#some parts of this look kinda messy but that's alright. this was a relatively quick drawing

[gallusgalluss]

been reading Hunters Unlucky n I've been loving it so far. Here's a Storm.

[narrators-journal]

Step two

Sorry for the vanishing! I was out with friends for a two days. Because of this, this particular part is a little less edited because I’m exhausted, but! I will post!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Good progress was made in a rather short time after that first night, Illumi felt, but he still had a pretty big issue when it came to more personal matters. Mainly, it was the fact that he struggled to adjust to the life of an impoverished man. He couldn't cook at all, he had no idea how to do laundry, and sleeping in his relatively cheap bed was awful for a conductive rest. That wasn't even touching the fact that being alone without a butler or maid truly revealed  how messy he was, his clothes scattered around or piled up to await washing he couldn't provide, snack wrappers here and there, the trash verging into overflowing territory before he bothered to take it out, which wouldn't have been so bad if his goal was not to consequentially get you into his bed, and according to his mother, women weren't keen on sleeping in a dirty bed no matter the charm of the man. However, that matter was for later, on a more cheerful note, he felt he was making relatively good progress with you. Such good progress, in fact, that he had landed a date to a restaurant with you already.

The restaurant was a bit cheap, small, with a very unrefined sort of aesthetic through out, but you had said you enjoyed it, and it was an opportunity to see you dressed up a bit for him. Maybe this is why Father takes Mother out on her demanded dates. he mused while he sat outside in the cool evening air of (f/r) waiting for you in the best 'poor' clothes he had in his closet. He continued to think about his situation until he heard you snort, making him whip his head towards you, eyes beginning to narrow,        "Illumi?" you said with a bit of amusement "um, you look very nice, but this isn't the type of place that deserves that type of outfit." you pointed out, gesturing to the dress pants and button up shirt with a tie. In contrast, you had on a rather nice dress, maybe with some leggings, appreciated by the assassin if so, that wasn't super flashy, making Illumi stand out among the other casually dressed customer.        "oh. This is the only sort of nice clothes I have." he explained, and he didn't know how to feel about your giggle in response just yet.        "Maybe after our...d-date," you turned an adorable shade of pink when you admitted what this outing was, "you can look into buying some less proper clothes." you suggested, and even he had to admit it came off a bit more suggestive or rude than you most likely meant. "S-sorry, that sounded weird." you muttered, your face staying a slightly darker pink this time as you turned your eyes to the sidewalk. Illumi simply smiled,        "It's fine, (y/n), let's just go eat." he suggested, and you were quick to agree, letting him lead you into the restaurant.   The date was going well in Illumi's mind, though he could about feel the tension rolling off of you in the silence. I guess on a date it's a bit weird to simply sit  there in silence. he mused, than remembered his intention with this date, so he began asking you questions about yourself. Admittedly, he was a bit stiff about it, but you seemed to relax little by little as the two of you spoke. It seemed that his slightly off and awkwardly blunt nature worked in his favor as well, since you were soon giggling and smiling at Illumi's 'obliviousness' when his words could come off as different and sometimes more inappropriate than he meant, and the ebony haired assassin decided he enjoyed your laugh, slipping in a few double entendre here and there on purpose to fluster you and make you giggle more. Your laugh was quite pleasing to hear, which was good because he needed a wife who wouldn't be super annoying, wouldn't be demanding of him, and wouldn't require going out of the Zoldyck estate a lot. From how you were so reclusive, he trusted that you'd not want to head into town a lot or down the mountain. She'll most likely hide herself away a lot too, making the biggest obstacle intercourse, but if push comes to shove I can tie her down. He thought while the two of you ate, but then he realized something, Wait, if she's so reclusive because of sexual trauma, tying her down and taking her by force could push her over the edge. I'll need to figure out if her habits are innocent , or trauma related. From there I can plan accordingly. He decided, looking at you with his dark eyes as you ate, attempting to read your body language for hints, but than you spoke out of the blue,          "Um, Illumi? Are...you alright?" Your voice was tinged with caution and...discomfort, maybe it was some sort of physical trauma that made you so shut off from the world? He'd have to think on that idea,          "Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. I was simply admiring your pretty face," he said, grinning at the wave of red that overtook your body in response. You were deliciously easy to fluster. Wooing her must be a simple task, he thought to himself while you cleared your throat,          "Um...could I ask you a question?" Your voice was meek, uncertain, making the assassin's heart squeeze with excitement while he nodded, "uh, sorry if this is rude, but why are your eyes like that?" The question was a bit out of the blue, and his silence seemed to convey that seeing how you instantly tried to backpedal,          "How are my eyes odd?" he asked, not letting you change the subject,                "I dunno, they just seem...kinda dead." you pointed out, and he nodded,            "Ah, I can see why that may seem weird, but I don't have a reason for why my eyes seem...dead, they've been like this my whole life," he explained, making sure to add a casual, not-offended lilt to his voice to hopefully quell your remorseful, anxious aura. You nodded,        "I-I still think they are very pretty eyes, uh, very hypnotic almost...kinda..." you fumbled before a short, tense silence seemed to fall between the two of you while Illumi slowly blinked and hummed, watching you with his dark, owlish eyes. Finally, you changed the subject awkwardly. Your social ineptitude was so alluring to him, and so fun to aggravate like some sort of wound. Once the food was gone, he picked back up on the conversation, continuing to learn about you and flirt until it was time to pay and take you home. As the two of you walked down the street though, he decided to ask,           "(y/n), would it be rude to ask why you don't seem to go outside a lot?" He did his best to phrase it gently, just in case it was a trauma response, listening to your explanation. If it was something to do with a dark part of your past, no matter for the assassin, he simply decided to end whoever hurt you or their loved ones, but if it was little more than you being an introverted, naturally skittish woman, he was ecstatic. If you were just not very social on your own, he had fewer things to avoid in terms of successfully wooing you, which was such a relief to him, plus, he could easily work on your social awkwardness, so that in itself wasn't even an issue. When the two of you reached your home, he kissed your cheek,           "I hope you enjoyed your night," he hummed, doing his best to ensure he had his charm lacing each word, which came off as slightly suggestive but he was fine with that.           "I did, so, um, maybe some other time...we could do this again?" you offered, attempting to match the flirtatious tone he had, making the assassin smile slightly despite the awkwardness of your attempt.           "I'd enjoy that. It gives me a reason not to try cooking for myself," he pointed out, making you laugh slightly,           "Glad I could be of help tonight than." With that, he took the chance and leaned down and kissed you pretty quickly, watching your (e/c) eyes widen for a moment before you became a flustered mess for the umpteenth time that night. You swiftly said good night and scurried into your home, leaving the tall man outside in the cool spring night. He stood there for a moment, debating whether or not he should sneak into your home again, but deciding not to. He instead headed back to his house and contemplated what to do for the next date.

[delos-mio]

Out of the Woods - College!AU - PART 2

A/N: Part 2! I hope you enjoy this chapter. No major warnings apply! Thoughts, feelings, predictions always welcome <3

***

After dropping you off that evening, Nikolai found his mind to be running a mile a minute. It was 1am, relatively early by college standards, but he had no desire to go back to the party and no desire to go home. Instead, he walked around campus until his feet throbbed. He thought about your smile and your laugh, the way you bit your lip and the way you toyed with the ends of your hair. He thought about how you could very well be in the arms of another man right now.

He could have lived without that mental image.

It seemed wild to him that you could make so many feelings flood back to him in such a short amount of time. It hit him like a ton of bricks the moment you locked eyes, and it was instantly like the last 5 years of silence never even happened. God, he wished they never happened. How could he have been so cruel? Who just up and left the person they were very clearly falling in love without a trace? Nikolai, that’s who. And under the penetrating glow of the moon, for the next six or so hours, Nikolai hated himself for it.

Nikolai quietly tried to sneak back into the apartment he shared with Aleks around 7am. Generally, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, so he figured it’d be no problem. As the front door clicked shut behind him, another door clicked open inside the apartment. Alina, clad in only one of Aleks’s shirts, exited his room and immediately jumped upon seeing Nikolai. He quickly averted his eyes and turned his attention to the ceiling, trying to look anywhere but at the half-naked girl before him.

“So, I take it he wasn’t too upset I left the party early?” he asked before she blushed and quickly padded down the hall to the bathroom.

Nikolai pushed his hair back from his face and shook his head. Of course Aleks had company. He made his way to his room and let the back of his knees hit the mattress, flopping onto his back. His eyes fluttered shut as he mulled over the events of the evening. He knew he needed to turn his brain off and actually try to get some sleep, but that was still proving to be rather difficult. As he was getting lost in his own thoughts, he was interrupted by his door being flung open and Aleks leaning in his door frame.

“Do you mind? I’m really tired,” Nikolai grumbled, still not opening his eyes.

“You dog! You got home later than me,” he said with a smile evident in his voice.

“It’s not like that. You’ll notice I didn’t bring anyone home with me, now did I?” Nikolai was starting to get irritated by his roommate’s presence and hoped he’d leave him in peace and quiet sooner rather than later.

“Maybe not. But you could have. Seemed like you and Genya’s new roommate had something going on,” he pried.

“Can you fuck off? Respectfully?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll let you sleep. But you’re gonna tell me about her when you wake up.” With that, Nikolai heard his door shut again, leaving him in the stillness of his room. He fell asleep half hanging off the bed where he landed with the girl who got away on his mind.

----

When you woke up the next morning, Nikolai was still fresh on your mind. The way he smiled, the way he smelled…everything about him haunted your dreams. It didn’t even take a full minute before the guilt settled in. Jesus Christ, what were you thinking? Did Matt cease to exist because your first love cropped up out of nowhere? You just started flirting with Nikolai again like it was as easy as breathing. But you couldn’t help yourself—Nikolai had worked his way into your head instantly just like he had when you were 17. Like the first time you saw him take off his helmet, shake out his perfect, golden hair, and skate to the bench. It had been a wrap since that moment. You groaned into your pillow, feeling a little nauseous and a lot guilty. After freshening up and pulling a sweatshirt on, you wandered out into the living room of your apartment with Genya where she was eagerly chatting with Zoya over a cup of coffee.

“Fancy seeing you here, ditcher,” Genya teased as you grabbed a mug for yourself.

“I didn’t ditch,” you said. “Nik told you guys we were leaving.”

“Where’d you end up anyways?” Genya asked with a tiny smirk. This line of questioning amused Zoya and she gladly joined in on the antagonizing.

“I can only assume, knowing him, that you ended up somewhere more...private,” Zoya interjected.

“It wasn’t like that. I um, we ended up just going to get some food. Catch up or whatever,” you said while you shot daggers at Genya. You paused to take a sip of the too-hot drink before continuing. “Where have you been hiding Nikolai anyways?”

“He ain’t hiding- have you met the dude? I met him during Freshman orientation. Zoya and I lived in the dorm room next to him and Aleks,” she said as a matter of fact. “We’ve been hanging out ever since. Real good guy.”

“I know,” you sighed, pushing around a pen that was left on the coffee table.

“You like him! Oh man, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about him being totally your type. You and your pretty boys. Mhmm, I bet he liked you too,” Genya teased and smiled again.

“No, he’s just an old friend,” you lied. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Could have fooled me,” Zoya mumbled, but you caught it. The comment did nothing to ease the growing knot in your stomach.

“Seriously. He’s my friend. I kinda got carried away with the flirting last night, but I was so excited to see him, you know?” You looked at them both, silently pleading with them to let it drop. “We’re just friends. Nothing else.”

“That may be true now, but the dude has it bad for you. I saw the way he looked at you, dude,” Genya said softly, finally sympathetic to your anguish. “Can I ask how you know each other? Besides ‘high school or something’?”

“We didn’t even go to school together.” You leaned back into the cushions, letting your focus drift away from the girls across from you. “My parents own an ice rink in my hometown and I’d work the concession stand when I got out of school- do my homework and pour hot chocolate or whatever. Nik played hockey with his high school team there.” You smiled to yourself. “I saw him come off the ice one day and thought he was the most handsome boy I’d ever seen. And one night, he walked right up to me after practice and started talking to me like we’d known each other forever. I didn’t have a ton of friends in school and hadn’t really been noticed by boys like...ever. So to have this super hot dude flirting with me was wild.”

“Oh my god, was Nik your first crush?” Genya squealed.

“I’d had a couple guys that caught my eye before him, but he was the first guy I really liked. First guy I kissed. First guy I…” you trailed off, letting the pause speak for itself.

“No wonder he was so happy to see you,” Zoya said.

“He kinda ghosted me when he left for college and I hadn’t talked to him since the last night we were together. I was too scared to try and find him on Facebook or anything. I didn’t want to see him with other girls hanging all over him and hurt my own feelings, you know?” Genya and Zoya exchanged a sympathetic look. “Anyways, that’s about it. Pretty boring stuff.”

“Babe…”

“I gotta start getting ready for work,” you said, abruptly standing and putting your mug in the sink. “I’ll see you guys later.” With that, you shuffled out of the room, hoping neither of them caught the hitch in your voice. So, maybe you weren’t as over that ghosting as you thought you were.

----

The weekend passed with a lot of idle time thinking about when you could possibly see Nikolai again. You were really regretting not scrawling your number somewhere for him. It was torture not knowing how to find him again outside of groveling to Genya, or hoping dumb luck would make you run into him.

You made it to Monday morning and somehow managed to make it to your 8:30 am class on time; a rare feat for you. Thankfully, the class was all engaged in a lively discussion of what constituted a modern classic novel, so it was easy to stay alert and engaged. Before you knew it, your professor was dismissing you and reminding you all about the paper that was due on Thursday. You shuffled down the stairs of the academic building and paused once you got to the quad. Normally, you’d head home for a few hours before your afternoon class, but you had a little time to spare today before your study group. But you also had Nikolai’s face burned in your mind. Would it be totally weird to try to find him?

The building that housed Science and History was only a quarter mile from your classroom, so you made quick work of the walk and tried to hype yourself up, telling yourself that it was normal to want to see him this bad- you’d missed out on a few years there! Of course you wanted to see your friend. When you got inside, you realized you had no idea where you were going. You had yet to take any sort of History class while at school and had absolutely no idea if he was even in class at this time. God, this was seeming like a dumber and dumber idea the more you walked around. After wandering aimlessly for a minute, you saw a familiar head of effortlessly messy golden hair slink out of a classroom.

Immediately, your eye was drawn to him. You were thankful he didn’t notice your presence because you were definitely staring. All weekend, you were sure you had a picture-perfect vision of him in your head, but you were abruptly reminded that he was much more handsome than you could dream up. He had traded in his button down shirt from the other night for a cozy looking grey sweater. You allowed yourself one more moment to admire him from afar before you approached. But Nikolai had turned to face you straight on, face lighting up the moment he saw you.

“I was wondering when you’d come around.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“So, you don’t think I’m crazy for wandering around a building I’ve literally never set foot in, hoping by cosmic timing you’d be here?” you smirked.

“I promise you, I don’t think you’re crazy. I mean, I was considering doing something quite similar myself,” You couldn’t stop the heat that started to rise in your cheeks.

“So, where are you headed now?” you asked, rocking on your heels.

“Well,” he pondered, “I was going to meet Aleks at The Moose if you’re walking that way.”

“I’m not, but I have a couple minutes before I have to be at my study group if you want to sit outside,” you offered.

“Of course, darling,” he grinned, hazel eyes playful as you found a bench next to the bike rack. “How was your weekend?”

“Not bad,” you shrugged. “I had to work both days, but it was pretty slow, so no complaints. I only got grilled by Genya and Zoya a little. It could have been a lot worse,” you smiled.

“They do love any information they can get their little hands on,” Nikolai said, leaning back into the bench. “You...didn’t see Matt at all?” he probed, trying with all his might to look and sound nonchalant, but failing.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Can I not take an interest in you?” he asked with gentle eyes, but you just glowered.

“No. I didn’t see Matt this weekend. We haven’t even talked since Friday, honestly,” you said. Nikolai didn’t interject at all, just looked at you to go on, if you felt like sharing. “We haven’t really been getting along lately. He’s a nice guy and all, but I don’t know how much we have in common. And he never seems to have time for me unless it’s on his terms. Like, he expects me to be available whenever it works for him, but he’s always conveniently busy if I ask him to do anything with me.” You kicked at a rock near your toe, eyes fixed on the ground, totally unsure why you just told Nikolai all that.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely. “I’m saying this as your friend,” he started, making you look in his eyes again. “You deserve someone who understands what a gift it is to spend time with you.” It was so simple, but it made tears instantly spring in your eyes. “Hey. Hey, now. None of that,” he smiled, thumbing a tear away. “Would you maybe want to come over Friday? Get pizza and watch a movie or something?”

“That sounds really nice, Nik,” you nodded. It was then he broke into a blinding smile and you were unable to stop the swirling in your belly.

“Could I—would I be able to get your number? So I can send you my address or whatever,” he added quickly; you were really starting to love seeing him get flustered.

“I think that’s a good idea, yeah.” You reached for some scrap paper and pencil from your bag and scribbled down your number, placing it in the palm of his large hands before standing up. His fingers just barely brushed yours as he took the paper before stowing it away in the front pocket of his jeans. “You can always use that number before Friday too, if you want,” you said with a sly smile and patted Nikolai’s cheek gently. His laugh carried a bit as you walked opposite directions out of the quad, your feet feeling like they were being carried by tiny, pink fluffy clouds.

Fuck. Did you just set up a date with Nikolai? No. No, not a date. Just two friends eating pizza and watching movies. Friends did that all the time.

But as you walked to the cafe where your study group met, there was a crashing wave of guilt that washed over you. What the fuck were thinking? All you were doing was playing with fire, practically begging fate to burn you. You were mentally beating yourself up, feeling like a total shit bag as you pushed open the door to the small cafe, seeing your group already gathered and breaking off into pairs, Matt beaming at you when you came into view.

“Hi, baby,” he said, kissing your cheek as you sat down next to him.

“Hey,” you smiled back with tight lips, hardly able to look at him.

You started going through notes for an upcoming Logic and Reasoning exam, but you found yourself unable to process anything you were reading. Your mind was elsewhere and you only managed half-hearted affirmations and hardly contributed any correct answers. Here Matt was, sweet and excited to see you. He was good, he was nice. Maybe you just needed to make more of an effort with him. Should he really want to do the things you wanted to do, or were you being selfish? You weren’t sure.

“Something wrong?” he asked suddenly, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Just don’t feel good, that’s all,” you shrugged, looking back at your notebook and computer. He accepted that answer and didn’t probe any further.

“So, you should come over Friday. I don’t have anyone else to hang out with and thought we could hang out,” he said into your ear, hand gripping your thigh.

“Can’t,” you said with a shake of your head. “I already have plans.”

“Oh there’s a surprise,” he said, half under his breath. And that...that was it. You immediately slammed your pen onto the table and looked at him with hard eyes.

“Would you just say whatever you’re trying to fucking say?” you seethed.

“Just seems awfully convenient that every time we’re supposed to do anything, suddenly you have plans with I don’t even know who” he said, clearly annoyed. “All I’ve done is try to accommodate you and do what you want, but that doesn’t seem to be enough,” he added with a melodramatic sigh, which was more than enough to set you off.

“Oh, that’s a fucking joke, right?” you laughed. “Maybe you’d know more about my schedule if you ever bothered to talk to me more than once a week. And you literally just said I should come over because no one else can! Like, I’m your girlfriend- I shouldn’t be your last ditch option,” you scoffed. “You know what? I can’t be here right now. Call me when you’re ready to rejoin all of us in reality.” With that, you grabbed your bag and stormed out the door, letting your feet take you quickly in any direction that was simply away. No, you were right about what you said to Nikolai- Matt only saw you as convenient.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

[rainy-day-gracie]

Refuge

Spencer Reid x Reader

Hello! This kinda took a while to write but I’m proud of the final draft :)

Reader is in an abusive relationship and starts an affair with Spencer. (Loosely based on Jim and Pam from The Office)

Warnings: domestic abuse, implied smut, mild language

Just a lot of fluff and angst:))

__

One look at my face in the office, and Spencer could tell something was wrong. He didn’t ask me right away, but during lunch he pulled me aside gently. 

“What’s going on with you?”

I desperately tried to keep tears back. “It’s Landon… he’s drinking again. He hasn’t hit me, but I’m just afraid if he keeps drinking he will. Last night I tried to talk to him about it… he just screamed at me and passed out on the couch.”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows and pulled me into an unexpected hug. “I’m sorry you have to go through that, YFN. I’m always going to be here for you if you want to talk.” 

I sniffled into his shoulder. “We’ve been engaged for two years, and he keeps dodging the conversation of setting a wedding date… I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled away to check. 

Hey babe I’m sorry about last night. Could we talk about it at dinner later? 

Spencer saw my phone and gave me a smile. “See, he wants to work through things. It’ll be okay.”

I smiled back at him and tried not to dwell on the tinge of sadness I saw in his eyes.

__

A few weeks had passed since my conversation with Spencer, and things with Landon hadn’t gotten any better. 

“You bitch! My drinking is my choice! Why do you control everything I do?” The beer bottle smashed against the cabinet near my head, and I flinched away from him. 

“Please, stop. You’re scaring me.” Tears bit the corners of my eyes, and Landon calmed down. 

“Oh babe, I’m so sorry. Please stay.” 

It came to the point where I had no idea what to do, and I was constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing around him. 

Spencer could tell, hell, everyone probably could tell. But he didn’t say anything for a while, and I appreciated that. 

Every so often we all go to Rossi’s for a nice dinner, and Landon refused to come with me. 

“Why do you always choose them over me?” Landon asked as I was getting ready. The classy dark green dress I was wearing hugged my figure, and he grabbed my hips and spun me around to face him. “I just wanna stay in with you. Have a few drinks, spend some time together?” 

I pulled away from him and smiled nervously. “I rarely have a night out with the team, I’ll be back before midnight.”

His easy smile faded and he left the bathroom fuming. “You better be.” 

__

The team sat in Rossi’s backyard, laughing and drinking and having a great time. I sat next to Spencer, who spoke on and on about anything and everything. 

Emily put her hand on my shoulder, smiling. “You look absolutely gorgeous tonight. Where’s your fiance?”

I tried to not let my smile falter. “Um… he’s not feeling too well.”

Spencer cast me a glance, but didn’t say anything. “We would love to meet him sometime, YFN.” For some reason, his voice sounded almost sad. Maybe it was just in my head. 

The night stretched on, and we all went onto the makeshift dance floor Rossi keeps in his backyard. I stayed on the side, watching and laughing as Derek and Penelope broke out some scandalous dance moves. I felt a presence next to me, and Spencer cleared his throat. 

“How’s Landon?” 

Only constantly drinking, angry and full of hatred. “It’s… rough. At home. Landon’s been having a tough time at work, and feels the need to take the edge off when he gets home. It’s been happening more and more over the past few weeks. But once things settle down at his work it’ll be okay.”

Spencer didn’t look too convinced. “I just want you to be okay. Just… remember you can always talk to me, alright?”

I looked him in the eyes. He was genuinely concerned about my well being, and for some reason that touched me in a way that made my heart flutter. A kind of feeling I haven’t felt in a long time. “Thank you. That really means a lot, Spencer.”

He smiled. That damn beautiful smile. “Um, do you wanna dance?” 

I lifted my head, slightly confused. “What?”

Spencer looked out into the crowd of our team, dancing away happily. “Well, everyone is dancing, so maybe we should too?” 

I smiled shyly. “Yeah, sure. Let’s dance.”

The tune turned into a slower song, and Spencer rested a hand on my waist and held my hand against his chest. I placed my other hand on his shoulder, and rested my head against his heartbeat.  We swayed softly, and I timed my steps to the beat of his heart. I could feel him smiling as he looked down by my shoulder. 

“What’re you smiling about, Spencer?” I asked softly. 

“You look beautiful. You always look beautiful.”

I smiled to myself, and couldn’t help the thought that came to me. 

I can’t remember the last time Landon said I looked beautiful.

__ 

Landon was going to be pissed. I pulled into our driveway just before 2 AM, and I had called him at 11 to let him know I was going to be late. 

My heart dropped to my stomach when I saw him, hammered and fuming, sitting at our kitchen table. He didn’t say a word as he slammed his beer bottle on the ground and shoved me into the closed front door. 

“Do I mean nothing to you! I deserve better than a lying bitch that blows me off for her coworkers!” 

His nose was touching mine and the scent of alcohol on his breath was nearly suffocating. “Landon, get off me so we can talk about this!”

“Oh, now you wanna talk? You didn’t wanna talk when you called me to say that you would be late!” His rough hands gripped my shoulders, and after a moment he slammed his knuckles against my cheek. I shrieked as he punched me in the stomach and kicked me to the ground while I was off balance. 

I couldn’t remember the number of times he kicked me, but the first chance I got, I was running into my car and started driving. 

After a while, I ended up at Spencer’s apartment. I knocked on the door weakly, and he answered in his PJs, looking very confused. “YFN…” he trailed off when he saw my swollen eye. 

He let me change out of my dress and gave me one of his CalTech sweatshirts and old sweatpants. When I came out of the bathroom I saw that he had a bag of ice sitting on his kitchen counter next to a bowl of ice cream. Spencer was looking through his many shelves of books, seeming to search for one. 

“What are you doing?” My voice was soft, like I was afraid Landon would hear if I spoke too loud. 

“One time you mentioned that you liked Harry Potter, and I know I have it on my shelf somewhere… Aha!” He walked over to me with a very worn copy of the first Harry Potter book in his hand. A tear fell down my cheek and I smiled up at him, and he blushed. “Reading always helps me escape.”

“Thank you.” My lip quivered, and more tears fell down my cheeks. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Spencer.”

At that moment, he looked so sweet and loving. The complete opposite of Landon. Messy brown hair, a cut glass jawline, and the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. 

I kissed him. It was quick, and impulsive, and stupid. 

But it felt good. 

When I pulled away, Spencer seemed to be in a daze. I immediately tried to backtrack. “I’m so sorry, I don’t-’’

When he kissed me again, it didn’t feel stupid anymore. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and his hands moved to my ribs, which had already started to bruise. When I whimpered, he pulled away instantly. 

He took a step back, looking at me questioningly. “I thought he just hit you. What else did he do?” 

I gulped. “He shoved me into the wall and knocked me down. Um, he kicked me… a lot.”

Spencer looked sad, but there was something else. He was angry, angry that someone hurt me. “Are you really going to marry him?”

My answer came to my lips and didn’t even have to think. “No.”

Spencer just looked at me, extremely relieved. “Good.”

He kissed me again, with a hunger I had never seen from him before. I realized I was kissing him with the same hunger, like I had been deprived of a needed sustenance. 

In that moment, I realized that I wasn’t kissing him because Landon hit me. I was kissing him because I love Spencer more than I ever loved Landon. Spencer knew me better than anyone, he knew my fears, he knew my strengths, he knew the big things and the little things. And I knew the same things about him. 

“Do you want to-” 

“Yes.” I answered without hesitation. 

Spencer Reid was my refuge.

__

I didn’t go back home after that. 

The next few days at work were quiet and relatively uneventful. I had decided to let Landon cool off before going to break off the engagement. 

What I didn’t think would happen was him walking into the BAU with a gun and a temper. 

The second he pulled the gun out, the team immediately aimed every weapon we had at him. 

“YFN! You’re coming with me, let’s go!” He didn’t raise the gun in his hand, so we had no reason to shoot… yet. 

Spencer answered before I did. “No she’s not. She’s never going home with you again, Landon.”

Landon glared at Spencer. “What do you know, you son of a bitch?”

Spencer’s lips curled ever so slightly, a devilish look coming to him. “Where do you think she would go all those lonely nights you were drunk?”

I saw what he was doing, and I hated him for it. Spencer was taking Landon’s attention off of me, trying to get Landon to point the gun at him. I shot Spencer a warning look, but he didn’t pay attention. 

A look of angry confusion crossed Landon’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Spencer huffed a laugh, never once lowering his weapon. “She told me all about your inability to perform. I thought I would show her… in my kitchen, in my car, in my bed.” 

None of this was true, at least not the kitchen or car part, but I couldn’t help but admire Spencer for putting himself on the line. At the same time I was terrified of what would happen if Landon raised that gun. 

Landon was fuming, his face turning red. “You shut up!” 

Spencer continued, a hint of a smile on his face. “She told me she’s never screamed so loud for anyone else.”

“I said shut up!” Landon raised the gun ever so slightly, and I didn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his shoulder. Morgan cuffed the pathetic excuse of a man cussing and shouting on the floor of the BAU. 

Spencer’s arms came and wrapped around my shoulders, and I hugged him back in a daze. 

“Holy shit.”

Spencer laughed into my shoulder. “I know. You’re okay.”

I pulled away and cupped his cheeks with my hands. “Thank you.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “For what? I was just trying to protect you.”

I smiled, tears in my eyes. “Thank you for always being my refuge, Spencer.”

[hettiesworld]

Name of fic: I Recommend a Daddy

Pairing: Sugar daddy!Chris x OFC (Addison)

Plot summary: When Addison runs out of money and is about to lose her house, her friends Auora and Sydney recommend to her a sugar daddy. Of course, there is one thing that is different to the other sugar daddy companies; there is a romantic relationship available.

Warnings: Foul language, sexual themes.

Author’s note: This is part of @donutloverxo Sugary 4k Challenge. Of course, it is not part of my Chris x Addison series fic, “Best Thing I Ever Had”, just to be clear. My OCs are not famous, neither are the celebrities in this.

Word count: 1641 words.

“Rory! Sydney! Need your help quick!” Addison called out to her friends whilst running from her spare bedroom to her own, her handbag in one hand and her purse in the other.

“What is it Addy?” Sydney asked her, trying to braid Aurora’s hair.

“I have no money! I am gonna lose my house --” She started to freak out, breathing heavily. Just like the talkative person that she was. Until Auora stood up from her sitting position.

She placed her hands on Addison’s shoulders.

“Addy. Calm down, it’s okay, just do what we did. Get a sugar daddy.” “A sugar daddy?” “Yeah.” Sydney added on, also standing up, phone in hand. “Have a look. This is my sugar daddy.”

The picture on Sydney’s phone was of a 50 year old man. She could tell by the wrinkles on his face. Addison cringed at how old he was.

“And this is mine.” Aurora beamed as she picked up her phone, showing Addison her one. He looked, at least, 30-something years old.

“How old is he?” She asked Auora. “51. And he is Syd’s brother!” Aurora exclaimed. “What? How is he one? I have met him loads of time and it looked like… no offence, but he looked like he didn’t have a lot of money.” Addison explained.

“Meh. Something about a relative having a lot of money and I didn’t get anything. So I got Jeremy to help me.” Sydney replied. “But I don’t mind if my brother didn’t help me, I got to meet --” “--Yes, you got to meet Jeremy, we know. But that doesn’t mean you get to kiss him or something…” Addison interrupted Sydney.

She out her handbag on the bedside table and sighed, collapsing onto the comfortable water bed.

“Actually…”

Addison sat up and was shocked at what Auora was going to say.

“Wait… you’re in a relationship with them?” Addison exclaimed, putting on a confused face.

Both Sydney and Auora shrugged their shoulders, basically saying that they were.

“It’s kinda complicated. It’s a polyamorous relationship. He can date other girls. That’s the business of the sugar daddy company they are part of.” Sydney explained.

Addison thought to herself, ‘Does she need a sugar daddy? She was losing her house and she didn’t have a lot of money…’ Sydney already had Addison’s laptop up, with the sugar daddy website on it, flashing in her blue eyes.

“Go on. Pick one!” Sydney encouraged, placing the laptop in her lap.

Addison sighed and looked over the website. She repeatedly denied every single one she looked at until she found a 39-year old man picture on there. Let’s just say, Addison was definitely interested in him. His name was Chris and he was from Boston, Massachusetts. 

“Ooh… He looks interesting and hot! Go on, message him!” Aurora said to her, instantly clicking on the messaging app within the website. “Rory! Why did you do that?” Addison condemned Aurora. “Look! He messaged you!” Sydney added.

Mr. Evans: Hello Addison. Are you interested in my offer of being your sugar daddy?

“Reply Addy, reply!” Sydney and Auora both exclaimed at her.

“Okay, okay. Just leave me alone. Let me message him.”

Addison: Hello, Mr Evans. I guess I am interested in your offer. Mr. Evans: Please call me Chris. Now, tell me. Why are you coming to this website? Addison: I am going to lose my job and my friends suggested this website. It could help me with my financial problems. Mr. Evans: I will gladly help with your money issues. We should meet up, but if you’re living far away, we should meet via webcam. Addison: I would like that.  Mr. Evans: Just give me your Skype details and I will contact you soon.

Sydney and Auora screamed with glee as Chris accepted the offer. Addison sighed at them before giving Chris her details.

“Now we wait.”

It was a few days afterwards and Addison was alone, in her bedroom. She was waiting for Chris to call her via Skype. Then, it happened.

“Hello?”

Addison looked up from her phone, as she was playing Candy Crush Saga.

 “Oh my… I am so sorry! I didn’t know you called me!” She yelped, making Chris laugh from the call.

“It’s alright. I’m guessing you’re Addison then?” He asked her.

“Yep. Sorry I was playing Candy Crush. And please, call me Addy. My friends call me that.” “Got it. What level are you on?” Questioned Chris, titling his head and then sipping a beer. “I’m on… level 182.” “That is cool. I’m on level 543.” “What? How?!” “Practice.”

They both laughed.

“Anyways… You have financial problems?” He then asked her, having a notebook and pen in his hands. “Yeah I do. A few days ago, I had no money in my bank account. I’m getting evicted soon cause I can’t pay my rent…” Addison rambled on as Chris nodded understandably, writing down what she was saying. “I am so sorry. Well, if you accept my offer, then you will be able to live at my place, accompanied with me and my dog, I will be able to pay everything off. All you need to do is give me company. Do some chores around the house, that sort of stuff.” He explained.

Addison thought for a while.

“I do need money. Okay, I accept.” “Great! You can start in 2 days. Just come to my address in Massachusetts and we will do the contract and important stuff. Get packed and I’ll see you then, okay?” “Okay! Thank you so much Chris!” She hung up.

2 days later, she flew from London to Boston, Massachusetts in the USA.

It was a city of wide avenues and small places to sit and eat, to relax as folk went about their day. There were the sky towers in the centre, what was once thousands of homes now took up less ground space than an old shopping mall. The rest was parks and wild spaces, a chance to walk among nature or enjoy the trails on bicycles or horseback. Yet perhaps Addison’s favourite thing was the river that flowed through the centre, crossing the bridges, pausing just to look at the view I saw every day and loved all the more.

She arrived outside a white-ish house, just outside the city.

There stood a tall man, about 6’ 0”, with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, 2 buttons undone. He also wore brown shorts and white sneakers. “Addy! You came!” Chris smiled and welcomed her with open arms. She stood out of the fancy car. She was wearing a pretty flowery dress with matching blue shoes with wedged heels. Bright red sunglasses, her blonde hair flowing in the cool wind. In her hand, a beautiful leather handbag.

Addison pranced over to Chris, trying not to fall over in her shoes.

“Chris! It is a pleasure to meet you.” Her London accent was clear as day as she gave him the usual posh greeting; an air kiss on each cheek. “You too. How was your flight?” He asked her, being a true gentleman and bowing, kissing the back of her hand. “It was luxurious!” Addison smiled at him, blushing at the gesture he gave her. “Please! Let me give you a tour!”

The house Chris lived in looked quite expensive. She was surprised that he had a drawing-room (or a living room to you guys). The drawing room had a snug and huggy feel to it. The dining room, which was next to it,  was Chris’s in-home cafe, one where all the chefs and wait staff cooked for a living.

