is the point, after all.

He carries himself with a little bit of mustered up confidence and walks out of his bedroom to—

The entire house smells like maple syrup.

It is an entirely unexpected realization, one that has Washington walking cautiously out of his door and on guard due to pure bewilderment, but the further he walks toward the kitchen, the thicker the various smells and sounds of a fresh breakfast became and the more that Washington is sure that he is only on the cusps of understanding why the house has a name.

His stealth is challenged by the stacks and stacks of books which litter the halls, and despite himself Wash knocks down some sticky notes as he pushes through the doorframe of the kitchen.

Those are new since the previous day, and as much as he scrambles for the pieces of paper, there isn’t a whole lot to help him keep things in order. And in the scramble he knocks over a stack of books that crashed like a skyscraper caving in.

“Damn it,” Wash hisses at himself as he tries to figure out where the rewind button for his life is hiding.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re up, David!” Emily calls cheerfully from the kitchen.

Hearing his name makes the hairs on Wash’s neck stand on end and he drops almost half of the sticky notes he has tried desperately to save from his own clumsiness. Still, it seems small compared to the intrusion that is hearing his first name come from someone else’s mouth.

In the cluttered kitchen there is a new assortment of books on the island that hadn’t been there the night before. On one side there is a neat stack of text books on what looks like an odd combination of local history, zoology, and a few field guides for reptiles and mammals. The other side is messily arranged with cook books and self-help guides that are tattered, overused, and covered in questionable substances. Neither side is particularly comforting.

“I go by just Washington,” he corrects without thinking. Realizing that is a weird greeting in the morning, he shakes his head and refocuses on the doctor’s back as she continues to cook at the stove opposite of the kitchen to him. “Sorry. I mean, I apologize for… the mess. I didn’t see all of this here last night when you were showing me around.”

“They weren’t there,” Emily assures him. “They are my research notes for my sessions today. I was just jotting down what I thought is relevant this morning before it is time to cook breakfast.”

He levels his stare at her, raising a brow at the acute lack of interest she seems to have in apologizing for how insanely cluttered the house they are supposed to share is mostly with her stuff. But he is able to convince himself to write it off as a quirk and press forward toward the seats at the island.

After all, there is plenty of things that Emily is doing seemingly just out of the goodness of her heart that day. Not the least of which is a giant breakfast.

“It’s been a long time since I had a big meal for breakfast,” Wash tries for amicable, settling in a seat. “Military rations aren’t what they’re cracked up to be.”

“Ah, yes, military,” Emily says, turning around on her heels with a platter full of pancakes — there has to be three stacks at least ten pancakes high each, glistening with syrup and butter and who knew what else considering each battered pancake is speckled with what looks like finely chopped fruit. “That would explain your sleeping patterns. I counted at least four rotations during your two hours of consecutive rest. Dreadful. Statistically speaking.”

Wash’s eyes are still attempting to return to a normal size in his skull before he could even begin to process her comments. He blinked a few times before raising his chin and looking over the pancakes to Emily Grey herself. “Why are you observing my sleep, and what did you make these pancakes for and—“

When Grey had been turned to him, Washington took for granted that the molecular patterned robe has been hinting as to whatever nightwear that Emily is into. Not that it concerned Washington, it is simply something that he makes the poor choice of finding a non-feature considering the nerdy gear that Grey has on display the day before as she showed off Sweet Home.

Not in a million years would Washington have predicted even if given the chance, to assume that his roommate would be cooking breakfast in glorified, translucent lingers with frills and lace and garters hooked to her thong.

Almost immediately, Washington buries his head in his forearms on the table and squeezed his eyes shut as much as he could.

“Why are you in lingerie!?” Wash screeches out as soon as soon as the air returns to his lungs.

“Oh, I got caught up in my notes and then needed to start breakfast and never got around to it,” Grey answers with a hum.

“So it’s not an accident!?” Wash’s voice cracks even more.

“Hm. Mister Washington, you seem to be uncomfortable. Is this because of my food or because of my flagrant disregard for socially constructed norms?” Emily asks curiously.

For a moment more than Wash cares to admit, he actually has to consider the question and even wonder about its validity. Things that, were he rational at all, he shouldn’t require a moment’s thought to be wasted on.

“Typically if I don’t see people doing it in the streets then I assume that it’s probably not something they should be doing in company either,” he says instead.

Relief crosses Emily’s face almost immediately and she takes a deep breath as she puts a hand over her chest. “So it isn’t my cooking then!”

“What? No! Of course not. Thank you. The… Yes. Cooking is fine. I… wasn’t expecting it and…” Wash isn’t sure how she was able to turn the awkwardness on him so quickly, but he’s fully committed at that moment and he pokes at the stack of pancakes with the nearest fork. “Well, I’m not… entirely sure how I’m supposed to eat all of it, if I’m being completely honest.”

Emily looks a bit astounded, her eyebrows raising high over her glasses. “You believe you can eat the entire stack? Why, that’s absolutely fascinating…”

Beginning to grab at the hair on the sides of his head, Washington feels himself tense up. “No? I couldn’t eat… I think they smell and look delicious. Again. Thank you. But there’s no way I could—“

“Oh, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if I’d have much time to make more at this time!” Grey laughs in relief, acting as though she’s wiping sweat from her brow in a quick sweep. “You shouldn’t worry people like that when they have company on the way, Wash. You joker.”

The tenseness only amplifies at that statement and Washington gives his roommate a horrendously terrified look. “Company? What company? I didn’t know you were expecting people. I… Do I need to leave or…” He stops himself by physically reaching up with his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as his eyes squeeze close. The pinch should also serve to wake him from the nightmare of that morning if things in his life aren’t as topsy turvy as he thinks they may actually be.

Of course, he opens his eyes and is still in the oddity that is his life. So he tries to work with it.

“You seem distressed,” Emily points out worriedly.

“You have company coming and you’re in lingerie and an apron,” Washington counters.

“You’re right, that’s not very professional of me,” she remarks before smacking the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Come now, Emily, not so silly.”

Washington is beginning to run out of surprise left in his system so he eases back into the island’s first stool and awkwardly hugs his arms against his body in anticipation. “So you’re going to put… things on, right?”

“Absolutely!” she says cheerfully, taking her apron off and tossing it over the counter first. It leaves Wash no recourse but to cover his face and turn a shoulder toward her entirely. “Thank you, Washington! I knew you would be an excellent addition to this house! Tell everyone that I will be down shortly!”

Emily is passing him again and up the stairs before her words really make an impact on him.

Straightening up, Wash’s head swivels back toward the hall and stairs. “Emily? Em… Doctor Grey? What do you… When are the people supposed to be—“

As if he is part of some cosmic joke, the front door, which apparently Emily doesn’t keep locked, opens with a bell ring and standing on the porch is six teenagers who range from anxious to excited to plain bored.

And one disgusted.

“Gross. The newspaper drug dealer is going to be here for breakfast?” the girl Wash saw not that long ago at the front desk of the motel says from the side of the group, squinting at him suspiciously.