Upstairs, the bedroom she was staying in was just tidy enough to show that she cared about the space and just messy enough to show that she was able to let her creativity roam free. It was her goldilocks zone, perfect for how she was, especially for an inspiring storyteller like her. The en-suite next to it was a place of washing, of nurturing our sanity with the sensation of warm water and aromatic soaps. For the body must feel loved and cared for, for then it feeds back these messages to the brain and begins to set up a positive cycle of wellness.

After the tour, Chris let his personal servant takes Addison’s luggage to her bedroom as they stood in the massive hallway.

“Please make yourself at home. You are staying here. Any questions?” He asked her. “No. Not that I can think of.” “Good. Let’s meet in the drawing-room to discuss the contract.”

They both walked into the drawing-room and sat next to each other, with a big pile of papers, which is basically the whole contract. It was halfway through the signing.“Okay… time for section 5, which is relationships and sex.” Addison choked as he said that. “S-sex?” She faltered, coughing as her drink went the wrong way down her throat.

“Yes… you okay?” Chris helped her by patting her back. Apparently, that doesn’t help at all but Chris didn’t know that then.

She hummed in response as she put down her drink, leaning back as if it never happened.

“You alright now?” “Yep. Carry on.” “Okay… Now, are you fine with us being in a polyamorous relationship or do you want a ‘just friends’ relationship?” Chris asked, reading off the paper. Addison pondered to herself.

“Can I think upon it? I don’t want to be in a relationship without any romantic interest in each other…” She mumbled. “Yeah, of course. It would be cool to go on a date to see if we do have a spark.” He suggested, placing the contract down back onto the table. “I like that idea.” Addison smiled at him, blushing.

[selene-tempest]

It’s my birthday and apparently the hubby isn’t going to let me ignore it...

((Author lady is putting this up now to celebrate, but it won’t be uploaded to Ao3 yet because it doesn’t fit the timeline at the moment, so you’ll have to wait.))

“What do you mean she’s not coming home?” Scott asked.

“She’s not coming home,” John replied with a shrug. What else was there to say? How else could he make that simple sentence any clearer?

"Like never again?" Alan whimpered. 

John didn't dignify that with an answer. 

“But why?” Gordon asked.

“Because she doesn’t want to.”

“Did you try to talk her round?” Scott asked.

“Of course I did, but she’s being stubborn, and you know what she's like when she sets her mind to something.”

“Why? Did we do something wrong? Does she not love us any more?” Alan asked, looking like he was about to cry.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course she still loves you. Do you honestly think that after four years in this family and all the things we’ve been through, this would be the time she decided she wanted out?” John couldn’t believe how dramatic they were all being about it.

“But it’s her birthday, she should be here with us,” Scott said firmly, like that was all there was to it. 

“Yes, her birthday, and she does have a choice in the matter,” John reminded him.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“You can tell her then,” John said. “Because I’m certainly not going to get involved with that.”

“Did she at least say why?” Virgil asked, ever the sane one.

“Yes, she said that she isn’t having a birthday this year, she’s ignoring it because someone,” John paused to glare meaningfully at Scott, “keeps teasing her about getting old because she’s hitting the big Three-O.”

Scott sniggered quietly to himself.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of it if I were you,” John warned him,

“I didn’t even say anything that bad to her,” Scott protested weakly.

“No, but you asked me what it was like being married to a cougar that only wanted me for my youthful body.”

Scott sniggered again, turning it into a cough when John’s glare rached up a notch.

“And yesterday you got up off the couch and asked her if she wanted to sit down,” Virgil added.

“I was being considerate!”

“If that was the case you shouldn’t have said that you were doing it because it’s only polite to give your seat up for the elderly,” Gordon laughed.

“Oh for the…” John dropped his head into his hands in utter despair. Scott was just lucky that he was only there in hologram form or he’d have punched him. 

Scott just shrugged. “She needs to come home, it’s her birthday.”

“Well she’s not going to,” John told him, wondering if he should whip out the hand puppets to get him to understand the simple answer of no.

“Go and get her, she’ll do it if you tell her to,” Alan tried.

“Let me think about it...no.”

“Aw, come on, John, please?” Alan was going to pout, John just knew it.

“I’ll try,” John sighed, knowing he was beaten.

-x-

“Come on, love, get out of bed.”

“No,” Selene said, her voice muffled since her head was currently stuffed under a pillow.

“Everyone wants to see you,” John wheedled.

“I don’t care, I’m not moving.”

“You have to celebrate your birthday.”

“Lies! I say the same thing to you every year and every year you tell me you don’t want a fuss. No party, no going anywhere, no nothing. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Because I’m me and you’re you. You’re the sociable part of our couple, you’re the one that forces me to go places I don’t want to by insisting that I'll have a good time when I get there.”

“And you still argue, complain and refuse to go. Maybe I’ve finally started to listen to you and realised you were right all along, birthdays are bad, social is bad, celebrating anything is bad. I get it, you were right.”

“Don’t even try that,” John warned her.

“Try what?” she mumbled innocently.

“Telling me that I’m right so I’ll be so shocked I won’t argue with you any more.”

“It was worth a shot,” she grumbled to herself.

“Enough of this,” John declared, grabbing the edge of the duvet and yanking it off the bed, revealing his darling wife lying flat out on her belly like a dead starfish. “Come on, get up.”

“No! I’m not getting up. If you really loved me and wanted me to celebrate you’d go and get a Chinese and eat it in bed with me.”

John paused for a second, because honestly that did sound very tempting… no, he had a duty as a husband, a duty to give his wife a birthday she wouldn’t forget for such a milestone. 

“No, we’re doing something for your birthday and that’s final. You asked me to trust you for my birthday last year-”

“And you didn’t! You bitched and tried to seduce me into staying on Five and ignoring the trouble I and everyone else had gone to.”

“Never happened,” he lied smoothly. “You have two choices, get up and come with me or I’ll call your mother and let her drag you out of this pit.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed. 

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“No, because then you’d have to talk to her and you know how that would go,” Selene left the threat hanging in the air.

John paused, his brain frantically scurrying to come up with something like a hamster spinning on its wheel. What could he do that would be special for her birthday? He’d used up his one good idea planning a night away for the four year anniversary of the night they met… huh..maybe he could… 

He pulled his phone out and sent a quick message to EOS asking her to get to work rearranging the surprise. Selene's birthday was close enough to their anniversary, shifting the two bookings he had made shouldn't be too much trouble.

“Fine, then you have two more choices, get up and pack yourself an overnight bag and be waiting patiently for me to get back so we can go, or I’ll pack for you and throw you over my shoulder and drag you out. Choose wisely.”

“I choose door number three.”

“Stop being dramatic, plus you know that’s not an option. You can see your family tomorrow, for today you’re mine. I would strongly advise you pick the first option as you know my idea of suitable clothes to pack differs wildly from yours, you know I can’t be trusted…”

“Not convinced.”

Huffing he grabbed hold of her legs and yanked her backwards down the bed. She shrieked like a fire alarm. He ignored it. Flipping her over he tugged on her arms, pulling her into a sitting position.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” he lied, taking in the messy hair, mascara smudged around her eyes and the fact she was wearing the hideous nightshirt that he loathed with the fire of a thousand suns. 

She snorted, clearly not falling for his line.

He knelt down beside the bed, taking her hands in his.

“Do you trust me?”

“Most of the time.”

“Then trust me now, do as you’re told and stop being obstinate for the sake of it. Think about it, you and me, a whole night away…”

“And no mention of my birthday?” she clarified.

“Not if you don’t want it,” he promised. “I had something arranged for our anniversary but I think you need it a little earlier.”

She still looked suspicious but she reluctantly nodded her agreement. “Alright, I’ll trust you.”

“Good. I’m going to head back to the island to pick up Dad’s plane-”

“Plane? Just where are we going, exactly?”

“That’s on a need to know basis and right now you don’t need to know,” he told her. “Just concentrate on getting yourself ready, have a shower if you want to, dress in something you feel amazing in and be ready in two hours.”

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?”

“Nope, now move your backside,” he ordered, giving her butt a little swipe.

-x-

John had walked straight out of their flat after giving her her orders, leaving her to it. She procrastinated for half an hour, feeling that he would have totally won and she would have lost if she got up and did as she was told straight away. She needed to keep some form of dignity and control over her own dramatic leanings. 

She then slowly packed a few essentials, throwing in a nice maxi skirt, some leggings she could wear under it if they were going anywhere cold, a peasants blouse along with underbust corset she could add to jazz it up in case they went anywhere fancy, a thick shawl for chilly weather, a T-shirt to wear in bed, fresh underwear, makeup bag, toiletries and she was done.

She did take a shower, not because he suggested it but because she felt a bit grotty and knew it would make her feel better. She resisted the urge to stare at herself in the mirror and scrutinise her naked body until she wanted nothing more than to hide back in bed again, and got on with the laborious task of hair washing, leg shaving and getting dressed.

She was just about ready in jeans, T-shirt and a hoodie she’d stolen from Alan, comfy travelling clothes, when he texted to demand her presence downstairs. 

He had an automated taxi waiting that took them straight out of town to the nearby private airfield that Scott used whenever he was taking a break and leaving One at the island in case of emergencies, although this wasn’t a surprise since he had said he was going to get Jeff’s jet. 

The flight time had been relatively short in relation to standard commercial flights, only an hour and a half, but when you were used to being in a family that could zip across the globe in half an hour it was quite long. This comparison did absolutely nothing to tell her where they were at any given moment or where they were going to end up, so she stuck with sitting quietly, letting him get on with the whole flying thing.

“Are you still grumpy at me for making you leave the house?” John asked after half an hour of mostly silence from Selene.

“No,” she sighed, “I just really didn’t feel like doing anything, I’m not sure I’m going to be the best company at the moment.”

“Did I ask for you to be good company? It’s not like I’m a shining example of how to be the life and soul of a party.”

“I know, sorry, I just kinda wanted to forget about it. Everyone wants to make a big deal about my birthday and I don’t. Mum wanted to drag me around to visit people, to which I firmly said no, so she’s not really talking to me at the moment. She did that a lot when I was a kid, kept having parties and events that were loosely based on one of our birthdays, but she’d invite a lot of her friends and family members we didn’t really like. She’d have a great time but we didn’t because it just wasn’t what we wanted to do."

“I can understand that, Grandma was much the same.”

“Plus it’s the first big thing, apart from our wedding, without Dad and I’m just not really in the mood to celebrate, I’d rather just have a quiet night in and get a pizza or something.”

So that was what was really bothering her. Not so much the fact that she was getting older, though he was sure that wasn’t helping, but the fact that her Dad wasn’t going to be there. He could understand her point. Scott had turned thirty while their father had still been missing, presumed dead and it hadn’t been the celebration it should have been. Birthdays without their Mom had been much the same, celebrating milestones without important people was always hard. Maybe they were a little guilty of forgetting what that felt like, since their Father had been recovered after so many years. They were used to him being there again and didn’t let themselves dwell on the past if they could help it. 

“I promise you that we don’t even have to think about your birthday,” John assured her. “This is just us, having a night away from the madness that is our lives and tomorrow I’ll send Virgil to pick up Celia and Adam, she loves him so she'll behave, to bring them back to the Island for the night so we can have a quiet family dinner. Will that work for you?”

She thought about it for a moment or two, but could see no other way of getting around it.

“Yep, that’ll do.” 

"Good," he smiled, turning away tk check on the course settings. 

Watching him fly the plane, knowing he had put in a lot of effort already made her feel  like a complete bitch.

“I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you going to all this effort to arrange something, I didn’t mean to be a grumpy cow.”

“I’ll let you off this once, because it’s your birthday,” he teased, earning himself a half hearted glare that turned into a giggle as she finally let go of the tension she had been holding onto.

“I’m gonna smack you, you know that, right?” she warned him.

“Not while I’m flying, and maybe wait until after dinner, I’ll be slower then and easier for you to catch.”

“Noted,” she nodded, reaching over to drop her hand on his knee.

“I hope you’re not planning on distracting me,” he said mildly, acting as if nothing was happening, his eyes on the sky. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, or is that another thing best left until after dinner when you’re too full to run away?”

“I could handle a little distraction now, but if you want me to be able to reciprocate with a little distraction technique of my own, you’re going to have to wait.”

“I’ll wait,” she decided, but that didn’t stop her leaning closer to smack a kiss to his neck. “Have I told you today that I love you, husband?”

“No, you were too busy ignoring me, wife. My heart is shattered by the way.”

“Oh, yes, you seem so very heart broken.”

“I’m hiding it well.”

“Sure you are,” she drawled, trying very hard not to laugh. “I do love you though.”

“As you should.”

His tone was so serious that she lost the battle to hold herself together and started to laugh. John smiled to himself, relieved to see that she had perked up. Hopefully she would have loosened up enough to enjoy the activities he’d planned for them both that evening as they were certainly more her thing than his.

John landed the JT1 on what appeared to be a small runway with a barn, in a field, in the middle of nowhere. He had refused to let her see where they were travelling to, insisting she pull down the window blind next to her as they got closer and close her eyes for the last three minutes of their descent and landing.

A local woman was there to meet them, her accent saying she was american, southern by the sound of it, although Selene wasn’t too good at identifying accents. After the woman had opened the barn doors and John had taxied the small jet into it, she introduced herself as Cherise. Hands were shaken and pleasantries exchanged before she led them to the small truck that she had parked nearby. A five minute drive and…

“Is that a river boat?” Selene asked, unable to figure out just what the heck was going on.

“Yep, now get on,” John instructed, guiding her onto the walkway with one hand while grabbing their bags with the other. They waved a goodbye to Cherise who assured John she’d be ready and waiting the next day and to just text when she was needed, and went in search of seats.

The boat was more of a ferry, containing around 150 seats, only half of which were filled.

"Now will you tell me where we're going?" 

"No, I don't think I will."

"You would if you loved me."

"Its because I love you that I'm not telling you," he replied cryptically, getting up from his seat and moving to the front where an attendant sat. 

“What river is this?” Selene sneakily asked a nearby passenger as John paid their fare, a measly sum of five dollars each.

“Please don’t answer her,” John called over, obviously overhearing.

The man chuckled, having been shamelessly listening in and finding the situation most amusing. “Are you being kidnapped?” 

“I don’t know, you'd better ask my husband,” she pouted. 

“It’s her birthday and it’s a surprise,” John explained as he returned to his seat next to her. “She’s being impatient and sneaky.”

“You’ll only have to wait five minutes,” the man told her, patting her shoulder. “Surely that’s not too bad?”

“You’d think so,” Selene huffed, crossing her arms as the boat slid out of the dock and out into the open water.

Just as their fellow passenger had promised, just a shade under five minutes later the boat cruised into another dock and they were ushered off.

“Now will you tell me where we are?”

“Nope, not quite yet,” John grinned, enjoying this game immensely. Tucking her hand into his they followed the stream of passengers out of the dockyard and onto the streets beyond.

It wasn’t until she saw the streetcar waiting for the offloading passengers that she figured it out. 

“Oh my gods, you didn’t?” she gasped, the pieces of the jigsaw finally sliding into place. The river, which surely had to be the Mississippi, the streetcars and the friendliness of the locals, there was only one place they could be. The city of New Orleans was famous for being one of the only places in the world to still have a working historical streetcar line, something she had heard all about from her friends who had been lucky enough to visit. It was one of the places on her bucket list, her spiritual home for her laidback, chilled out self.

“I did,” he smirked, feeling incredibly pleased with himself at that moment, knowing that his hunch had been correct.

"You are amazing!" she screamed, throwing her arms around his neck. 

“Finally you realise it,” he teased, wrapping his arms around her waist for stability as she bounced enthusiastically on the spot, almost knocking him over. “Shall I assume you approve?”

“Hell yes I approve!” she squealed, smacking a kiss to his lips.

“Good, because we’ve got a full evening booked up.”

“And time factored in for a wander?”

“Translation, time to look at some shops?”

“Obviously.”

“Maybe we can find a little time tomorrow morning,” he allowed. She smiled happily, knowing that was a yes. 

She squeezed up as close to the window as possible on the streetcar, wanting to see everything, squeaking and pointing like an excited child whenever she saw something she recognised.

When he had been thinking of somewhere to take her for an overnight stay he'd happened to overhear a phone conversation between Selene and another friend. They had been discussing a mutual friend and their shop in New Orleans and had spent ten minutes talking about the area with Selene saying how much she wanted to go, how it was on her list of places to visit before she died. The answer, it seemed, had quite conveniently fallen into his lap. 

It had been simple enough to organise, just a hotel booking, pick up from the landing area in St Bernard Parish and tickets for the tour he’d found. He’d planned on surprising her for their anniversary, knowing that it would never be something she would think to plan herself. She knew their busy lives, knew that time off was a rarity that could never be counted on, plans often had to be ditched at the last minute and so she never made them, not wanting him to feel bad if her efforts went to waste because IR were called out and he had to return to Five. 

He had thought she would want to do something with family and friends for her birthday so had booked for the week after, but once again she had surprised him with her insistence that she wasn’t going to celebrate. So he’d had to make some quick decisions, adapt, improvise, overcome.

He kept his eye on his phone, watching the little dot moving on the screen that was them and their streetcar, waiting for the right stop to disembark. Seeing the stop for Toulouse Station coming up he grabbed their bags and waited for her to notice. When she didn't, so engrossed was she in the streets going past, he had to catch her hand and tug her out of her seat. 

“Come on, we’re walking from here,” he instructed, pushing the bell to indicate to the driver, nothing was automated in New Orleans if they could help it, that they wanted to get off.

The stop wasn’t terribly close to the hotel he’d booked, but he’d thought it would be nice to walk, allowing her to see the sights a little and familiarise themselves with the layout of the area.

They walked hand in hand through Jackson Square and out onto St Ann street. St Ann’s was a pleasant walk past a number of shops, bars and restaurants, the end of which intersected onto Bourbon Street. Selene insisted on dipping into a gift shop and grabbing a few items for the family, just in case they didn’t get a chance to later. It took all his skills in sneaky manipulation, and promises of later distractions, to get her moving again, following the street until they reached their hotel. The whole walk took them less than half an hour but they were already feeling a little damp and sweaty.

The Lafitte Guest House was on the quieter end of Bourbon, something he knew both of them would appreciate. Selene liked her sleep and hated being woken suddenly and, although she suffered it well on the island, he knew for a fact that she would not appreciate it while they were away. He’d debated the wisdom of knowingly booking into a haunted hotel but experience had told him that his wife would find a spirit no matter where they were and at least this way they would be forewarned.

“This place is so nice,” she had cooed, running a hand along the ornate wooden handrail on the staircase. 

“It’s a little smaller than some of the fancier hotels, but I thought you’d prefer the atmosphere here.”

“I do, it’s the perfect choice,” Selene agreed as they were shown to their room. And it was, a three storey building that fitted in perfectly with its surroundings, the classic New Orleans French inspired architecture.

“This building was constructed in 1849,” their concierge told them, “by the same man who designed our opera house, Robert Seaton."

He turned down a hallway, beckoning them to follow along. 

"I’m afraid, although your original booking was for our most haunted room, room 21, it is already occupied, I do hope that won’t be a problem?”

“Not at all,” John assured him. “Any room you have will be fine, we’re just thankful you could accommodate us at such short notice.”

“No problem at all,” the man said, leading them up a flight of stairs and along a corridor. He opened the room with a flourish, stepping aside to allow them to enter.

The room itself, much like the rest of the hotel, was like stepping back in time, containing period furniture, a lovely large four poster bed and large french door windows that opened out onto a small wrought iron balcony overlooking Bourbon street. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Selene sighed, flopping backwards onto the bed with a woop of delight.

“Happy wife, happy life,” John quoted, much to the man’s amusement. 

“Will you be requiring anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you, we’re just going to freshen up and then head out to dinner," he said, dropping Selene's bag in a nearby chair." Actually, is there anywhere you can recommend?”

“Many places, but I’d say the best idea is to follow your nose and your stomach, although I would encourage you to try something authentic, the gumbo at SoBou is my favourite.”

“Then we’ll be sure to try there,” John promised. “Sel, are you done messing up the bed?”

“Nope,” she answered, continuing to roll around like a happy puppy, burying her face in the pillow.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” the man laughed, backing out of the room after John shook his hand, discreetly pressing a twenty into the man’s palm.

“I’m going to freshen up with a shower,” John told her. “Try not to fall asleep.”

“I could come with you,” she offered, perking up at the idea, sitting up on the bed expectantly.

“No, I’m far too hungry for that, besides which we have somewhere to be tonight, so your continued attempts to distract me will have to wait,” he told her, grabbing his bag and firmly shutting the bathroom door behind him.

“Unfair,” she pouted, flopping back down again. “It is my birthday you know!”

-x-

“I literally can’t eat another bite,” Selene complained, pushing her bowl aside with half the, admittedly delicious, Jambalaya still in it.

“That’s because you ate four bits of bread before they brought the food out,” John told her, finishing the last bite of his gumbo and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“I regret nothing,” she insisted, reaching over to swipe the crust of a piece of bread off his side plate, wiping it through the sauce left in his bowl.

“I thought you were too full to eat another bite?” he asked as she popped it in her mouth, chewing hard before swallowing to answer him.

“Of my own food, obviously, yours is fair game,” she sipped her coke and smiled sweetly.

“Of course, how stupid of me not to realise that.”

“It really was,” she agreed, holding in a giggle at the martyred look on his face.

“Dessert?” he eventually asked once she stopped sniggering like an idiot. 

“Obviously, do you want to share one?” 

“Sure,” John shrugged, at ease with pretty much anything at that moment. He had worried that he might find the whole area overwhelming as it had a reputation as a nonstop party town. He’d been dreading crowds of people getting too close for comfort, being too loud, too boisterous and invasive. But he’d found that, while it was loud it wasn’t unbearable, seeming to consist of a lot of music, laughter and the occasional shout. 

Although it was crowded, they weren’t shoving and barging, they were respectful of personal space and friendly enough without being over friendly.  It was a pleasant surprise, one that was reflecting in his current mood. Selene, for her part, was so chilled out she was practically horizontal, four witch types had already waved hello and greeted her like a long lost friend even though she didn’t know them at all and she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the experience, her grumpy mood of earlier completely forgotten. 

“What do you fancy?” Selene asked, currently studying the dessert menu on the board.

“Besides my gorgeous wife?”

“Yeah, besides her, wives are not for eating,” Selene snorted.

“I beg to differ.”

Selene tore her eyes away from the menu to look at him. He lifted his bottle of beer and took an innocent sip, his eyes projecting trustworthiness. She wasn't fooled. 

“Something chocolatey?” she offered, trying to distract herself away from the thought of his mouth on something other than the neck of the bottle.

He thought about it for a second or two then shook his head. “Maybe something with fruit?”

“ Or possibly Ice Cream?”

“Maybe,” he studied the menu himself. “Bananas Foster?”

“Perfect,” she nodded.

They finished up the last of their meal at a leisurely pace, chatting in between sharing bites of the delicious dessert. Bananas Foster was a favourite of Gordon’s and she snapped a picture to send to him later, wanting to make him jealous.

John paid the bill, leaving a generous tip and reached for her hand, guiding her outside. He took out his phone, checking the time and location for their next activity. Keeping hold of her hand, using it to pull her in closer to his side, he led the way further down Bourbon and onto St Peter’s where the tour guide would hopefully be waiting.

"Hello!" one of their guides greeted them as they closed in on the group of maybe twenty people already waiting there. "Tracy, party of two?" 

"That's us," John confirmed and Selene nodded too. She had no reason to, she just wanted to look like she had some kind of clue as to why they were there and what was going on. 

"Good, then you're the last ones, let's get started. I'm Delphine, this is Remi, and we'll be your guides on this, the world famous New Orleans Ghost Tour." 

Selene squeezed his hand excitedly and he allowed himself to release the breath he had been holding. It was always a bit of a gamble with her when it came to planning anything like this. In most things she was incredibly laid back, but when it was anything that involved the potential for witchcraft, mediumship or ghosts then you were swimming in muddy water. It depended on how respectful the people involved were. He had done his research as best he could, seeing that the tour had been running for more than 80 years in some form or another and that they didn't employ the use of jump scares, people in costumes or sensationalise it in any way. He just hoped it was all it promised to be. 

"This is a two hour walking tour, ending with a visit to the beautiful and very haunted St Louis Cemetery No 1," Delphine informed them all. "But we're going to start right here in the heart of the French quarter where murder, mystery and voodoo magic helped shape our history."

The other attendees ooed and ahhed, already impressed by the mere thought of ghosts and ghoulies. 

Selene was busily looking around them curiously as they wandered slowly down the street, Delphine and Remi giving them a run down on the architecture, the history, the customs and the people that make up New Orleans. But he could feel that she was already on alert, the hand that held on tightly to his arm seeming to warm against his skin, letting him know that her gifts had already awoken, sitting up to take notice. 

As they walked they were told a little about the Le Petite Theatre and the young chorus girl who, falling out of favour with the producer, hung herself above the stage during the opening night's performance. Legend had it that every opening night her shadowy form could be seen hanging against the backdrop of the stage.

The first place they stopped at properly to take pictures and listen to the full history was the Andrew Jackson hotel, somewhere John had looked at as a possible place to stay but had decided against it when he had realised it was on the tour.

“The Andrew Jackson, once a boarding house for boys, fell victim to two major fires at the end of the 1700’s,” Delphine told them. Her voice was pleasant to listen to, loud enough that they didn’t have to strain their ears but soft and lilting in that southern way that put you at ease instantly. 

“One of those fires burnt the school to the ground, killing a number of young residents. The spirits of the boys are often seen and heard in the hotel, being described as mischievous spirits who like to play outside people’s rooms at night. One guest reported waking up in the middle of the night to see three small boys sitting on the end of her bed. Of course, she screamed, which the boys copied, screaming back at her in terror before vanishing.”

“Can you sense anything?” John whispered to Selene, making sure to keep his voice low, not wishing to interrupt Delphine or distract the other people listening. 

Selene waggled her hand back and forth in a ‘meh’ gesture, indicating it could be something or nothing. 

“I can feel energy from there, but nothing is coming forward to say hello,” she whispered back. “If we were inside I’m sure I’d get something more but out here, not being funny but the spirits are probably so used to tourists coming through that we’re boring to them now. That and, where I’m usually one of the only mediumistic people to come in to talk to spirits, there are tons here, you can trip over a witch by accident. So they are probably just keeping themselves to themselves.”

“Fair enough,” John chuckled, he always loved the way she explained things, a mixture of simplistic and colourful language with a hint of ‘I’m the expert’ that he so admired.

They continued walking, Remi pointing out interesting landmarks and telling the odd story of a murder or some other tragedy that had occured until they reached their next proper stop.

“Here we are at the historic, and very popular, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar, the oldest in the city. History is mixed on whether this building was owned by the famed Lafitte brothers, Jean, or John, and Pierre or just named after them. Some accounts say that they ran the blacksmith shop as a front, others say that they cannot find any actual evidence of their involvement. All we know for sure is that they were nasty pieces of work.” Remi swept a hand out, gesturing towards the bar that was already hopping even though it was still relatively early.

“Jean and Pierre, the Pirate Captains, were instrumental in helping to win the battle of New Orleans during the war of 1812 against the British,“ Delphine continued to explain, glancing at Selene and winking at the mention of the British. “Jean was given a pardon for all his misdeeds as reward for their help, but in exchange he was ordered to leave the state of Louisiana.”

“Bit mean,” Selene whispered to John, who nodded in agreement, imagining how it would feel to help save a city only to be thrown out of it. 

“It’s said that they left great treasures around the French Quarter and in the Mississippi itself which have never been found. The only other person that knew of their whereabouts was a fellow pirate that Jean made the mistake of trusting. Unfortunately, as is often the way with pirates, he was untrustworthy, returning again and again to the cache's to skim a little off the top, so to speak. When Jean found out he did a little skimming of his own, he killed the pirate and it’s said that his spirit is cursed to guard the treasure forever more.”

“That’s a bit of a rough deal,” Selene muttered. “All eternity guarding something he can’t have? That’s like Virgil dying and hovering over the coffee pot.”

John snorted out a laugh, picturing his brother in ghost form, wailing as Scott took the coffee pot, poured himself a cup and drank it in front of him. 

As they wandered on, John and Selene were asked for a few selfies by tourists not in their group and they had to hurry to catch up a few times, finding it impossible to be rude and refuse even though John would have much rather done so.

They were told of the Pharmacy Museum. The building had the dubious honour of being the first licensed pharmacy in the United States but the treatments offered often did more harm than good, verging on barbaric. From drilling holes in skulls to relieve the pressure as a cure for headaches, to chemical concoctions that would have you put in prison were you to use them today. 

The second doctor to practice there was known to kidnap pregnant women and perform horrific experiments on them and it was his grizzly spirit that was said to shunt the building still.

They stopped outside a large, three storey building, getting comfortable as their guide started her story.

“The Palace, the Sultan’s house and the murder house,” Remi called out over the increasing noise of the streets and the chatting of the tour attendees. “All names for this building. Originally the second home of a wealthy businessman, he was hardly ever in residence and often rented it out in exchange for some extra cash that he probably didn’t need. Legends differ, one saying that the mysterious young man, a tall, dark and handsome stranger, was the brother of a sultan, hence the name, while others talk of him being some kind of demon or devil.”

“Demon’s aren’t real are they?” John asked Selene in a side whisper. She didn’t answer but her scrunched up nose and avoidance of his eyes told him all he needed to know. 

“Do you know any?”

She nodded vaguely, clearly not comfortable talking about such things out in the open as they were so he took the hint and shut up, tuning back into the talk.

“The man was very exotic,” Delphine was saying. “He had an accent that no one could place, he arrived with a full entourage of young and beautiful people, both male and female. Again, here accounts differ, some say that the Sultan actually hired a number of assassins to murder his brother and his entourage but others are far more sensational.”

“How much more sensational could it get?” an older woman whispered to her partner. 

“I don’t know,” the other woman whispered back, “maybe an orgy?”

John dropped her chin to Selene’s shoulder, burying his face in her neck as he tried not to laugh. Selene was less composed, out right giggling as he pulled her closer, his arms around her waist so she could lean back against his chest.

“The man and his ‘family’, for that was how he referred to them on the rent agreement, moved in. They immediately closed all the window shutters, hung heavy drapes and weren’t really ever seen again, although the neighbors knew they were in there. They could smell food cooking, they heard music playing at night and the smell of incense often wafted out. But, more disturbingly, the sound of screams would be heard, although it was never known if they were of pain, or pleasure. After a while the house grew quiet, no signs of life were seen and with the silence came a sickening smell. When the police broke down the door they found a scene that they likened to a slaughter house. Dead bodies were everywhere, blood splattered the walls and in the garden they found a freshly dug grave that contained the body of a man, supposedly buried alive. “

“Damn,” the woman who had suggested the orgy, muttered to her partner. "That's definitely not as much fun."

“As I said, accounts vary, some say that it was the sultan’s brother’s harem that had been killed and the brother was the body found in the garden, others say that the family escaped and killed those that either attacked them or that they were demons feeding on the flesh and souls of their victims. We will never know for sure. But rumour has it that the ghost of the sultan’s brother haunts these halls, that passers by still smell the incense and that the echoing screams can still be heard coming from inside.”

“Anything there?” John murmured in her ear, nodding towards the big building.

“There’s definitely an energy of some kind in there,” she answered, keeping her voice low and quiet. “It feels more like residual energy though, not so much an active spirit, but I'd have to be inside to know for sure.”

As they walked Delphine told them of another house, 734 Royal Street where a young black woman had frozen to death on the roof, having been told to disrobe and wait up there by her lover as a joke. He never expected her to do it and was the unlucky person to find her the next morning, naked, frozen, dead on the rooftop. It was said he died soon after from a broken heart.

Some people report to have seen a woman standing on the roof, being concerned enough to call the police. But as soon as the police hear the address they are known to dismiss it as just Julie, still waiting.

Next on their stop was the LaLaurie Mansion. Delphine, their guide, told them the story of Delphine LaLaurie, the beautiful lady of the house who married a man named Louie LaLaurie, a doctor from Europe. They were what was considered an it couple of the time, the height of fashion and threw extravagant parties to show off their wealth and to network.  

The only thing of note that anyone found strange about them was the high number of slaves they seemed to own. Delphine LaLaurie would explain it away as nothing if you asked, brushing it off but if you continued to press the issue, or asked anyone else, you would find yourself ousted, shunned, never to be invited back again.

On the tenth of April 1834, whilst hosting another of their elaborate events a fire broke out in the house. The fire brigade were called and soon had the flames under control. Everything seemed fine, the damage seemed to be minimal but they checked the area thoroughly, just to be sure.

The fire looked to have originated in the kitchen and there they found an older enslaved woman, huddled close to an open window, coughing harshly, almost overcome by smoke. They wondered why she had not left through the window to save herself, but they soon found the answer. They discovered that she was chained to the stove by her ankle, unable to even leave the room, let alone the house itself.

They questioned her on the fire and she admitted that she was responsible, she had set the fire. When they asked why she pointed above her head and told them to look in there. In the room above the kitchen, the slaves quarters, they met with the most horrific sight.

The attic room was full of tortured, mutilated slaves. The doors had been locked but they had soon broken it down. As soon as the doors had opened the smell that hit them had made them heave, some of them needing to turn away to vomit. Papers from the time told of at least seven slaves, chained, beaten, tortured. Victims of pain experiments, their muscles and limbs stretched and broken.

Even though the people of time didn’t hold slaves in the same regard as others they were up in arms, calling for the LaLaurie’s blood. A mob gathered outside but they could not find them, the LaLaurie’s had made their escape in a carriage.

“People talk of a dark and depressive atmosphere in the house,” Remi continued, “and many have reported to have seen the ghost of LaLaurie. A young couple once lived here with their baby. One night the man awoke to see a woman standing over the crib. At first he thought it was his wife but she was right there in bed beside him and she didn’t have long, red hair. He yelled out loud and the woman turned to look at him before running away. He made to follow but something told him not to, instead he stopped to check the baby. The baby’s sock had been removed and had been stuffed deep down into the baby's mouth, partially down its throat, choking it.”

“I don’t like this one,” Selene whispered, her eyes fixed on the building in front of them. Even though it was a lovely warm night and she had her shawl around her shoulders, John could feel that she was shivering and wrapped his arms around her tighter.

“There’s a darkness in there, not like at the Sultan’s Palace, different. I feel that this building still has evil inside it. The energy is so...spikey,” she finished, not really knowing how to describe it. “Like it could prick you or hurt you just because you were there. I can’t say if there are any spirits in there, I’d have to go in for that, but the things that happened in there, it’s soaked into the walls, the floor, everything.” 

She shuddered again, taking an instinctive step backwards, forcing John to do the same or have her knock him over. He knew what she meant, the house felt strange even to him, like every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to turn around and leave. He was a Tracy, he didn’t back down from anything, even with the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing to attention, but he was more than happy to start walking as the tour moved on.

The last stop on their tour before they moved on to the cemetery was the famous house of Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans who, despite being dead for over 250 years, still seemed to hold some sway over the city, still having powers from beyond the grave.

“Born in 1801, to a wealthy white plantation owner and her black mother, Marie was said to be incredibly beautiful,” Delphine told them. “She married and went on to have two children before her husband mysteriously went missing. After this she called herself a widow, though some people believe that this was simply to save face and that he had actually abandoned her and their children.”

“Is this place any better?” John asked, his voice low in her ear, making her shiver for an entirely different reason.

“Much better,” she replied, keeping her voice quiet. “I can feel power here, but it’s neutral, nothing that I would call malevolent or nasty.”

“After her husband’s disappearance she was in need of money with which to take care of herself and her children. With precious little options, she began working in a hair salon, serving wealthy white and Creole women of New Orleans. Just like the salons of today they were a hotbed for gossip and secret spilling. She hoarded the information she was privy to, using to her advantage to rise up the ranks of society.”

“Honestly, I  can respect that woman,” Selene muttered. “I gather gossip and use it to my advantage too.”

“Sweetheart, you said that finding Grandma’s old photo album and stealing the picture of Dad’s emo phase was you doing the Gods work.”

“I stand by that,” she sniffed, ignoring the giggle from the young man standing behind them.

“Marie entered into another relationship with a wealthy and powerful man from a prestigious local family,” Remi continued. “And they had a total of fifteen children in quick succession.”

“Sod that!” Selene yelped, crossing her legs in the ultimate act of self defence. 

“And you said I have too many brothers,” John teased, hugging her tighter when she attempted to elbow him.

“Obviously, with so many children to look after she found that her time was limited,” Delphine said, ignoring Selene’s outburst. “She quit her job at the hair salon and devoted herself to raising her children. It’s believe that this was the time when she started to pay more attention to her mothers voodoo beliefs and practices.”

The story, which Delphine and Remi continued to tell them as they walked towards their last stop of the night, St Louis Cemetery number one, said that while she had a basic knowledge from her mother she learnt most of her craft from a voodoo doctor known only as Doctor John.

Selene turned her head back to look at John as she walked beside her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a side hustle in Voodoo? You’ve been making me do all the magical heavy lifting for years.”

“Well, I had to leave you with something to do to make you feel useful,” he retorted, smacking a kiss on her lips when she squeaked a protest.

“Quite Christian based in the prayers used, voodoo combines the use of saints, incense and dance into its practice,” Remi continued as they walked. “She was known for her pet snake which she had named Zombie, and for providing Gri-Gri bags, spiritual readings, spells, fortune telling and mediumship for the wealthy of New Orleans upper class. She was said to have died with a smile on her face in 1881 and, when her death was reported in the newspapers they called her the kindest woman that had ever lived. She was said to have nursed the sick and helped out with all manner of problems that people might have, although many said it wasn’t so much because of her magical abilities that she was so powerful, but the secrets that she kept. Secrets that kept many politicians in her debt.”

They came to stop outside the crumbling white walls that surrounded the cemetery, glowing eerily in the rapidly darkening twilight between dusk and full night. The walls themselves were actually made up of wall tombs, a place for families who couldn’t afford a large above ground one.

“Marie Laveau was laid to rest right here in this very cemetery. It’s said that she still wields a remarkable amount of power even from beyond the grave, so much so that people often petition her spirit in the hopes that she will grant their wishes,” Delphine said as they entered. 

She and Remi led the way through a maze of tombs, some old and crumbling, others surrounded by iron railings that tilted at odd angles due to age and decay, some large, some small, some classical, some extravagant while others were just so outlandish that they looked completely out of place.

They stopped beside a rather plain white tomb, relatively small in comparison to some of the others they had already seen. Delphine reached out a hand to touch the side of the tomb, right beside a green X that had been scrawled on the paint.

“The practice has since been banned and is considered a criminal offence, but in the past people would mark her grave with an X, although as you can see some people ignore the law. The ritual stated that you should mark the grave with an X, turn around three times, knock on the tomb and then yell out your wish. If the wish came true you were supposed to return, draw a circle around your X and leave an offering to the lady.”

“I can think of a few wishes I’d like granted,” a lady in their group stated, making a fair few people laugh. “Not much, just a few million in the bank, a nice house and a good looking man on my arm.”

“Well, I can’t help with the millions,” her husband said, “but at least you have the good looking man.”

“Yeah, in my dreams,” she countered, although he didn’t seem too offended by it.

“Marie’s ghost has been spotted in many locations throughout the French quarter where she made her home," Remi told them. "She is most recognizable by the red and white turban tucked around her hair and the bright clothes she wears. People are still drawn to her and often follow her wanting to introduce themselves but she always vanishes, sometimes right in front of them, before they can do so.”

“She doesn’t sound scary,” a man said dismissively. 

“Oh, she’s seen as very friendly,” Delphine answered, “until you cross her. She’s been seen many times in this cemetery, walking between and sometimes through the tombs. Usually she leaves you be but, if you do anything that she deems disrespectful, such as disregarding or insulting her beliefs or religion she has been known to scratch, pinch and shove people to the ground. Voices have been heard coming from inside her tomb and some people that get too close have reported feeling sick.”

“She’s not too bad,” a voice beside Selene and John said in a conversational tone.

“Have you seen her?” Selene asked, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb Delphine and Remi as they told of the cities other famous inhabitants of the cemetery such as Bernard de Marigny and Barthelemy Lafon.

“Seen who?” John asked, dragging his attention away from the talk and back to her.

“Sorry, wasn’t talking to you,” she whispered.

“Do you happen to know where the Vignes tomb is?” the man asked, changing the subject from ghost talk to something more mundane. 

“No, sorry, we’re just on a tour here, we don’t know the area,” Selene admitted.

“Who were you talking to?”

“This guy,” she said, nodding towards the blond man who had begun to wander closer to the front of the tour group, obviously wanting to take advantage of listening to the information without having to pay for the privilege like the rest of them had.

“Who?”

“Him,” she replied, waving in his direction. "That new guy, he definitely wasn't with us at the start. He must have joined in along the way."

“There’s no one there, Sel,” John said quietly. She looked at him, studying his face to make sure he wasn't messing with her, but he seemed serious enough. She sighed, for someone so observant John certainly seemed to be missing the obvious. 

“Yes there is, he’s right there,”  she insisted. Praying for patience she grabbed his hand to drag him closer. “See? He's right there.”

“Yes,” John gulped, eyes widening, “I actually do see him.”

“Right, so he was saying that Marie Laveau isn’t as bad as everyone says she is, I assume he meant that her spirit isn’t that menacing, I was asking him if he’d seen her but then you interrupted and-”

“Sel,” John interrupted, his eyes locked on the man who was meandering back their way, “I don't think he joined the tour, he just walked straight through that tomb.” 

“Damn, then he’s got some serious energy in him,” she breathed, catching John’s meaning. “He must have if I didn’t sense it straight away.”

“Sorry, I had to listen to make sure they told my story right,” the ghost said, reaching her side. John’s eyes almost fell out of his head, confirming that he could now hear him as well as see him.

“Oh, are you a famous one?” Selene asked as the tour moved on, affording them a little more privacy to talk. 

“My name is  Henry,” he told them, dipping in a courtly little bow. “Oh, that's my cue, if you’ll excuse me…”

Henry vanished and reappeared nearer the front of the tour. Making a face of pure boredom he stepped into a gap between two tombs and moaned in a low, quiet voice. “I need to rest.”

Several people in the tour jumped and an older lady stumbled. John, actinb on instinct, reached out to steady her, letting go of Selene’s hand in the process.

“Where did he go?” John asked, returning to her side after assuring himself that the lady was unharmed. 

“No where, he’s still right there,” she answered, giving Henry a small wave.

“No, he’s not.”

“He is,” she insisted, “come on, we’ll go talk to him again.”

“As we were saying,” Remi could be heard above the mutterings of the other attendees. “The story of Henry Vignes is a sad one. A sailor who trusted the wrong person, Henry died having no place to be laid to rest, his tomb sold by the lady he had entrusted with his most important papers.”

Henry nodded sadly, leaning casually against the side of a tomb.

“He has been seen by many people, usually so clearly that they do not realise that he is even a ghost,” Delphine told them. Henry preened a little at that. 

“He often strolls right up to tourists and asks them where the Vignes tomb is located as he’s having trouble finding it himself. He’s even been known to appear at funerals and ask if there is any room left in there for him.”

Selene giggled, she couldn’t help it and Henry winked at her, tipping his hat before fading away.

“Are you sure he was still there?” John asked later that night as the tour returned to the french quarter meeting place. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she sighed. “I don’t know what happened there, you seemed to see-”

“And hear,” John added.

“And hear him just fine. Then all of a sudden you couldn’t anymore.”

“I couldn’t at first either,” he reminded her, “I thought you were talking to yourself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she grumbled. “Sometimes I’m the only person that will listen to me.”

“Was there anything you did that might have allowed me to see him?” John asked, ignoring her insinuation that he never listened to her. He listened to her all the time, he was just selective with what he chose to reply to, knowing she needed very little encouragement with some of her more ridiculous ideas.

“No, I didn’t do anything at all,” she promised him. “All I did was move you closer so I could point him out.”

“You took hold of my hand,” he said, mentally rerunning the moment in his head. “And kept hold of it the whole time.”

“Not the whole time,” she reminded him. “When Henry did his haunting voice that lady stumbled and you caught her before she hit the deck.”

“And I didn’t hold your hand again until we were walking back,” he finished. 

“Nah, it can’t be that simple,” she scoffed. “I hold your hand all the time.”

“But have you ever done it while there was a spirit around?” he asked, guiding her around a group of drunken young ladies all carrying brightly coloured cocktails in yard long plastic containers with straws sticking out of them, most of which were being eagerly slurped from as they walked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, thinking about it. “I don’t think so now that you mention it.”

“Do you think that could be another side effect of that little bonding mistake we made?”

“I guess anything is possible,” she mused. “Tanzi did say that we might keep noticing new things for a while after.”

“I guess there’s only one way to know for sure,” he shrugged, “you’ll just have to make sure you tell me next time you see one.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised him. He smiled at that, knowing how just a few years ago she would never have dared to even agree to try, let alone have any intention of doing so. Her ex, Nathaniel was responsible for messing up many things in her life, her confidence in herself and her abilities being one of them, but John was determined that, no matter how long it took, he was going to prove to her that she never needed to be wary again.

Bourbon street at night was like no place they had ever been before. They heard it before they even got close, the neon lights glowing from a distance. The lights reminded Selene of London but that was where the similarities ended. 

The entire street was a wall of noise, music of all kinds seeming to spill out of every single bar on the strip on either side. She felt John tense beside her, knowing that it wasn’t somewhere he would be at all comfortable.

“Do you want to try and avoid it?” she asked and he nodded gratefully. A quick word with Remi and they had secured directions and a suggestion to head down Dauphine St instead of continuing onto Bourbon. They could follow it until they reached St Phillip’s St which would lead them to the intersection where their hotel was located.

They thanked him and Delphine for a fun and informative tour and struck out on their own. Dauphine street was much quieter than Bourbon appeared to be, there were still small crowds milling around outside but not enough to send John into flight mode, so they took that as a win.

“Want to grab a drink?” John offered but Selene shook her head.

“No thanks, I’m not really feeling it today, maybe it’s the crowds or all the walking but I think I’d rather wait until we get closer to the hotel, that way we can find a quieter one to try before we head to bed.”

“Good plan,” he agreed, pulling her in closer. It was only eleven at night, relatively early for them, but they had had a long day and the thought of the comfy bed awaiting them was a very pleasant one.

They located the intersection where Dauphine met St Paul's and soon hit the tail end of Bourbon. From there the music was far more bearable, seeming to be a mixture of classic rock, Selene could hear Smoke on the Water playing from a bar, and some kind of Jazz.

With Virgil, Scott and Jeff being fans of old fashioned Jazz music they decided to move a little further in that direction, meaning to take a video or two to show the others when they got home. That was their first mistake.

“No, no way,” John protested as a woman separated herself from the crowd outside the bar where a band was playing and grabbed his hand.

“Come on, honey, you have to dance,” she insisted, swirling on the spot and dragging him with her.

“Help!” he yelped as his arm was pulled this way and that by the enthusiastic woman. 

“Little busy,” Selene laughed, having been swept up into the arms of a man who was trying to lead her in some kind of 1920’s era Jazz hop dance that involved a lot of quick footwork and much arm waving.

John managed to escape as the band paused before launching into their next number and stole Selene back. She took full advantage, holding on to his hand as the music began to play again. 

A couple near them started something that looked vaguely like a charleston mixed with a waltz that Selene was determined to try to copy. Neither she nor John were very good, not knowing the steps or the music enough to actually follow along and ended up finding their own rhythm, not caring that they didn’t match the others, not caring that they were slower and less energetic. It was nice, it was simple and it was very much them.

“Thank you for forcing me to celebrate my birthday,” she said, pulling him in closer to steal a quick kiss.

“My pleasure,” he grinned, twirling her on the spot then dipping her in his arms. “Anything for the birthday girl.”

-x-

“It was so nice to see Myst again,” Selene sighed, relaxing deeper into the passenger seat of Jeff’s jet as they cruised over the Pacific, on course for Tracy Island. 

“I haven’t seen her in two years, not since she last visited Tanzi, I can’t believe how great the shop looked, they’ve run it for years but don’t get to spend much time there.”

“Well, with what we spent they'll still be open for at least another ten,” he teased, not in the least concerned by her shopping spree. You only turned thirty once and if she wanted to buy up half of the shop that was her choice.

“I didn’t buy that much,” she pouted, but couldn’t hold it for too long when, with a no doubt on purpose twitch of the controls, the little plane rolled sideways, sending a number of bags cascading to the floor.

“You were saying?”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” she huffed, trying not to laugh. "You said they were birthday presents.”

“So I did,” he agreed, lifting his hand off her knee to poke the console, bringing up a comm line to the island, announcing their impending arrival.

Virgil had messaged earlier that morning to say that he was picking up Celia and Adam in time for their return, so all they had to worry about was enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

They took him at his word and shared a delicious three egg omelette, an order of beignets and the best coffee she had tasted in forever.  Bellies full and suitably rested after an uneventful nights sleep in the hotel, the resident ghosts declining to visit, they had wandered around Jackson Square and the shops of the French quarter. 

John had insisted that he was hungry again and craving something special for lunch, that something special had turned out to be oysters. Selene had watched in morbid fascination mixed with horror as he had proceeded to devour a dozen oysters speckled with hot sauce, which she refused to try, while she munched her seafood salad. She was still undecided if watching him swallow them down whole so easily was hot or disturbing, the jury was still out.

Cherise had been as good as her word, waiting for them to dock from the ferry and taxing them to the bar where the jet waited for them. They had waved a happy goodbye after awkwardly stuffing their shopping (the pieces they hadn’t arranged to have delivered) and overnight bags into the back and taken off for home.

“I hope mum doesn’t make dinner awkward,” Selene sighed, knowing that with her family anything was possible. “I know she’s going to be a bit disappointed that I didn’t want to spend the actual day with her.”

“Then let her, you can always blame it on me.”

“My hero,” she smiled, lifting his hand to her lips to kiss it. “What would I do without you?”

“Marry Scott?” he joked, ducking out of the way of the smack she aimed at his shoulder. 

“I think Cat would have something to say about that,” she huffed. “Besides, you know you’re the only man for me.”

“I know, but it’s nice to be reminded now and then.”

She was still giggling, feeling relaxed and happily clinging to his arm, as the lift from the hangars completed its ascent, the doors opening to spill them out into the hall just beyond the lounge.

“Why do I hear music?” Selene asked suspiciously.

“I have no idea,” John admitted as they rounded the corner into the lounge.

Selene stopped dead in the doorway, as did John, unable to believe what they were seeing with their own two eyes.

“Am I that old now that I need glasses,” she whispered, “or am I actually seeing this?”

“Unfortunately it’s very real,” he whispered back, wrapping his arm around her protectively.

The lounge lights were flickering to the beat of the music, someone had laid out food on the coffee table, including a plate of mini sausages that Armstrong was steadily working his way through and someone had opened the concealed drinks cabinet.

It wasn’t the fact that there was quite clearly a party in full swing, a party that she had said on no uncertain terms wasn’t to happen, it wasn’t the fact that the entire family , plus her mother, Adam, Cat, Penelope, Parker, Bandon, Conrad and Moffie were all there.

No, it was the fact that each and every one of them was sporting a wig in various shades and stripes of purple and black. Wigs they had apparently teamed with half the contents of her wardrobe and every band T-shirt Jeff had ever collected.

“What the ever loving fu-”

The music quietened as the party animals realised they were no longer alone. They looked at John and Selene rather guiltily, not saying a word.

Scott, who had somehow squeezed his chest back into her favourite corset, was tossed under the bus and shoved forward to greet her.

“I’m going to kill you,” she hissed, trying to back away as he advanced on her, arms open in anticipation of a hug.

The world's most annoying best friend simply grinned at her, flashing those dimples that he knew she could never resist.

She tried to duck behind John but Scott was too quick for her, herding her directly into the path of the oncoming Virgil.

She was swept up into a bone crushing bear hug, vanishing under the tide of Tracys that descended to join in.

-x-

“Admit it, it wasn’t that bad,” John said, catching up with her beside the pool and handing her another can of her favourite cherry coke.

“I didn’t want a party,” she argued.

“But…”

“But I guess it wasn’t that bad,” she admitted, moving over on the padded bench seat to make room for him to sit next to her.

“They only did it because they love you.”

“I know, but they are all idiots.”

“I know, but it was a special birthday and they wanted to celebrate with you.”

“I know,” she said, leaning against his side with a contented sigh. 

"I've got a present for you," he announced, jiggling his shoulder to get her to move and shifting so he could dig into his hoodie pocket. 

"Really? Why?" 

"Because it's your birthday."

 "You really didn't have to, New Orleans was more than enough."

"The trip was supposed to have been for our anniversary, I just moved it forward," he reminded her. "Besides, I'd be a pretty lousy husband if I didn't get you something special to mark the occasion."

He offered her a bright green velvet pouch which looked to contain something rectangular and hard. 

"Open it," he instructed. 

"OK." She did as he bid, noticing that he was watching her very closely. Did he think she wouldn't like it? 

She loosened the draw strings and tipped the pouch up, catching the bundle of cards that slid out. 

"Tarot cards? What are they…" she paused, turning them over, her eyes widening as she realised exactly what they depicted. 

"Oh my gods," she gasped then burst out laughing. "These are amazing!" 

She flicked through them quickly, laughing even more at some of the pictures, each matching perfectly with the subject. 

"Where the hell did you find Muppets Tarot cards?" Kermit was the Emperor, Miss Piggy his Empress, Fozzy the Fool, Sam the Eagle as Justice, Animal as the Devil and most perfect of all, Statler and Waldorf as Judgement. 

"Tanzi put me in touch with someone who makes one of a kind sets to order," he replied, breathing a little easier now that he saw she liked them. 

"They're perfect, absolutely perfect. I love them so much."

"Good," he smiled, slipping his arm back around her waist and pulling her in closer. "I wasn't sure if it was something you would like or I should actually buy for you and didn't want to do the wrong thing. But Tanzi said that tarot cards are often gifted to people so it was OK." 

"Why would you think I wouldn't like them?" she asked softly. 

"I know how important your tools are to you and how Nathaniel never respected them. I guess I wanted to show you that I care too, that I'll always respect you and your beliefs."

"You are the best husband in the world," she assured him, pulling him closer for a kiss. "I love that you did this and I love that you know me so well that you could commission the most perfect set of cards just for me. Thank you, I love them."

"You're very welcome. I'm glad you like them."

"You always surprise me, just when I think you couldn't be any more amazing you pull something like this out of the bag, literally," she laughed, holding up the green pouch. 

"So, does this mean that you enjoyed turning thirty?" 

“I guess, as birthdays go, it wasn’t too awful.”

“Not too awful?” he mock gasped, clutching his heart. 

“Not awful,” she repeated, tipping her head back for another kiss. “Did you know they were planning all that?”

“Not all of it,” he admitted, “I suspected that they might not stick to a quiet meal but the rest was as much of a surprise to me as it was you.”

She let out an elegant snort in response, clearly not convinced.

“Honestly it was,” he promised, making the rescue scout sign. "Scouts honour."

“OK, I believe you, even though you weren't the scout, Scott was.”

“Thank you,” he grinned, draping his arm around her shoulders, his head tipped back to look up at the night sky above their heads. “All over for another year, how do you feel?”

“Better than I did yesterday morning,” she answered.

“Good, then my work here is done.”

She nodded, resting her head against his shoulder, just enjoying the peace of the late night,

“You’re quiet,” he said softly a few minutes later. “Everything alright?”

“Yep,” she promised. "I'm just thinking.”

“Care to share what you’re thinking so hard about?”

“Yep,” she repeated, grinning evilly. “I was thinking that mine isn't the only special birthday this year.”

Realisation dawned on him, a feeling of dread skittering up his spine.

“No, absolutely not.”

“But you said it yourself, you only turn thirty once.”

“No.”

“You forced me to celebrate, so it’s your turn next.”

“No, listen to me very carefully. I, as your husband, forbid it.”

“I’m thinking of a nice, relaxing trip somewhere quiet. I’ve heard that Finland does an amazing range of glass igloos to stay in to watch the sky, it's supposed to be beautiful that time of year.”

That didn't sound too bad, he had to admit. 

“OK, that wouldn’t be too terrible,” he agreed, breathing a sigh of relief. “For a second I thought you were going to say you were planning a party.”

“Would I do that?” she asked innocently, sliding out of his arms and off the bench. "I'm just going to show these to Mum, she'll have a fit."

“No, you aren't. Get back here. I forbid you to even think about planning a party."

"I'm not planning anything," she said, deftly avoiding his attempts to catch her and pull her back down. 

"Promise me you won't plan a party," he pleaded. 

"I promise," she vowed, dancing around the side of the pool towards the kitchen. 

John's eyes narrowed, she looked entirely too suspicious…

“I’m going to leave that to Scott.”

She dropped her bombshell, turned tail and ran like her life depended on it. 

[thecipherlegacy]

12 and/or 21 for your choice? ~@dragonheart-swtor

I chose both with Arianness and Noshiir, hope you like it!

Arianness had spent the day out doing smuggling runs non stop as she waited for Toovee to contact them about her boyfriend's recovery from their last run together. It wasn't life threatening that she knew of, but he had been knocked out for over two days after an escape gone wrong against pirates. He had gotten a hard hit on the noggin and a couple of scrapes after a rough jump into hyperspace and hadn't woken up since. Toovee got the poor man into a kolto tank, but the waiting was the worst part.

"Hey, pinky" chasaadia greeted her captain as she sat up front with her. "How are you holding up?"

"Im fine" the Twi'lek responded. "A little worry won't stop me from making credits. Also, Noshiirs skull is resilient. He'll come through. I know he will. That thick skulls gotta be good for somethin." The captain smiled at her friend, but that weak chuckle was less than convincing.

"You mask your concern with humor." The large nautolan crossed her arms and gave an unamused look. "And you keep your nerves in check by working."

Arianness scoffed "what in the galaxy makes you think that, Red? Suddenly a psychology expert, are ya?" Her curt reply got no answer, so she stayed silent as well. Her hands ran over the steering console and she sighed. At one point she would have been happy to be rid of the man, but so much had changed since then and she missed his stupid jokes and his silly smile. The ship was quiet without the sounds of his tinkering echoing throughout it.

"Talk to me, Ari." Chasaadia demanded in a sisterly tone once the silence became too much. "I'm not some meathead. I know you're upset."

The smaller woman's purple eyes glanced at Chasaadia, then back down at the console. "Do you think he'll be alright? He hit his head pretty hard." Was all she could think to ask. Realistically she knew her friend had the same knowledge of Noshiors condition as she did, but the reassurance was all she needed.

A numbing silence filled the ship, then the nautolan took a deep breath. "I gotta admit, he took a nasty spill, and there was a pretty gnarly amount of blood." This earned her a sharp look. "But, I trust my Toovee with my life, and I sure as hell trust him with Noshiirs. He's in good hands." Despite how her response began, her gentle smile comforted Arianness. The Bounty hunter never was good woth being gentle, so this was surely the best she was going to get.

"Thanks Chassy. I should really put more faith in Toovee. Hes patched us up in much worse circumstances. Im sure Noshiir will be okay... I just need to not think about it"

The other womans large hand pat Arianness's shoulder "Then let's go make some credits. Toovee will call when that bonehead wakes up."

With a nod, the captain jumped to hyperspace to go to their drop off on Tattooine. Right out of the spaceport there were Jawas swarming to try and trade, which the Captain denied and Chasaadia threatened if they got too close or too rowdy. Couldn't risk the shipment being stolen or damaged.

Both women kept some wraps over their heads to avoid the heat in any way they could until they made it to the Cantina, where they finally met up with their contact, who looked seedy, but had the credits.

"Alright so you can count it. All the blasters and stims you ordered are in there." Arianness said. As the man counted, her communicator began to go off. "Chasaadia, take over for a sec." She stated before getting up and answering the call. Toovee was a relief to see. "Oh thank the force- how is Noshiir?-"

"I am pleased to tell you that he is awake and functional. He still needs rest, but everything seems to be in order, so whenever you're ready to come home-"

"We'll see you soon!" Arianness grinned from ear to ear before hanging up "He's awake, Chassy! Lets go!" She called and rushed out of the cantina before getting any response.

"He hasn't paid!" The hunter argued and watched the younger woman leave with a grunt.

"Well, guess I dont gotta pay, then" the client smirked, but was quick to change his mind when a blaster was shoved against his nose.

By the time the Nautolan was back on the ship, her captain was already getting it started up and ready to go. "So,what happened to 'a little worry won't stop me from making credits'?" She asked with a frown. "You almost didn't get paid for that shipment."

"I lied. C'mon, red. You knew that" Arianness said woth a shrug. "Now strap in. We're going home."

"Im taking a bigger cut from this one, you idiot." Chasaadia sighed again and sat down beside her "and I mean that in the most loving way."

Those purple eyes looked at her playfully as they left the space station. "I know. And you deserve it, take what you want."

This surprised the hunter,but she decided not to mention it. Arianness used to care more about a missed score or being ripped off. Her love for the zabrak had changer her priorities for the better.

The ride home was relatively quiet as Arianness was so focused on getting there fast. The moment they entered the atmosphere of Alderaan she was practically buzzing with joy.

"I've never seen you like this" Chasaadia finally said. "So happy. Its nice."

The captains cheeks flushed bashfully "oh- thanks Chassy... I'm just relieved he's okay- I mean... aren't you excited to see Toovee?" She asked as the ship was brought in to land in their hangar.

"Of course I am." The other scoffed. "But you're like a little kid on life day."

Arianness huffed and shut off the engines "I'm just... going to be happy to see him walking around again, you know?... it was my carelessness that caused his injury. I could have lost him, kinda puts things into perspective. Helps me appreciate what we have even more."

There was a brief silence, then Chasaadia chuckled fondly and stood up. "Sap." Was all she said as she walked to the airlock.

"Hey!" Arianness frowned and followed her "shut up."

They stepped off the ship to see Toovee waiting for them. He was instantly fretting over Chasaadia, as he always did after their runs. The Twi'lek waved to him as she rushed up to the medical bay, where Noshiir was standing up on shaky legs.

She smiled at the sight, but also worried since she knew he probably shouldn't have been walking yet. "And what are you doing out of bed, mister?" Her tone was like a mothers as she approached him to look the poor man over. He had fresh bandages on his head and stomach and a few bruises on his red skin. His hair was up in a messy bun, leaving some of it hanging over the right side of his face. Despite it all, Noshiir looked up at her and gave her that million credit smile.

"Damn... youre a sight for sore eyes, Captain." He said. "When Toovee said y'all were coming home i thought I'd greet you but... uh... yeah I only made it this far."

She sighed and put his hands on her hips "Put your weight on me, can't have you falling and hitting your head again, you goof" Arianness chuckled a little and held his face in her palms softly. "Nice to see those blue eyes again..." she brushed the strands of hair from his face and curled it behind his ear. "Im so sorry you got so hurt... I should've been more careful."

His brows knotted "What? Darlin.... this wasn't your fault, shit happens. I'm just grateful to be up and looking at your pretty mug again" he argued. The captain frowned and her pink cheeks tinted red.

"You flatterer." Came yet another sigh. "I love you.... never scare me like that again"

His weight shifted so their foreheads touched. "I love you too, but no promises. You know I'm accident prone."

Arianness snickered. There was truth to his words. He was clumsy and definitely drew attention in a fight. She gently guided his head lower to kiss his brow. "Then lay back down, clutz. I'll get you some lunch, I'm sure you're famished"

He smiled and relaxed into her touch before doing as he was told "Once I'm all fed maybe you can just.. lay with me a while?" He asked. The twi'lek smiled back at him and gave a small nod.

"I'd love nothing more."

[stringing-words-onto-a-chain]

Vampire!Ash AU (NOT SEXUAL)

I found a few different fan arts of vampire Ash recently, and I decided to write some. Yes, I fell into the “uncontrollable thirst” trap, but I’m a sucker for angst where the perpetrator can’t be blamed. Also there are like a bazillion different ways to tag this ship, so I just wrote   A L L   O F   T H E M.

Sal POV:

As Sal ate, his eyes wandered over to Ash, and he frowned, setting down his food and lowering his mask. She was shifting in her seat, licking her lips, and her emerald eyes were darting all over the street. While he watched, the whites of her eyes flickered briefly to a soul-piercing coal black, and back again. His movement drew her gaze for a split second, and she tensed as her eyes fell on his wrist, pausing momentarily before she shook herself.

“Hey, Ash?”

She finally met his eyes, still turning her head towards the slightest sounds around them.

“Yeah?”

“Is… something wrong?”

Ash tried for her signature smirk, but her fang caught the top of her lip in a way that reminded Sal of Larry’s nervous habit. 

“No, no, I’m alright.”

He raised an eyebrow behind his mask.

“Don’t lie to me, Ash. I may not have super senses or anything, but I can tell when something’s bothering my best friends. So get talking.”

“I -” she began, then sighed deeply, dropping her head. When she looked up again, her eyes were black once more, the green smouldering like an ethereal flame. “Sal, can you possibly do me a huge favour?”

His eyes narrowed in concern, and he swung round to face her, straddling the bench.

“Of course, you can ask me anything.”

Ash glanced round the room. Her unsettledness was beginning to unnerve him; it wasn’t like her at all.

“Okay, so usually I don’t drink from people. You know that. But it is better than most other blood - more fulfilling.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going…”

She laughed, but there was something off about it. Sal couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but his hand crept to the cross Ash had insisted all of them carry in case of an “accident”.

“Sorry, Sally. But anyway, I didn’t have time to drink bottled animal blood this morning, and I… wait, I never told you what happens if I don’t drink enough, did I?”

“I don’t think I wanna know.”

“No, you definitely don’t. Point is, I don’t drink, your friend Ash disappears, and something much more aggressive comes out instead.”

His fingers curled around the cross behind his back, slowly drawing it from his pocket. Ash’s eyes fell on his hand knowingly, and she smiled sadly.

“Don’t worry, it’s not desperate yet. I’m still me - for now.” He slipped the cross back in his pocket with an exaggerated sigh of relief, but he kept on alert, his hand still on it, just in case. “Now, I could, theoretically, go hunt some animals in bat form, but that will drain me quicker, and considering we’re in a relatively clean and busy town, if I can’t find anything…”

Sal laid his other hand consolingly on her shoulder, and almost immediately regretted his decision as Ash’s eyes fell hungrily on his wrist again. He settled for leaning forward and speaking softly, gently removing his hand.

“What can I do to help?”

“Well, as I see it, I have two options.” Ash’s eyes bored into him, not having changed back. “I can go bat-form and pray to… I don’t know, Satan or something, that I can find something in time, or…” She looked at him meaningfully, and he understood exactly what she meant.

“Or you can drink from me.”

“I swear I won’t take enough to kill you, or turn you, or even knock you out, and I will only do it if you let me. I’d never hurt you if you didn't tell me it was okay.”

Sal considered, weighing up how much she needed it with how much he trusted her.

“Alright.”

Her unnatural eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re clearly struggling to not… go psycho, or whatever it is that happens. I’m here, and you won’t actually damage me at all, so why not? Heck, I’ve probably gone through more painful operations.”

She threw her arms around him tightly.

“Holy crap, Sally Face, you’re the best!”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he returned the hug, letting his already unbuckled mask fall into his lap. She pulled back for a second, looking pleased at the visibility of his face, and running a hand through her hair.

“There’s one more thing I can do to make it easier for you.”

“Which is?”

Her eyes shifted sideways, and she smirked bashfully.

“One of my weird-ass powers is… sort of like hypnotism. I can’t control you or anything, but I can put you in a trance. If I do that, you won’t feel a thing while I drink. Otherwise, it’s gonna hurt. But again, I won’t do it unless you let me.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Thanks, I guess.”

“No, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” She stopped, tilting her head to examine him. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this. I’m not sure what you think it’s gonna be like, but Hollywood lied to you. This would normally hurt like hell, and it’s blood, so it’s sticky, and messy, and gross, and… yeah. Just generally not fun.”

“I know.” Sal leaned forward again, knowing exactly how dangerous it was, but this time not caring. “I trust you. I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

“I won’t. I mean, I will, I’m literally about to, but I won’t do any major damage, and I’ll do my best to minimize the pain. Ready?”

He tugged down the front of his jumper quickly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and shifting to face Ash.

“Yeah. See you in a minute?”

“Maybe a few.”

Ash POV:

“Maybe a few.”

She closed her eyes, focusing hard on the tiny pinprick of power inside her. It wasn’t much, vampires were an extremely diluted type of magic, but it was enough for this. She let her eyes slide open again, throbbing with her will, and met Sal’s eyes. She could feel him instinctively resisting the pull, trying to keep his head clear.

“Don’t fight it, Sally, you agreed to this. Remember?”

He smiled. Honestly surprising he could hold out this long.

“Is this the part where you tell me to stare into your eyes and just relax?”

She snorted.

“Pretty much. Kinda shocked you’re still lucid enough to make that joke.”

“Yeah, it’s not going to last. You do know how to wake me up, right?”

She just smirked, leaving herself the last laugh as Sal’s joking eyes widened in nervousness for a split second before they glazed over, and his expression became completely neutral. The smile faded off her face, and she looked over her statue-still friend remorsefully. She stuck a hand in front of his face and waved, but there was no acknowledgement. He was utterly bewitched.

“Sorry, Sal.”

She made to grab his wrist, then stopped. She looked up at his blank, scarred face, then gently rose up on one knee, kissing his forehead tenderly.

“You really are incredible”, she told him, but she knew he didn’t hear.

Sal POV:

“Sally?”

A voice cut through the haze surrounding him, and for a split second of clarity, he realized his mind had been completely shut down, not registering anything at all.

“Sal.”

Such a beautiful voice. Silvery, flowing, and gorgeous, like ribbon.

“Come on, Sally Face, you’re stronger than this.”

Familiar? 

“Goddamn it, Sal, snap out of it.”

The voice was almost pitying, but there was a soft edge to it, and it sounded like it was holding back laughter. 

No, not it. Her. 

Green eyes settled into focus in front of his own listless pair. The rest of her face spiralled into his vision as well, and the pieces of her slowly connected, becoming more and more familiar. Like an old friend.

Ash.

  All at once, everything sharpened, and Sal’s hand flew up to his head, an abrupt awareness of his rebooting mind. As he did, he registered a dull pain somewhere on his body, where she must have bitten him, but he wasn’t quite conscious enough to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. The memory of what he’d just thought about her voice sprung up on him, and, realizing the mask was no longer in place to hide his blush, he decided to dismiss it as a result of the enchantment.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. You in there?” asked Ash teasingly, but there was something heavier behind her words, something a little too sober to be good. 

“I… I think so. Your weird power thingy really did a number on me, but I’m just a little groggy.” He let his hand fall back in his lap, bumping against his discarded mask as he did, and gave her a tired smile. Now he was actually himself again, he noticed a roll of gauze and a clinical looking spray on the table next to them, and he glanced up at Ash. Her eyes were back to their normal human-passing appearance, and there was a subtle smudge of red at the corner of her mouth.

“I figured it was best to keep you under while I cleaned up the bite. Antiseptic spray is a little bitch.”

He smiled at that, but it dropped off his face at the thought of what she’d had to do. Absently, he put a hand up to his neck, feeling for the bite mark, and frowned.

“Where’s the -”

“The whole thing about vampires and necks is mostly a myth,” Ash replied, the weight behind her words still prominent. “Check your other pulse points.”