“What… Why are you…” He stops and then looks up toward the ceiling as if to glare through the second floor at Emily Grey herself. “Is she… Ms Frizzle or something?”

“Oh, man, that’s hilarious! We should start calling her that!” says the anxiety ridden boy in the front wearing a letterman jacket too big for him and bright turquoise sneakers.

“Shut up, Palomo,” the disgustingly bored kid with a lip ring snaps at him before pushing forward. “Dude, what kind of drugs do you deal?”

Washington squints. “I don’t deal drugs— Shouldn’t all of you… I don’t know. Do school or something?”

“Pay attention, Antoine, the man obviously deals in newspapers,” the tallest of the teens claims with some authority he should not feel he has.

“Oh!!” the second girl breathes thickly through large braces. “Whischech one? My mahum worsched for the Pohhsscht. Before it went under. Oh! Are yousch unemploight too?”

“Obviously that’s why he started selling drugs,” the girl from the motel desk claims.

“I don’t deal drugs!” Washington snaps angrily.

“What do you do?” the last teen, a meek boy in the back asks.

Head throbbing from frustration, Washington got to his feet and heads right for the door, rushing past the teenagers. There’s a steady thrumming in his chest that’s causing a dryness he cannot stand. And he needs to get away to clear things up, he just knows so instinctively. “I leave dramatically,” he answers sourly as he makes it to the door. “Enjoy your pancakes.”

He’s a few steps down from the porch when he hears a scathing “Way-to-fucking-go, Matthews.”

But Wash is already out. With no shoes or socks. And in pajamas.

He regrets his decisions quite a bit within the first block, but as he presses on in determination he decides that he really hates his stubbornness a lot more.

More humility probably will end up serving Washington well in the future but, until then, a few trips down the street and back made him  at least receptive to going back to Sweet Home. The gravel denting the soles of his feet and the discomfort of being in pajamas even in a neighborhood that seemingly had no one within it made him downright eager.

By the time he reaches the corner where the bizarre house he is trying to make a home, there’s a different group of people entering through the picket fence as the teenagers vacate, shooting him befuddled looks and whispering among themselves.

He hears something along the lines of I told you he was on drugs and only with gritted teeth is able to ignore it.

Looking at the house again, Washington feels the weight of the bags under his eyes as well as the uncomfortable twisting of his guts that are trying to punish him greatly for passing up on pancakes.

Practically backed into a corner by circumstance, Washington sighs heavily and goes on into the house with his annoyance in check.

The books lining the hallways are, somehow, different than the ones he nearly knocked over as he tried to leave, and there’s a large amount of arguing from the kitchen where he can barely see anything but a blur of very colorful t-shirts.

Bright clashing colors and loudness isn’t really feeling like Washington’s bag at the moment so he decides to take his rumbling stomach up the stairs and to his room so he can get dressed and maybe find some greasy fast food to waste his meager savings on. But as mornings seem to be desperate to counter his every opportunity at fleeting sanity, he hears a familiar voice come up behind him when he’s only a few steps up the stairs instead.

“Oh! David! I was hoping you would come back before the next batch of pancakes are done!” Emily called out almost in song.

Wash turns enough to really give her a look over, somewhat relieved that she’s wearing another colorful, white and purple outfit rather than, well, whatever she wanted to call her apparel before. But her bright, wide eyes and general cheer was exhausting.

“I was just going to grab some things and head out,” he informs her, throwing a thumb toward the top of the stairs. He neglects to mention that the thought is also running through his head to just grab all of the things and take off entirely.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t, there’s just too many people to meet, and with a town this small once you meet some of the people, you’ll soon know all of the people!” she says in a tone that makes Washington feel he should be delighted. But it doesn’t help provide any such delight.

“Why is the whole town eating breakfast in your kitchen?” he asks instead.

“Our kitchen,” Grey corrects him without hesitation.

“Okay,” he decides against arguing.

Grey waits for a moment before letting off a small laugh. “Silly, please, the whole town isn’t eating breakfast in the kitchen today. Just everyone on the community’s intramural volleyball team.”

Wash squints at her. “Why? And why do they think I do drugs?”

“Because everyone likes my pancakes,” Grey says like it’s an answer. “Hm. Do you do any drugs?”

“What? No,” Wash remarks, utterly offended

“Huh. That’s odd. I have no idea why they would make that kind of assumption. You know what they say about assumptions,” she sings again. When she finishes and looks back at Washington there is something softer in her expression, a gentile to her eyes that undercuts the abundant enthusiasm and high pitches just enough to change the entire mood of the conversation. “Do you not want to join us for breakfast? I can leave you some food in the warmer if you need time in the morning to go through a routine or anything. And I won’t let anyone else upstairs.”

“Yeah… I’m… I don’t feel like meeting new people today,” Washington answers keenly. “I… had enough excitement yesterday to last me a while. And I would appreciate those pancakes.”

“Alright then!” Emily says.

There’s a moment where Wash feels… relief, or something from the exchange. A small comfort from confiding, perhaps. But then the rest of his roommate’s words catch up with him and his brows furrow in despair. “Wait. Anyone else? You let people upstairs earlier?”

“Of course,” she responds like it’s a completely normal thing.

Without another word toward her, Washington rushes up the stairs to check his things.

“Alright then! See you later, David!”

“It’s Washington!” he yells back over his shoulder.

It takes him two hours to go through the very meager supplies he brought with him in the move, and by the time he finishes the house is empty and he is starving. His nerves are frayed, like they are left to discharge static after a monumental disruption. No one has taken his things, no one has gone through his things, and no one is in the house anymore to meet or watch or judge. And yet his heart is pounding.

People could have. And that possibility suddenly feels like enough to move anywhere else in the world to get away.

But, of course, the finances for that sort of escape are the very reason he is in Sweet Home to begin with.

It’s not even ten in the morning, but Washington feels like his entire day is torture.

[giraffrika]

DOING A DONATION COMMISSION POST! 

TL;DR: Friend is homeless and I'm doing donation commissions. Send me proof of donation and I'll draw almost whatever you want based on what I have listed in the attached pics. Donations go here:

https://www.paypal.me/itsmikie

If you can’t afford it now, that’s okay; spreading this post really does help!! 

The Long Version Under Cut:

Hey guys, I know this is uncharacteristic of me to make a post of this type, but I needed to make it. I know that everyone is strapped for cash this holiday season, but one of my very good friends Mikie is living out of an inn with his remaining family right now. He really doesn't have much money left to be able to afford it, and I want to help out some way.

Not only will I be sharing his post about his situation on this post (I got his permission to share it) but I am also opening up emergency commissions ish. If you make donation amounts to what I have listed and send me the screenshot of it, I'll draw (almost) anything. If you have any questions, message me (in the comments or messenger, which I'm turning notifications on for it again) about and I will try to respond as best I can. If none of this makes sense, I'm sorry lol. Thank you anyone who even reads this or donates. Not only are you saving someone from living on the streets, but you're also getting some sweet art from it hopefully!

Anyway's here's Mikie's post:

"I hate that it had to come to this but I got completely blindsided and had the rug pulled out from under me. I live with my grandfather, his daughter and her two children (her daughter is 23, her son is 18). I’ve lived with my grandparents because my grandma’s health kept declining over years and it became clear that I was the only one who could reliably care for them as my aunt was in and out of jail/prison regularly. After my grandmother passed away a few years back, a lot of the financial responsibilities and general house management stuff fell to me with my grandpa choosing to handle a few specific things himself, namely mortgage and part of the utilities. Over time it became clear that he didn’t want me to handle those because he didn’t want me to know how bad the debt was or how poorly he had handled it and other debts after my grandma’s passing.

At the beginning of this year my grandpa had to go in for open heart surgery and had to spend time recovering in the hospital, and this meant he had no choice but to finally let me handle all of the financial responsibilities. This is when he finally revealed to me that we were facing foreclosure unless he came up with the FULL 10,000 or so dollars he had fallen behind on payments over the years. The bank stopped accepting a monthly payment or partial payment of the debt, demanding a full payment all at once or foreclosure. We weren’t able to make it, and chose to try selling the house. Long story short, we barely managed to sell the house and walk away breaking completely even. My grandpa’s 50something year old son had said that we could come stay with him until we get our own place and back on our feet, which would only take a couple months just to find and lease a place. So for months, we’ve been planning and figuring things out with that in mind. Finally, the house sold and we were told we needed to be out of this house no later than November 14th. At the beginning of november, my grandpa’s son calls him and tells him that, no, he wouldn’t be taking all of us in. Just my grandpa, that me and my 18 year old cousin were on our own, recommending we join the army and “make something of ourselves”. Also stating he was uncomfortable with having me move in anyway, because he “doesn’t really approve of that lifestyle”, criticizing that I’m 30 and single, that he thinks I might be gay, that he thinks anyone my age who still plays video games “probably isn’t great to have around”, working from home is a sign of instability, etc Also saying that “an 18 year old can find a job and land on their feet really easy”, saying when HE was 18, he left home, got a job and his own apartment, etc, “no reason AJ can’t!” So it was dropped on me to find somewhere for my cousin and I. He said that, at least, he’ll give his dad the money to rent a uhaul to drive over. And then today, his son called to tell him that, he can’t take his dad in either. Now’s not a good time, he’s not sure he has the room after all, he has to go in for surgery, excuses excuses He wasn’t giving him any money, either. I’ve been scrambling to find us a place to stay, with only the money to my name because my grandpa spent the money he had and wasted it on using it to pay for the bail to get my other cousin out of jail, some other legal fees that came from having her daughter taken away, and other shit like that. He also didn’t want to tell me at first, but he had been giving his son money to fix some things in his home that he said needed to be fixed in order to accommodate us. This lead to a series of very bad arguments and discussions where my grandpa finally conceded that he’s bad with handling money and planning these things, and that leaving everything up to people who have been unreliable in the past has left us in this horrible, horrible position. From now on, I’ll be handling all of it. Once the 1st comes and we collectively get paid, we could afford the deposit and rent for a place to accommodate us no problem, but of course that’s more than two weeks from now. So, I guess this is where I get to the point. I am in desperate need of help and am literally facing homelessness.

I only have $200 to my name after paying bills, renting a storage unit and paying for my grandfather’s medication and certain medical supplies and my income relies on me being able to work on my computer, so making money during this transient period will be difficult. I sorry I have to put it so bluntly but I am on my hands and knees begging for help. Every cent of the money I get will go towards getting a place for us to stay, even if it just has to be in a shitty motel for a couple of weeks until the home we want to rent becomes available and we get paid and have the full amount to pay for it. Please, help us. My grandpa is a good man who’s just made a few bad steps and his only mistake was believing he could put his full faith and trust in his family. My cousin is a good kid who trusts me and his grandpa, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to either of them.

my paypal is omgtehmaikeru@hotmail.com

or one of these links

https://www.paypal.me/itsmikie

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr… "

[stephenmccull]

Pandemic-Stricken Cities Have Empty Hospitals, But Reopening Them Is Difficult

As city leaders across the country scramble to find space for the expected surge of COVID-19 patients, some are looking at a seemingly obvious choice: former hospital buildings, sitting empty, right downtown.

In Philadelphia, New Orleans, and Los Angeles, where hospitalizations from COVID-19 increase each day, shuttered hospitals that once served the city’s poor and uninsured sit at the center of a public health crisis that begs for exactly what they can offer: more space. But reopening closed hospitals, even in a public health emergency, is difficult.

Philadelphia, the largest city in America with no public hospital, is also the poorest. There, Hahnemann University Hospital shut its doors in September after its owner, Philadelphia Academic Health System, declared bankruptcy. While not public, the 496-bed safety-net hospital mainly treated patients on public insurance. Philadelphia Mayor Jim Kenney began talks with the building’s owner, California-based investment banker Joel Freedman, as soon as his administration saw projections that the demand for hospital beds during the pandemic would outpace the city’s capacity. Not long after negotiations started, city officials announced the talks were going badly.

“Mr. Freedman was difficult to work with at times when he was the owner of the hospital, and he is still difficult to work with as the owner of the shuttered hospital,” said Brian Abernathy, who is Philadelphia’s managing director and heading the city’s COVID-19 response.

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In New Orleans, where the soaring COVID-19 infection rate is disproportionately high compared with its population, Charity Hospital sits vacant in the middle of town. The former public hospital never reopened after Hurricane Katrina in 2005. The Louisiana State University System, which owns the building, incorporated Charity Hospital into the city’s new medical center, but the original building remains vacant. Instead of using it during the pandemic, the New Orleans Convention Center is being converted to a “step-down” facility with the capacity to treat up to 2,000 patients after they no longer need critical care.

Elsewhere, city governments have struck deals with the owners of empty hospital buildings to lease their space. At St. Vincent Medical Center in Los Angeles, the city is paying $236 per night per bed, for a total of $2.6 million each month.

In Philadelphia, Freedman offered the Hahnemann building to the city for $27 per bed per night, plus taxes, maintenance and insurance, which the city would pay directly. All told, that added up to just over $900,000 per month.

“I think he is looking at how to turn an asset that is earning no revenue into an asset that earns some revenue, and isn’t thinking through what the impacts are on public health,” Abernathy said of Freedman. “I think he’s looking at this as a business transaction rather than providing an imminent and important aid to the city and our residents.”

This isn’t the first time Freedman has come under fire by Philadelphians for his handling of the hospital. Its closure sparked protests from city officials, health care unions, and even presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders. Critics speculated that Freedman, whose private equity firm bought the struggling hospital in 2018, didn’t try in earnest to save it and planned to flip it for its valuable downtown real estate. Notably, Hahnemann’s real estate was parsed out into a separate company, Broad Street Healthcare Properties, also owned by Freedman, and not included in Philadelphia Academic Health System’s Chapter 11 bankruptcy petition.