A vague dread began to settle over him, and hesitantly he looked down at his hands. Gauze was poking out from his sleeve, and upon seeing it, he instantly knew exactly what was wrong. He pulled his jumper back to reveal two twin holes bound under the fabric bandages, where she’d drank, then pulled the thick cotton back further. The neat gashes lined up across his arm were bound as well. A quick tap on his other arm told him the marks there were treated too. Shame washed over him, and trying to meet Ash’s eyes was like fighting a brick wall with his non-existent powers of telekinesis. Her hand slid under his chin, cold from the wind like one of the undead bloodsuckers he’d seen in movies, and brought his face up level to hers.

“Sally…”

“What can I say to pass this off as not a big deal?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Ash curled back her lips, revealing her gleaming fangs, and her brow furrowed, her eyes earnest in their utter horror, before she dropped her head, letting out a long, slow breath.

“Listen, Sal, I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself. I don’t know what could have driven someone like you to pick up a blade and… I just don’t. But I also know I can’t stop you. It’s an addictive habit, I know, and you’ll find a way to do it if you’ve made up your mind that’s what you’re gonna do.” He finally turned towards her, needing to see her expression clearly. It was pointless, though, as she’d looked away, hiding her face. “Knowing how deep your self-hatred goes, I don’t think I can convince you to stop. And vampire hypno powers only go so far. But please, I am begging you, stay relatively safe while you do it. I can’t lose you.” She met his gaze, desperation lining her body as she leaned towards him, cupping his face. “At least get yourself some fucking bandages.”

“I’m sorry.” The hoarseness of Sal’s voice caught him by just as much surprise as the hot tears that spilled over his lids out of nowhere. Ash’s face softened, and she leaned still further forward, her hands bunching up the back of the jumper as she pulled him in for a hug. He squeezed his eyes shut, the tears forcing themselves out, and tucked his head against her shoulder. 

“You should be apologizing to yourself, but I’m not delusional enough to think that’s gonna happen.” She stroked his hair understandingly, the feeling registering through the despairing numbness. “I know I literally just had you under a spell, which I did to give me an opportunity to take some of your blood, but… I genuinely don’t want you getting hurt.” Her grip tightened, and she rested her chin on his head. “I love you, Sally Face. You know that. And if you won’t take self-preservation as a reason to stop, maybe you’ll take the three of us needing you as one. We need you, Sal.”

“Thank you…” he mumbled, clutching at his mask. Ash seemed to understand; she gently pulled back, watching him buckle on the mask sadly. He paused, feeling her gaze still on him, and looked up. “I mean it, Ash. I love you too, and that… really helped.”

[b4kuch1n]

The Future Is In Space! (and so is the rest of you)

Okay, so. Gordon should’ve seen this coming. 

And he did, to be fair: Joshua’s always loved space. Joshua loved the idea of flying cars when he was a tiny little thing, if the fact that all of the toy cars he had were thrown with intense force at one point or another meant something, and he clapped at the night sky once when Gordon got them both stuck at a gas station in the middle of nowhere due to… circumstances… which was super, ultra, uber cute as fuck . Especially because Gordon had just applauded him for singing along to a song on the radio when they parked, and that was very possibly the first time Joshua registered clapping as a possible positive reaction to something he likes, or whatever like that. Gordon Freeman has a PhD in theoretical physics and theoretical physics only.

The point is that Gordon loves Joshua so fucking much. No, the point is that Joshua has always liked space. He chose for himself a set of space-themed PJs when Gordon took him to the mall, and he likes food with weird colors because that’s “alien food”, and he has given away all of the toy cars he had to make space for toy space ships of many sizes, and Gordon has had to have a conversation with him once about upending a dusty fish bowl onto his own head so he could look like an astronaut. He doesn’t do that anymore, because Joshua is genuinely a really smart kid who just needs the required pieces of information to put things together by himself. 

Gordon loves him so much. 

Gordon also has only experienced a single year of relatively radiation-free, sludge-free, organic, non-Black Mesa- poisoned air and also freedom (to an extent) since. You know. Almost dying and also losing his right arm in Black Mesa. Where he jumped into a few portals, one of which leading to an alien world called Xen, where he had to kill what seemed to him at the time a spiteful god against his own existence. 

That, and not the Joshua-loves-space part, is the part he didn’t see coming. Hadn’t. Still doesn’t, if he can be honest for a minute. There are days it still doesn’t feel real, just to contrast nicely with the days when what’s left of his right arm and his right shoulder hurt, and days when power outage hit unexpectedly and the lights went out without warning, and days when he fights to not let some stupid fucked up slights against him go because that’s just how the world is that’s how things are now keep your head down and don’t think Gordon just shoot just let your trigger finger pull itself in you are in a comedy of error a laugh track a monkey on a leash just dance just move your feet j

Hey, no digging your heels in there. Throw yourself off your rhythm, Gordon. Joshua. Joshua loves space. Joshua is going to an elementary school now. Joshua just came home from a “career” day, and the parent invited to speak is a retired astronaut. 

Joshua said: “I wanna be an astronaut when I grow up!”

Joshua likes numbers. Somewhat. He’s not averse to them, at the very least, and homework’s kind of bullshit from the concept to the execution but when Gordon and Tommy and Coomer sit down to keep him engaged while he does it he has fun with math homework. He likes video games, he likes the puzzles in the youth magazines they signed up for at his school, he likes messing with shape blocks and pulls out some cool combinations Gordon doesn’t see coming sometimes. Joshua is a smart kid that enjoys a fair challenge. Joshua is totally astronaut materials. 

Joshua is going to space. 

Joshua is absolutely going to space. 

Xen is, coincidentally, also in space. 

Gordon is calm. He totally has a good poker face. He performs well under pressure, especially very specific types of pressure, e.g. when there are rules in place he can cling to and ground out an appropriate plan of action. He could improvise a presentation in class in a pinch, because he knew what presentations are and what he’s been working on and what the teacher expected. He could jimmy his car out of an ice patch, because he knew how cars work and how ice acts. He can smile and say “That’s great, Joshie! You just gotta work hard for it, and then you’ll be in space in no time.”

Gordon has an image he can provide to show how he feels.

[Picture ID: a drawing of Gordon Freeman standing in front of his son Joshua, cut off at their chest. Gordon is a tall man, a bit heavyset, with tan skin and mid-back length, messy curly brown hair that’s greyed at his temples due to stress from surviving the hellhole that is Black Mesa and Xen. He’s wearing his comfortable worn-and-faded t-shirt, which is orange with a very faded graphic printed on the front. Joshua is a young boy with brown skin and short dark curly hair, brown eyes that’s brimming with light and happiness, and a wide happy smile. He’s wearing a light green t-shirt. Gordon is smiling at him, with another shot of his face enlarged and superimposed on the drawing right next to his head. This Gordon is screaming. This Gordon is screaming his heart out, and his face is scrunched up while his mouth opens wide, and he’s screaming a silent scream and he will never stop.]

---

Contrary to how it appears to everyone, Benrey doesn’t live full time at the Freemans’. 

Well. He does “sleep” there. If he actually sleeps. That’s one of the questions that Gordon has had ever since Black Mesa that he never got to or bothered to ask, and then when they had to defeat Benrey in the final boss fight he thought that was it with his chance to ever ask. And then Benrey came back and the situation took a hard left into throw-the-whole-suitcase-out awkwardness and Gordon thought it better to never bring those questions up ever again. It’s. Ongoing. Like his climb back into being a normal, mostly law abiding, neutral good citizen, who has no ties to that research facility that blew up and opened a portal to hell in space. 

It helps that Benrey really is just… a dude. Now that he’s not eighty feet tall and clipping through walls anymore, he can definitely pass as someone who just really loves to mess with people for a laugh. Which… well, Gordon’s judgement of character is probably better discarded in the kitchen trash compactor now, but he’s not gonna lie and say that’s all Benrey seems to him. He doesn’t even mess with people for laugh, not really. He is just. Like that. He’s an alien, but in the sense that’s… 

Well, to Benrey, humans are alien. So that’s that. 

And also Black Mesa did stretch the definition of ‘human’ in the physical sense pretty thin. So, again, that’s that. It all fits together like sliced pita bread. 

The other thing that helps is that Gordon has the tendency to forget about risks or consequences when they are not directly in front of him, which he sometimes overcorrects, but this time around it helps move the sentiment into the philosophical window pretty quick, and then he can throw a brick through that one, because philosophy sucks ass. Gordon’s moving along well! He only had to change prosthetics twice because the first two were in order too heavy for his shoulder and too energy consuming, and all three are fully covered by the overlords that didn’t want Black Mesa to become a Thing in history, and now he works remotely for a uni that just lets whatever happen. It’s chill. It’s mostly chill. 

He could’ve just chugged along never thinking even an inch deeper about Benrey’s Benrey-ness again, and Benrey makes that easy, because Benrey loves walking around and looking at things and being a bit of a spectacle with a straight face. Okay, Gordon doesn’t know for sure if Benrey loves doing those things, because he’s not Benrey. He just knows that Benrey does those things, frequently, and with an expertise that baffles even him, who knows full well how Benrey is. Well enough. Awkward territory, all of this is, really. The Point Is that Benrey actually doesn’t appear at home too much! He plays games through the night sometimes, sure, and ever since he called second dibs on any cereal in the apartment he always appears at the right time to claim that, but the whole thing is. Balanced. Benrey doesn’t seem to have physical personal belongings outside of the PS3 and four copies of Heavenly Sword he lugged back one day (the rest of the game library everyone kinda chimed in here and there to build up, because console is common ground fair use for everyone, while PC is where Gordon streams and also works, so it’s off limit), and he rarely uses utensils to eat anything, so to anyone but the team it’d seem like he’s barely there at all. Except for his presence of course. That’s… a lot harder to negotiate.

Gordon’s gotten very, extremely good at it though. It’s his life. Things fit together, mostly. He can deal, he has been dealing, and it’s even been fun. It’s definitely really funny here and there. 

Gordon’s about to break the equilibrium. Introduce a nasty new specimen into the scene.

“Bro I knocked for a hot minute,” Benrey says, at the same time as Gordon’s blurting out, “I need to go back to Xen.” 

“Huh.”

“Wha- Why do you knock? You’ve never knocked. You’ve literally only ever broken in.” 

“Wanna… start now.” Benrey intones in that exact way, and then knocks on the door again. It doesn’t even sound good. These doors are all made with the weird thick composite that makes a dull plastic sound when knocked on. 

“Don’t do that, just use the doorbell if you want to-” Gordon catches himself. “No matter. I need to go back to Xen. As soon as possible, but anytime in the next… twelve years… will work.” 

Benrey just looks at him for a long time. An extended minute. Maybe even two. 

Gordon is just staring back. 

“You’re at. The door.” Benrey says, in a low voice. Gordon blinks. “Rude… rude little boy Freeman, huh.” 

Gordon takes a deep breath. “Benrey-”

“Gonna let me in? Soon? ‘s bad etiquette… greeter… doesn’t even let guests in. Bet your wares aren’t even good.” 

“Alright! Alright.” Gordon snaps, but he also does step back for Benrey to walk in, which. Really, that’s never been necessary. Benrey’s always come in and out as he pleases. Usually Gordon just walks out into the living room and Benrey’s already on the couch playing whatever game catches his eyes on that day. The decorum of knocking and walking in is simply never present. 

Well, Benrey does knock on Joshua’s bedroom door. But that’s it. 

They walk together into the living room, then Benrey situates himself on the couch, and Gordon settles on the carpeted floor next to the table to observe him. He’s never seen Benrey actually fold his limbs up into the position he’s usually already in when walked in on before. It’s mostly normal movements, which still catches Gordon off-guard a bit.

“Nice couch you’ve got here,” Benrey says, and pulls out his phone to fiddle with. It’s a Nokia 2700 Classic, with a theme downloaded from the Ovi Store, and a firefighter-themed 2D platformer that does get insanely hard in places. Tommy got him a snazzier Blackberry a while back, but he refused that one. Gordon didn’t really get it, but. Whatever. 

“It’s always been here,” Gordon replies on reflex.

“Liar… Gordon Lie… man.” Benrey seems to need to chew on that one for a second. “Gordon Lieman. This building’s like. Ten years old.” 

“That’s practically forever dude.  That’s longer than they sent me to MIT for. Joshua’s not even that old.” 

“He’s gonna. In… seven… years.” 

Gordon remembers what he needs to talk with Benrey about again. “Goddamnit,” he slaps his own face - not with the hard prosthetic this time, thank you very much. Took him six months of HEV training and a year with a prosthetic to get it to heart. “Okay, so. Xen.”

“Wait. Math’s wrong… eleven. Years.”

“Don’t distract me! Xen!” Gordon throws his arms up, finally making Benrey actually look at him proper. “Joshua wants to be an astronaut when he grows up.” 

Benrey puts his phone down. 

“Yeah,” Gordon scrubs his face, with his flesh hand. “So I need to… do something about Xen. I have a plan. I need to find materials, and then I need a way to Xen…” 

“What’s an astronaut.” 

“A- no.” Gordon sits up straight. “No, you’re fucking with me. You’re doing this on purpose. I’m fucking about to go nuts, dude.” 

Benrey looks him up and down, makes sure his head movement is clear in the dark living room, lit only by the lamppost outside the window. “Yeah,” he says, “no shit. You wanna go back to… Xen… and stuff. Freeman lost his mind.” 

Gordon opens his mouth to retort, but then closes it with a click. “Okay,” he mumbles after a moment of thinking it over, “okay. I get where you’re coming from.”

“Haha, get it. ‘cause I’m from. Xen. And shit.” 

“Not funny, dude.” It is a bit funny. “But I’m not- okay, so, listen, Joshua’s a determined kid, alright? He’s smart, and he’s healthy, and he likes space. He’s… the chance of him becoming an astronaut is not zero.” Gordon pulls his legs up to his chest. “If it’s up to me, it’s gonna be a hundred percent, ‘cause that’d make him so happy. But even if I’m not the one writing the almighty script I’m still gonna do my best to help him if he’s serious.” 

Benrey continues looking at him. “Uh-huh.”

“And… that includes. Never letting him near Xen.” 

“Mm.”

“And I know, I know Xen’s like. Ten fucking floating rocks at least a million Texas lengths away from Earth, but it’s still there, y’know? It’s still there. You’re from there! You know it’s still…” 

“Yeah?”

“... I. Want to blow Xen up.” 

Benrey settles into the draw-me-like-a-French-girl pose. “Sounds good. How’re we doing that.”

“Well, we’ll need explosives that can actually detonate in Xen’s climate, and acquiring that’s gonna put me on so many shitlist-” Gordon almost physically grabs his own hand to yank himself back to Benrey’s answer. “Wait. Are you really just… relenting? Are you actually in this now. Benrey?”

“Say more about the explosive though.” Benrey blinks innocently at him. “Please? Explosive cool. Maybe illegal. Super cool though.” 

Gordon is not doing the frog mouth thing. He’s not. He’s totally not. He sighs a long sigh; there, no more rude expression. “I am only thinking about using explosives, because it’s costly and we’re gonna have to transport it. So you have nothing to snitch about. Who would you even snitch to, anyway? Fucking- we are under an indefinite two-way nondisclosure clause, if any of us ever open our mouth to a stranger about that we’re gonna get sacked, but. Wait are you even involved in that? You came back after we signed those papers. Well Tommy’s officially ‘representing’ us, so it’s all tangential kinda, so maybe he can just add you, but why would you-”

“No explosive run huh… What’re you gonna… use. Then.” 

“-subject yourself to the law- alright, yeah uh. To be honest I was thinking raw force? Because I do have around twelve years to make this work, and Coomer has insane strength that has leveled a Xen island before, and Bubby is… I think he just isn’t aware that there’s supposed to be a limit to human strength at all. They forget to put that in when they pumped him with knowledge juice. He can- wait, Bubby can just make fire. He can maybe negate the climate conditions for us, so explosives are still in the question here, and- Darnold, last I heard he’s doing some ‘Sour Patch Kids but real’ stuff… sounds like seriously corrosive stuff… We can. We can have a plan.”

Benrey is on his phone again. “Nice.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Gordon dry swallows some dust from the carpet. He realizes he’s gripping on it pretty hard with his prosthetic; he’s close to ripping a chunk of it out. He takes a deep breath and relaxes the plastic hand. “We’re gonna need to make and test the explosives, and we’re. I need to tell everyone. Convince them to help. And we’ll need a portal back to Xen.”

Benrey’s still clicking away on his phone - probably playing that firefighter game again - but he’s looking at Gordon at the same time. Gordon looks up just in time to catch the sharp grin disappearing from his face. 

Alright. Maybe Benrey does love doing Benrey things. At least one of them’s actively enjoying this.

---

Gordon’s well aware how ridiculous he is. Is sometimes seen as. Perceived as. Terminologies.

Mostly he copes fine with that. He’s lived it for as long as he’s alive. Most decisions he makes are met with a raised eyebrow at the sublest and outright laughter at the rudest. Transitioning, that was a long, long period of his parents going from “haha funny joke but don’t tell it in public yeah” to “oh shit that’s for real huh? That’s for real” to confused, but silent, silence. Him applying for MIT and seeking a scholarship was definitely the career advisor at his high school laughing uncomfortably for a long time, because Gordon’s never held down a project properly, has he? How’s he doing this? And then him adopting Joshua officially was at least ten separate conversations with Joshua’s grandparents patting him on the back, it’s okay if you don’t! We can care for him. It’s nice to have children around the house again! We know you’re busy! We know there’s things youngsters like you want to do before getting tied down with children. Trust us, we know. You don’t have to . 

Gordon knows. He’s never had to make any of the decisions he actively made, but one, that’s why they’re decisions and not punishments , and two, in many ways including cerebral, he did. Kind of have to. In many ways those are the only steps that make sense for him to take. They were the foundation to who he is as a person, with a sense of self that must be supernaturally obscure, because he’s. He’s got a lot of things to balance. A lot of tight ropes to walk. 

Gordon’s many things, a lot of those he doesn’t fucking recall himself. Maybe that’s by itself absurd enough. He’s had a lot of time to learn, and a bit of time to relearn, being okay with being absurd. 

Black Mesa “helped”, in the same way it spared the rest of him when it got his arm cut the fuck off. It’s a horror comedy. It gave him a bit of a new perspective on absurdity. 

“Don’t you dare,” Gordon grouches, because he’s learning. He’s always learning. “Don’t use the a-word.” 

Bubby puts his arm together in front of his chest. “I’m not about to! Don’t presume you know what I will do.” 

In a way Bubby’s incredulous look stings worse than Benrey’s deflection, Gordon reasons, because Benrey has emotional (?) stakes in Xen’s existence. Maybe he has an external heart or something that’s still beating and keeping him alive on Xen, though Gordon hopes he’d’ve at least been transparent about that when they talked about blowing the place up. Bubby though, Bubby doesn’t have emotional ties to many things altogether. Bubby’s also a tube baby who sets himself on fire with his thoughts. Himself and other people and/or objects. Not as absurd as Benrey being Benrey, but absurd enough to be way above Gordon on the a-scale, and thus has no rights to call Gordon absurd. 

“You have to admit though,” Bubby says after a moment of silence.

Gordon takes a deep breath. “No, actually, I don’t have to admit shit,” he says, with what he can call patience with just a little bit of definition stretching, “you ever thought of that? I actually can just never admit that blowing up a whole planetoid system is a bit out-of-the-box thinking of me. I can just say that it’s totally normal and expected behavior of me, and what’re you gonna do with that? Huh? Do go on.” 

“Oh don’t be pissy at me,” Bubby huffs, and goes back to staring at the buoy bobbing on the water surface, tied to his fishing line. “You’re scaring away the fish, Gordon. Everyone knows you don’t talk and stomp around on the piers while people are fishing. It’s rude.”

“You’re literally only trying to see if you can set a fish on fire as a prank,” Gordon points out, more for his own sanity than to prove anything to anyone, least of all Bubby.

Benrey looks like he’s ignoring Gordon and Bubby’s exchange, just sitting at the edge of the piers, legs swinging evenly, but Gordon well knows he’s listening in. If not because he’s somewhat invested then because most things that frustrate Gordon is great entertainment to him. 

He is, maybe, a bit, somewhat invested though, must be. He brought Gordon to where Bubby and Coomer are camping, afterall. No reasons else to do it, especially when they have time to wait for them to come back to civilization. Twelve years, in fact. 

Gordon can wait (he can forget, but in his book that’s the same as waiting, really), and he doesn’t begrudge Bubby and Coomer’s “honeymoon trip”, which has consisted thus far of them trampling about in ~~nature~~ , e.g. deep ends of the world that they do not and should not have access to, but somehow end up in anyway. Gordon only knew because Coomer’s grown fond of taking pictures, and once in a while if they get wifi he sends everyone some. The most memorable one was a pitch black square except for two dots of light in the distance, with the geotag pointing to them being in the Mariana trench. 

They’re having fun, and Darnold and Tommy take effort to “decontaminate” them between trips, as well as make them learn wildlife interaction guidelines (Bubby probably already knew, but he didn’t care, and still nobody’s sure if he cares now), so Gordon doesn’t mind. Has no reason to mind. Until now, but only a tiny bit. 

They decided to stop in a seaside town somewhere up North three days ago, and wifi’s spotty at best but Coomer still managed to send them pictures again - of him fighting a dolphin and Bubby making fun of a goat skeleton in a museum - and then Gordon got tired of staying up thinking about Xen at night and shot his shot. It took them another day to check their message again, and Bubby replied saying “don’t third wheel other people, weirdo” and Gordon just sighed and resigned himself to staying up way too late for another week or so. But then Benrey asked him to go to GameStop with him, which. Admittedly that was suspicious as hell, but Gordon reasoned Benrey knocked and asked to be let in the other day, so what the fuck, right. And then he stepped through the GameStop’s door, noticing the glass being darker than usual, and ended up on this piers where Bubby’s been trying to have a laugh at some poor fish’s expense.

Bubby made fun of him for third wheeling again, despite Benrey also being right there, and despite Coomer not even being there. 

“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Gordon asked, because maybe he can be a little bit spiteful. He’s allowed. 

“No,” Bubby grumbled. “Harold impressed Gregory with his punching power, so he’s invited to the Punching Tournament. I don’t like being in water for a long time so I stayed. Their sandwich’s not even good.” 

Gregory turned out to be the giant squid that lives a few kilometers off the shore, and another few kilometers under the sea level.

“I’m gonna issue an a-word ban, actually,” Gordon declares, when he comes back to where Bubby’s sitting on his journey to wear a track into the piers. “I think that’s more conducive to real conversations.” 

He’s being distracted, he knows. And maybe he’s letting himself be a bit distracted, so he can have a minute to improvise a script. Benrey just fast traveled him here, he did not prepare any materials, he doesn’t even have his notebook with him. That’s where all of his plans are! And his doodles. Mostly his doodles, but that’s a part of his thinking process, so he’s allowed. 

“Alright, Mister Fucking-Insane-Person,” Bubby shrugs.

“Doctor.”

“Oh, my bad! Doctor Fucking-Insane-Person.”

“Also that’s a ban dodge and you know it. Also you still don’t have any rights to call me anything! I refuse to submit in this matter.”

Bubby turns around fully to put his hand on crossed legs and stare at Gordon. “You sure, Gordon? Are you very sure about that, when you warp out of thin air to where I am missing my husband very much and not torturing fishes for fun, saying things about blowing Xen up ? Is that not ragingly absurd, Doctor ?” 

Gordon takes another deep breath. For his own benefit. For his own wellbeing. “Okay, one, Benrey warped me here, I was not responsible for that. Two, you’re trying to set fishes on fire, and your husband is punching more fishes while a giant squid cheers him on, probably. And three, which part of blowing Xen up is absurd, now? Feel free to elaborate on it. I’m all ears.”

“The very idea of it!” Bubby exclaims, accidentally shoving his fishing rod off the optimal position, chasing away the few fishes not shunned by his radiating malicious intent yet. “Who even thinks of that?”

“Me,” Gordon snaps back, “and you guys kinda ruined what ‘absurd’ even means at all for me, so don’t try me at it.”

Bubby shuts his mouth with a click, but his brows are still furrowed in the exact way that claims, loudly even if soundlessly, that he thinks that’s stupid.

“No, go on, Doctor Bubby,” Gordon presses. “You’ve got the quiz. Try your hand at it again, go ahead.”

“Alright, then, how are we even doing it? If we’re doing it. And there’s no we yet, mind you.” 

“I- okay.” Gordon holds his hands up. “I’ll admit I do not have the specifics yet. But logistically at least, it’s entirely possible. We’ll need,” he calculates a number real quick, “thirteen hundred pounds of column charge slurry, but if we have something high corrosive we can wrap up safely until detonation we’ll need even less. We can. Make that much. If we have Darnold’s help. We need access to Xen itself, which Tommy has the biggest chance to get. We’ll need to put the explosives deeper into the ground than surface level, so we’ll need to dig some holes, but with Doctor Coomer’s strength we can take care of that. And then we’ll need to trip it, and that might pose a problem in Xen’s climate, but we can manage a chemical fuse, or. Y’know. Just burn it hot enough to explode, which.” 

He ends that speech with a vague and a bit jerky wave of his hand towards Bubby. 

Bubby just blinks. “Huh.” 

Benrey snickers under his breath, either at a fish or at Bubby’s reaction, Gordon doesn’t know. He wouldn’t even be able to guess, since Benrey still has his back to the entire commotion.

Gordon catches himself holding his breath, so he consciously exhales slowly. It’s okay. It’s whatever. He has twelve years. He can take some detours if necessary. He can forget, even. Maybe.

“That Doctorate turns out to be for something, huh,” Bubby continues. “That does sound pretty plausible, afterall.”

“Huh,” Gordon’s turn to blink. “Wait, that’s it? You’re in now?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Bubby swings his arm out, “even though I’d like to be testy for a while longer, I also want to blow things up. Outside is very large, but it severely lacks opportunities to see things explode, so I’ll have to make it happen myself now.” 

That’s a tiny bit worrying, but Gordon’ll take it. He’s used to Bubby being a tiny bit worrying anyway. Wouldn’t be Bubby without it. 

“Now shoo,” Bubby turns around to fiddle with his fishing rod again, carefully moving it back to the optimal position, “you chased all the fishes off. Gonna have to start my work from the beginning now. It’s hard work tricking fishes, you know.” 

“Don’t tell Coomer,” Gordon warns, “I want to let him know myself.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

“I’m serious.”

“Aren’t you ever.” 

Gordon figures he’s done all he can on that front. 

Benrey catches up with him when he’s walked away dramatically for a few minutes and is now at the main street of the town. “Rudeman.”

Gordon did forget him at the piers, so that’s on him. “Sorry, but also, do you have a plan to get us home, or what? ‘Cause I don’t have my car and I’m not hitching a random ride if I can help it.” 

“Gotta... find a GameStop first. Score some Sports Champions 2 for the. PS3.” 

“Alright.” Gordon nods. “Wait, do you need a GameStop to transport us? Is that a thing?”

“Huh,” Benrey just looks at him, and then pulls out his brick phone.

Gordon rolls his eyes, but then catches a glimpse of the screen, and sees the digital clock. “It’s- fuck, it’s almost five! Joshua’s almost home.”

“Oh look, no GameStop on the… roadside. What’re we gonna do.”

“Benrey, you- goddamnit,” Gordon frantically pulls his phone out of his pocket. He tries to yank his right arm out of Benrey’s hold to hold it steady, but Benrey doesn’t yield. “Fucking, let me,” he unlocks it and finds Joshua’s number, which is on top, because he added ‘01’ before his name, because he’s had plenty of experiences with arranging files so they don’t disappear on him, “c’mon, c’mon… Hey Joshie! Are you at school right now?” 

“Hi Dad, yes,” Joshua answers, at the same time Gordon registers that he’s walking, Benrey pulling on his arm. 

“Sorry I called in the middle of class, buddy, but we’re gonna. I’m gonna be a bit late home, okay? I’m outside right now, but I’m on my way- oh, no, we.”

They’re in his living room. Gordon puts his arm, just released, on top of the couch. This is his couch. The bowl of cereal he finished right before Benrey dragged him out’s still on the table. The PS3 lays silent in the TV cabinet, as it’s always been. He does go around the table to put his free hand on all of these things just to be sure. 

“Dad?” Joshua asks from the other end of the line. “Are you okay?”

“I.” Gordon dry swallows. “No, yeah I- I got home. Me and Benrey were out for a bit and we got? Lost? But we found our way back, and I’m. I’m home now. I was really worried I wouldn’t make it back in time to open the door for you, so I called! But I’m home now.”

“That’s good!” Joshua says, even though Gordon can still hear worry in his voice. Sweet kid, his boy is. “Thank you for telling me in ad-advance.” 

“I’m sorry I interrupted your class. Dad’ll be more careful next time.” 

“It’s okay. What are we having tonight?” 

Gordon takes a deep breath, holds it in for a moment, and then breathes it out, slowly. “We can have mac and cheese again, or we can try our hand at naan and make some soup to go with it,” he says, willing his voice to calm down. “We still have the yeast Ms. Juney gave us last month, right? We can go get bread flour when you’re home.”

“Okay.”

“Go back to class, buddy. See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. Can we have chowder tonight too?” 

Gordon laughs. “We’ll look into it, but sure! If we can find the ingredients for it. Alright, bye now. Love you, honey.”

“Okay,” Joshua says again, and when Gordon’s about to move the phone from his ear, he adds, “Love you too, Dad.” And then he hangs up. 

Gordon goes to the couch and sits down. He’s maybe cradling his phone a bit. It’s still warm from him gripping on it way too hard. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

“That went well, huh,” Benrey says, from the hallway. Gordon looks up to see him closing the door behind him, what looks like a copy of Sports Champions 2 for the PS3 in hand. 

Gordon laughs, again, for real this time. “That’s- where'd you even get that?

---

They did make naan, or a version of it. Joshua likes messing with flour, Gordon caught him walking his fingers through the bowl, leaving tiny “footprints”. They couldn’t agree on a fish to put in the chowder, so they shelved that plan and bought some canned beef-and-vegetables soup instead. The naan turned out… fine. They tasted enough like naan, and Gordon only burned like two. Which was maybe thanks to the apartment’s stove top burning a bit less hot than it did the last time they used it; Gordon made a mental note to check on the gas or. Whatever one does. When that happened. He just needed to look up a number, call it, and stand next to the (hopefully) professional who would come while they did their work. 

Benrey sat at the couch while the Freemans cooked and ate their dinner, either being on his phone or scrolling idly through the PS3’s library. Joshua asked if he could try and throw naan pieces into Benrey’s mouth from the kitchen table, which Gordon allowed, but with the preset limit of only three pieces, and the condition that he picked up the ones that missed himself. He then asked Benrey very politely if he could open his mouth to catch the bread, and then made a lot of mental calculations before throwing each piece. The first one missed, but the other two were snatched up by Benrey in a somewhat shark-like display, which Joshua clapped excitedly for. 

Gordon heard Benrey come to the kitchen table, which Joshua was wiping off with the designated kitchen rag (the fourth one this month alone; it feels like someone’s eating them as they’re replaced sometimes), while he was cleaning the dishes. “Hey lil’ gamer dude,” Benrey said, and Gordon could hear him rustle around in a pocket of his puffy vest. “Scored big in the. Minigame.”

“Thank you,” Joshua replied politely. 

“Here’s your price,” Benrey said. Gordon assumed Joshua was holding out his hands to receive whatever Benrey gave him, because he couldn’t hear any noise that thing made, just Joshua’s little excited gasp. 

“It’s like the... Intarna-Internation… nal… Space Station!” 

“Huh,” Gordon could hear Benrey blink, “that’s what it is…” 

“Yeah! These are, here, they’re solar panels! They charge the batteries in here.” 

“Nice.” 

“Thank you Benrey!” 

“Yeah, GG.” And then Benrey shuffled back to the couch, if Gordon interpreted the noises correctly. 

Joshua held onto the price trinket until he asked Gordon to put it in the tool cabinet, along with the cake moulds and decoration kit courtesy of Gordon’s hectic MIT years. It was… Gordon could see why Joshua thought that was where it should go. It could be considered a cookie cutter, if the shape weren’t kinda suboptimal for a cookie. It also did look like the ISS, with wings and all. 

Nobody in this household’s baked anything sweet in this apartment for at least a year, but. Well. Never say no to free, reusable stuff.

  Gordon’s phone vibrates when he’s just sat down at the kitchen table again, a mug of garbage instant coffee in hand. He abandons it to go get his phone from where it’s charging on the living room table.

It’s Coomer. “It’s Coomer,” Gordon says out loud. “That’s weird- he’s. He doesn’t call.” 

“He’s calling. Now.” Benrey says from where he’s sitting, on the couch. Gordon takes a deep breath and doesn’t deign it worth a rebuttal. He accepts the call instead.

“Hello Gordon! I heard you want to blow Xen up.” 

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bubby told you.” 

“He did! In great details!”

“I- alright, whatever, I didn’t expect actual results with that one anyway.” Gordon remembers about his coffee. He comes back to where it’s waiting for him on the kitchen table, and takes himself a generous sip, letting it burn his mouth. “Fuck!” He sets the cup down maybe a bit forcefully. “Oh that’s a bad decision. What did- what did he tell you?” 

Coomer takes a moment to gather his thoughts, leaving a blank minute where sounds of the wind and waves on the shore come through his mic. Gordon hopes he isn’t thinking about sleeping out there tonight, for the full nature flavor or whatever. “ A large part of his speech was about explosion! And how big and grand it would be. And also about how much he fucking hates Xen!” 

“Glad we agree on that front,” Gordon mumbles. 

“So am I! I also fucking hate Xen!” 

“That’s. That’s fair, really, it’s a garbage place. But- did he, like. Have you heard anything about the actual plan? Did he tell you anything about the actual plan I definitely mentioned to him?”

Coomer pauses for another moment, probably to recall. “Nope! Not a word about a plan-”

“I fucking knew it,” Gordon mumbles.

 “-though that is very thorough of you, Gordon!”

"Okay, listen,” Gordon picks his mug of coffee up and starts pacing. “I actually don’t… have all of it yet. I know me and Benrey are in,” he flicks his gaze to Benrey again, who does nothing to deny the statement, “and Bubby’s now in as well. I still need to- okay, the plan’s basically that we find or make enough explosive for the ten asteroids on Xen, we bury it at the core of said asteroids, and we blow that up so it blows Xen up. I have- I don’t know the specifics of how to make that much explosive yet, but I’ll convince Darnold somehow, and if he sits this one out then we’ll borrow his lab when he’s not using it. And I’ll ask Tommy about a way back to Xen, his. His dad’s done that plenty. He doesn’t seem to like Xen much, right? That’s the impression I got, so we can spin this into us doing him a favor or something. And then we transport the explosive to Xen, I can borrow a truck for that, I know someone, and then we dig into the ground there, that’s where we can really use your superstrength, and then we put the explosive in and. Set it on fire. Bubby, uh, agreed to take care of that.” 

Another beat of silence follows Gordon’s speech. He seems to have been making that one a lot recently, mostly to himself, in his room, while writing things down in his notebook. He finds himself chewing on his own lip, so he makes himself stop and takes another gulp of the coffee, which has thankfully cooled down to gulp-appropriate temperature.

When Coomer speaks again, he seems to have chosen his words carefully. “I will need to ‘sleep’ on this, Gordon. You are right in your assessment that you do not have your plan together yet!”

Gordon takes a deep breath. “It’s okay,” he says, as much to Coomer as to himself. “It’s true. It’s half-thought up right now. I still need to figure out- figure out Darnold and Tommy and Mr. Coolatta. I, yeah,” his voice’s dropped to a mumble by now, “I think I need to sleep on it too.” 

“Gordon.” The rustles that accompany Coomer’s voice gives the impression that he’s sitting down onto the pebble-littered beach as he speaks. “I would like to see Xen obliterated, and I think we can get it done.”