A representative for Freedman said the building has an interested buyer, and that is one reason Broad Street Healthcare will not let the city use the building at cost.

“We’re offering this facility because of the public benefit in a health crisis, but it comes at a cost to the property owner,” said Broad Street representative Sam Singer.

As urban hospitals have struggled in recent years, it’s become increasingly common for private equity to get involved: Big firms buy struggling medical centers with the promise of financial support and to improve their operations and business strategy. When things go right, the business succeeds, and the private equity firm sells it in a public offering or to another bidder for more than it paid.

In other cases, though, the firms load companies up with debt, take dividends out for themselves, sell off valuable real estate and charge fees and high-interest loans, leaving a company in a much weaker position than it would have been otherwise, and often on the verge of bankruptcy.

“The house never loses,” said Eileen Appelbaum, co-director at the Center for Economic and Policy Research. “The private equity firm makes money whether the company succeeds or it doesn’t.”

For instance, Steward Health Care was able to expand from its base in Massachusetts to a 36-hospital network nationwide with backing from Cerberus Capital Management. Now, said Appelbaum, the chain of community hospitals is stuck paying rent to Iasis, another private equity-owned company, on all its properties, while also struggling to stay in the black. The network announced last week it would furlough non-clinical workers across nine states because the requirement to cancel elective surgeries caused too great a financial strain.

Freedman’s private equity firm is called Paladin Healthcare, and it has previously bought and managed hospitals in California and Washington, D.C., where it helped the struggling Howard University Hospital out of the red. Paladin then sold the hospital to Adventist HealthCare last summer.

Urban hospitals like Hahnemann have struggled to stay afloat in recent years, in part due to their lack of privately insured patients. Hospitals often finance the care of uninsured patients or those on Medicaid by treating those with private insurance, which reimburses the hospitals faster and at a higher rate. At Hahnemann, two-thirds of patients were on Medicaid or Medicare. While a financially struggling public or nonprofit hospital might continue serving a poorer community, a for-profit hospital has different incentives, said Vickie Williams, a former law professor for Gonzaga University.

“If your urban hospital is purchased by a for-profit company and it doesn’t perform sufficiently, they don’t have the same necessarily mission-driven directives to keep that hospital functioning for the good of the community at a loss,” said Williams, who is now senior counsel for CommonSpirit Health in Tacoma, Washington.

Freedman has said that he tried to sell the Hahnemann property to a nonprofit and requested money from the city and state to keep it open, but neither option worked.

Following news that Philadelphia had abandoned negotiations with Freedman, calls to seize the property in order to save lives came pouring in, including from elected officials.

“Eminent Domain was created for situations like #Hahnemann,” City Council member Helen Gym wrote on Twitter. “This is a public health emergency and Philly is the largest city in the nation WITHOUT a public hospital. We cannot allow unconscionable greed to get in the way of saving lives. Eminent domain this property.” Legal experts say the lengthy process of eminent domain and the requirement to pay the owner fair market value for the building make it an unlikely mechanism for an instance like this.

But in public health emergencies, local, state and federal governments do have broad authority to commandeer private property, such as hotels, convention centers, university dormitories or even defunct hospitals for disaster response. Williams, whose research has focused on preserving hospital infrastructure during a pandemic, said that so far in the United States, that hasn’t had to happen ― at least not in the traditional sense.

In Pennsylvania, the governor’s emergency declaration gives him the authority to “commandeer or utilize any private, public or quasi-public property if necessary to cope with the disaster emergency.” A health department representative said all options remain on the table in the event that the city’s hospital bed capacity is overrun.

In the interim, the mayor made a deal with Temple University to use its basketball arena, which would have the capacity to treat 250 non-critical patients, at no cost to the city.

This story is part of a partnership that includes WHYY, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

Pandemic-Stricken Cities Have Empty Hospitals, But Reopening Them Is Difficult published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

[dinafbrownil]

Pandemic-Stricken Cities Have Empty Hospitals, But Reopening Them Is Difficult

As city leaders across the country scramble to find space for the expected surge of COVID-19 patients, some are looking at a seemingly obvious choice: former hospital buildings, sitting empty, right downtown.

In Philadelphia, New Orleans, and Los Angeles, where hospitalizations from COVID-19 increase each day, shuttered hospitals that once served the city’s poor and uninsured sit at the center of a public health crisis that begs for exactly what they can offer: more space. But reopening closed hospitals, even in a public health emergency, is difficult.

Philadelphia, the largest city in America with no public hospital, is also the poorest. There, Hahnemann University Hospital shut its doors in September after its owner, Philadelphia Academic Health System, declared bankruptcy. While not public, the 496-bed safety-net hospital mainly treated patients on public insurance. Philadelphia Mayor Jim Kenney began talks with the building’s owner, California-based investment banker Joel Freedman, as soon as his administration saw projections that the demand for hospital beds during the pandemic would outpace the city’s capacity. Not long after negotiations started, city officials announced the talks were going badly.

“Mr. Freedman was difficult to work with at times when he was the owner of the hospital, and he is still difficult to work with as the owner of the shuttered hospital,” said Brian Abernathy, who is Philadelphia’s managing director and heading the city’s COVID-19 response.

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Subscribe to KHN’s free Morning Briefing.

Sign Up

Please confirm your email address below:

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In New Orleans, where the soaring COVID-19 infection rate is disproportionately high compared with its population, Charity Hospital sits vacant in the middle of town. The former public hospital never reopened after Hurricane Katrina in 2005. The Louisiana State University System, which owns the building, incorporated Charity Hospital into the city’s new medical center, but the original building remains vacant. Instead of using it during the pandemic, the New Orleans Convention Center is being converted to a “step-down” facility with the capacity to treat up to 2,000 patients after they no longer need critical care.

Elsewhere, city governments have struck deals with the owners of empty hospital buildings to lease their space. At St. Vincent Medical Center in Los Angeles, the city is paying $236 per night per bed, for a total of $2.6 million each month.

In Philadelphia, Freedman offered the Hahnemann building to the city for $27 per bed per night, plus taxes, maintenance and insurance, which the city would pay directly. All told, that added up to just over $900,000 per month.

“I think he is looking at how to turn an asset that is earning no revenue into an asset that earns some revenue, and isn’t thinking through what the impacts are on public health,” Abernathy said of Freedman. “I think he’s looking at this as a business transaction rather than providing an imminent and important aid to the city and our residents.”

This isn’t the first time Freedman has come under fire by Philadelphians for his handling of the hospital. Its closure sparked protests from city officials, health care unions, and even presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders. Critics speculated that Freedman, whose private equity firm bought the struggling hospital in 2018, didn’t try in earnest to save it and planned to flip it for its valuable downtown real estate. Notably, Hahnemann’s real estate was parsed out into a separate company, Broad Street Healthcare Properties, also owned by Freedman, and not included in Philadelphia Academic Health System’s Chapter 11 bankruptcy petition.

A representative for Freedman said the building has an interested buyer, and that is one reason Broad Street Healthcare will not let the city use the building at cost.

“We’re offering this facility because of the public benefit in a health crisis, but it comes at a cost to the property owner,” said Broad Street representative Sam Singer.

As urban hospitals have struggled in recent years, it’s become increasingly common for private equity to get involved: Big firms buy struggling medical centers with the promise of financial support and to improve their operations and business strategy. When things go right, the business succeeds, and the private equity firm sells it in a public offering or to another bidder for more than it paid.

In other cases, though, the firms load companies up with debt, take dividends out for themselves, sell off valuable real estate and charge fees and high-interest loans, leaving a company in a much weaker position than it would have been otherwise, and often on the verge of bankruptcy.

“The house never loses,” said Eileen Appelbaum, co-director at the Center for Economic and Policy Research. “The private equity firm makes money whether the company succeeds or it doesn’t.”

For instance, Steward Health Care was able to expand from its base in Massachusetts to a 36-hospital network nationwide with backing from Cerberus Capital Management. Now, said Appelbaum, the chain of community hospitals is stuck paying rent to Iasis, another private equity-owned company, on all its properties, while also struggling to stay in the black. The network announced last week it would furlough non-clinical workers across nine states because the requirement to cancel elective surgeries caused too great a financial strain.

Freedman’s private equity firm is called Paladin Healthcare, and it has previously bought and managed hospitals in California and Washington, D.C., where it helped the struggling Howard University Hospital out of the red. Paladin then sold the hospital to Adventist HealthCare last summer.

Urban hospitals like Hahnemann have struggled to stay afloat in recent years, in part due to their lack of privately insured patients. Hospitals often finance the care of uninsured patients or those on Medicaid by treating those with private insurance, which reimburses the hospitals faster and at a higher rate. At Hahnemann, two-thirds of patients were on Medicaid or Medicare. While a financially struggling public or nonprofit hospital might continue serving a poorer community, a for-profit hospital has different incentives, said Vickie Williams, a former law professor for Gonzaga University.

“If your urban hospital is purchased by a for-profit company and it doesn’t perform sufficiently, they don’t have the same necessarily mission-driven directives to keep that hospital functioning for the good of the community at a loss,” said Williams, who is now senior counsel for CommonSpirit Health in Tacoma, Washington.

Freedman has said that he tried to sell the Hahnemann property to a nonprofit and requested money from the city and state to keep it open, but neither option worked.

Following news that Philadelphia had abandoned negotiations with Freedman, calls to seize the property in order to save lives came pouring in, including from elected officials.

“Eminent Domain was created for situations like #Hahnemann,” City Council member Helen Gym wrote on Twitter. “This is a public health emergency and Philly is the largest city in the nation WITHOUT a public hospital. We cannot allow unconscionable greed to get in the way of saving lives. Eminent domain this property.” Legal experts say the lengthy process of eminent domain and the requirement to pay the owner fair market value for the building make it an unlikely mechanism for an instance like this.

But in public health emergencies, local, state and federal governments do have broad authority to commandeer private property, such as hotels, convention centers, university dormitories or even defunct hospitals for disaster response. Williams, whose research has focused on preserving hospital infrastructure during a pandemic, said that so far in the United States, that hasn’t had to happen ― at least not in the traditional sense.

In Pennsylvania, the governor’s emergency declaration gives him the authority to “commandeer or utilize any private, public or quasi-public property if necessary to cope with the disaster emergency.” A health department representative said all options remain on the table in the event that the city’s hospital bed capacity is overrun.

In the interim, the mayor made a deal with Temple University to use its basketball arena, which would have the capacity to treat 250 non-critical patients, at no cost to the city.

This story is part of a partnership that includes WHYY, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/coronavirus-pandemic-stricken-cities-abandoned-hospitals-conversion-reopening/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Pandemic-Stricken Cities Have Empty Hospitals, But Reopening Them Is Difficult

As city leaders across the country scramble to find space for the expected surge of COVID-19 patients, some are looking at a seemingly obvious choice: former hospital buildings, sitting empty, right downtown.

In Philadelphia, New Orleans, and Los Angeles, where hospitalizations from COVID-19 increase each day, shuttered hospitals that once served the city’s poor and uninsured sit at the center of a public health crisis that begs for exactly what they can offer: more space. But reopening closed hospitals, even in a public health emergency, is difficult.

Philadelphia, the largest city in America with no public hospital, is also the poorest. There, Hahnemann University Hospital shut its doors in September after its owner, Philadelphia Academic Health System, declared bankruptcy. While not public, the 496-bed safety-net hospital mainly treated patients on public insurance. Philadelphia Mayor Jim Kenney began talks with the building’s owner, California-based investment banker Joel Freedman, as soon as his administration saw projections that the demand for hospital beds during the pandemic would outpace the city’s capacity. Not long after negotiations started, city officials announced the talks were going badly.

“Mr. Freedman was difficult to work with at times when he was the owner of the hospital, and he is still difficult to work with as the owner of the shuttered hospital,” said Brian Abernathy, who is Philadelphia’s managing director and heading the city’s COVID-19 response.

Email Sign-Up

Subscribe to KHN’s free Morning Briefing.

Sign Up

Please confirm your email address below:

Sign Up

In New Orleans, where the soaring COVID-19 infection rate is disproportionately high compared with its population, Charity Hospital sits vacant in the middle of town. The former public hospital never reopened after Hurricane Katrina in 2005. The Louisiana State University System, which owns the building, incorporated Charity Hospital into the city’s new medical center, but the original building remains vacant. Instead of using it during the pandemic, the New Orleans Convention Center is being converted to a “step-down” facility with the capacity to treat up to 2,000 patients after they no longer need critical care.

Elsewhere, city governments have struck deals with the owners of empty hospital buildings to lease their space. At St. Vincent Medical Center in Los Angeles, the city is paying $236 per night per bed, for a total of $2.6 million each month.

In Philadelphia, Freedman offered the Hahnemann building to the city for $27 per bed per night, plus taxes, maintenance and insurance, which the city would pay directly. All told, that added up to just over $900,000 per month.

“I think he is looking at how to turn an asset that is earning no revenue into an asset that earns some revenue, and isn’t thinking through what the impacts are on public health,” Abernathy said of Freedman. “I think he’s looking at this as a business transaction rather than providing an imminent and important aid to the city and our residents.”

This isn’t the first time Freedman has come under fire by Philadelphians for his handling of the hospital. Its closure sparked protests from city officials, health care unions, and even presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders. Critics speculated that Freedman, whose private equity firm bought the struggling hospital in 2018, didn’t try in earnest to save it and planned to flip it for its valuable downtown real estate. Notably, Hahnemann’s real estate was parsed out into a separate company, Broad Street Healthcare Properties, also owned by Freedman, and not included in Philadelphia Academic Health System’s Chapter 11 bankruptcy petition.