“That’s,” Gordon stops on his pacing in the kitchen, “That’s not. It’s okay if you’re not interested, Coomer. You don’t have to walk it back on me.”

“Please do not question my fucking hatred for Xen, Gordon.”

“O-okay.”

“But I am not in favor of hazy dreams anymore. I have gotten to see a lot during my ‘honeymoon’, and now I have broken free, and mere words on a script cannot placate me. I would like to see proof that it’s possible before I participate.” 

Gordon takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“I believe you can do it, Gordon!”

“Thank you,” Gordon says, a little bit dazed, while Bubby’s voice comes through from a distance at the same time, “Are you reciting poetry again?” 

“In what distant deeps or skies, burnt the fire of thine eyes?” Coomer answers. “On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?”

“Stop praising that tiger while I’m right here!” 

“I’ll,” Gordon says before Coomer can get fully caught up in Bubby’s antics again, “I’ll come back to you with. The details. When I’ve hashed it out. Thanks for,” he exhales, “thanks for holding out for me, Coomer.” 

“So it is, Gordon, so it will be!” 

Coomer hangs up there, and Gordon sits down at the kitchen table again. He finishes the mug of coffee in one long gulp. It’s gone a little bit more room-temperature than he likes. 

“Sleep on it,” he mumbles, “good advice.” 

“You should. Do that.” Benrey says from the couch. “Sleep good for body for soul.” 

“You know what, when you’re right,” Gordon says, and stands up and goes brush his teeth. He then sits down at his work table and writes down questions until four in the morning.

---

Gordon used to suck at making phone calls. He’s kind of a champion at it now.

Funny thing is there’s an epiphany to it as well: he didn’t grow up with cell phones, so making phone calls was a hierarchical thing for him until he was like. Twenty years old. Kids used the landline when absolutely necessary only, and adults used it whenever they damn well pleased, because they paid for it and they had businesses to take care of . And Gordon was… not much of a rule breaker, surprisingly enough. Oh he fell short of where rules lay plenty, but he didn’t really intentionally break them. So he took calls when his parents said he could and when he absolutely needed to, and that habit persisted well into his adulthood. 

He might also just be not very good at holding his tongue when speaking and. That was no good for phone calls. Kiddies phone calls. ‘cause he just realized one day that adults said whatever the fuck they wanted on the phone really, and nobody chastised them for it, no divine punishment, no sudden death round. 

A sermon on self-love, that was; Gordon just takes phone calls now. Worst case scenario, he just turns his brain off and lets his mouth do its work. When people don’t presume they know better than him, they don’t presume he’s talking out of his ass ninety percent of the time. 

That’s- that’s what he thought. Gordon’s wrong, a little bit. He can be wrong. Has been wrong plenty before. He can correct himself, here, he’s gonna do it right now: worst case scenario, he has to recite his plan, conceived so far in total isolation from anyone he knows and whose opinions he cares about, to the person who’s the most skittish and averse to what his plan is bringing about among those people, over the phone, where he can’t see and gauge body language and facial expressions. 

Gordon would… like to meet Darnold face to face for this. But. It’s work. It’s, well, it’s closer to work than to play, given that he’s gotten mildly stressed out over it, and their lunch at the only Taco Bell in the whole desert is strictly pleasant, not-work talk only. And Gordon really, really enjoys those lunch dates, because he never has to think about damage control or having an identity crisis in the middle of one. They’re just nice, normal, a tiny bit shouty (the Taco Bell is usually packed and the acoustic’s not good, but it’s a Taco Bell, and it’s a ritual now), mostly jovial, lunch with a friend, eating subpar food he’s learned to enjoy. They don’t talk about what happened at Black Mesa, they don’t talk about work in general, they don’t even talk about soda outside of appraising the gaudy color combinations for any new sponsored drink. They talk about Joshua, about Darnold’s cat Lumbar Support, about Coomer and Bubby’s travelling, about new game releases, about Sega vs. Nintendo, about the weather. 

Gordon doesn’t want to fall short of where the rules lie, not this time. So he calls. 

“Doctor Freeman?” Darnold answers with the title, which sets the tone pretty well. Gordon takes a deep breath and steels himself. 

“Doctor Pepper.” He pauses. “Darnold. Hey. I, uh, I’ve got a thing I wanna ask.” 

“Go ahead!” Darnold goes quiet for a moment, to finish his sandwich, Gordon’d guess. He’s called in the middle of Darnold’s lunch break. “I must preface however that we’re working outside of office hours, and I can only advise you at the moment. Anything further will have to go through the… official channels.”

“Okay, that’s alright. I just.” Gordon worries his lips. He realizes he’s tugging pretty hard on his left sleeve; he makes himself let go. “I have a. Plan. That’ll need your expertise.” 

“I’d be delighted to help then! Feel free to share more.” 

“It’s about, uh.” Gordon takes another deep breath. He’s been consuming a lot of oxygen recently. “IwanttoblowXenup?”

Darnold goes, predictably, quiet for a moment. It doesn’t sting less when it’s predictable.

When he speaks again, it’s in a clipped, professional-but-barely tone. “Please say that again, but slowly.”

Gordon closes his eyes against the sunlight streaming in from the window in his bedroom. “I want to. Blow Xen up.” 

“Gordon,” Darnold sighs. “Doctor Freeman.” 

“I know.”

“Your megalomaniacal tendencies have grown since we last met.”

“It’s not- I’m not doing it for fun!” Gordon throws his free arm up. “Okay, this is genuinely a lot of effort and stress for something I’d do for pleasure, Darnold. I also couldn’t care less about fucking Xen - okay that’s not true, I’ve lost like a week of sleep over blowing it up, that’s not not caring, but like. I can’t. I need it to not be there,” he stands up from his bed and starts pacing, “and I have. A plan. Half of one. About that much. So it’s not hopeless-”

“Gordon, please slow down.”

“-as long as I have your help and- and Tommy’s, okay, I will. uh.” He taps on his thigh with his free hand too, for good measure. Go the whole nine yard with fidgeting, why not. “I. So, Joshua wants to be an astronaut,” he intones, and for the first time in a while he’s reminded again of how this started, how it took over his life for a hot minute, and it almost gives him the hiccups, “and. Y’know. Xen is in space. So it needs to not be there anymore. So I want to. Blow it up.” 

Darnold goes silent again. Gordon thinks he can hear the epiphany punch the air out of him. Fuck, he hates phone calls. 

“As much as I want to berate you about how you’re treating this matter and yourself,” Darnold resumes primly after a moment, “my lunch break is ending in exactly fifty-two seconds, and this sandwich will take me another two bites to get through. I’ll see you in the Taco Bell’s parking lot at three AM this afternoon, Gordon. Drink water.”

He hangs up. Gordon goes drink water.

Benrey clips into the apartment when Gordon’s on his third mug of iced water. “Whoa, hydration streak,” he says, settling himself on the kitchen table. 

“I can go a bit crazy,” Gordon mumbles. “I’m allowed a little bit of funk and insanity. This is my house.” 

“It’s… actually. MFA’s.” 

Gordon groans. “Don’t fucking remind me. I tried to forget that. Also it actually belongs to the NRC, since they apparently can just scare MFA into giving employees housing, which I’m really fucking horrified by, but I’m choosing to not think about it, and you can’t make me.” 

“It can be mine soon.”

“Do not attack and dethrone Nils Diaz.”

Benrey huffs. “Killjoy Freeman.” He shifts his pose so he’s sitting up straighter. “You wanna… try out Premium Water? Free trial for a week, you can manually cancel your. Subscription. After.” 

Gordon stares at him. “What’s Premium Water.” 

Benrey opens his jaws, wide, showing his teeth. He points inside as if there’s anything Gordon wants to find at all in there at the moment. Then he closes it with a click and stares back at Gordon. 

Gordon just sighs. “No, Benrey.” 

“Guaranteed beddy bye time, no charge,” Benrey blinks at him. “Black Mesa Sweet Voice™ a hundred percent effective. Five stars… satisfaction… rating.” 

“You’re fucking lying, because I’d never leave it five stars. You get three at best.” 

“Gonna catch you when you fall off the. Chair. Gonna be romantic.”

Gordon laughs. “No, not allowed.” He sighs and finishes the mug of water like it’s mead and he’s some Dungeons and Dragons elven ranger. He gives himself brain freeze. “Ah, fuck, oof,” he slaps his own forehead, “bad decision. Bad decision. Okay, I. I appreciate you asking instead of just going for it, but that’s the reality of asking, right? The person you ask can say no. And you’ve just gotta learn how to deal with it.”

Benrey just keeps staring at him, but he’s used to that now. It’s only a tiny bit unnerving. “How’s learning’s... satisfaction rate.”

Gordon sighs again. “It sucks ass. Fucking hate learning.” 

Benrey grins at him, and then he checks his phone and it’s already time to go.

“Drink this,” Darnold says immediately when Gordon climbs into the shotgun seat of his car, and holds out a beaker of bubbling purple liquid. 

Gordon just stares at it. “Darnold, what is this.” 

Darnold sighs. “It’s the Potion of Not Telling. I also drank a sample before coming here,” he holds up an empty beaker with some of the same purple liquid at the bottom. “It blows us up if we tell our employers what we’re up to.” 

Gordon ponders this very carefully. “Does. Tommy, for example. Does he count as my ‘employer’?” 

“No,” Darnold says. “‘Employers’ only cover people and/or establishments you’re currently under an employee contract with and receiving salary from.” 

“Alright,” Gordon intones carefully, and downs the whole beaker. It tastes like… the jello packaged like seahorses Tommy brings over sometimes. The red ones, specifically. It makes him feel a bit bloated, immediately, and he rubs his side a bit anxiously when he sits down in the car. “You’re actually under NDAs at all times, huh,” he says, as an opening line.

“Same as you, Gordon.” Darnold takes the beaker back from Gordon’s hand and puts it in with the other one. “Black Mesa seeked me out and offered to find me a position in a brewery, as well as fund any of my independent ventures, as long as I do not say a word about what… transpired… back there. The official record’s that I was stranded on an island with curious dino-esque creatures for four years, instead of worked in Black Mesa’s mixology department, and honed my craft with their help, using the fruits native to that island.”

Gordon laughs, and rubs his face with the prosthetic hand. It’s like putting your face on the car’s dashboard. “Sounds like them alright. At least yours sounds exciting, instead of fucking insane. They said I was ‘chasing an entropy in the desert’ and it ‘ate my hand’. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“We attempted feats of miracle, only it was not under their accountability,” Darnold says, “and we were punished for it. No matter, we have more important things at hand. What is this plan you’ve cooked up, Gordon?”

Gordon takes a deep breath, finding it easier than it’s been for a while, and relays what he’s got down of the blow-Xen-up plan to Darnold. They never look at each other meanwhile, both staring at the cars lined up haphazardly in the lane across from them, Gordon in a barren calmness as words leave his mouth, Darnold with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his whole presence compacted into a contemplative, silent piece. 

“That is an intense reaction to a faraway threat, Gordon,” Darnold says when Gordon’s speech is over. “Xen is not only at least a galaxy away, but also a few dimensions over, if I understand the briefing right. I haven’t thought about that wretched place for almost a year.”

“Sorry,” Gordon says, not really feeling any of it, but making the effort. 

“You don’t have to. I understand where you’re coming from.” Darnold taps idly on his own arm. “I was… extracted… swiftly from Black Mesa after I met you and your friends. I did not witness what happened after, but I saw… enough.” He takes a deep breath as well. “We can all have intense reactions to anything.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s not maladaptive,” Gordon says. He’s gone to therapy. It was really good for helping him build a system that filters out the things that actually fucks him up and makes some sense of the rest, but it doesn’t lift him out of the comedy of his life itself. It can’t. That’s not what therapy’s for. 

“Indeed,” Darnold says. “But I can’t be the judge of that. My domain lies with potion mixing, and I dare say I am a true expert at it, but I can’t claim expertise at other people’s life. Especially not yours.”

“I get it,” Gordon nods. The world kinda bobs a tiny bit when he does that. “I. Know not to indulge my impulse mostly. But sometimes decisions come back to haunt me, and those are usually just about choosing one furniture over another, or tying my shoelaces in the bunny ears way instead of the circle way and having them undone in the middle of a meeting and stepping on them and falling on my face, but this time it’s. It’s Joshua’s life. And there’s just no limit anymore to what can happen, not since.” He swallows. “Black Mesa.” 

Darnold nods. 

Gordon blinks. “I know it’s a little bit crazy.” 

“It might be,” Darnold says, “but as a famous mixologist once said: nothing ventured, nothing gained. Even if that gain is just your peace of mind.” 

Gordon lets out the breath he isn’t even aware he’s been holding. “Thank you.” 

“You do not need to,” Darnold smiles, “I do stand to gain from this as well, since I really need to test this flavouring that’s supposed to land on pleasantly tart on the taste scale but goes into intestine-destroyingly sour territory instead. I need to know what makes it that corrosive, and testing on humans is entirely unethical.” 

---

Gordon got home before Joshua. Benrey’s also not home. He lays down on the couch and takes a nap. 

He wakes to a quilt over most of him, light turned on in the living room and in the kitchen, and silent chatter. His sense of smell kicks in a minute or so into him still laying on the couch, blinking up at the ceiling; he smells fish sauce and sugar cooking. 

“Tommy’s over,” he mumbles. 

“He awakes,” Benrey says, seemingly into thin air. Gordon feels the couch shift minutely as Benrey makes to stand up from where he’s sitting leaning back on it. “Good eatin’. I’ll go get the. Food. Coloring.” 

When Gordon’s gathered enough of himself to sit up, Benrey’s nowhere to be seen. Tommy’s shifting something animatedly on the stove, while Joshua carefully carries one bowl at a time to the kitchen table. 

“Hey Dad!” Joshua says when he catches Gordon’s eyes. He puts the bowl he’s carrying down to free his hand for waving. Gordon waves back. 

“Hey Joshie, hey Tommy. What’re you guys making?” 

“Caramelized pork b-belly!” Tommy says from his stove station. “And... sautéed vegetable medley.” 

“With rice!” Joshua adds.

“A perfectly balanced meal.” 

“I picked the vege-ta-bles!” 

Gordon folds the quilt to busy his hands. This one’s definitely not his. He may have one somewhere in the closet, but it hasn’t made an appearance in… six months. He thinks. “What did you get for us, buddy?” 

“Carrot!” Joshua holds up a finger. “It has a lot of vita- vitamin… A.” 

“Awesome,” Gordon says and goes over to the kitchen table to high five Joshua. “What else did you choose?” 

“String beans!” 

“Oh?” Joshua hasn’t been much for that. 

“Uncle Tommy’s gonna teach me how to eat them!” 

“A dash of- of flavour, packed in one Kn●rr’s Complete Seasoning packet, is all you’ll need!” Tommy switches to a lower voice when Gordon peers over his shoulder at the pan on the stove. “That is not true. Kn●rr is only… fit to be- be on the floor.” 

“Are- you’re not putting that in then?” 

“No, I just use salt and pepper.” 

Joshua giggles. Tommy extends a hand that Joshua can slap on in place of a high five. 

Gordon gets out the utensils - spoon for Joshua, chopsticks for him and Tommy - and brings the rice cooker to the table once the light’s jumped to orange. He plates the pork, scooping Joshua’s helping into his personal plate first, while Tommy finishes with the vegetables. Tommy lets Joshua choose which vegetables to go on his plate; Joshua bravely gets a little bit of everything. 

They eat dinner on top of companionable conversation, Gordon and Tommy taking turns asking Joshua about school and other things. 

“I heard you want to- to be an astronaut,” Tommy asks. Joshua dutifully finishes his mouthful before answering. 

“Yes! I want to go to space!”

“Do you want to meet- aliens?”

“Yeah!” Joshua’s excitement cools down a little bit as he scoops up another spoonful of rice with a piece of string bean carefully balanced on top. “I read the Wiki-pea-dia about it though. They say there’s no dis-discernable e-vidence of aliens yet. We sent the Voyager Golden Records an’ they haven’t… answered yet.” 

“That’s how p-physical mails are,” Tommy smiles while getting himself a piece of the caramelized pork. “It used to take… weeks... before we hear from our friends who are far away. And the- the universe doesn’t have a… an Everywhere Wifi Network yet.” 

Joshua shares a conspiratory look with Gordon and mouths not yet . Gordon laughs. Gordon’s clutching his bowl maybe a bit too tight. 

“You can become an astronaut and- meet aliens. In space,” Tommy waves his chopsticks with a flourish. 

“I’ll teach them what- what e-mails are!” 

“It’ll take a- a lot of hard work, and you have to be able to eat string beans.” Tommy takes an exaggerated look at Joshua’s plate, now cleaned of food. “Oh! Would you l-look at that! Mister Joshua Freeman is… perfect astronaut materials, according to… the NASA guidelines.” 

Joshua beams with a pride that knocks something loose in Gordon’s chest. 

They finish dinner and clean up together, then Gordon sends Joshua back to his room to do his homework, agreeing to an hour of video game after if he can get it done before nine. Gordon cleans the dishes while Tommy puts the kettle on and makes them both hot chocolate. 

“I bought some-something for Joshua today,” Tommy prompts. Gordon looks back to see him hold up the exact same cookie-cutter-thing Benrey gave Joshua the other day. 

“Oh- oh my god.” Gordon laughs. “Holy shit?” 

“Wh-what’s the matter, Gordon?”

“Do you guys have like a hivemind or something?” Gordon pulls off a glove to open the tool cabinet and pull Benrey’s gift out. “Benrey gave Joshua this. I don’t even- what’re these supposed to be? Where d’you guys even get them from?” 

“It’s the- International Space Station Biscuit Cutter!” Tommy puffs out his chest, slightly indignant, but definitely bemused as well. “They’re issued by- NASA, cut from the s-scrap metal of the hulls of… prototype spaceships. They’re very rare!”

Gordon stares at the one in his hand. “And now we have two of them.” 

“They’re… very valuable! You can sell them for a high price.” 

Gordon smiles. He puts Benrey’s apparently rare and expensive gift back into the tool cabinet and puts the glove back on. “You’ve gotta ask Joshua about that. It’s for him, afterall.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence, crumbled into grains only by the click-clack of dishes in the sink and the water running from the faucet. Gordon weaves himself into a solid piece of nerve, bracing, bracing. 

Tommy’s… better acquainted with the crazies of these things than most, maybe. He’s apparently said “fuck it” to the administrative work that his dad would’ve liked to hand back to him at one point, and just. Got a PhD in nuclear physics instead. Gordon’s been through something like that, and from experience he can tell that it would’ve taken real nerve to do it. He also can tell that no matter what it still rubs off on you, and you don’t recover from that kinda consistent exposure to idiosyncrasies, because you don’t ever feel like there’s anything to recover from , really. It’s just how it is, and the world’s off-kilter, not you. Like Benrey, Tommy’s world runs on a different axis, and he and the rest of them are, in many ways, looking both through strange eyes. 

Gordon’s a little bit jealous of that. He’s honestly not sure if he can ever fully get Tommy, but then. Plenty of people never get him, and here he is. He can learn to wear it as well as Tommy, one day. 

Right now though. Tommy’s important to the plan. Gordon knows that, in a theoretical way. Ha, theoretical… 

“I would like to not be insane,” Gordon says, more to himself, at the same time as Tommy setting his cup of hot chocolate down and saying, “Benrey… told me.” 

“Oh… I. That’s? Good?” 

“Wha- you’re not insane , Gordon!” Tommy waves his hand. Gordon can hear it, even if he can’t see it. “You’re… creative.” 

“Thanks Tommy,” Gordon says with a huff of laughter that he doesn’t think reaches Tommy at all. “I. I get it though. I got Bubby to turn around on it, but everyone else did say that it’s a little bit fucked up that I thought of doing that at all.” 

“But they… agreed on helping you anyway.” 

Gordon taps on the metal wall of the sink. “That’s… yeah. Well, other than Coomer.” 

“Doctor Coomer doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Tommy protests. “He just has... boundaries.” 

“That’s fair. He’s allowed that. He more than deserves that.” Gordon blinks. “Wait- why am I arguing down on my side? I need you to be on board for the plan to work.” He laughs, bowing down over the sink. He’s shaking a little bit. “Wow. I’m a little bit gone. Can I be a little bit gone?” 

“You’re… totally allowed, Gordon” He feels Tommy tug on his elbow. With a deep breath, he lets go of where he’s gripping on the edge of the sink with white knuckles, and lets Tommy lead him to the kitchen table. He dutifully sits himself down on a chair, lets Tommy take off the gloves, and holds the cup of hot chocolate Tommy pushes into his hands carefully. “It’s your house.” 

“It’s MFA’s.” 

“It’s yours,” Tommy says, determinedly, and Gordon takes a deep breath and sidesteps every implications that has. “You can have your fears, and… and your plans, and your hopes. For Joshua. It’s your place, Gordon.” 

Gordon takes a shaky sip of the hot chocolate. Tommy puts on the gloves and finishes washing the dishes for him. 

“Sorry,” Gordon says, mostly aiming at the dishes thing, but. He also just kinda wants to put that out there. 

“There’s nothing to be… be sorry for,” Tommy replies, amidst the noises of the dishes and the water running. 

Tommy talks while Gordon drinks his hot chocolate; in the end, whether he wants to or not, he’s accepted a bit of the job the Gman holds. Gordon knows this, that’s how Tommy vouched for and kept the Science Team from a much worse fate than relative freedom except for a story no sane man’d believe anyway. Mister Coolatta Senior seemed to be impressed by the choice, aside from all the worries that come with it. 

“He’s… he’s proud of me,” Tommy says, softly. “I know he only wants what’s best for me.” 

“He’s been awfully accommodating,” Gordon says, remembering about the movie night they had after Tommy’s birthday bash last year. That man pulled a gun on him. As if he’d walk out on Tommy, if Tommy’d asked for him to stay around. 

“He… doesn’t involve me… with his problems,” Tommy says. “Some parents do that.” 

Gordon can’t find anything to say to that, so he finishes his hot chocolate. 

“I got a vote when they brought Xen up the-the other day,” Tommy says, when the dishes have all been cleaned and put on the rack to dry. He pulls out the chair next to Gordon and picks up his cup of hot chocolate. It’s still steaming, somehow. “I-they were thinking it was- it’s too risky to leave a bridging point open like that. They want to… demolish it.” 

Gordon chuckles, and then it becomes a full body laugh, and then he’s curling up on himself, the empty cup between his hands. He shouldn’t clutch it like this, it might break. He’s broken the handle off of a mug before, when one of his old prosthetic wasn’t calibrated perfectly. He can’t stop laughing though. Not enough to let go of the cup now. 

“Holy shit,” he wheezes. “holy motherfucking shit. We’re doing it. We’re doing it? Xen’s fucking going down.” 

“It sure is!” Tommy says, and claps a polite golf clap for Gordon’s victory.

---

Gordon does have shit he needs to do for the online classes he teaches, but outside of it he’s still way too idle. He and Joshua go to the aquarium and the museum whenever the schedule works out, and once in a while they drive by Roswell to catch a plane taking off into the sky, and he does grocery runs and tries to clean around the house and do laundry on a timetable, and there’s always the PS3 Benrey dragged back that’s now public good, as well as his probably too long Steam list, but. Gordon’s shit at talking himself into and out of doing things. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel right to start doing something, so there’s a black hole of time between him thinking “I should get to this” and him actually doing it. And Joshua’s life isn’t just him; his son’s going to school now, and he’s made friends at school, and he talks to them on the phone and goes hang out with them on weekend afternoons.

Gordon’s not as good at holding onto time anymore, now that things’ve. Changed. 

So figuring the explosives out’s been good for him. It’s just what he does back in uni again, except without a supervisor, without having to write anything down properly (just legibly’s enough), and without peer review. It’s mostly math, but with the spirit of two middle schoolers stealing sodium crumbs from the school lab to throw into puddles. It’s closer to play than he expected. Closer than playing Horse Simulator 3D on the PS3. 

He and Darnold spend the day building the corrosion rate equation, pouring Darnold’s concoction on rocks Gordon figures have the same make-up as the ground on Xen. Benrey doesn’t bring the venture up often, but every other day Gordon finds clumps of dirt and random rocks that weigh suspiciously little for their size in his glove compartment. He brings those in for the pour test as well, and they build a simulation based on them. 

Balancing the corrosion with the heat’s a bit tricky; Gordon needs to know how hot Bubby’s ignition can go, since their number’s high. He was about to shoot Bubby a call when Coomer’s latest photo arrived. Gordon recognized the street in it. 

They put the project on hold for an afternoon so Tommy and Darnold can have the lab to decontaminate Coomer and Bubby. Gordon spends that afternoon getting the air fryer he ordered last week out of the box while Benrey reads the manual out loud wrongly. He calls Joshua to let him know they’re having guests over that evening, thankfully in the middle of the school recess this time. Gordon tries to remember Joshua’s exact timetable at school, he really does. It’s just not fruitful a task.

When Joshua arrives home, Gordon’s in the middle of arguing with Bubby over how much water’s left in air fried food. “Hey Granpa! Hey Bubby!” Joshua waves at Coomer and Bubby, “hey Uncle Tommy! Hey Doctor Darnold! Hey Benrey! Hey Dad!” 

Gordon steals the chance to close the air fryer while Bubby’s joining in with the “Hey Joshua!” chorus and distracted. “We’re making spring rolls and egg rolls!” He calls after Joshua, who’s in his room putting his backpack away. “You can choose the filling yourself!” 

The kitchen barely fits everyone, so comes dinnertime they move the living room table up next to the TV cabinet to make space for the spare straw mat, and lay out a tablecloth on top for good measure (Gordon’s had enough experience to remember to do that). They sit on the floor in the living room together, almost shoulder to shoulder, and at some point the conversation gets away from Gordon entirely. He just nods when Joshua points at something he wants and gets some in the bowl for him. 

“I’ve heard somebody wants to become an astronaut,” He hears Coomer say at one point. 

Joshua puffs out his chest proudly. 

“Doesn’t everybody at some point,” Bubby says. “I wanted to be an astronaut too, when I was forty.”

“Oh I have seen the photos,” Coomer continues, a gentle light in his eyes, “It is very beautiful out there.” 

Joshua asks for help with his homework after dinner, and Tommy and Darnold sit down with him for that. Benrey joins Gordon at the sink while he’s pouring dish soap into one of the large bowls they used. He doesn’t know what to do but blink at him, dumbfounded. 

“Check this out,” Benrey says, and spits lime green into the sink. When the light clears, the dishes have become spotless. 

Gordon stares at the sink. “I- you- th- is that- you can do that? ” He points at the plates. leaning on the sink’s edge. 

Benrey grins. “New… new skill acquired bro. Just got the EXP for it.” 

“You spent your EXP on dish cleaning ?” 

“We should conserve water, Gordon!” Coomer declares from behind him next to the kitchen table. “Water shortage is caused by corporate greed, but with certain individual actions we can improve the situation ourselves!” 

“Please don’t kill Mark Schneider.” 

“Worry not, Doctor Freeman! His death will not be by my hand directly!” 

Gordon laughs, helplessly. “Everything happens so much,” he laments, only semi-jokingly, as he takes off the cleaning gloves and puts the plates on the rack. 

“Keep up, Doctor Freeman,” Bubby says. 

“They certainly do,” Coomer says, much more nicely. “I’ve heard your plan is soon coming to fruition!” 

Gordon nods. “Yeah, it’s. Yeah. We were,” he swallows, “Darnold and I, we were about to ask for Bubby to let us test his fire. Figure out if he can reach the ignition point we need.” 

“Well now, that sounds like a challenge,” Bubby says. 

Gordon finds a price tag still stuck on one of the bowls that he’s very sure wasn’t there when it was brought out. “Benrey,” he groans. Benrey just gives him a shit eating grin. “You’ll need to hold a temperature for about three minutes, and then the mixture takes care of the rest,” he says to Bubby, while swatting Benrey on the shoulder. 

“Just three minutes, isn’t it.” 

“Do not try and stay for more. I’m serious. When it explodes it’s gonna turn seriously corrosive. You’re gonna be sludge ten seconds after it gets on you.” 

Gordon can hear Bubby blink. “Oh- oh. This is serious huh. We are blowing Xen up.” 

“We are, darling,” Coomer affirms. 

Bubby shifts on his chair. “I’ll need. A minute.” 

When Gordon’s done with the dishes, he turns back to the kitchen table to catch Bubby letting go of Coomer after a hug. “Son of a bitch, you went for it, you motherfucker,” Bubby says, a bit too loudly, fixing his glasses. 

Benrey sings a very high note over his voice. “Language!” Gordon hisses. 

“Oh, sorry.” Bubby pats his own mouth. “Forgive a man, I’m still working through it.” He switches to a mumble, seemingly only to himself. “It’s real. I’m gonna set Xen on fire. Gonna show Black Mesa what for. It’s really gonna happen…”

Coomer pats Bubby on the back lightly, making him almost hit his face on the table. “We’ll finally move fully away from the game, my dear Professor,” he says, and he’s smiling. He’s smiling very wide. 

“I can be your Professor,” Bubby mumbles. “I can blow Xen up.” 

“ We can blow Xen up,” Gordon corrects him. “Me and Darnold didn’t agonize over a- darn modifier for a week and a half so you can set our work on fire and take all the credits.” 

“Hush, let me process things, you rude bastard.” Benrey censors bastard with another burst of pinkish light.

“I can see the other end,” Coomer says, cheerfully. “Now, Gordon, I’ve heard you need help digging into the core of a few asteroids?” 

---

They mark a date for the excursion. 

He ‘woke up’ early, and made himself and Joshua an actual breakfast for a change while Benrey finished off the box of cereal that was open. “Dad’s got a work thing coming up,” he told Joshua while scooping extra egg onto his plate. “I’m gonna have to stay on site for a night.” 

“So you’re not going home tonight?” Joshua asked, taking the plate handed to him by Gordon, but making no move to go back to his chair. 

Gordon nodded. “I’ll be home tomorrow though, but you’re gonna have to stay at your grandparents’ tonight. I’m gonna come pick you up at their place tomorrow afternoon. You should pack a spare change of clothes and your pajamas to bring to school.” 

“Okay,” Joshua said. And then, “What’re you staying on-site for?” 

“I’m,” Gordon said, “Okay, you can’t tell anyone this, yeah? I’m blowing asteroids up.” 

He could see Joshua’s eyes brighten. It was visible . “ In space ?” 

“Yes,” Gordon laughed. “But it’s very experimental, which means…” 

“It’s not ready for the public eye yet,” Joshua whispered, almost reverently.

Gordon laughed again, and took off the mitten on his hand to ruffle Joshua’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay staying at your grandparents’ place? If you don’t like that I can ask someone else to come over instead.” 

“It’s okay,” Joshua said, finally content to go sit down again. “Can I bring my skate shoes?” 

“Sure thing, put them in a bag.” 

Gordon called Joshua’s grandparents to let them know to pick him up at five (Joshua chimed in to ask them to remind him about the roller skates), and then Joshua got his backpack and spare clothes and bag for the shoes and the house was once again vacant. 

They don’t have a vehicle, but Tommy sings and Bubby joins in and Darnold keeps a beat and after a while Benrey starts playing songs out of the shitty speaker on his phone. Gordon’s even spent the day before sleepless, but that’s kind of everyday now. He hadn’t anticipated having to get used to a day having twenty four hours again, but well. He hadn’t anticipated anything while going through Black Mesa, really. It wasn’t really ideal thinking-far-ahead environment.

Benrey seems bouncier when he’s on Xen. Gordon didn’t think about it, but when he steps through the portal he has a flash of that image from what feels like a lifetime ago: Benrey giant as the Earth itself, blocking everything else in sight, his form longing to catch up with his already immense, oppressive presence. Taller than any walls, any mountains, any barriers between himself and a measly human’s fleeting existence.

Gordon shakes his head. At his least incomprehensible, Benrey’s said it was “a show”. “Like. Cable TV. A television series,” Gordon’s asked. 

“Like a cutscene,” Benrey’s replied, as if Gordon was the one too slow for the course. 

Benrey now felt nothing like whatever that was that happened to him and the Science Team last year. Benrey now felt just… like a dude. Doing a barrel roll, while saying “Ooooo barrel roll” with a straight face. While his Nokia 2700’s still crushing whatever song it’s playing into oblivion. 

Gordon doesn’t deal in implications anymore, so he starts singing along to whatever everyone else’s singing as well, and focuses on carrying their homemade Xen-specific dynamite blocks to where they’re going to dig their largest hole into the core of this wretched piece of rock.

It takes a day, kind of; he doesn’t sleep, out here in the thin atmosphere of Xen, where the stars don’t blink and red light comes in a hue from inside the dirt. He doesn’t have to force himself to go lay down at midnight like back home, he just sits down, at the edge of the portal, when the explosives have all been installed, and watch Coomer and Bubby ready themselves.

They can hear Bubby’s cackles ringing in Xen’s air and also in their comms, as he lays in Coomer’s arms and they race the fire, starting from the outer ring of asteroids to the main Xen island. They jump from rock to rock, red light trailing after them while the dirt itself breaks apart, not with a boom, but with the sound of bubbles breaking after a wave crashes on the shore. Xen glows brighter than it probably ever has, in its disintegration. 

Benrey sings a few vacant notes, standing on nothingness; the light from his mouth blends in almost perfectly with Xen’s dying light. 

“You got all of your belongings outta there?” Gordon asks, half as a jab, half serious. “Didn’t leave anything important in your old apartment?” 

Benrey doesn’t answer, for a moment. When he does, it’s just to mumble, “oh look, there’s fireworks.” 

---

They got home early from it. 

Gordon takes a nap on the couch; he only wakes up from Benrey turning the sound up to max and then shooting a rocket at a truck in Far Cry 3. “Dude,” he throws an arm up over his face, and winces when it’s the plastic arm. “What the fuck.” 

“Go pick Joshua up,” Benrey says, definitely too conversationally, and barely understandable under the noises from the game. “Gordon. Sleepman.” 

“You’re slipping,” Gordon comments as he wrestles himself out of Tommy’s quilt. He forgot to give it back to Tommy, he realizes sleepily, picking up the phone he left charging on the living room table. It’s seven already. 

The drive to Joshua’s grandparents’ place is not a long one. He finds Joshua sitting at the porch of the little house, backpack and the bag with the roller skates at his feet. Joshua jumps up at the sight of Gordon’s car, and before he can walk through the gate he’s already found his arms full of his son. 

Joshua clings to his neck with a death grip. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Gordon says. “I was tired, so I took a nap, and forgot the time.” 

“It’s okay,” Joshua mumbles, “you were tired.” 

“I blew up so many asteroids though.” Gordon says, and Joshua laughs. 

They drive home after saying goodbye to Joshua’s grandparents (Joshua’s grandpa put a wrapped up pot pie in Gordon’s hands with an iron grip and a gaze that communicated clearly what would happen if he refused it), and Joshua agreed to take a detour to the Roswell airport for the night. Gordon absentmindedly texts Benrey taking the kid to watch airplanes, get your own food , and puts his phone away for the drive. The radio’s on, but Joshua doesn’t sing along. Gordon’s vocal cord’s still tired from Xen (no more, Xen-no-more it is, there’s just a vast of empty space inbetween dimensions there now) so he also stays silent. 

They get ice cream at a drive-thru on the way, and then they’re at the highway, parking on the roadside, looking over the rail at the airport. A plane leaves the ground there and goes into the air. Gordon’s struck by how different it is from a bird or a moth; nothing about the plane communicates any internal movement, it just. Moves. Up and up. Like a JPEG sliding across the screen under someone’s puppeteering with a mouse. 

Joshua stares at the plane, unblinking. “Is it dangerous in space, Dad?” He asks. 

Gordon taps his hand on the steering wheel. “It’s.” He starts saying, but stops to clear his throat. “It can be. There’s a lot of math going into making things that bring a human into space, and a lot of different people doing different parts of that math, and. Sometimes some people do their math wrong. Sometimes they try something new, and we don’t have the good math for that new thing yet. Sometimes new things break into the old math, and we need to. Work around that new thing.” 

“What happens if,” Joshua swallows, “someone does the math wrong?” 

“We try to catch it,” Gordon says. “That’s why there are so many people doing the math. So if someone gives the wrong answer, they can spot it early, and fix it.” 

“What if nobody does,” Joshua says. He’s still looking through the car’s window, at the stroke of cloud the plane’s long flown past. 

Gordon puts his hands on the gear stick. “That’s very, very rare to happen,” he intones carefully. “They have to check, over and over, before they send a ship into space.” 

Joshua turns from the window to Gordon. He looks at Gordon’s prosthetic hand, on the gear stick. “I’ve only found books about spaceships that have gone to space,” he says, quiet. 

Gordon turns over, and holds out that hand. Joshua climbs over the gear stick to give him another hug. “Experiments are important to those ships too,” Gordon says. “They give the people who make the ships important information to make them safe.” 

Joshua just buries himself in Gordon’s arms. 

“I’m really sorry I came home late and didn’t call you, Joshua,” Gordon says, and hugs his son tighter. “I won’t do that again. I’ll always call when I’m home late.” 

“I don’t have to be an astronaut,” Joshua mumbles. 

“Oh, no- nononono, listen,” Gordon says into his hair, with all the determination he can muster up. “Listen, Joshua, you become whoever you want to, okay? You don’t have to be anything, but you don’t have to not be anything either. That’s my mistake, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re good. You’re good. You’ll be an incredible astronaut. You’ll be the first man on Mars. Jupiter, even.” 

“Jupiter is a gas giant,” Joshua mumbles. “There isn't any land to land on.”

Gordon nods. “That’s why it’s called landing , I get it.”

---

They drive home after, and Joshua asks to sit with Gordon while he and Benrey play Mario Kart. Gordon agrees, which means he has to clamp down on any curse he almost lets out when someone bumps him off the damn road, while Benrey does some magic or whatever on his screen. Who the hell knows. 

After their third match, Benrey elbows Gordon in the arm to signify a break. “Beddy bye hour,” he says, not even looking at Gordon, “for… babies. Hattrick means I make the rules.” 

“You didn’t come first in the second match,” Gordon argues, but quiets down when he looks down to see Joshua asleep leaning on him. “Okay, don’t fucking choose Toon Link for me again while I’m away,” he points a finger at Benrey, who’s residing smugly in the to-be-chaos of his own making. “I’m fucking serious.”

He carries Joshua to his bedroom and tucks him in, and then detours to the kitchen for some water. 

“Ooh, hydration,” Benrey comments idly. 

“What d’you know about it,” Gordon mumbles when he settles back down on the couch. He looks at the TV screen to find Inkling on one of the shitty bikes. “What the hell man, this bike sucks ass. Fucking Shit Taste McGee over here.” 

Benrey laughs. 

Gordon plays the game, while thinking about the sendoff party they’re throwing for Bubby and Coomer next week, before the grandpas go off gallivanting in yet another forbidden corner of the Earth. Coomer lovingly calls it their “honeymoon”, but Gordon has full faith this is gonna be what they do forever. Or at least until they’re bored of Earth, and start aiming for the Moon instead. Probably not a bad place to be in. 

“Thinking Xen thoughts, aren’t’cha,” Benrey says, while sending a shell after some poor computer character. 

Gordon grins. “Ha! Sike! I’m not even thinking about Xen.” He pauses, catching the full force of a fireball a Mario shoots at him. “I haven’t thought about Xen at all actually. Since I got home with Joshua.” 

“Achievement unlocked,” Benrey says, and extends a hand. Gordon stares at it. 

“Wh- huh?” 

“High five, idiot.”

“Oh,” Gordon says, and slaps that hand. Benrey’s eyes widen at the noise. 

“Yo that’s a. Crunchy noise.” He claps his hands together, and he’s laughing now, light flowing out in a thread of something like baby blue. “This rules,” he says happily. 

Gordon smiles, and then some motherfucker flings a shell at him, so he falls off the road again. 

He stays up way too late again, and time doesn’t stop slipping, and when Darnold gives him a vial of neutralizer for the Potion of Not Telling at their little party the week after it gives him something like mania and he hugs Coomer like an idiot while the old man slaps his back in a motion that’s supposed to be comforting. He sleeps that off as well afterwards, and wakes up to Tommy surfing the channels on his TV, complaining about lack of daytime talk shows. When he forgets about the scheduled blackout a month after, he still calls the concierge with shaking hands and then climbs into his bed like he’s four again and there’s a storm outside. He still thinks about Black Mesa, and about Xen. 

There’s just a little addendum now, that he can remind myself of. 

It’s weird how quickly it blends into everything else, but. Well. It’s weird everything . 

He makes cookies again, comes the winter, and teaches himself how to decorate cookies, just to have something to do. Joshua throws his pencil onto the notebook one day to go dig out the lumpy, supposedly-ISS-shaped cookie cutters from the tool cabinet. 

“Careful,” Gordon calls after him. 

Joshua toddles back with the cookie cutters in hand. “Can we have ISS cookies?” He asks. 

Gordon says yes. He also looks up a buncha references, prints them out, and tries to get the cookies exactly correct, making two “outside” cookies and an “inside” one, with schematics of the inner chambers of the ISS drawn on. Joshua loves it. 

“Here’s where the astronauts sleep,” He points at the spot that’s supposed to be the service module, and Gordon’s proud of getting that part right on the cookie.

He ruffles Joshua’s hair again. “Hey, maybe you’ll sleep there in twenty years,” he says, and marvels at the levity to that sentence. Just a little bit. It’s washed away with Joshua’s smile, and then they busy themselves with folding bags for the cookies instead.

[vanaera]

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟐 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 8.2k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries (PG-16 Rating)

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

              The skies were gray and the streets were damp and yet the air remains humid. The scorching heat on the pavement permeates the soles of his leather combat boots. It’s the familiar stench of Down Hill. Jungkook could already smell it when he’s just reaching the boundary between it and Middle Town.

              Jungkook looks down at the scrap of paper that’s been in his pocket since the day started. Namjoon had to write the address of this Y/N L/N, lest DOJ traces his electronic trail and take him in for unnecessary questioning. Jungkook himself had to make up some petty excuse of a “hurting arm” to file a day-off. He just hopes all of this spent effort will worth him something.

              Jungkook nears the 7-Eleven sitting in the fork of the streets. Namjoon wrote Y/N’s studio is cramped among the apartments around this area. He said she never really penned down a home to accommodate covert meet-ups like this. All she has is her studio. 

              In “Mini Palais, 23-B,” Jungkook mutters again, huffing in front of a door with cracking cadet blue paint. He finds the unit after climbing up a series of stairs at the end of the alleyway jammed between the decaying 7-Eleven and a battered motor shop. Jungkook raises his hand to knock when the door bursts open.

              In front of him is a girl. Namjoon already said so and although Jungkook thinks it’s accurate enough for the girl who’s looking up at him through chopped raven bangs, it also wasn’t really enough to describe her. Because the girl in front of him was an aberrant mix of a girl and a woman. Jungkook thinks she’s around her early thirties if he were to consider Namjoon’s history of working with her for about ten years in FJO. There are faint lines around her eyes to support that. However, her relatively small height, plump cheeks, and the natural rosy hue of her lips beg to decrease ten years off that supposed age.  With her youthful face, messy half-bun, and the white, floral off-shoulder dress flowing past her knees, no one will argue with Jungkook if he were to say she’s just 22. 

              “Who are you?”

              “Oh, um,” Jungkook flashes his badge, “I’m Jungkook Jeon, a captain in the Federal Justice Organization. Precrime, Murder sector. I’m here to um, avail your…services for a case.”

              The girl cocks her head to the side and gives him a once over. “I’m sorry, I don’t do services for the FJO anymore.” She moves to close the door but Jungkook was quick to block a foot between it and the wall.

              “I’m a contact of Namjoon’s!” Jungkook exclaims, “He’s Lieutenant Seokjin Kim’s close subordinate.” This is a card he didn’t want to use but it looks like he has no other choice left. Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, I’m a very close contact of Namjoon. We’re best friends. I even live with him. He’s the one who told me to, um, consult you for the case I’m handling.” 

              The girl opens the door an inch. Jungkook hands a folded paper to her. She spreads it open and scans through the letter. Jungkook doesn’t know what it actually says. Namjoon just thrust it into his hands on his way out and told him not to open it. It must be an effective personal request because by the time the girl reaches the end, she’s pushing her door wide open, tilting her head to the side, beckoning him to come inside. However, her face remains grim.

              “I’m Y/N L/N. This is my studio. I know you already know I prefer to transact business here even for ones intended to be covert. So first off, I want to say I’m sorry you have to travel to such a place like this.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “Oh no, it’s definitely alright—”

              “I kinda think it’s not when you grew up in a comfortable life. You must be quite shaken up.”

              Jungkook freezes. Y/N looks at him, “Oh, I didn’t look into you or something. It’s just a hypothetical guess, seeing your,” she motions to his silver watch. “That’s expensive. No one from here will be able to afford it anytime soon.”

              Jungkook’s shoulders turn lax. Y/N points to a chair next to a table in the corner. “Just wait there. I’m about to finish this piece in just a sec. Then I’m all yours.”

              Jungkook nods and makes himself comfortable on the seat. Unlike its appearance on the outside, Y/N’s unit is not much of a concrete wreck. It still looks a bit rough. The ceiling has cracks all over it.  A small white bulb precariously hangs on its center. It looks too weak to illuminate the whole room when the night comes. Jungkook thinks it’s a good thing that the unit has huge gaping rectangular windows to let in the natural light. The floor is cemented in gray but the work on it is unimpressive as there are numerous uneven layers, rough patches, and dents that could only be ascribed to poor mason work. The white wallpaper is torn around, some even wet at the edges—probably due to a leak during rains. 

              However, the flowers painted on them is vibrant enough to uplift the dreary unit. Paintings are littered around. Many are big, a few are small. Some were seated on easels, several are just laying around on the floor. Newspapers are strewn across the majority of the floor. Buckets and tin cans of paints line up the corners like a prayer circle. 

              All the colors present in the room can only be attributed to the paint that’s strewn across the newspapers, the paintings, and the 6’ tall canvas of an owl in flight Y/N is currently working on. The girl is standing on a small foldable ladder, painting the feathers of the bird at the top of the canvas. When the wind blows her hair to the side, Jungkook finds a mirage of colors on the scarlet spider lilies inked on her spine.

              After about two minutes, Y/N steps down and dumps her brush into a rusted bucket filled with water. She turns to the man on the chair and makes her way to the stool opposite his. She fixes down her dress and finally looks at Jungkook. “So, what case do you have for me?”

              “This,” Jungkook slides a couple of pictures toward her. They are the screen captures from the CCTV records that caught the black Jaguar. “There’s an unknown driver who’s doing an illegal time jump patterned to Precrime’s traveling agents. We tried to run in the license plate but it just turned to be ‘invalid.’ All we know is that the suspect is male, slim, and tall. He’s interested in the Winston Assassination, and has probably inside ties in FJO since he easily entered the Special Operations Building just ten days ago.”

              “None of the traveling agents has seen this man before? Precrime or Forecrime?”

              Jungkook shakes his head.

              Y/N licks a finger and flips to the next picture, “What about the car?”

              “None of the agents has seen a suspicious sedan sports Jaguar before. It’s the first time we have someone presumably well-to-do threatening the justice system.”

              Y/N nods. Jungkook inserts his hand into his pocket and retrieves a black USB. He hands it to the girl. “Here’s more of the screenshots from the CCTVs, taken in each second. I can’t give you the CCTVs because of the protocol. I can only give you these. Just imagine they’re moving,” Jungkook purses his lips as he looks at the girl. “I want you to identify this man for me.”

              Y/N tucks the USB into her dress’ pocket. She slides the pictures back to Jungkook. “This seems to be a heavy identification check then. Not that I couldn’t handle, of course. However, Namjoon must have told you that my rates are quite high—”

              “Money is not a problem.”

              Y/N cocks a brow, “So you did grow up a comfortable life.”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw.

              Y/N chuckles, “Okay, I’m not gonna dwell on it more. It’s settled then. Send your weekly payment to this account,” Y/N tears a piece from the rolls of paper by her side, scribbles on it, and hands it to him. “Every Friday, 10 AM sharp.” Jungkook looks at the paper before tucking it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N crosses her arms, “We can start next week after you give me the downpayment.”

              Jungkook zips open a duffel bag and places a stack of bills on the table.

              “Eager, aren’t we?” Y/N smiles, “I like that.” She flips through the bills before deciding they’re legitimate and dumping it into a box by her feet. 

      ��       Y/N turns to him. “Now, where are we? Oh—you must already know, but what I really do here is foreseeing the future for whatever cause you have. It’s not just trivial fortune-telling but a purposive one. I can accurately give you whatever you want to know.” 

              Jungkook nods. Y/N’s leans forward on the table. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really have terms and conditions with my clients. Or any contract to ensure them their protection, as what I do tend to…increase risks. Emotional security and mental stability on your part. Those two and physical toll on mine. It will be absurd to provide any contract as what I am doing is anything but guaranteeing protection. I can’t also be fully transparent about the mechanisms behind the things I will do for you. Otherwise, my gift won’t work. What I can only assure is I’ll never proceed on any memories you have set boundaries on. Should you decide to stop this negotiation anywhere in the future, I will automatically concede and keep the confidentiality of whatever that may happen. As long as on your part, you won’t consider asking for a refund.”

              “I understand.”

              “Good,” Y/N smiles, “Now first things first. Tell me any hurting point you have.”

              Jungkook goes stiff. “Is this actually necessary?”

              Y/N nods. “I know this is a tough question, but we’re talking about memories here.”

              “I know but I can’t just divulge them to a stranger—"

              “I think you don’t get what I’m saying.” Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle. “Look, Jungkook, when I attempt to see the future concerning this elusive driver you’re after, it is inevitable for the past to re-appear. There is no future without any past. Your past memories can clog up with the ones involved in the case because you are in the case. You’re heading it. Good or bad, memories will come up. That’s their thing.  They spring up at the most inconvenient times. No matter how old they already are. No matter how long you must have already moved on from them. Memories demand to be remembered and you cannot just disregard them even if you will it to because it never gave anyone a choice to do otherwise.  So, if you don’t set the boundaries on the memories you don’t want me to cross, I’ll just see everything in their utter unadulterated form.” Y/N leans forward, “And I can assure you, you don’t want that to happen.” 

              Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue. “Fine. I’ll give you my hurting point and that’s that. No further questions.”

              “Okay.”

              Jungkook digs in his back pocket for his wallet and flips it open. There’s a tattered white edge of a picture peeking through the flaps. It’s been years since he pulled it out. Its replica, now tucked in his shelf, has prevented him from doing so for so many years. Jungkook closes his eyes and slides it toward the girl. “This boy. Anything that concerns him, I don’t want you to cross or even bring up. Understand?”

              “Okay.” Y/N hands back the photo to him. “We go to the second step then. You must already have your assumed suspects. Tell me their names.”

              Jungkook draws back. “I can’t tell you that, that’s highly classified information. FJO’s protocol doesn’t allow it and—”

              “Do you seeking my help part of the protocol?”

              Jungkook looks down, “No.”

              “Right. So, tell me their names. I need to know them to make a memory map.”

              Jungkook’s brows meet “A what?”

              “A memory map,” Y/N repeats, “It’s something I make to identify points of certain memories in time. It guides me to the memories I need to tread to reach what I’m really looking for. It’s like a demo version of Forecrime’s box trainings but except of a machine, I’m doing it manually by hand. For all we know, the real suspect must be close to these suspects.” 

              Jungkook’s brow quirks up.

              Y/N leans forward, “So, tell me their names?”

              Jungkook turns his face away from her, looking at his clasped hands. “Well, I…only have one.”

              “And that is?”

              “Leigh Anderson. Winston’s assassin. FJO has been after him for 17 years. He also has a number of sponsors who’s been sending him missions with promises of large sums of money. But most of all, he’s rumored to have access to time jumping technologies. Illegal of course. FJO is the only one licensed to be utilizing them.”

              “That’s good,” Y/N quips. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

              Jungkook turns to his duffel bag and retrieves a picture. It’s Anderson in the scene of Winston’s murder that FJO has pinned to their system. The one in the crime record Jungkook produced. He hands it to Y/N. “Is this enough?”

              “More than enough,” Y/N smiles. She stands up and walks to one of her cupboards, reaching for a ceramic bowl. She pours some tap water in it and turns back to the table, a short, white candle in hand. She places the candle on the water, letting it float. She retrieves a lighter from her dress pocket and lights up the wick of the candle.

              Y/N puts her palms open on the table. “Let’s start now. Do you have your clicker with you?”

              Jungkook’s brows meet. “What?”

              “Your time jumper,” Y/N grits.

              Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “I don’t see any reason why would you need it—”

              “We’re going to the past to have a tangible memory to start on my memory map.” Before Jungkook could tear himself away from the table, Y/N launches forward and snatches the small, black device hanging on the man’s belt loop. Jungkook shoots an arm out and grabs onto it.

              But it’s too late. Y/N’s already pushed the button.

              The air is knocked out of Jungkook’s windpipe. A numbing pain starts to settle on his chest, a migraine forming on his temple. His limbs also feel stone-heavy. Precrime traveling has always been like this and yet Jungkook can never get used to it. However, he’s not left wondering about it for long because in the next second, Jungkook’s standing in front of a dark road. Tall shrubs and trees shadowing the moon, CCTVs mounted on the lamp posts lining the concrete. It’s Somerset Road.  

              Jungkook’s eyes widen. Why is he here? He tries to move but his limbs are stuck by his side, unmoving as he grunts. He tries to take a step back but the effort is futile when his feet are seemingly glued onto the dark asphalt. Jungkook sighs and turns to the road in front of him again. And this time around, Jungkook’s mouth falls ajar.

              Y/N is standing idly at the other side of the road, opposite of him.

              “H-how did you travel here—”

              A car zooms past. Jungkook turns his head to the sound. The air is punched out from his esophagus. It’s his car—the silver-gray Ford. And there at the other end of the road emerges a black sedan sports Jaguar. The Jaguar speeds on and drives into the Ford, swerving it around, tires screeching loud on the pavement. It topples down, rolling around, then round, and round. Three times, Jungkook counted. Just like the CCTV Hoseok retrieved. The Ford stops, upside down. The black Jaguar zips past it. Like the CCTVs have shown, the Jaguar reaches the other end of the street and disappears. A second passes. The body of the driver in the car drops onto the cold pavement. It lolls his head to his side, bloodied face turned towards the man standing on the pavement. 

              Jungkook’s facing right into his past. He isn’t reliving the memory. He is living it. There’s no anger but pain. Fresh, unadulterated pain that cannot be accounted to the lacerations on his injured arm.

              The wind howls. Jungkook remains frozen in his position. Then suddenly, everything stops—the distant honking of the cars, the wind, the clatter of the crushed car pieces falling onto the ground. What the fuck is happening? Jungkook turns around, only to come face to face with the girl.

              Y/N’s arm shoots forward and fists the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him down to her level. “You didn’t say this business is personal!”

              “It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook spits, tearing her hand off him.

              “It is, Jungkook! You said you were involved. I didn’t think it was this level of involved!”

              “It doesn’t change any fact that I’m still going to be involved either way! I’m still going to head this case because it’s tied with Winston. What difference does it make if I am the victim of this fucking man?!”

              “A lot!” Y/N screams. Jungkook stops. Y/N sighs, “It does a lot of difference, Jungkook. We’re already risking a lot in this until it turns out you’re a focal point in this case! You’re a fucking victim of this culprit! A conflict of interest is highly possible. You will be unable disassociate yourself from this and objectively investigate this case—” 

              “I don’t need you telling me what I should do or not, Y/N.” Jungkook steps forward to the girl. “I know what I’m doing. And I know it when I say I can investigate this following all the legal protocols.”

              Y/N tilts her head. “How can you say that when you’ve just been face-to-face with your past self?” 

              Before Jungkook can say anything, Y/N closes her eyes and clicks her finger. In just one second, everything around Jungkook falls beneath his feet—the trees, Somerset Road, his bloodied self. It rips themselves off from his senses until all he could see again is the dilapidated atelier, the barren ceilings, and, Y/N.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as air fills his lungs again. “H-how could you do that?”

              Y/N blows off the candle. “My gift.” She glances at the man. “The accident is taking a serious toll on you. I have to take us out of the time jump.”

                Jungkook sits back and glowers at her. “N-no, what I’m asking about is—how could you snatch my clicker and make a jump without any remorse? You do know that’s illegal!”

              “I know. ‘FJO’s traveling agents and officials are the only ones allowed by the law to engage in time jumping activities’ yaddah yaddah bullshit.”  Y/N leans on the table, face hovering the Captain’s. “But involving a then-law practitioner, much more an outsider like me, into your case is also illegal. I have my gift, yes. But I can only see the future and I won’t be able to see it accurately if I don’t have some sense of the past. Plus, I have no other pragmatic choice to start this case on the right foot. I already saw the future of our negotiation before you sat down on that stool. There’s nothing else I could say other than it didn’t end favorably for any of us.” Y/N turns back to the table she’s clearing, “Not that it’s any different now. Especially when I just learned the case you’ve showed me is more personal than you presented it to be.”

              Jungkook purses his lips. He stands up, gathers his things, and wordlessly makes his way out of the atelier. He didn’t bid the girl any farewell.

              “Looks like you haven’t been sleeping.”

              Jungkook looks up at his friend before looking down at his crossed arms, turning his attention back to his mug of coffee.

              Namjoon takes a seat cross Jungkook. “Did something happen?” He twirls the tea bag around his own mug, “Care to tell why you’ve been sporting those dark eye bags since two days ago?”

              “It’s nothing.”

              “It’s not nothing when the doctor precisely told you to have a healthy lifestyle to help your wound heal faster.”

              Jungkook looks at Namjoon.

              Namjoon points to his bandaged arm, “It indeed doesn’t look it’s healing fast like it’s supposed to.”

              Jungkook sighs. “Fine, you caught me.” He purses his lips then looks at his friend, “I’ve been wondering. You know our clickers are designed to identify the agent it was assigned to before it could work. But, is it…possible for clickers to work on someone that doesn’t belong to FJO as long as someone from FJO is present?”

              Namjoon keeps his gaze on him. A look of surprise seems to wash over his face. But it soon gets replaced by a look of recognition. Namjoon places the tea bag onto the saucer on his left. “I see you already met Y/N.”

              “Y-you knew that about her?”

              “I do,” Namjoon mutters over his cup of tea. “I learned it when the Bureau looked into the Linton Park serial murders. Seokjin’s team, including me, followed the memory map she made for us—a trail of memories that specifically belongs to anything related to the murders. But then, we hit a dead-end for the supposed next victim. Can’t identify her. We only had images of flashing movement—blood splattering in a barn, people running on a green field. There are just cops and a woman.” 

              Namjoon places down his cup, “And so, Y/N told me she needed me to help her make a time jump in the past. I pressed on the clicker and,” Namjoon shrugs, “Y/N successfully made the jump. And also successfully return with the info of the victim—a girl working on a farm. Y/N tied it to the flashing images of the field and deduced the running was not about us chasing a murderer’s accomplice. But us running after a victim before Linton could. It was hard to tell at first why the victim is running away from us. Until we learned through Y/N she was an illegal immigrant.” 

              Namjoon pulls his lips into a tight smile. “I think it’s an additional gift. But at the same time, it’s also a setback. A rightful one at that. Y/N’s inability to time jump in the past unless with a clicker a meter radius within her balances the power of her future-seeing gift. She still needs to rely on the system even if her gift for the future is, hypothetically, unbound from any constraints.” Namjoon takes a sip of his tea. “How ‘bout you? How did you learn this…extra ability of hers?”

              “She snatched my clicker from me,” Jungkook leans back in his seat. “She said she needed a ‘tangible memory’ to start on her memory map. She ended up thrusting us back into the time of my car accident.”

              Namjoon freezes. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘us’?”

              Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Yeah. We did the jump together, that’s why I’m asking you about this thing with the clickers.” 

              “Jungkook, she never did that before.”

              Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “What?”

              Namjoon scratches his nape, face scrunched up. “When she asked me to let her jump through my clicker, she didn’t take me along with the jump. It’s only her. Like it should always be as one clicker is only for one user. It’s always been like this in all the situations she asked me for a time jump in the past.” Namjoon looks at him, “I don’t know why you got in the same loop as her.”

              The night was quiet but devoid of peace. Like an ugly pause in a running film that’s just about to unwind the questions they laid at the start. Even after intaking his blue pills, Jungkook finds it difficult to close his eyes shut.

              “Big brother!”

              Jungkook turns around. The small boy stands on his tiptoes, small arms reaching for him. Jungkook smiles, “You want to climb on my back again, Daehyun?”

              “Yes!” Daehyun giggles.

              “Alright then,” Jungkook crouches in front of him and Daehyun’s squeals grow louder as he loops his stubby arms around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook stands up, securing the boy’s short legs around his torso. “Ready for some wind, big boy?” He asks. Daehyun nods frantically and soon, Jungkook is zooming on the green field, turning the heads of the children and volunteers in the park. But all Jungkook could hear was Daehyun’s laughter filling the nice summer afternoon. It brings a huge smile on Jungkook’s face. 

              Then—flashing blue and red lights. Cold pavement. A lone school bus standing in the middle. Its yellowness highlighted by the police’s yellow tape surrounding the area. Reporters dot every possible space on the crossroad. “Shooter on the loose.” “Poor child.” “Blood splattered on the seats.” But all Jungkook could hear is the white noise of the chattering. And the call of “Big brother!” he’ll never hear anymore. 

              Jungkook jolts awake. He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s all in the past,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t shake off the horror he’s reeling in. He’s had this dream again and again for eight years straight. He should be already accustomed to it. 

              Jungkook sits up straight. He turns back to his computer and sees a couple of pictures open on the desktop. It was the screenshots of the CCTVs Yoongi gave them. He looks at the top of his desk. His notes empty of anything new other than Leigh Anderson’s name webbed next to an un-filled space for sponsors. Jungkook covers his face with his palms and yawns. Just then a series of text messages come in.

              Unknown: This is Y/N. I know we left on bad terms three days ago. I’m the one to blame for that for overreacting. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done a case for FJO. I’m still kinda hung up separating personal services from investigative ones. (2:13 P.M.)

              Unknown: Nevertheless, I hope you’re free this day. Meet me at Somerset Road. 3 P.M. I don’t want you to waste the money you gave me yesterday (2:13 P.M.)  

              Somerset Road is a thirty-minute drive from the FJO Main Headquarters. However, it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook parks his car on the side road. It seemed like hours have gone by when the sun is about to set in the alcove of trees in the distance. It’s just three in the afternoon. Jungkook steps outside and shuts the door. From his position, he could make out a girl in ripped black denim pants and black tank layered with a pink see-through mesh shirt. From the striking red of the spider lilies on the top of her spine, Jungkook could tell it was Y/N. He almost didn’t recognize her. He wouldn’t know she has an undercut had her high ponytail didn’t highlight it.

              The girl turns around and looks at him. “You’re late.”

              “I have to bribe the Maintenance Office first to give me this afternoon’s CCTVs when we’re done.” Jungkook strides toward her, “How did you get my number?”

              “Namjoon.”

              Jungkook cocks a brow.

              Y/N shrugs, “he wrote it in the letter you gave me. Should you, quote-unquote, be ‘difficult to deal with.’”

              Jungkook keeps his lips in a straight line.

              Y/N rocks on her toes, hands in her pocket. “Let’s get straight to it then. Take your clicker out and push it.”

              “What are you intending to do—”

              “A time jump.”

              “Of course, I know that. What other purpose do we use our time jumps for?” Jungkook spits. “What I want to know is what we’re supposed to be doing first before I follow whatever you want me to do because I cannot just blindly trust you with this—”

              Y/N turns her head to him, one brow cocked up, “Didn’t I tell you before I don’t fancy How-What-Why-Whatever questions to what I do or else my gift won’t work?”

              “Yes, but—”

              “Look, will you just push it or do you want me to snatch it from you again?” Y/N takes a step closer to him, leveling his eyes with hers. “I already did a read for today. I know its new hiding place.”

              Jungkook remains unmoving in his stance.

              Y/N crosses her arms. “If it would assure you, this session won’t end taxingly fruitless like the last time. I’m positive we’ll get something by the end of today.”

              “How did you know?”

              “I told you, I did a read for today. I saw you with an astounded face and me with a happy and proud smile. Obviously, we must have ended up finding something.”

              Jungkook is still unconvinced.

              Y/N sighs, “If you don’t want to do anything of what I can offer you, you know you can just terminate our connection anytime you want. Just so you know you can’t refund the 10,000 zials you gave me for the downpayment.”

              Jungkook keeps his gaze on her. A couple of seconds pass before he sighs and shakes his head as he takes out his issued clicker tucked in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N smirks. “See? You know you’re gonna need me in the end and you still try to put up an unnecessary fight.”

              Jungkook grunts. He turns the clicker’s indicator to “1-2 weeks” timeframe and pushes the button.

              It was just like their previous time jump—like any other Precrime time jump. It felt like nothing yet also everything at the same time. An amalgamation of sensations and perceptions flashing in front of him in the blink of an eye as he is transported back to the night of his accident. Jungkook looks down at his feet. He’s back to where he last stood at—the left side of the road next to the corner where his car will come from. Jungkook turns to his left and he almost jumps in shock. Unlike their last jump, Y/N is no longer on the opposite side of the road, but beside him, shoulders almost bumping his. Jungkook takes a staggering step away from her. 

              Even if Namjoon laid everything he knows about Y/N’s skills yesterday, Jungkook still finds it hard to accept that a clairvoyant is able to look into the past with such effortless access. Aren’t they only supposed to see the future?

              “What are you looking at?”

              Jungkook tears his gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

              “Thought so, too,” Y/N quips. “We’re here to work after all. Not ogle at each other.” 

              Jungkook tongues his cheek. He’s not left to his frustration for long as after a second, the burning of tires on the asphalt is heard on their side of the road. A silver-gray Ford appears and it zooms past them in a flash. A black Jaguar subsequently shows up on the other side, its form nearing them each millisecond that passes. It’s only time ‘til the two crashes and sends Jungkook’s car rolling three times on the road.

              But, it didn’t happen. The howls of the wind stop. The screeching of the tires halts in awkward silence. And the cars are frozen still. The Jaguar’s bumper and Ford’s right door are separated by a mere inch. It’s the second before the accident happens. Paused in a picture-like frame as if someone hit the pause icon on a video.

              Jungkook whips his head to his side. Y/N has her palm closed in a post-click of her thumb and middle fingers. Jungkook feels his throat clog up, “H-how did you do that?”

              Y/N rolls her eyes. “Told you before, it’s because of my gift. And it’s also just seconds ago I told you I don’t like questions about how my gift works.” Y/N steps away from him and onto the road. “Follow me.” 

              Jungkook silently follows behind. It’s only a matter of seconds that they reach the side of the door of the silver-gray Ford. Jungkook lets his fingers touch on the coated metal. It felt cold on his flesh. Solid. Real. Jungkook can’t help but be astonished. This is no regular time jump. Totally unlike the first one he did with the woman. For this time, Jungkook doesn’t feel he’s living the film of the scene, just like any of the standard Precrime time jumping. This time, Jungkook feels he’s in the scene. Not in a film, not like the virtual reality experienced by Forecrime agents. But in real-time.

              “Take your hands off your car.”

              Jungkook tears his hands away from his car. He looks at the girl. Y/N gives him a pointed look, “I know this time jump doesn’t feel like the standard time jumps of Precrime so you may be astounded with,” she motions around them, “all of this. But I prefer you not to get too overwhelmed. We’re here for work.”

              Jungkook nods, reluctant. Y/N walks further into the side of the road, now a foot away from the spot where the cars should crash. Jungkook quickly follows behind. When he’s by an arms-length away from her, he faces back to the scene in front of him. And then, Y/N clicks her hand.

              The trees sway again. The winds continue their violent gush on the road. And the cars collide. The film is playing again.

              But then, Y/N clicks her fingers. The scene stops, frozen yet again. The bumper of the Jaguar has dug into the Ford’s door, crushing the metal with its momentum. The side mirror is broken, glass shards shattering in mid-air.

              “Come here,” Y/N beckons. Jungkook walks close behind as Y/N stops by the point of intersection of the two cars.  From their position, Jungkook could see the past him hunched over on the wheel, seat belt digging into his torso. The window by his side is broken, a splotch of blood marring the clear glass. And on his right, Jungkook could see the driver of the black Jaguar. Non-existent.

              Y/N looks at him, “So we know the man you’re after is doing an illegal time jump similar to the pattern of Precrime’s traveling agents. But what you don’t know is: he’s a professional.”

              “W-what?” 

              “Look,” Y/N flicks her wrist and makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hand. The sound goes void again and the cars back away from each other in slow motion. Jungkook’s brows shoot up.  The scene is rewinding. Y/N is turning back the time before the Jaguar collided into the Ford. And then, Y/N moves her arm horizontally to her left and clicks her fingers. The Jaguar moves forward again, but slowly this time. Jungkook could see the silhouette of the driver with arms taut on the wheel disappearing into a cloud of smoke until it turns no more but a nonexistent person on the seat as it hits the door of the Ford. 

              Y/N clicks her fingers and the scene pauses. “As you saw, it only took the driver,” she glances at her watch, “ten seconds before completely disappearing into his time jump. From how fast he disappeared, we could say it only took him twenty seconds in total to make the entire jump. I can only deduce this as the memories we have are short of the time we could see him in his solid form. The same way goes for the CCTVs you gathered. It only captured the last ten seconds of the whole accident. The Jaguar nonexistent in the frame from 20:23:39 and anything beyond before that time mark. The CCTVs only showed the Jaguar from 20:23:40 to exactly 20:24. The last 10 seconds, devoid of any driver.” 

              The girl continues, “Now, to be able to completely vanish in just 20 seconds, you must be a professional in time jumping in the past. Which can only be done if you’ve undergone training under Precrime. However, this could also be just any other outsider that’s gotten lucky doing an illegal time jump. Considering Somerset Road has a strong electromagnetic field that can help anyone do their time jumps faster and more successfully—including the risky ones that involve a huge time frame of unbounded jumps into the past. But to know that about Somerset Road, much less know how to effectively take advantage of its field during a time jump—you should be a long-time agent of Precrime.” 

              Y/N faces Jungkook, “The man you’re after is either a professional Precrime traveling agent or an outsider who’s fed with all the necessary information only a Precrime agent could know. It’s an inside job.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “No. It can’t be. Every time-jumping device has a permanent tracker that can never be taken out even by the best engineer. Allen McGregor designed it to be like that to ensure these devices will not be used for personal interest. Every agent is tracked of their traveling activities and logged straight into the Investigation Bureau’s files. They’re inputted in glass files similar to the crime records—void for editing, copying, and deleting. And should it be an outsider utilizing Precrime’s technology, a travel will still be tracked back to the agent whose device was used.” Jungkook looks at Y/N. “There have been no reports of anyone traveling on Somerset Road the night of my accident.”

              Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying what I saw. Especially this.” Y/N makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hands and the scene rewinds again.  The Jaguar is frozen back into five seconds before it hits the silver-gray Ford. Y/N walks toward the car, Jungkook close behind. The girl motions to the passenger seat and Jungkook stills. There on the leather seat is a red file case. Unprecedented murder. Precrime Murder Sector. But this is not what rendered Jungkook immobile in shock. Rather, it’s the label on the file case. 