A representative for Freedman said the building has an interested buyer, and that is one reason Broad Street Healthcare will not let the city use the building at cost.

“We’re offering this facility because of the public benefit in a health crisis, but it comes at a cost to the property owner,” said Broad Street representative Sam Singer.

As urban hospitals have struggled in recent years, it’s become increasingly common for private equity to get involved: Big firms buy struggling medical centers with the promise of financial support and to improve their operations and business strategy. When things go right, the business succeeds, and the private equity firm sells it in a public offering or to another bidder for more than it paid.

In other cases, though, the firms load companies up with debt, take dividends out for themselves, sell off valuable real estate and charge fees and high-interest loans, leaving a company in a much weaker position than it would have been otherwise, and often on the verge of bankruptcy.

“The house never loses,” said Eileen Appelbaum, co-director at the Center for Economic and Policy Research. “The private equity firm makes money whether the company succeeds or it doesn’t.”

For instance, Steward Health Care was able to expand from its base in Massachusetts to a 36-hospital network nationwide with backing from Cerberus Capital Management. Now, said Appelbaum, the chain of community hospitals is stuck paying rent to Iasis, another private equity-owned company, on all its properties, while also struggling to stay in the black. The network announced last week it would furlough non-clinical workers across nine states because the requirement to cancel elective surgeries caused too great a financial strain.

Freedman’s private equity firm is called Paladin Healthcare, and it has previously bought and managed hospitals in California and Washington, D.C., where it helped the struggling Howard University Hospital out of the red. Paladin then sold the hospital to Adventist HealthCare last summer.

Urban hospitals like Hahnemann have struggled to stay afloat in recent years, in part due to their lack of privately insured patients. Hospitals often finance the care of uninsured patients or those on Medicaid by treating those with private insurance, which reimburses the hospitals faster and at a higher rate. At Hahnemann, two-thirds of patients were on Medicaid or Medicare. While a financially struggling public or nonprofit hospital might continue serving a poorer community, a for-profit hospital has different incentives, said Vickie Williams, a former law professor for Gonzaga University.

“If your urban hospital is purchased by a for-profit company and it doesn’t perform sufficiently, they don’t have the same necessarily mission-driven directives to keep that hospital functioning for the good of the community at a loss,” said Williams, who is now senior counsel for CommonSpirit Health in Tacoma, Washington.

Freedman has said that he tried to sell the Hahnemann property to a nonprofit and requested money from the city and state to keep it open, but neither option worked.

Following news that Philadelphia had abandoned negotiations with Freedman, calls to seize the property in order to save lives came pouring in, including from elected officials.

“Eminent Domain was created for situations like #Hahnemann,” City Council member Helen Gym wrote on Twitter. “This is a public health emergency and Philly is the largest city in the nation WITHOUT a public hospital. We cannot allow unconscionable greed to get in the way of saving lives. Eminent domain this property.” Legal experts say the lengthy process of eminent domain and the requirement to pay the owner fair market value for the building make it an unlikely mechanism for an instance like this.

But in public health emergencies, local, state and federal governments do have broad authority to commandeer private property, such as hotels, convention centers, university dormitories or even defunct hospitals for disaster response. Williams, whose research has focused on preserving hospital infrastructure during a pandemic, said that so far in the United States, that hasn’t had to happen ― at least not in the traditional sense.

In Pennsylvania, the governor’s emergency declaration gives him the authority to “commandeer or utilize any private, public or quasi-public property if necessary to cope with the disaster emergency.” A health department representative said all options remain on the table in the event that the city’s hospital bed capacity is overrun.

In the interim, the mayor made a deal with Temple University to use its basketball arena, which would have the capacity to treat 250 non-critical patients, at no cost to the city.

This story is part of a partnership that includes WHYY, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

Pandemic-Stricken Cities Have Empty Hospitals, But Reopening Them Is Difficult published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[maxwellyjordan]

How To Go Solo from BigLaw

Once you have decided leaving BigLaw is right for you, there are still many practical and logistical questions you need to answer carefully before you can walk out the door. It can be daunting to figure out how much notice to give, anticipate what’s going to happen after you do, and notify clients you are leaving.

But don’t give up. Those concerns are what any responsible, conscientious lawyer would seriously consider and deliberate before giving notice.

We are recent BigLaw defectors who grappled with these questions, and we asked other BigLaw alums about their experiences with leaving BigLaw for solo or small-firm practice, and life after the leap.

Why to Leave

“The biggest [reason] was a search for meaning.” —Daniel

The decision to leave is rarely made on impulse. Short of a full-on breakdown where you run screaming from the office, you will have to grapple with some questions when deciding whether leaving BigLaw to start your own practice is the right move for you.

The most important question to ask when deciding to leave BigLaw is why. Why leave a six-figure salary, health insurance, partnership prospects, a steady stream of business, and a 401(k) to venture into the unknown? If you don’t have good answers for those questions, then perhaps these questions might help:

Are you at a point where you aren’t feeling professionally fulfilled?

Have you lost track of what it is you are working so hard towards?

Have you lost interest in moving up the ranks?

Your answers should help you determine (and might make it glaringly obvious) whether or not you need to leave.

Financial and Practical Considerations

The fear of the unknown and the loss of a healthy salary and benefits sway many to stay in BigLaw. As Cynthia, a lawyer who left a top New York firm, explains:

The biggest concern [on] leaving was (a) the fear that I had been trained to do one thing my entire legal career and I was doing a 180-degree transition to a different practice area, (b) the inevitable pay cut . . . , and (c) the fact that I was taking a major chance giving up on a potential partnership opportunity at a BigLaw firm.

It takes a pretty high level of dissatisfaction and unhappiness for us to consider leaving our comfort zones—especially when it involves a prestigious firm name, high pay, good benefits, and a clear career trajectory—to trek down an unfamiliar path.

Finding Balance and Being Happy Again

Related “How To Recognize and Prevent Lawyer Burnout”

Lawyers are risk-averse and trained to define success and happiness myopically. There are reasons why law is the only job with an industry devoted to helping people quit, why “associate attorney” is frequently listed as one of most unhappy professions, and why the annual attrition rate for associates in BigLaw consistently hovers around 20%. When you find yourself dreading getting out of bed every morning and drinking copious amounts to rid yourself of Sunday-night anxiety, it may be time to seriously consider your alternatives.

Among those we interviewed, the most common theme motivating departure was sustainability. Whether they were talking about the lack of work-life balance, feeling like a cog in a wheel, or yearning for something more professionally fulfilling, most people who chose to leave said life in BigLaw was simply not sustainable or compatible with the life they hoped to lead. Cynthia felt that her decision to leave BigLaw was motivated by a need for more control over her life. She said her desire to leave was based on two factors:

Obtain more predictable work schedule. “The demands of BigLaw were too great for someone who wants a life and a family.”

An opportunity to branch out into different practice and “try something new.”

Professional Fulfillment

Others we spoke to were not deterred by the long hours, unpredictable schedule, and intense demands of BigLaw, but were discouraged by the lack of personal and professional fulfillment that comes with exclusively representing large corporations in multi-million-dollar business transactions.

“The biggest [reason] was a search for meaning. If I was going to work the long hours required by BigLaw, I wanted to put in the hours for something that really moved me,” Daniel, an attorney who left BigLaw to start his own legal consulting practice, tells us. “I liked the experience of BigLaw on an intellectual level, but I just didn’t have the passion I was looking for and wanted to direct my energy towards something more personally fulfilling.”

Gaining More Autonomy and Control

For others, including the authors of this article, a combination of both factors made the departure inevitable and the decision to start our own firm a foregone conclusion. Personally, we found the environment and culture of BigLaw to be extremely rigid and, at times, uninspiring and unfulfilling. We found ourselves envying an entrepreneur’s ability to build something from the ground up—from what computers to use to what sort of culture and environment we wanted to develop for ourselves, our employees, and our clients.

The desire for more autonomy, fulfillment, and control were at the core of why we, and many others, left BigLaw to build our own practices.

When and How to Leave

The best way for you to leave BigLaw will depend on the circumstances surrounding your relationship with the firm, your level of seniority, and the type of practice you are starting when you leave.

Obligations to Your Future Employer, Savings, and Benefits

Lawyers leaving BigLaw to start their own firm in the same practice area as their current firm should prepare to be escorted out the same day they give notice.

Other factors to consider when leaving are:

Maximizing the time you have left with a steady stream of income to determine your game plan post-departure.

Deciding whether it is worth staying on long enough for your 401(k) to fully vest.

To get your bonus or use your remaining paid vacation time.

Take the time to strategically plan your departure

Leaving on Good Terms

Almost all of the attorneys we interviewed made it very clear leaving on good terms was an important factor (and asked us not to use their full names, just in case).

Depending on what your new practice will be, a tense departure may be inevitable, but the fear that this could all be a huge mistake leads many to try to burn as few bridges as possible. How much notice you give (more is better than less) and when you give notice (ideally not in the middle of a big case or a busy season) is critical.

Giving Notice: When and How Much?

“The only thing anyone will remember about you after you are gone is how you left.”

While two-to-three week’s notice is the industry norm, attorneys going solo generally have more flexibility with their start date and may stand to benefit from leaving on good terms.  Recognizing this, many offered longer notice periods of several months.

Daniel explained the importance of leaving on good terms:

I gave four months notice to my firm when I left. Staying on good terms with the firm was important to me and has proved very powerful in the long run, as my old firm has been a huge source of new business for me, and has taken a vested interest in supporting my new consulting practice.

While a generous notice period is ideal, the flexibility of your new “start date” also depends on the plans in place for the new practice and whether you want to take any time off before hanging a shingle. Most of the attorneys we interviewed tried to carve out time for a vacation following their departure from BigLaw, indicating that the allure of a smartphone-free trip after several years of “working vacations” was too strong to pass up.  Others were eager to get their new practices up and running as soon as possible.

One attorney, for instance, had several potential business opportunities in the near future they wanted to pursue out of their new practice immediately or risk losing the business. In our case, we had found the perfect office space and had to sign a lease that would become effective in just a few weeks.

Even when you have flexibility, what makes leaving BigLaw even more difficult is the inability to predict your firm’s reaction to your departure. If you are escorted out of the building the day you give notice, you don’t want to be left scrambling to get an office up and running in a matter of days. On the other hand, if you are asked to serve a longer notice period, you don’t want to spend your precious start-up capital on several months of rent for unused office space.

As one partner said to us when we gave notice: “The only thing anyone will remember about you after you are gone is how you left.”

Post-Departure: Regrets, Surprises, and Life after BigLaw

Across the board, lawyers felt good about their choice to leave on good terms and provide as much notice as possible. Daniel said:

I have no regrets about the way I left. My ability to maintain good relationships has allowed me to build a practice that is quite attractive to other firms.

For our part, we are happy we did everything above board and did not leave our former colleagues in the lurch or prevent our clients from receiving seamless service throughout our departure period. The clients who liked working with us reached out regardless of when or how we left. And the additional time spent “gainfully employed” let us work on setting up our new practice on evenings and weekends, while still receiving a salary, without going behind anyone’s back.

For those who did not leave on the best of terms, such as Alicia, an attorney who left her firm to strike out as a solo practitioner in the same field as her BigLaw employer, the lack of a relationship with her prior firm has not been hugely problematic:

While I was definitely concerned about being blackballed, in the end I’ve been able to remain outside their radar and build my own practice. While being a one-woman shop can certainly be stressful and overwhelming at times, the pride I take in my work and the ability to be my own boss and still make a healthy living makes the challenges worth it to me.

It pays to stay on good terms with your prior firm, but you can’t always predict or control their reaction to your departure. In the end, remember you are leaving for a reason, and it is possible to succeed with or without their blessing or support.

Making the Tough Call to go Solo is on You

There is no one right or wrong way to leave BigLaw and no formula for a perfect departure. The one constant among all the former BigLaw lawyers we spoke with, however, is no one had any regrets.

Originally published 2016-02-01. Repuglished 2020-01-23.

The post How To Go Solo from BigLaw appeared first on Lawyerist.

from Law https://lawyerist.com/blog/go-solo-biglaw/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[lesliepump]

How To Go Solo from BigLaw

Once you have decided leaving BigLaw is right for you, there are still many practical and logistical questions you need to answer carefully before you can walk out the door. It can be daunting to figure out how much notice to give, anticipate what’s going to happen after you do, and notify clients you are leaving.

But don’t give up. Those concerns are what any responsible, conscientious lawyer would seriously consider and deliberate before giving notice.

We are recent BigLaw defectors who grappled with these questions, and we asked other BigLaw alums about their experiences with leaving BigLaw for solo or small-firm practice, and life after the leap.

Why to Leave

“The biggest [reason] was a search for meaning.” —Daniel

The decision to leave is rarely made on impulse. Short of a full-on breakdown where you run screaming from the office, you will have to grapple with some questions when deciding whether leaving BigLaw to start your own practice is the right move for you.

The most important question to ask when deciding to leave BigLaw is why. Why leave a six-figure salary, health insurance, partnership prospects, a steady stream of business, and a 401(k) to venture into the unknown? If you don’t have good answers for those questions, then perhaps these questions might help:

Are you at a point where you aren’t feeling professionally fulfilled?

Have you lost track of what it is you are working so hard towards?

Have you lost interest in moving up the ranks?

Your answers should help you determine (and might make it glaringly obvious) whether or not you need to leave.