              “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              “See?” Y/N smirks, “Told you we’ll find something today.”

              A click of the hand and soon, the dark night sky of Somerset Road bleeds into the burning colors of the sunset. There’s no longer the silver-gray Ford and the black Jaguar. It’s just Jungkook and Y/N alone in the road, back to where they were before.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as he beats his chest. When he finally stabilizes his breathing back to normal, he turns to the girl. “You…Ho-how can you be so sure with all of these vi-visions?”

              Y/N looks at Jungkook, an indecipherable look on her face. “This is what you paid for 10,000 zials. I’m handing you what your eyes missed on just the way they are.”

              Jungkook holds in his breath as he knocks on the glass door.

              “Come in.”

              Jungkook pushes the door open and salutes. “Chief Nathan Spencer.”

              “Captain Jeon,” the Chief of Precrime glances up at him before returning back to the stack of papers he’s signing. He motions to the chair in front of his desk, “Make yourself comfortable.”

              Jungkook pulls back the black chair and sits.

              “So, what brings you here?”

              “This week’s report, sir—the joint investigation with DOJ on the unidentified black Jaguar.” Jungkook places a brown folder on the Chief’s desk.

              The chief looks at the captain. “Still no progress in the identification?” 

              Jungkook shakes his head, face grim.

              “That can’t be helped,” Nathan sympathetically mutters. “It’s not the first time FJO has handled a difficult case.”

              “But it is the first time FJO can’t identify a suspect with its current system.”

              “You’re right,” Nathan nods. He flips open the brown folder and skims the report. “How’s the auditor doing?”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Fine. Still…meddling with our processes.”

              Nathan lets out a light scoff. “As expected of someone who’s running for a promotion. Always been a know-it-all jerk, this Min Yoongi.”

              Jungkook makes a tight-lipped smile.

              Nathan chuckles. “Forgive me. I’ve always had a prejudice against DOJ’s auditors. Most, if not all of them, always give us a hard time more than what’s necessary. Anyway, what else do you have for me, Jungkook?”

              The captain sits up straight. “I would like to ask a favor, sir.”

              Nathan clasps his hand on his desk. He leans forward. “What is it?”

              “It’s for the investigation. DOJ has access to all of our files—Precrime, Forecrime, and even the Investigation Bureau. So I figured if I can also do the same since our sector seems to be their main target. If I have the same leverage on our own information as them, I can have control over this investigation and drive them away before they can even assume power over us.” Jungkook leans on the table, “We could see the problems first before they become visible to DOJ.”

              Nathan raises his brow. “So what do you mean?”

              “I would like to have unrestricted access in our archives. Everything that contains anything pertaining to FJO.” Jungkook leans forward, “Including the Memory Temple.” 

              The chief sighs, “That’s a big favor, Jungkook.”

              “I know. That’s why Chief General Andrews told me to go to you.”

              Nathan’s brows shoot up, “The Chief General?”

              “Yes, Chief General Matthew Andrews. He said you’re good friends with Chief of the Bureau, Natasha Ryde. Chief Andrews wants to ask if you could do a favor of a friend for a friend.” Jungkook slides a white envelope underneath the folder, “Of course, not without considerable credit.”

              Nathan purses his lips. A beat. He shakes his head, sighing. “Okay…I’ll try to put in a word for you. I can give you the entire archives tomorrow. But the Memory Temple could take a while. Two days or three.”

              “That’s fine with me.” Jungkook smiles. He stands up and heads to the end of the room. Before he could disappear behind the door, he salutes one more time, “Thank you for the kind accommodation, Chief.” 

              Jungkook heads to the main elevator and hits the second floor below the Superiors’ Hall. The metal doors ding open and soon, Jungkook’s looking at a wide expanse of glass wall reflecting hundreds of shelves on the glass panes.

              Jungkook heads to the entranceway and salutes at the guard, “Sally.” The guard returns the salute, smiling. Jungkook tilts his head, “Did the Bureau come by to retrieve Precrime files?”

              “Not yet, sir. The Bureau’s still busy in their matters with DOJ. They halted the synching of files for now.”

              “That’s good,” Jungkook quips and pushes the glass doors open.

              Tall metal bookshelves snake like an accordion around the floor. The spaces between them is occasionally filled up by wooden desks that mandatorily come along with a wooden bookstand and black study lamp. It looks like a hedge maze made of old books, monochrome papers, and multi-colored files.

              Jungkook heads to the leftmost aisle—Precrime’s archives. He weaves his way through the bookshelves until he stops in front of a separated room in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s made completely out of glass, just like FJO’s offices. The only difference is that this room contains five sets of desks and chairs, bookshelves, and the Archive Manager’s huge white station as the centerpiece.

              And before Jungkook could finish leveling his eyes to the scanner set by the door, he could already feel the growing stare of Emily Young.

              “Captain Jeon.”

              “Ms. Young,” Jungkook nods to the manager.

              Emily smiles, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

              “Jonathan Winston’s Assassination case file.” 

              “As usual,” The thirty-seven-year-old manager sing-songs as she stands up and disappears into the back room. It doesn’t take long for her to retrieve what the Precrime captain is looking for.

              A long expandable, red file with the label in Arial 12 print: “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Just like in Y/N’s time jump. Identically the same. Jungkook looks at the manager, “Do you have a log of anyone who looks into this file?”

              Emily chuckles, “I don’t think that will bring anything new to the table, captain.” She scans the numeric code of the file and turns the monitor of her computer towards him. “There’s no one who’s been looking at this file but you.”

              Jungkook peers in. Indeed, the log on Winston’s file contains nothing but his name. From August 15, 2047, the date of Winston’s assassination, to the most recent date, August 3, 2059. The day after Leigh Anderson’s suicide. The day after the Winston case was closed cold. There’s no other name in the log for 12 years other than his name.

              Jungkook looks back at Emily, “Are you sure this is the complete log on this file? No one borrowed the file earlier than July 12th?”

              “That’s the whole log, captain. There’s no record on August 1st because we’re closed to do an inventory check.” Emily leans back in her chair. “Everyone knows you’re busy on a case in Down Hill for the entirety of June. The Allison future murder is all over the news. Of course, with a Metropolis resident as a future victim. And with you busy on another case, this Winston’s file is devoid of any viewers.” Emily releases a chuckle. “Every cop has an obsession with a particular case. Everyone here knows Winston’s case is yours. I think I will remember if someone other than you looked into this file because I swear that day will be a miracle.”

              Jungkook purses his lips, face undecipherable. Right then, his phone rings loud. He turns to his back and picks it up. “Hello?”

              “Captain.” It’s Jimin.

              “What is it?”

              “You have to come to the sector now. There’s a file from Precrime. It’s…a blank.”

              “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” Jungkook ends the call. He faces Emily. “Thank you for today, Emily.” The archives manager nods with a playful salute at him. Jungkook quickly returns the salute and pushes the door open. Soon, he’s tearing past the labyrinth of shelves.

              It doesn’t take Jungkook longer than ten minutes to reach the left-wing of the 2nd floor. The cold sweat from the discovery in the archives is still clinging on his nape. 

              As soon as he steps into Murder Sector, everyone’s eyes are set on him. Including Yoongi. Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue as he slides in the gloves over his hands. “Jimin, give me the run-over.”

              “Captain, Jeon. It’s a grayish-white file. Precrime, Property and Crime Scene Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Eric Williams. Crime record validated by traveling agents Hannah Peters and Ivan Park. Case number 3571, hit-and-run, destruction of property.  Suspect is unknown. Victim’s name is…Jeon Jungkook.”

              Jungkook whips his head towards the secretary, eyes wide.

              “It’s your case, sir.” Jimin confirms, “Eric accidentally time jumped into the night of your hit-and-run while he’s traveling for a T-Bone accident in Middle Town. Property and Crime Scene figured this blank is a crucial update on your case.” He walks to the end of the glass board and slides the disk into the middle slot.

              Jungkook turns to his front. The glass board lights up and a video starts playing. It’s Somerset Road and it’s almost pitch black in the grainy film. Eric stands frozen on the pavement for a second. But the seeming serenity of the scene soon dissipates as he looks down at his gear and frantically fumbles for his time jumper. Suddenly, hot blinding light fills his peripherals. Eric’s head shoots up. A car is speeding toward him. The headlights grow larger and finally, the car becomes visible. It’s the silver-gray Ford. Eric turns around and right then, a black Jaguar zooms past him, merely missing him by a hairsbreadth. But the Jaguar doesn’t stop and further increases its speed. It bulldozers right into the side of the Ford, sending it flying across the barren road. Eric picks up his feet and dashes to the cars. But his efforts are futile. The black Jaguar has already disappeared before he could even take his 12th step. And then, the record stops.

              Before Jimin could even state the protocol run-through, Jungkook frantically swipes through the blank record. He slides across the frames in reverse, back and backward until he reaches the first second of the blank.

              “Sir, I’m afraid we have to do the protocol first—"

              Jungkook’s hand stills on the board. The frame freezes. It’s a close-up of the black Jaguar as it barely grazes Eric’s body. Jungkook zooms in. There inside the passenger seat of the car is a long, red expandable file. “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Jungkook feels his blood run cold. It’s the same file he just had his hands on less than 15 minutes ago. It’s the same file he saw in his and Y/N’s jump. Y/N’s vision is true.  

              Jungkook feels his pocket vibrate and he quickly whips out his phone. However, he wasn’t able to dwell on it longer as a hard force pushes his shoulder backward, forcing Jungkook to tear his eyes off the screen.

              Yoongi glares at him, “Why are you indifferent about this? You know something about this, didn’t you? Captain Jeon!” 

              But even with his name called out loud, Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. All that registers in his mind is one single message.

              Y/N L/N:  Have you ever heard of a Sooah Kim before? (11:14 A.M.)

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Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N | Hi hons! Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter! I hope I got you guys more curious about the story hehe. Anyway, I have some announcement: I have finals for a major coming up this week so I’ll spend the next whole week studying. So, I’ll try if I can update the next chap the week after next week, on Sunday, too. But nothing is certain yet as I still have some uni stuff to do. Don’t worry, I only have 3 projects left to do to finally finish this sem. So as soon as I’m done with them, expect more frequent updates from me! 

If you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all in my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probable your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading and giving a chance to My Time! :”)

Notes: As you know, this is a mystery fic. So, it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

All Rights Reserved 2020 © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.

[ateezlust]

[8:18pm] San and Yeosang had never really felt any form of sexual tension around each other. Yeah okay maybe sometimes San looked at Yeosang for a bit longer than normal, maybe he’s checked him out a few times, thought about what it would be like to kiss him until they’re giggly and cuddling together or on the opposite end kissing him until they’re both moaning into each other’s mouths and grinding desperately on each other. But San is a 20 year old boy. That’s normal, right?

Alright so maybe how San felt about Yeosang was questionable, but Yeosang was beautiful so who could blame him really? Every straight guy and lesbian that San had ever spoken had admitted that Yeosang has made them question their sexuality at least once. Or twice. Or maybe twenty times.

Okay so San was fucked in every way except physically when it came to Yeosang.

And that’s how he wound up in this position.

They were having another one of their - questionable - ‘bro sleepovers’, having fallen asleep around 2am, relatively early for the both of them. Yeosangs head was resting on San’s chest, having fallen asleep to the beat of San’s heart and his legs tangled with the youngers.

It was only about 8am but San was wide awake, in fact he was pretty sure he hadn’t blinked in almost 10 minutes, his brain a messy debate on what he should do. He’d read about stuff like this before, read his fair share of band fanfics where one falls asleep cuddling the other, who wakes up to the cuddler asleep and grinding on them.

It really shouldn’t be as hot as it is, San thought to himself, yeah those kinda of fics were alright but San really didn’t see the appeal, he’d always just thought that would be an awkward and incredibly rare situation to get into.

But he thinks he’s having a change of heart, feeling his breath heaving, willing his hips not to thrust and grind against the fabric of his pyjama bottoms just to get the tiniest bit of friction.

He can’t bare to look down again, he knows what he’ll see. He’ll see Yeosang’s bed head, hair soft and messy with a white t-shirt that’s rolled up his stomach a bit and revealed his slight abs and the hair trailing down his v-line, he’d see the light gray sweatpants that are fully tented, hips moving sinfully against San’s thigh.

‘This is wrong, this is wrong, this is so wrong,’ San repeated to himself internally. He felt weird. He felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t be seeing, like he was some pervert spying on Yeosang, even though Yeosang was the one that had him trapped, a hand gripping onto San’s waist as he ground his hips against San.

San looked down again. He made the mistake of looking down. He looked down just in time to watch Yeosang’s cock twitch in the confines of his sweatpants, a small spurt of precum staining the front of them.

San let out an involuntary high pitched whimper at the sight, feeling his cock imitate Yeosang’s as a small spurt of warmth leaked out.

And as San suspected by the sudden shuffling in the bed, Yeosang was awake now. Of course he was. San knew this was the part where Yeosang would either be embarrassed and roll out of bed and go to the bathroom, or he would pounce on San and start making out with him.

What San didn’t expect was to look over and find Yeosang softly stroking himself through his sweatpants, biting his lip while looking at the ceiling. Did Yeosang think San was still asleep? San wasn’t about to complain but it seemed a little strange for Yeosang to just openly masturbate next to San in bed.

“Hyung?” San asked, voice cracking in a high pitched whine, even if he just meant to get the oldest attention.

Yeosang gasped and moaned out loud at the sound of San calling him hyung, hips twitching as his glazed over eyes drifted over to San.

“Fuck,” San gasped out in a whisper, trying desperately not to touch himself just looking into Yeosang’s eyes. Yeosang’s gaze was intense, seductive, dark. San couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about.

Yeosang didn’t hold his moans back, seemingly getting off on the humiliation of the younger boy, eyes snapping down to where San’s own cock was twitching constantly, begging to be touched.

“Touch yourself Sannie,” Yeosang said in a gruff morning voice. San’s brain was a bit taken aback to say the least, but he was betrayed by the involuntary whimper he exhaled and the twitching of his cock again, “please Sannie? I see the way you look at me. Wanna watch you touch yourself.”

San watched as the final bits of his dignity flew out the window as he quickly found himself removing his pyjama pants, grimacing at the feeling of his hard, leaking cock hitting his stomach.

Yeosang’s jaw dropped, sticking his hands down his pants to rub at himself properly while pulling his sweatpants down just under his balls, revealing his cock to San’s hungry eyes “fuck. So pretty Sannie.”

“Hyung,” San moaned out loud, Yeosang’s cock was about average size, but it was thick and veiny, the tip glistening with precum and a pretty pink colour that matched Yeosang’s cheeks.

San wanted to know what it would be like to have Yeosang inside him, or what it would be like to be inside Yeosang.

He allowed the thoughts astray as he heard Yeosang moan his name again, breathing heavily as he moved his hand faster, “Sannie please, gonna cum, don’t wanna get cum all over your bed.”

San’s body worked quicker than his brain as he found himself in Yeosang’s lap, looking down at the seductively innocent glaze over Yeosang’s big brown eyes. He brought them as close together as he possibly could before pressing his and Yeosang’s cocks together, stroking them with one hand and moaning at the sticky friction between them.

Yeosang’s mouth fell ajar once again, watching as San’s larger, thicker cock made his look small, his body squirming as the feeling, scent and sight of San completely engulfed him.

“San, San, San,” was repeated like a mantra. Yeosang felt small, vulnerable and humiliated in the best possible way.

“Mmm, kiss me hyung,” San said in a deep voice against Yeosang’s ear, using his free hand on Yeosang’s chin to roughly maneuver the boy to look up at him.

Yeosang took no time before leaning in, pressing his lips against San’s. He didn’t allow any open mouthed kissing at first, feeling just a little too humiliated to do so, until his orgasm took him by storm, quick and hard. His mouth fell open, tongue immediately mixing with San’s as they moaned into each other’s mouths and Yeosang’s cum shot all over the both of them.

The kiss became a bit less frantic as Yeosang began to come down, though it never fully stopped. San had let go of the olders cock, but he still had his own in his hand, letting out constant whimpers and whines in time with the pace of his hand.

Without thinking, Yeosang leaned down and grabbed at San’s balls, rubbing over them the way he likes it.

San’s hope jerked violently, letting out a loud sob as his hot cum shot out and puddled on Yeosang’s stomach.

They were both panting when they finally pulled away, staring at each other somewhat confusedly.

“I-that was nice,” San said quietly, cheeks flushing as he looked away.

“Yeah it was,” Yeosang said, equally as embarrassed yet blissed out. San really did look beautiful in front of him.

“I know this isn’t optimal time for asking and feel free to say no if this was just a one time thing, but do you wanna maybe go on a date with me? Like I said you can say no if you want to and we’ll forget and it won’t affect our friendship and-“ San rambled on.

Yeosang smiled softly up at him before leaning in and kissing San softly on the lips, speaking with a soft smile as he pulled away “you talk too goddamn much.”

San giggled giddily in return, leaning back in for another kiss, “is that a yes?”

“I won’t lie, I’m a little confused myself, but yeah I wanna try with you. You’re everything to me Sannie.”

San’s cheeks flushed more, as if that were possible and he nodded back, “we’ll take it slow and figure things out together okay?”

Yeosang nodded in return, “that sounds really nice. But you know what else sounds really nice?”

“A shower?” San laughed, feeling their cum sticking to them, beginning to dry.

“Yeah,” Yeosang laughed in response, winking at the younger boy, “round 2 in the shower?”

San laughed incredulously at him, “who do you think I am hyung? Some super human that can cum two times in a row? The answer is yes, yes I am now let’s go.”

Both boys giggled as they ran out of the room hand in hand, unsure of the future with each other, but opting to live in the present instead.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

New York Minute PT. 1

anonymous said: I saw you say your requests are open (but your bio doesn’t say they are so I totally understand if I misunderstood and I apologize). I was wondering if you could do a ben hardy imagine where the reader and he aren’t together but he gets jealous about one of the other boys (and realizes his feelings) and the rest is up to you ;) thank you! and anonymous said: Ooh could you do an age gap thing with either roger or ben of like roger being in the early 1980s and reader/oc being in their early 20s and Ben being the age he is now with someone in their early 20s??  

(a/n: this will be a multi-part series!!!! i just had too many ideas for these requests and had to go crazy - sorry i’ve been so inactive lately yall i promise i’ll try to post more now that the summer is winding down. i should have part two out in the next week or so??? anyways this one’s a thickie tbh (like.... almost 10k) so buckle up!!!)

"Ben's moving here? He that blond bitch in all your posts?"  You were draped across Joe's couch, feet resting on his left thigh as you popped another berry into your mouth, humming happily as you chewed. Joe's eyes were slightly glazed over, still focused on the TV that was playing some baseball game as you studied his face, watching the way his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip before he afforded you a quick glance. "Yeah. Real 'lad' type, Gwilym's words. Kid's a textbook definition of a ladies man when he wants to be."   "Kid? How old is he?" you asked curiously, quirking an eyebrow at your rather indisposed neighbor. His fingers tapped at the armrest to his right, and you scowled a bit at his apparent disinterest in your questions. He was always a baseball guy, but you couldn't believe how distracted he could become by a single game. You were less than a couple feet away, and it was like you were speaking into the void. "I thought he was like 30."

"28," Joe corrected, still not taking his eyes off of the TV.  You huffed at that. 28 was still a good half a decade older than you, and here Joe was calling him a kid. "If he's a kid, then I'm baby." "What? What does that.... why do you always say that?" he asked, finally looking at you with a questioning look that seemed more pained than anything else. "I'm baby? What does that mean?" "It means.... I don't know how to explain it, Joey, I'm baby!" you exclaimed, throwing up your arms in defeat before letting them fall back down limply. "Anyways, you said he's a ladies man? Is he gonna put the moves on me?" Joe snorted at that, returning his gaze to the TV as you sat the plate back on the coffee table, waiting patiently for his answer. "Maybe. Like I said, he's a ladies man when he wants to be." "Wants to be? What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, suddenly wanting to clarify the discrepancy. Sitting up a bit, you pulled your feet off his lap and instead hugged your knees to your chest, staring across the couch at Joe, who was slightly slack-jawed and way too interested in the current play to answer. Clearing your throat, you spoke louder, commanding his attention. "Joe!" "Huh?" he asked, turning his head slowly over to you and following with his eyes a few moments later. Slowly, recognition registered on his face and he pulled his jaw closed, swallowing hard before he answered. "I mean he's a smooth talker, but he also gets all messy when he fumbles." "You get messy when you fumble during flirting," you pointed out, and Joe furrowed his eyebrows before sneering a bit, mocking your words under his breath. "You do! Remember that blonde at Feinstein's-" "Yes! I remember the blonde at 54 Below, okay? Let it go," he rushed out all in one go, his face a bit red as he closed his eyes and tried to push his memory of the wine-soaked night to the back of his mind. "And for the record, she did end up coming back to my apartment later." "I'm just saying." Holding your hands up in surrender for a moment, you made a show of letting it go before hugging your legs again, hiding your amused smile behind your knee. Joe's glare was almost burning, his narrowed eyes only making your smile harder to hide. It had been over two years since you moved in next to this dumbass, and you still hadn't learned a single thing about controlling your facial expressions from a well-seasoned actor like him. Finally, Joe sighed and shook his head, deciding to pick his battles wisely. "Anyways, he'll be here next week. Are you free Thursday? We're going out with Chace." "Chace?" you repeated, humming nervously before shaking your head. "No go. Chace still probably thinks I'm a moron from the time I thought he was you on the balcony so I came out and did jumper cables on his side and found out - surprise, surprise - it was not you." "That was like, two years ago. How do you still even remember that?" he laughed, turning his attention back to the screen. "I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. Chace probably forgot all about it." "It was mortifying, Joe! Imagine some random chick just walking out on your friend's balcony and jabbing your sides with the force of a great typhoon." Pursing his lips, he considered it for a moment before grimacing. "Yeah, no, that's pretty fucking weird." It fell silent, Joe focusing on the game while you watched him once again, back to square one. Finally, you spoke to cut off the silence, wanting to make one last comment before you let him get too invested. "Ben's kinda cute. Is he single?" "Dunno," Joe answered noncommittally, making you frown as you stretched your legs out again, intentionally kicking his thigh lightly. "Ow!" Scowling at you, he reached out to smack your foot away before he crossed his arms, snuggling more into his armrest and fighting back a laugh. "I think he is. Know he has that bee dating app. Buzz....le. Bumblebee?" "Bumble," you snickered, nudging his leg again teasingly and making him fake scowl a bit more before he laughed once at himself, shielding his face from your gaze with one hand. "Stop, I know I'm a terrible millennial! I've got to start keeping up with this shit." "As a fellow millennial - you right."

---

"First night out as an American citizen! How was it, bud?" "Dual citizen, thank you! You'd think as a dual citizen, you'd know what the hell to say," Ben corrected, his cheeks a deep red from the liquor coursing through his veins and muddling his thoughts. Closing his eyes for a moment, he leaned against the wall next to Joe's door as Joe fished through his pockets, grabbing the key chain with the worn-down Yankees mini-bat and picking out the key that read 'APT' on some painter's tape. You'd dubbed it so once Joe had forgotten which key it was for the fortieth time when you came over to help him patch a hole left in the wall by the previous renter. Ben just assumed the label was Joe's handiwork. It looked dorky enough. Sliding the key into the lock, he easily turned it and swung open the door a little too drunkenly, leading his equally-as-drunk friend into the living room. "You're American when you're here, okay? I'm requiring it by law, starting.... now!" Ben laughed, trudging his way into the apartment before heading down the hallway towards the bathroom and rubbing the side of his face, the skin hot to the touch. "M'not sure it works like that, but whatever. I gotta take a leak." Before Joe could yell out a half-assed reply after him, Ben had already disappeared into the room down the hall and to the left, only re-emerging minutes later and wiping his still-damp hands on his jeans while sending Joe a look that said everything about the glaringly empty towel ring, even without even saying a word. "Sorry! Laundry day, dude... I gotta piss." "I'm gonna have a smoke, then," Ben mumbled as Joe passed him in the hallway, transferring a slightly bent cigarette from the crumpled package in his pocket to his mouth as he made his way to the sliding doors that led out to Joe's balcony. The lock refused to budge at first, but it slowly slid out of place with a bit of extra effort from Ben and clicked up into an unlocked position before he moved to tug the door open. The door slid open a lot easier than the lock did, smoothly gliding over and letting in the pleasant, if a bit warm midnight breeze on the late spring day. It smelled vaguely of rain, and Ben wondered if it was going to storm later, a sardonic chuckle leaving his lips as he eyed the dark clouds hovering over the harbor. The moon peeked just under the bottom of one, teasing the city with a light that wouldn't last long. "Get a place in America to escape the rain and end up in a thunderstorm. Alright," he remarked to himself, flicking the lighter a few times before raising it to the cigarette end and lighting it. He inhaled slowly as he did so, feeling the familiar light burn of the tar smoke filling his lungs - it didn't taste as well as it once did, but it filled a space for the time being, and distracted him enough. In fact, it distracted him so well that he went on smoking for a good minute or so before he realized that there was another human being on the extended balcony with him. Their arm was dangling over the edge of the reclining lawn chair, which was conveniently placed next to a crate that featured a phone on a wireless charger and a half-drank bottle of Apothic Crush in a cheap wine chiller. Just a single bottle, sans a glass, a red that looked as though it tasted of relatively inexpensive inebriation and drunk texts to your best friend about how you were crying over Keanu Reeves. It was you, though he obviously wouldn't know that. Ben's usually warm green eyes widened in fear as he spotted your unfamiliar figure lazily draped over the fully reclined chair, your mouth hanging open slightly as you dozed away peacefully just out of reach of the rays of moonlight. You were wearing a familiar shirt, though - one for a baseball team Ben only faintly recognized because Joe had mentioned his brother being on that team. A faded 'Mazzello' was printed on the back, the end part visible to Ben as he peered curiously over at you, trying to figure out what in the hell his plan of attack was here. He had a predicament. There was a half finished cigarette in his hand, one that couldn't go back inside with him but also one that he didn't particularly want to drop from several stories up with this many people passing by below. And he sure as hell didn't want to waste the cigarette, so stomping it out was a no-go. But there was a literal stranger on Joe's balcony, drinking what was probably his wine and wearing his shirt, and in his inebriated panic over your presence, Ben conveniently skimmed over the full view he had of the door that led into your apartment. It was a shared balcony, a nice fact that Joe could have shared with his friend before he got 5 frantic texts and a picture of sleeping you in rapid succession. Benjamin: HOLY FUCJ Benjamin: Joe, getout here right now!!! Theres a literal stranger on your balcony! Benjamin: JOE Benjamin: [picture] Benjamin: WHY IN THE BBLOODY HELL IS THERE A STRANGE WOMAN It was less than 30 seconds before Joe came stumbling out, Ben staring at him helplessly as he held the cigarette just over the railing, nodding to your side. Peeking his head around the doorway, Joe managed to keep an even expression on his face as he cleared his throat, stepping out onto the balcony between you and Ben. "Hey!" You stirred a bit at Joe's aggressive tone, your lips smacking together as you ran your tongue over them and peeked open an eye just barely, indicating you were listening. "This is like the fifth time this week, lady, stop getting drunk on my porch and using my reclining chair!" "My reclining chair," you corrected, groggily raising to a sitting position and running a hand over your hair to smooth it down before looking down at the wooden crate and smiling sleepily upon remembering the wine. "Oh yeah. Mmmmm. Forgot about that." "Pfffft. Drunks, am I right?" Joe scoffed, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at you when he turned to face Ben. His hand came to rest on his hip that jutted out with a bit of sass as Ben stared at him in complete confusion, utterly baffled at how calm and collected he was despite the apparent situation.  "Who are you calling a drunk, you drunk?" you giggled quietly, letting your head fall back against the chair as you eyed the back of Joe's head with an unreadable look. Joe rolled his eyes like it was obvious, not even turning to face you as he made an exaggerated annoyed expression at Ben, then proceeded to ignore your question. "I get these all the time, dude, crazy bums just taking up my space out here." "Why do you keep acting like I'm a homeless person bumming on your shit- No, nevermind, fuck you. I'm ignoring you now," you retorted, yawning as you reached for the wine bottle and pointing to the ground between you and Joe with your free hand as you narrowed your eyes. Ben's eyes followed your direction to a line of duct tape on the concrete below, clearly meant to demarcate something, though he wasn't sure what. It was crudely placed, but seemed to have an enormous effect on Joe when he looked over his shoulder and groaned, letting his head roll back for a second before he gave the wall opposite you a withering look. "Are we seriously still fucking doing this?" Joe remarked scornfully while he turned, his hands going into his pockets, and he slumped over a bit in stature as a pout etched itself into his features. "I said I was sorry. I was asleep! Also, is that my shirt? You said you'd bring that back weeks ago." You remained silent, staring up at Joe through your lashes in an unmoved manner before taking a drink of the wine. As you returned the bottle to the chiller, your attention switched over to Ben, who was still standing there in absolutely dumbfounded astonishment. A wondrous smile made its way to your lips, and Ben felt a light blush creeping onto his already-red cheeks as he dropped the cigarette to the concrete balcony floor, stomping it out gently and trying not to shrivel underneath your delightfully bleary, sleepy gaze. It was odd, being so affected by you. Ben usually had a relatively charming, laidback personality, and he was easy to get along with, but something about you sent him into a panic as he kept eye contact for a painful second or two, the sparkle in your hazy eyes enchanting to him. Maybe it was the liquor. Yeah, definitely had to be the liquor, he decided. There was no way that this dizziness was anything but top shelf gin having a row in his digestive system. His eyes dropped to the ground, seeming hyperfocused on his own actions, but it was blatantly obvious he was avoiding eye contact now. Noting the blush, your smile grew even wider as you sat up a bit, suddenly interested in the flustered man across from you. He looked quite familiar, and you were amused that he was so unsettled and shy right now - he didn't seem to be like the type who couldn't talk in front of girls. He must have just been caught off-guard today. "You're Ben, from the Queen thingie! Ah, I'm so glad I finally get to meet you, y'all are so cute on Instagram." Climbing up from your chair, you swayed a bit at the sudden rush of blood to your extremities, reaching out to steady yourself on Joe and grinning sheepishly. Then your gaze shifted once again to your neighbor, your eyebrow cocking slightly in challenge, and Ben let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as you mumbled, "Never puts me on his Instagram like that. You'd think after two years-" "I've told you a million times, I can't let you steal the spotlight from me!" Joe teased back, crossing the duct tape line and dropping into the chair that sat just over the boundary of it, next to your reclining chair, his hand easily snatching the wine from the chiller before he took a long swig. "And besides," he added, his arm coming up to swipe a bit of excess wine that had dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. It looked like watery bloody slipping down his chin, and he quickly wiped it away before reaching over the wipe it on your leg, much to your chagrin. But he retracted his arm before you could reach out and swat at him, instead leaving you with a mildly grumpy expression while he grinned impishly. "Ben wouldn't like sharing his primetime spot." "Ben can share. I'm low maintenance anyways, I only need, like... one feature a month. I'll even settle for just a story shout-out." "Low maintenance? Says the one who has to have Sugar In The Raw or she won't drink her coffee!" "Says the one who now steals my Sugar In The Raw because he knows it tastes better! Fuckin' leech." This dynamic was weird, Ben had decided. No explanation left him hopelessly in the dark as he watched Joe hand off the wine casually to you when you reached out for it, a wordless exchange that didn't even need to really be prompted in order to happen. It made Ben wonder if he'd somehow been ignorant of Joe having a girlfriend until just now. A very attractive girlfriend, at that, despite the mussy, sleep-wrinkled state of you and your clothes. A mouthy girlfriend that was easily out-sassing Joe - a girlfriend that slept on his balcony? This wasn't adding up. "You look confused," you hiccuped, narrowing your eyes a bit as you scrutinized the charmingly quiet blond that stood about five feet from you, still awkwardly stanced up near the railing on Joe's side. A deft observation, too, because Ben's facial expression read like a book, highlighting all of the absolutely baffling thoughts he was having. Suddenly, it clicked. "Joe, you dumbass, did you not tell him we share a balcony?" "It may have.... slipped the mind," Joe admitted, smiling sheepishly as he shrugged and tapped on the armrests of the chair he was in. "Ben, this is my neighbor. She's annoying as hell, trust me. Still holds a grudge from when I napped on her chair at least two years ago and pretended to be asleep when she came out here and yelled so I wouldn't have to move." "And he thinks I'm the bad neighbor," you giggled, rolling your eyes before stepping forward to reach out your hand and offer your name, swaying a bit from the effort. Looking at the three of you from an outsider's position, it was getting hard to tell who was the most sloshed. "It's nice to finally meet you, I've only seen his dumb videos that he sent back from England and posted on Instagram every once in a while." "Oh my god, I'm proper fucked, you both had me there for a second," Ben admitted in relief, laughing a bit as his panic ebbed away into amusement at the mild freak-out moment he'd just had. Taking your hand, he flashed an embarrassed smile and shook your hand gently, letting it go after a moment and immediately flexing his fingers a bit, noting how cold your hand had been from the wine. It was an odd sensation, one that sent a tingle down his spine upon contact, but he did his best to ignore it and put on his best smile before continuing. "It's nice to meet you too. Just glad I didn't call 999 on you." Your nose wrinkled at the discrepancy as you sat back down in your reclining chair, Joe immediately catching it and raising a finger to correct his friend. "It's 911 over here, buddy. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." "Oh yeah! Joe said you're moving over here, welcome to the States!" Laughing lightly, Ben rubbed the back of his neck slowly, then nodded in acknowledgement of your words. "Have you settled in yet, or are you still unpacking?" "Still unpacking," Ben grimaced, making you pout a bit in sympathy as you clutched the shirt that rested directly over your heart, signaling you understood his pain even in your drunken state. "But I should be done getting all my stuff unboxed by tomorrow evening - Joe said he'd be coming over to help?" He tried to speak it as a statement, but the end came out as more of a question as he side-eyed Joe, who nodded in confirmation and pointed a finger gun at him, indicating he'd be there. "Now that you're here, does that mean I'll finally see someone in Joe's apartment besides him?" you joked, Ben chuckling at how well you managed to casually roast Joe with every other word out of your mouth. Maybe the dynamic wasn't so weird after all, he figured. Maybe it was fun. "You telling me that this guy over here doesn't even bring home girls from the bar?" Ben asked curiously, nodding to Joe. He finally took the opportunity to drag a chair from the far end of the balcony over to join the two of you, accepting the wine gratefully when you held it out for him. Joe let out a humorless laugh as you burst into a fit of gleeful giggles, reaching over to smack Joe on the thigh several times in amusement. A small smile played at the corner of Joe's lips, and he glanced at you before shaking his head, his eyelids fluttering closed a bit, heavy from the alcohol. "I tried that once! I'd never seen a woman throw a full wine glass at me until that day! Genius here," he paused, pointing to you with his thumb and ignoring the ensuing peal of laughter that had you doubled over, "popped over in some underwear and a t-shirt to ask where I kept the eggs! She was making cookies! Can you believe that?" Ben shifted his gaze over to you for confirmation and found you to still be doubled over in silent laughter, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding it in. A wide grin spread across Ben's face, and he looked back to find Joe trying to look annoyed, but failing miserably and bursting into laughter with you. "What was her name again?" you asked between peals of laughter, wiping at your watery eyes as Joe tried to stifle his laughter, resting his head on his hand and sighing. "It was Tori, I think," he replied, shaking his head and smiling a bit. "Art history major. You fucked that one up for me majorly." "Well, you got me back the next week anyways," you finally got out when your laughter had subsided, a grin still quirking at the corner of your lips as you looked at Ben and continued. "Knew I had a Tinder date one night and literally waited in my living room in boxers for hours until we got back!" "Joe, that's almost cruel," Ben scolded jokingly, reaching over and giving Joe a gentle punch on the arm before handing the wine back to you. "You're telling me," you mused, a sly smile gracing your lips as you looked from Joe to Ben, your gaze lingering a bit on the blonde. Ben met the stare evenly, his face a lot more level than he felt as you rose from your chair, brushing a hand down your torso to smooth out the frumpy shirt before walking over to the railing and leaning forward against it. Your stomach pressed into the cool metal through the thin Mazzello shirt that denied you any curves, giving you a boxy frame only marginally saved by the corner of the shirt that had got caught in the waistband of your shorts. "Well, feel like I've overstayed my welcome, so I'll probably head in for the night," you stated, looking out to the moon that was slowly disappearing over the harbor before you turned to face the two of them, giving them a sleepy smile. "No, stay out here with us," Joe complained, patting the reclining chair, but you were already making your way past the chair, taking another drink of the wine. "I want you to bond with Ben, he'll be over here a lot now that he's in NYC." "I will? Jake Gyllenhaal lives here too, is he over here all the time because of that?" Ben teased, looking up at you with a dopey grin when you let out a single laugh. Stopping just behind the chair, you raised an impressed eyebrow at him while Joe studied the two of you with a mildly annoyed glare. He didn't appreciate being teamed up on, but he had to appreciate the two of you getting along on your first meeting. You, however, were completely ignorant to your neighbor's pointed looks as you kept eye contact with Ben, noting that he had gorgeous green eyes. "I like this guy. Bring him around again when I'm not sloshed, yeah?" Joe nodded at that, and you began to walk towards your door, yawning. "I've got a hot date tonight, so don't wait up for me, Joey." "God, I told you not to call me that," Joe groaned, but a boyish grin remained on his face as he watched you saunter back over to your door, wine in hand. "And who's the guy? Shouldn't have told me, now I might have to come crash your party." "His name is Mattress, Matt for short. We sleep with each other a lot... Nice meeting you, Ben." Swirling the bottle around a few times, you wiggled your eyebrows at the two men before retreating to the sound of Joe's exaggerated groaning and Ben's hapless attempts at reciprocation of your pleasantries, your door sliding shut just before you drew the curtains.  That left the duo alone on the balcony, the faint smell of smoke still lingering in the space around them as Joe sighed a bit, grinning and shaking his head. Ben, on the other hand, was still reeling from the whiplash that the last few moments had given him, and it must have clearly registered on his face, because Joe laughed a bit as he stood, brushing off his pants. "Sorry I didn't warn you beforehand. Didn't think she'd be out here getting wine drunk. That's Y/N for you, though." A shrug coupled with his last observation made Ben chuckle, cocking his head slightly and curiously gazing over at your door before shaking his head. Following in a similar fashion to Joe, Ben rose to stand again, instinctively reaching for a comfort cigarette and placing it between his lips before offering a weak smile in return, fishing for the lighter while he spoke. "Wasted my first one." Inhaling slowly, the end of the cigarette finally lit and Ben held the smoke in for a moment before leaning over the railing, looking around as he exhaled. When he'd taken in a proper amount of the dwindling NYC night, he finally returned his attention to Joe, the cigarette resting delicately between two fingers as his hands came to rest on the railing he leaned back against. "Y/N, you said, yeah? Seems alright... you been neighbors for long?" "A couple years now, actually. Met her about the same way you just did! She's cool, though," Joe confirmed, coming over to look over the balcony right next to Ben, one foot on either side of the duct tape line that divided the floor. It was scuffed, like it'd been there a while, and that made the stories slowly check out in Ben's brain while he looked over to Joe, a sly smile slowly creeping onto his face.  "She's kinda fit, yeah?" Joe hung his head and let his eyes close for a moment, laughing at Ben's apt remark before nodding a bit. "But definitely seems a bit mean. Got a bite to her all the time?" "She's got her weak moments like everyone else! But yeah, she's definitely quick with the comebacks. I think I'm better for it, honestly, keeps me in check. Always brushing up on my wit, you know? Kids these days always keeping me on my toes." Reaching up to tap on his temple, he only had a moment to grimace before his phone was ringing, prompting him to pull it out of his pocket and answer it as Ben watched. "Hey, Seb... No, I didn't grab your wallet from the bar. Did you leave it there?" As Ben watched his friend retreat back into his own sliding door, his thick blond eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion. Kids these days? She couldn't be a day under 25, as clever as she was. Wait, that didn't even make sense. Cleverness is not an indicator- "Hey!" Ben jumped at the sound of your voice, whirling around to meet your accusatory stare as he looked on helplessly. You looked mad, and he couldn't even begin to think why. The cigarette, maybe, but you hadn't even flinched about it earlier. Was he too quiet? "Do you want the rest of this wine?" you asked, grinning once you'd let him suffer enough, and Ben let out a sigh of relief as he leaned forward on the railing again, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Christ, you scared me again!" Taking a deep breath, he laughed once before shaking his head, taking another drag and turning to face you. "No thank you, though. If I drink any more tonight, my old man body will punish me tomorrow." "Old man body?" you repeated, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief as you looked him up and down for a moment. "Uh huh... Good night, then." You shut the door before he could get the chance to reply, so he just gave a half-hearted wave before he widened his eyes, trying to restore his heart to a regular beating pace. "Jesus Christ on a cross," he mumbled, rubbing his hand over his face for a moment and messing up his eyebrows even more before he took another drag as he stared out at the last hint of the moon just before the clouds completely covered it up, plunging the city into a new darkness.

---

It was a bitch moving to a new country. The DMV, the bank, the moving companies - everything was a living nightmare, and Joe was the only thing getting Ben through it, on call at all times to help him with anything he needed to know. So when Ben texted him that he was frustrated about his internet connectivity ("It's fucking rubbish, seriously"), Joe offered a simple solution - come over and use his until the problem was resolved. And that's what he did after the gym, taking an Uber over to the now-familiar building and making his way to Joe's floor, which is how he walked in on Joe in the middle of an.... argument? Spat? Friendly fight? He wasn't sure how to place it as he entered his friend's apartment to the sound of you switching between laughing and shrieking while Joe made unintelligible noises of frustration. All Ben knew was that this was something beyond teasing - Joe honestly looked like he could drop at any moment, worn out from trying to keep up with whatever you were doing. Though you were keeping it playful, he was definitely at his wit's end. "You have to do the whole thing!" Joe cried out in frustration, dancing along with the figures on the screen and sending quick glares in your direction between moves. His hips were swaying along with the music, limbs flailing accordingly but sometimes not really even resembling anything close to what was on the screen. The scores popping up on his corner of the TV seemed okay by itself, but in comparison to yours, it was meager at best. "Absolutely not, dummy. That's so much energy conserved to do this." You continued shaking your Wii remote around in the appropriate moves, just the remote, and used the other hand to pick up your drink, taking a long sip from the straw and trying not to laugh as Joe made yet another noise of frustration. "Joe, come on.... who's winning here? I think I'm right." You were both playing Just Dance, one of the earlier versions, and a stark difference between the two of you had been quickly found out - while Joe, ever the dancer, did every single move with every part of his body, you were the type to swing only the remote hand around in time with your moves. Joe was beginning to get very annoyed at this tactic, so much so that he paused the game and crossed his arms, turning to scowl at you for a moment before he saw Ben's head peeking around the wall just past your shoulder. "Oh, hey bud!" Joe greeted, giving him a dopey grin before pulling off the Wii remote strap and purposely shouldering past you to greet Ben with a one armed hug. Ben reciprocated, meeting your gaze over Joe's shoulder and nodding in acknowledgement as you turned to face them, a hand on your hip and a cocky smile on your face. This was a much different you from when he'd seen you a few weeks ago, sleepy, slow, and somewhat inebriated. Now you were bright-eyed, alert, and seriously giving Joe a run for his money. "Sorry, she came over with her Wii and knew I couldn't resist a friendly game of Just Dance." "Friendly?" Ben laughed, looking between the two of you as he pulled out of the hug, setting his laptop on the counter. "Seems like you weren't having a good time." Glancing to the screen, he raised an eyebrow at the scores. "She's killing you, mate." "Well, she's a cheater, so." Shrugging, Joe went to grab his WiFi router so he could give Ben the password, Ben taking a seat at the stools  placed under the counter and turning a bit so he could see both of you. "Joe's just mad because I've been roasting him nonstop for the past hour," you informed Ben, pulling your Wii remote off your wrist and setting it on the couch as you lifted your gaze to meet his. You were reminded that they were green, paired with slightly damp, curly blonde hair that fell a bit over his forehead and blonde lashes that were extra visible at this angle. It was a fascinating combo, bright eyes framed by equally as bright lashes, and you couldn't help but smile a bit in wonder as you straightened up again. Was he made in a factory? He seemed too perfect to be real. Ben was intrigued by the look you gave him, so unreadable but so persistent that he almost asked if he had something in his teeth. But Joe ruined the moment, cutting in with his own biting words that severed the eye contact and directed attention back to him. "I hate it when you say roasted. That's my least favorite part of your vocabulary." Breaking out of your trance, you shook your head before giggling at the mild venom behind his words, unfazed by the grumpy pout he currently had on his face. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gave him the middle finger while you made your way past Ben into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and tearing the plastic off as Joe helped Ben log in to his laptop. While your bag of popcorn popped, you quietly observed the two men, hunched over Ben's computer together and figuring out which network was his out of the hundreds that had similar names.   Joe was focused, his thin, darker eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he watched Ben scroll through the list on his screen. There was a clear stubble on his chin, a five-o'clock shadow that refused to be hidden as it shaded the area along his jaw and just above his lips, which were pressed together into a thin line when he wasn't murmuring network names to himself. He was cute, a goofy camp counselor kind of cute that was more endearing than anything, and you smiled a bit at the thought of Joe as a camp counselor - that would be too good. In contrast, Ben's lips fell slightly parted, his tongue trapped between his teeth as he directed all of his attention to the list as well. Assessing him sober this time, you realized he was actually quite good-looking, far beyond what you'd seen on that dark balcony through drunk goggles. Like, seriously good looking. This was another level of attraction, way past what you'd felt the first time Joe had showed up with Seb Stan and Chace Crawford. You crossed your arms over your chest, an insecure habit, as Ben's curious green eyes darted up and down the screen, searching for the name Joe had provided. When he finally located it, his plump, slightly chapped lips pursed into a round O shape, and Joe pointed to the name excitedly, his finger tapping the screen. Ben groaned and smacked his hand away meekly, jokingly complaining about a smudge on the the display while Joe laughed and wiped his hand off on the front of his shorts. "Sorry, we've been eating popcorn in between Y/N cheating," Joe explained, making you roll your eyes and suppress a grin as you turned to retrieve the bag of popcorn. Opening the steaming bag, you poured it into the bowl next to the microwave, then turned to sit it on the counter between the three of you as you spoke. "Again - still just salty that he's getting roasted." "Roasted? Is that really a popular slang word here?" Ben asked curiously, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a moment as you hummed and turned to grab a packet of ranch seasoning. His eyebrows furrowed a bit when you flicked the packet back and forth, moving the seasoning to the bottom before you ripped open the corner, and you started to pour it over the popcorn as he watched, dumbfounded. "What kind of monstrosity is that?" "Ranch popcorn," you replied simply, emptying half of the packet before folding it over and pinching the corner, providing Ben with a sugar sweet smile as you did so. "Don't knock it 'til you try it, bloody ol' chap." Your smile disarmed him quite a bit - it was a smile that could disarm anyone, really, and he could tell by the way that Joe smiled with you that it had a similar effect on him. But your attempt at imitating his accent didn't go unnoticed, and Ben cringed a bit as he laughed, shaking his head. "Horrible. Truly horrible. And you didn't answer my question." "In Y/N's world, roasted is the only word," Joe answered for you, reaching to shake up the bowl a bit before he snatched a piece of popcorn off of the top, tossing it into his mouth and making a happy noise as he chewed. For a moment, he paused, then swallowed and added, "Actually, that and dummy." "Makes sense." Ben watched you as he replied, grinning a bit when you just smiled impishly and tossed the packet onto the counter, shrugging a bit before leaning forward to rest your elbows on the counter. Propping your chin on your hands, you cocked your head to the side a bit and fought back a bigger smile as Ben almost mirrored you, his head tilting just slightly to the side out of curiosity. "So, Mr. British Man-" "Ben," Joe interjected, sending you a pointed look and a raised eyebrow that only made you roll your eyes before continuing. "He's American now." "Dual citizen, but I'll look past it for now," Ben corrected, Joe scoffing quietly in response. "Okay, Ben. How has it been so far in America? You liking it?" Joe picked up his slip of paper from the counter, returning it to the router as Ben leaned his head on one hand, looking down to his computer screen and grimacing a bit at the thought of all the hell he'd had to go through in the past few weeks. But you were still practically a stranger, and even if he did want to get to know you better, he figured it was far too early for him to unload all of his problems on you. "Yeah, yeah, it's been alright," he yielded, scratching at his temple with his index finger before sitting up straight again and crossing his arms on the counter in front of him, the fabric of his sleeves straining a bit against the movement. "Unpacking was hell, but the rest was okay, I guess." "Oh, stop bullshitting me!" you laughed, pushing yourself up off the counter so you could go retrieve a beer from the fridge for him, the action in itself revealing your familiarity with Joe's apartment to Ben. Without looking, you grabbed the bottle opener magnet off of the freezer and popped the top off the beer, bringing it over to the handsome blond. "The DMV fucking sucked, didn't it?" "God, it was so terrible," Ben groaned unhappily, relieved that you'd practically read his mind as his shoulders slumped a bit, hand automatically reaching out to receive the beer. "Thank you. But seriously, between that and the bank, I swear I'm going to lose my fucking marbles! I had to go back to the DMV three times before they could finally see me, 'cause the wait was so long and I had other things to do!" "You gotta set aside, like, a whole afternoon for the DMV," you laughed, leaning on the counter again and watching quietly as he went to take a drink, his hand easily dwarfing the bottle. "Screw that, you need a whole day off for the DMV," Joe interjected, climbing onto the stool next to Ben and popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth. "I swear to God my license expiration dates have always haunted me." "Happens when you're pushing 80, dusty bones," you teased, propping your head up on one hand and imitating Joe's bitter, sarcastic laugh when he flipped you off.  "I'd rather be old and scared of license renewal than 22 and a cheater at Just Dance Wii." Twenty-two. So that's what Joe was talking about when he called you a kid. By no means was 22 a kid, but in relation to Joe, that was quite a jump. And yet, you carried yourself like you were at least 30, the confidence in your posture and sureness of your words masking the childishly playful glint in your eyes as you watched Joe, pressing your lips together to fight back a smile. Joe was returning the favor with a playful glare. "Speaking of Just Dance, are you gonna catch these L's again or what?" you challenged, Joe huffing before climbing off the stool again and heading for his discarded remote while you wiggled your eyebrows at Ben, then made your way back to the living room too. Sitting still for a moment, Ben blinked a few times in amazement at the whiplash you'd managed to give him yet again. You were full of surprises, someone that could talk sweet one moment and flame you to high heaven in the next, and honestly, he'd never wanted to be a person's friend so badly in his life. Turning on the stool, he watched as you both restarted the song, Joe immediately complaining when you set right back into your one-armed efforts. "Play the game like a normal person!" he whined, making you laugh and falter a bit in your dance moves as you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder while you squeezed his arm and made him cry out in even more frustration. "That's sabotage! Stop!" Straightening back up again, you fought a round of giggles as you tried to catch up, Joe frowning when you easily got back into the groove. Huffing softly, he reached over and clamped a hand over your eyes, making you cry hypocrisy as you struggled to pull his hand away, laughing in delight as Ben turned back to face his computer again, a contagious smile adorning his lips.  That smile stayed well on into the night, fueled by jokes, laughter, and friendly banter between the three of you that kept Ben there even after he'd gotten his emails sorted through. And somehow, you'd ended up on the balcony, Joe snoozing away in your reclining chair while you shared a smoke session with Ben, chatting about everything under the moon. You didn't smoke yourself, so you definitely didn't actually partake, but Ben didn't mind sharing space with someone who was picking his brain as well as you were. It was odd, bonding with Ben. He'd seemed like such a foreign concept when Joe had started all of this BoRhap business, something you weren't quite attached to - though you did enjoy the movie. But Ben had been nothing more but a character to you, some hot guy who frequented Joe's Instagram pictures and had comebacks/comments to rival your own. Now, he was here and real. You didn't know what to think of him yet - it was hard appraising a person in real life when you'd become so accustomed to the idea of him, the picture that Joe painted of him. To you, Ben was a pretty boy, a fitness-obsessed lad who was a bit of a flirt and couldn't resist a good bromance. Sure, Joe had said he had some shy moments, but really, he'd pegged him as quite a player, and that alarmed you when you found out he'd be around more - you didn't exactly have the best track record with men and a player would most certainly not be the worst blemish so far, so his frequent drop-ins could spell trouble. However, you hadn't seen any red flags about the man so far. Ben was quite a normal person, and you were starting to enjoy his company and conversation just as much as you enjoyed Joe's goofy, 'average Joe' personality. That didn’t mean you weren’t keen on keeping your guard up, though. "That's what I don't get!" Ben scratched his eyebrow a bit before taking another drag of the cigarette, shaking his head and exhaling the smoke to his left so it wouldn't go into your face. "You're saying guilty pleasures don't exist, but I have to hide my Spotify session every time I listen to the Spice Girls so I won't get absolutely walloped by all of my friends for my activity." Giggling at the thought of Ben jamming out to Spice Girls, you wrapped your fingers around the railing and leaned back once more to stretch as you shook your head in response. "I'm not saying they don't exist, but I'm saying they shouldn't exist!" you corrected, groaning a bit when Ben only gave you a more confused look. "Oh my god, I don't know how to make it any clearer here! Guilty pleasures shouldn't exist. If it's a pleasure, why does it have to be guilty, you know?" "I'm.... trying to follow," he admitted with a laugh, glancing back at Joe for a moment before meeting your gaze again and squinting a bit. "So, are you saying that because it's a pleasure, you shouldn't be guilty about it?" You made an excited noise and tapped the railing, then grinned at him and gently poked his arm to accentuate your next words. "Exactly. If I like drinking milk straight from the carton, why should I be ashamed?" "Because that's like, kind of disgusting," he replied, laughing a bit at your excitement and wrinkling his nose a bit. "D'you really drink milk straight from the jug?" Giving him a pointed look, you pressed your lips into a thin line before leaning forward on the rail with crossed arms. "See, that's why guilty pleasures still exist. You can't judge other people for things that make 'em happy, you know?" "Christ, sorry," he grimaced, and you could barely fight back the grin that played at your lips as you watched his expression morph into one of regret. "That was a shitty thing of me to say, of course it's fine if you like drinking milk from the jug. Jesus, I'm such a dickhead sometimes, I really don't think about what I say before it comes out of my mouth..." Scooting over a step or two as he rambled, you gently elbowed his side to get his attention, smiling benevolently when he turned to meet your gaze and his words faltered. "Chill, it's alright. Nobody's perfect." A pregnant pause followed soon after as Ben smiled just a bit, mainly just to make it seem like he wasn't still beating himself up over seeming like a cunt to you, but you weren't thinking about that anymore. Your mind was already moving on, eyes roving over his facial features slowly as you took them in. He was attractive, no doubt, and you had the faintest idea that there was some very real traction to the ladies man persona that Joe had talked about so much. It was wishful thinking to even consider that Ben wasn't at least half-aware of how potent his looks were. It was also wishful thinking to let any attraction you had to him get away from you and convince you that one date really wouldn't be that bad. You desperately needed Joe right about now so you could hear a discouraging story about Ben's conquests during filming, just to knock your self-confidence out and keep you from doing anything rash. It was really quiet now. Ben squinted a bit as he did the same to you, his gaze wandering quite a bit, but not lewdly. There was an innocent gleam in his eye, one that you couldn't quite understand - was he looking at you as Joe's neighbor, or a kid, or the hot girl next door? What was his approach here? You truly couldn't tell whether he was objectifying you, but the idea that he was sent a shiver through your spine as you tore your gaze away from his, unable to handle the heavy air between you and the stocky blond next to you.  A loud snore from Joe seemed to puncture the moment just seconds after you looked away, the both of you jolting a bit as the tension deflated, and you shared a laugh at how quickly Joe had managed to pass out on the balcony despite your incessant chatting. "Sleeps like a log, eh?" Ben commented, pushing himself back from the railing before snuffing out the cigarette he'd been neglecting in the mug that was serving as an ashtray.  "Always," you deadpanned, but a smile played at your lips as you walked around to stand on the other side of Joe, crouching down until you were eye level with the heavy sleeper. Ben could see every quirk of your lips, every subtle expression in your face as you reached out to shake Joe's shoulder gently, murmuring to him as you did so. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You in there?" Joe stirred, though not much, and a soft grumble from him prompted a sympathetic look in your eyes that did not go unnoticed by Ben, who now stiffened up at the interaction. Whiplash, once again, as he tried to reckon with the gentle side of you that wasn't privy only to him like he'd blindly and so dumbly assumed. That warm, somewhat sentimental look in your eyes was achingly familiar to Ben, seeing as he'd only witnessed it mere hours ago when you were nothing more than friendly strangers, your gaze following his while you listened to him groan about the DMV. So why was he so covetous? You'd barely just got to know each other, only having a few hours of talking time tonight where you'd picked up small details about each other, so the fact that your fondness of Joe irritated him was baffling. But it couldn't be jealousy, could it? Not this early. No, for sure not. By the time he'd snapped out of his stupor, you'd already managed to get Joe to his feet, giving him a warm hug before patting his back and sending him back to his apartment. That left you alone with Ben, and the heavy air settled once again as you gave him a somewhat shy smile, sighing before stepping around the chair and pulling him into a hug as well. Reciprocating, he wrapped his arms around you briefly, the warmth of his body surprising as it transferred between the layers of clothes between you and assaulted your skin. While you'd been almost cold out here on the balcony, he seemed like he was burning alive. And his face matched as he pulled away, a rosy coloring to his cheeks making you wonder whether it was you, or just rosacea and you were a dumb bitch. Taking a shaky breath, you decided to pocket the assessment for later. "Thanks for entertaining my bullshit all night." Ben laughed at your words, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking his head as you moved your hand to the back of your shorts, subconsciously fiddling with the tag that was sticking out. "I'm really sorry if I said anything wrong. I didn't mean to be an arsehole," he admitted, bowing his head a bit before shooting a sheepish look at you that was paired with a boyish smile. "It was nice talking to you, though. Sleepy Joe doesn't make great conversation. And I like getting to know you, you're.... interesting." He said the last word as his lips quirked upwards even more, his eyes crinkling a bit at the vague compliment that made you furrow your eyebrows playfully and give him a questioning look. "Wow, Joe wasn't wrong when he said you were a charmer," you noted. While Ben shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets with the same undying smirk still on his face, you took the opportunity to return to your side of the balcony, your hand going to pull your sliding door open as you peeked over your shoulder. There was a sly smile on your lips as you did so, one that said everything and nothing at all in one go as you spoke. "Goodnight, Ben. See you later." You would see him later. Never had you considered how true that statement could be as you came across his profile on Bumble while you were burrito-ed in your comforter, curled in the fetal position as your nightly playlist was on in the background to lull you to sleep. Hozier crooned to you while a sweaty, cutoff-clad Ben stared you down from the confines your phone screen. You hadn't actually expected to run into him on the app, despite having that nagging memory of Joe mentioning that Ben was on here.  It made you drop your phone at first, a knee-jerk reaction paired with a shocked expression that lasted for a few seconds before you scrambled to pick up your phone, staring at the picture of him at the gym again. It was a stereotypical fuckboy picture in the big mirror at the gym, but you got a good giggle out of the short bio that didn't even remotely hint at him being an actor - how humble, and how juxtaposed with his red carpet flexes in the subsequent photos. Suddenly, you realized that you had to swipe left or right. Your heart seized up for a moment, and all rational thought was thrown out the window as you went into a panic. If you swiped right, what if you matched? But if you didn't and then he swiped right on you, then he would know when you didn't match and that would make things really awkward. "Mmmmfuck no. Nope." You closed the app, too overwhelmed by all of the situations that choosing could cause, and you fell into an uneasy sleep as Ben sat dormant in your Bumble cache, waiting for an answer. Little did you know, seeing your profile had induced the same panic for him. But he'd done something that you couldn't. He chose.

---

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FANFIC: Bùkěsīyì - Part 13

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Summary: In which the Musician's Village is evacuated.

A/N: So. This is a year overdue.

Lots of stuff happened, leaving me to go on and off with this chapter. The reason why its something of a supercut of events is mostly to show the monotony of all the traveling back and forth, as well as help highlight things that deviated from all it. Also because the original version just had a lot more unnecessary stuff-- there's a whole scene cut, and another that had to be condensed.

Originally, I wanted this to be one chapter but par for the course it became two in order to give proper depth/development/pacing, so this is more of a chapter 13-a. Shifu is a character that I have very little experience in writing, AU or otherwise.

The Musician’s Village was the furthest village under the Jade Palace’s protection. It wasn’t so much a town you stayed at, so much as passed through. And those that did stay were a hardy folk that could brave whatever nature could throw at them.

Invasions, on the other hand, were another story. They were called the Musician’s Village for a reason.

Shifu breathed in the mountain air, looking at the settlements ahead lit in early morning light. Turns out, the masses had many questions regarding evacuation. Most of them regarding how. First thing’s first-- he needed to organize everyone. Everything needed to be just right for this. He looked down to a small scroll from his supply; on it was a basic procedure, some quick notes penned by him, and a map.

Past the winding trail, past the forest marked down hastily was their destination-- a town with proper walls and safehouses in case worse comes to worst.

It seemed simple enough, but he’s heard enough stories from the Five to know otherwise. He looked back up to a small group, who were looking were looking back at him for guidance. Chatter continued to ring in his ears-- there was too much of it, but he managed to catch snippets of conversation.

“-- he’s the master?” a young voice mused aloud.

“They sent just the one...” another whispered, tone tuned to gossip.

And through the panic, he heard a calmly embittered voice grumble, “Of all the-- I don't have time for this...”

Shifu cleared his throat a little bit louder than expected. The people in front of him lulled into a relative silence.

“You are the first of many groups that I’ll take down to the merchant village at the foot of the mountain.” He began to pace back and forth in front of them. “The Five have already informed the people there and are more than willing to take you all in.

“Women, children, and the elderly should be at the center. Those that don’t fit those categories should be situated around them, while I lead all of you down.”

“Er, that sounds like a lot of work for a little guy like you,” a pig with uneven tusks piped up.

Shifu opted to pretend not to hear that comment, a feat in and of itself considering his large ears. “If they’re unable to walk, get something or someone to carry them with.”

“Are you sure about that--” the pig continued, undeterred and unaware… at least until the master was face to face with him.

The red panda stared him down, shoulders squared as if readying for a battle. He had half a mind to lecture him in front of an entire village for disrupting the assembly of people, but he relented.

It would reflect poorly on the Jade Palace, after all.

Shifu took in a deep breath. Blew it out. “If you have anything to share, I suggest doing it out loud and in front of me.”

Everyone’s eyes were on the both of them. The pig had the decency to look partially chagrined.

“I get that you’re a master,” he continued. “But that seems like a lot of work for any one person. Can you blame me for being worried?”

“No need,” he said with a wave of the hand holding the scroll. “I’ve personally made the quickest possible evacuation plans, accounting for everything; walking speed, population, alternate routes--”

“But is that enough?”

Shifu stared at him, his mouth opening only for nothing to come out. He already knew that this mission had no margin for error, but those words made the failure more palpable. Made him much more aware of everyone’s existence, and how much they depended on him.

Everyone’s eyes were on him now, and they’re expecting something. As much as this was a terrible ordeal, he needed to stay strong for these people, like how the Five would be.

He gulped. No pressure.

“You have my word as a master of the Jade Palace that all of you will get out of here alive.” Shifu’s voice was noticeably slow and deliberate. “I have been assigned this mission, and I will do whatever it takes to finish it. Do I make myself clear?”

The pig pulled back his mouth and could only manage a grimace of a smile, but he nodded regardless. Even if they weren’t being directly lectured at there were others that held similar doubts in the group did so as well.

“Good.” Shifu turned around. “Now the lot of you should get ready before noon.”

“Can I ask you somethin’, master?”

The third group, thankfully, got their bearings quicker than the ones before them. Not by much, admittedly, but just enough to reach the safe town earlier than expected.

And in that reprieve, there was a lot more time for questions… much to Shifu’s chagrin.

He looked up from his planning scroll with a disinterested gaze and meeting eyes with nothing. A quick look down, and he was face-to-face with a rabbit kit that, save for the dirt clinging to her robes, was in good condition.

“Can’t you see he’s busy, Lan Min?” The father stepped forward, his entire frame shaking as he pulled his daughter back.

Shifu’s face smoothed out into something that at least seemed friendly. “It’s fine, I have a bit of time,” he said with a tone that barely masked how not fine it was, or how little time there could be.

“You’re a kung fu master, right? C-- couldn’t you just fight th’ army?”

His ears perked up at the incredulity of that. “Er-- no,” he said finally. “I could fight, but… they’re a lot of people. I would get tired.”

You would be slaughtered, his mind thought back to training sessions with Tigress.

“Oh.” The kit was silent for a moment, a sad sort of disappointment etched on her face. “Wha‘bout the Dragon Warrior? I heard there was a big, big festival an’ then he just kinda appeared.”

Shifu’s brow furrowed in frustration. Even with how far away he was from the Valley, the Dragon Warrior still taunted him-- still infuriated him. He wanted to say no, that the person they chose to be the Dragon Warrior wasn’t even that well-versed in kung fu. That it should have been any of the Five.

That it should have him.

But he didn’t have the heart to say that to a child-- especially one going through such an ordeal.

“I… don’t know,” he managed. Seeing the child’s confused face, he gave a soft smile in an attempt to mask his tiredness and disappointment. “But… I hope so.”

The kit seemed satisfied with this answer before she beamed, completely unaware. “I hope so too!”

The rest of the family shared a soft laugh at that, but before the child could answer any more questions, Shifu straightened up.

“In any case,” he said, perhaps a little too hastily. “I should get back up to the village. There’s still-- there’s still people.”

The mother had ushered Lan Min away, much to her protestations. Meanwhile, the father looked back at him, his brow furrowed. “Master,” he said finally. “I know you must hear this all the time, but… thank you.”

“It’s no problem, this evacuation is all in a day’s work.”

“I’m not talking about that,” he said quietly as his gaze shifted to his wife and kid, who were now mingling with the local villagers here.

They seemed… lighter, if only a little bit.

The buck coughed quietly before making his way to his family, leaving Shifu to stare at where they once were.

The red panda wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling, but he could ruminate on that later. He was burning daylight here, and there wasn’t much time to ruminate on what exactly he was feeling.

Days began to meld into each other. So did the evacuating villagers’ faces, although Shifu was sure that was due to fatigue. With everything that had happened, it almost felt like he had been doing this for decades as opposed to a few weeks at most.

The mists had overtaken most of the mountains, and by extension the final group to descend. Villagers trudged onward and behind the red panda, their collective brows knitted and eyes downcast.

The trek, like all the treks before it, was monotonous. Maybe that kind of thinking, Shifu surmised, came with the territory of being bedraggled.

They had barely managed to make it past the first turn of the path before someone spoke. “Er, master?” One of the villagers-- a merchant goose with his feathers in a messy topknot looked at him with concern. “Are you alright? One of us could take the lead while you rest--”

“Absolutely not.” He emphasized that point by sweeping his hand in front of him in a defiant gesture.

“I think we can stand to take a small breather.”

Shifu looked back from his position in front. Even with the blanket of fog obscuring everyone, he could see how everyone dragged their collective heels as they tried to keep up. Which, upon further thought wasn’t even a fast of a pace in the first place due to how tired he was. At this point, all of them were running on survival instinct.

With a quiet sigh, he sat down cross legged. “Just keep it short-- we’re on a schedule here.”

The collective group let out a sigh of relief, setting their packs down and took out their respective rations. Soon enough, there was quiet chatter that could even be considered as amiable. There was a faint sour scent of pickled vegetables lingering in the air as they ate and relaxed for the first time in weeks.

From quite a ways away, Shifu took a swig of water from his canteen as he surveyed the path ahead… by walking the length of it back and forth with ears perpetually perked up. For the most part, there was the din of the group behind him and the breeze blowing past the mountaintops.

Despite that, he could still hear… something under all of that. A low rumble, or perhaps--

The red panda tensed up.

The villagers nearest him took note of the sudden shift and stared at him. The goose from before approached him. “Master?”

Even through the wind and low chatter, the sound of marching released was unmistakable.

“Be quiet and follow me.” As the villagers made their way to collect their carts and such, he stopped them. “Only bring what you can carry on your back and a canteen. Everything else needs to stay.”

A howl pierced through the silence. The villagers let out a collective gasp.

There wasn’t much time to process much of anything as the sound of taut string being released echoed in the mountain range.

“Take cover!”

Hundreds of arrows flew out from the mist. Many of them had been aimed at the village, but there was still dozens coming after them.

Shifu leapt up to bridge the gap between him and the arrowfire. As each one had closed in, he had quickly struck them mid-air, quickly gaining upward momentum as they clattered onto the cliff ground around them.

Higher and higher he went, until finally he could just barely see past the cliff edge of the Musician’s Village. Through the fog, he saw a platoon of wolf archers who fell back… and were going down the same path they were currently on right now. Before gravity took over and pulled him back down, the sound of something off had caught his attention.

The sound of metal clanging against each other.

As soon as he landed, the group of villagers crowded around him. The sound of snarling was fast approaching.

“Master, what do we do?”

The red panda stayed silent as his ears began to swivel in the direction of where they came from. Far above, there was the sound of marching and things being moved around.

“Master?” Another villager said through gritted teeth.

In the bit of quiet between footfalls, he could hear a caw, followed by the clanging of metal. He knew a fight when he heard one.

“All of you need to go,” Shifu said finally. With great hesitation, he handed off the scroll he had been using for his mission to the merchant-- surely, he knew his way around a map, if not the way down. “Just take what’s on you, everything else needs to stay--”

There wasn’t time to protest as the sound of snarling was fast approaching. Five wolves cut through the mist armed to the teeth. That is to say, the only weapons they had was their teeth and claws.

The villagers stood stock still, too mortified to run.

"Just go already!" Shifu leapt in front of the final group, standing off against the squadron of wolves. "I'll buy you time!"

After a moment's hesitation, the villagers ran.

One of the wolves noticed the evacuating villagers on the far edge of the ridge and attempted to run after them. This was met with the master pulling him back by the tail and throwing the wolf back. One soldier had managed to get hit square in the face with the body of his comrade, and left them in a bewildered heap.

There wasn’t enough time to process what to do with the downed wolves before the rest of them tackled him to the ground. Shifu quickly struggled out of the grasp of one of the wolves gripping at the collar of his robes, pulled his legs in, and let loose a double kick to the stomach towards the offending wolf.

The soldier flew back into the carts that were left behind, letting out a horrible cacophony of crashing. The remaining two hunched down on all fours and attempted to pounce on the red panda once more.

Shifu leapt up at the last second, causing the both of them to collide into each other. In their bout of disorientation, he delivered a Tiger-styled jab to the both of them. The soldiers fell, their bodies too tired to continue.

For the briefest of moments, the master's shoulders heaved. His ears twitched as the sound of retreating footsteps echoed from below the mists. The evacuating villagers was safe for now, but there was still more soldiers... and by the sounds of the overhead growls coming closer, they were now suspicious at the sound of conflict down here.

Shifu took in a deep breath as he began to go back up the path into the Musician’s Village, steeling himself and following the distant noise of fighting.

Dragon Warrior or not, he was going to end this.