Financial and Practical Considerations

The fear of the unknown and the loss of a healthy salary and benefits sway many to stay in BigLaw. As Cynthia, a lawyer who left a top New York firm, explains:

The biggest concern [on] leaving was (a) the fear that I had been trained to do one thing my entire legal career and I was doing a 180-degree transition to a different practice area, (b) the inevitable pay cut . . . , and (c) the fact that I was taking a major chance giving up on a potential partnership opportunity at a BigLaw firm.

It takes a pretty high level of dissatisfaction and unhappiness for us to consider leaving our comfort zones—especially when it involves a prestigious firm name, high pay, good benefits, and a clear career trajectory—to trek down an unfamiliar path.

Finding Balance and Being Happy Again

Related “How To Recognize and Prevent Lawyer Burnout”

Lawyers are risk-averse and trained to define success and happiness myopically. There are reasons why law is the only job with an industry devoted to helping people quit, why “associate attorney” is frequently listed as one of most unhappy professions, and why the annual attrition rate for associates in BigLaw consistently hovers around 20%. When you find yourself dreading getting out of bed every morning and drinking copious amounts to rid yourself of Sunday-night anxiety, it may be time to seriously consider your alternatives.

Among those we interviewed, the most common theme motivating departure was sustainability. Whether they were talking about the lack of work-life balance, feeling like a cog in a wheel, or yearning for something more professionally fulfilling, most people who chose to leave said life in BigLaw was simply not sustainable or compatible with the life they hoped to lead. Cynthia felt that her decision to leave BigLaw was motivated by a need for more control over her life. She said her desire to leave was based on two factors:

Obtain more predictable work schedule. “The demands of BigLaw were too great for someone who wants a life and a family.”

An opportunity to branch out into different practice and “try something new.”

Professional Fulfillment

Others we spoke to were not deterred by the long hours, unpredictable schedule, and intense demands of BigLaw, but were discouraged by the lack of personal and professional fulfillment that comes with exclusively representing large corporations in multi-million-dollar business transactions.

“The biggest [reason] was a search for meaning. If I was going to work the long hours required by BigLaw, I wanted to put in the hours for something that really moved me,” Daniel, an attorney who left BigLaw to start his own legal consulting practice, tells us. “I liked the experience of BigLaw on an intellectual level, but I just didn’t have the passion I was looking for and wanted to direct my energy towards something more personally fulfilling.”

Gaining More Autonomy and Control

For others, including the authors of this article, a combination of both factors made the departure inevitable and the decision to start our own firm a foregone conclusion. Personally, we found the environment and culture of BigLaw to be extremely rigid and, at times, uninspiring and unfulfilling. We found ourselves envying an entrepreneur’s ability to build something from the ground up—from what computers to use to what sort of culture and environment we wanted to develop for ourselves, our employees, and our clients.

The desire for more autonomy, fulfillment, and control were at the core of why we, and many others, left BigLaw to build our own practices.

When and How to Leave

The best way for you to leave BigLaw will depend on the circumstances surrounding your relationship with the firm, your level of seniority, and the type of practice you are starting when you leave.

Obligations to Your Future Employer, Savings, and Benefits

Lawyers leaving BigLaw to start their own firm in the same practice area as their current firm should prepare to be escorted out the same day they give notice.

Other factors to consider when leaving are:

Maximizing the time you have left with a steady stream of income to determine your game plan post-departure.

Deciding whether it is worth staying on long enough for your 401(k) to fully vest.

To get your bonus or use your remaining paid vacation time.

Take the time to strategically plan your departure

Leaving on Good Terms

Almost all of the attorneys we interviewed made it very clear leaving on good terms was an important factor (and asked us not to use their full names, just in case).

Depending on what your new practice will be, a tense departure may be inevitable, but the fear that this could all be a huge mistake leads many to try to burn as few bridges as possible. How much notice you give (more is better than less) and when you give notice (ideally not in the middle of a big case or a busy season) is critical.

Giving Notice: When and How Much?

“The only thing anyone will remember about you after you are gone is how you left.”

While two-to-three week’s notice is the industry norm, attorneys going solo generally have more flexibility with their start date and may stand to benefit from leaving on good terms.  Recognizing this, many offered longer notice periods of several months.

Daniel explained the importance of leaving on good terms:

I gave four months notice to my firm when I left. Staying on good terms with the firm was important to me and has proved very powerful in the long run, as my old firm has been a huge source of new business for me, and has taken a vested interest in supporting my new consulting practice.

While a generous notice period is ideal, the flexibility of your new “start date” also depends on the plans in place for the new practice and whether you want to take any time off before hanging a shingle. Most of the attorneys we interviewed tried to carve out time for a vacation following their departure from BigLaw, indicating that the allure of a smartphone-free trip after several years of “working vacations” was too strong to pass up.  Others were eager to get their new practices up and running as soon as possible.

One attorney, for instance, had several potential business opportunities in the near future they wanted to pursue out of their new practice immediately or risk losing the business. In our case, we had found the perfect office space and had to sign a lease that would become effective in just a few weeks.

Even when you have flexibility, what makes leaving BigLaw even more difficult is the inability to predict your firm’s reaction to your departure. If you are escorted out of the building the day you give notice, you don’t want to be left scrambling to get an office up and running in a matter of days. On the other hand, if you are asked to serve a longer notice period, you don’t want to spend your precious start-up capital on several months of rent for unused office space.

As one partner said to us when we gave notice: “The only thing anyone will remember about you after you are gone is how you left.”

Post-Departure: Regrets, Surprises, and Life after BigLaw

Across the board, lawyers felt good about their choice to leave on good terms and provide as much notice as possible. Daniel said:

I have no regrets about the way I left. My ability to maintain good relationships has allowed me to build a practice that is quite attractive to other firms.

For our part, we are happy we did everything above board and did not leave our former colleagues in the lurch or prevent our clients from receiving seamless service throughout our departure period. The clients who liked working with us reached out regardless of when or how we left. And the additional time spent “gainfully employed” let us work on setting up our new practice on evenings and weekends, while still receiving a salary, without going behind anyone’s back.

For those who did not leave on the best of terms, such as Alicia, an attorney who left her firm to strike out as a solo practitioner in the same field as her BigLaw employer, the lack of a relationship with her prior firm has not been hugely problematic:

While I was definitely concerned about being blackballed, in the end I’ve been able to remain outside their radar and build my own practice. While being a one-woman shop can certainly be stressful and overwhelming at times, the pride I take in my work and the ability to be my own boss and still make a healthy living makes the challenges worth it to me.

It pays to stay on good terms with your prior firm, but you can’t always predict or control their reaction to your departure. In the end, remember you are leaving for a reason, and it is possible to succeed with or without their blessing or support.

Making the Tough Call to go Solo is on You

There is no one right or wrong way to leave BigLaw and no formula for a perfect departure. The one constant among all the former BigLaw lawyers we spoke with, however, is no one had any regrets.

Originally published 2016-02-01. Repuglished 2020-01-23.

The post How To Go Solo from BigLaw appeared first on Lawyerist.

from Law and Politics https://lawyerist.com/blog/go-solo-biglaw/ via http://www.rssmix.com/