#that is your shelf spot for now until i get your brothers and then ill get a new shelf for over my gaming space

[last-of-cheese]

I was informed that Bad Batch pop figures existed so naturally I had to immediately go buy my two favorite boys. I'll be buying the others next month but right now I just needed Echo and Cross.

And I've had a really rough past few days so for them to arrive today really made things so much better.

@kark-trooper-echo and @superiorsniper look how perfect you fit on my shelf.

[cynical-mystic]

ZKMonth 21 Day 5 - Soulmate Marks

On the day you were born, you were given a necklace that was one half of a design. The other half was given to your soulmate. No one knows where the necklaces came from; they just appeared around the necks of infants and grew as they did. You couldn’t take them off until you met the person you were destined to be with. This made it a bit easier to find your match.

Katara didn’t really care whose necklace matched hers. Sokka, her brother, had always been obsessed with finding the other half of his.

She just wanted to live her life, get her degree, and get a good job so she could help support their grandmother.

Her necklace was half of a crescent moon with some kind of design carved into it. She didn’t have the whole thing so she couldn’t tell what the design was supposed to be. When she was little she’d drawn pictures of it trying to guess the full thing, but none of them ever looked right.

One day, as she was sitting in her Intro to Literature class, someone who wasn’t the professor walked in. She knew this class had a TA, but he’d never come to class before as most of his job was helping to grade their smaller assignments.

“Professor Wu is ill today,” he said, not looking up at them as he sorted through his materials. “I’ll be leading discussion on Darcy and Elizabeth’s refusal of their matching necklaces in Pride and Prejudice.”

He looked up and met her eyes, and her necklace grew warm.

It was as though time froze. Both of their necklaces fell from the choker position to a normal necklace length, and they took each other in.

He was good-looking despite the scar that covered half his face. He seemed well put together based on how he was dressed and the state of his bag.

But she didn’t even know his name.

Not participating in class discussion was out of character for Katara, but today she felt like it was excusable. Somehow he was still able to teach class, but she couldn’t focus.

Should she go right up to him after? Should she just ignore him and leave?

When the clock chimed the hour, he made the decision for her, packing up his things as quickly as possible and all but bolting out of the auditorium.

Suki, her best friend, put a hand on Katara’s shoulder as she stared after him.

“I saw your necklaces,” she said, gesturing to Katara’s neck.

Out of habit Katara grabbed for her pendant but it wasn’t where it usually was, as she already knew. She pressed it against her chest and found she couldn’t speak.

“So much for finding your match not meaning anything,” Suki teased. “You’re starstruck!”

“I don’t even know who that guy is!” Katara moaned.

Suki pulled out her folder for this class and thumbed through the papers. She pulled the syllabus out and handed it to Katara.

TA: Zuko Tamura.

“It even has his email,” Suki pointed out. “You could email him!”

“I’m not going to email him,” Katara said, shoving the paper back at Suki. “Did you see the way he ran out of here? He has no interest in me.”

Suki shook her head, but really couldn’t say anything to this. She’d seen him bolt just like Katara and the entire rest of their class had.

Later, Katara was studying in the quad, her books laid out around her on the blanket she kept in her bag, when a shadow fell over what she was reading.

She looked up to see Zuko, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.

“Can I help you?” she asked cooly. “You’re blocking my light.”

“Sorry,” he said, stepping to the side. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Katara nodded her head to the open spot on the blanket and Zuko sank down, setting his bag down beside him.

“I’m sorry I freaked,” he said. “I was not at all prepared for what happened to happen.”

“Neither was I,” she admitted.

“You probably know my name already, because I’m your TA, but I’m Zuko.”

“My name is Katara.”

He nodded, recognition flashing across his face. He’d graded her papers, so he’d had some idea of who she was already.

“I just needed to tell you something,” he said, still fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.

“Yeah?”

“I...um...I have a girlfriend.”

This didn’t surprise her. People often had significant others while they were waiting to meet their soulmates. Some people even married those who weren’t their soulmates because of various reasons.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m not interested in a relationship right now, so it doesn’t matter.”

Zuko nodded and stood up.

“I’ll see you around, then?”

“Sure.”

As he walked away, Katara wondered if they would see each other around, or if they would both avoid each other as much as she intended to avoid him.

Like she’d told all her friends and family, it didn’t matter who her soulmate turned out to be. She wasn’t interested in a relationship.

A few years after her first encounter with Zuko, Katara was a senior and working in the college’s library.

One day he came in, looking a bit frazzled, and approached the counter where she was running check-outs and checking in books.

She recognized him immediately, of course, but what she hadn’t counted on was him still wearing his necklace.

Hers was tucked into her backpack. Always close, but no longer around her neck. It was the easiest way to keep most guys away.

He looked up and stepped back when he recognized her.

“Katara!”

“Zuko.”

Her tone must have confused him, because he looked at her for a moment before looking back at the paper he had in his hand.

“I have a few books on hold from other libraries.”

“I’ll get them.”

She retrieved them from the shelf behind the counter and took his ID card from him to check them out to him.

“What are you still doing around here?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you have graduated last year?”

“I’m doing my masters in English.”

She nodded.

Finally, the books were checked out and the ticket printed. She stuck it to the cover of the book on the top of the stack and pushed it towards him.

“Here you go. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks.”

He took the stack of books into his arms but didn’t walk away.

“Is there something else I can help you with?”

“I was wondering...would you be up for coming to my place and watching anime?”

Her eyes widened.

“Are you really that desperate for a relationship? We don’t know each other at all!”

“Not a relationship,” he muttered. “I don’t really have any...any friends? And you seem nice.”

To her surprise, her heart went out to him.

“What about your girlfriend?”

“She dumped me when she saw my necklace,” he explained.

Katara nodded thoughtfully.

“Sure, I’ll watch anime with you,” she said, grabbing her phone. “What’s your number?”

They exchanged numbers and as he left the building with a friendly wave, Katara couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe being friends with her soulmate wouldn’t be all that bad.

Months later, after weeks of anime binging and laughing over stupid sitcoms Katara had loved as a child, Katara realized she’d fallen for Zuko.

Not in the passionate, the love is burning inside of me, kind of way, but a softer way. He’d slowly become the person she wanted to hang out with the most, and she found she wanted to spend even more time with him than she already did.

When she suggested moving in together, he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” he asked. “We aren’t even dating.”

Katara shrugged.

“We don’t have to share a room or anything. I think it would just be nice to coexist. I like being around you and want to be around you more.”

Zuko nodded slowly.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he admitted.

When she told her family they were moving in together, they were thrilled until she emphasized that they weren’t romantic in any way.

“Why are you moving in with him then?” Sokka asked. “Just because he’s your soulmate doesn’t mean you have to spend your life with him.”

“I don’t really want to spend it with anyone else,” she said, shrugging. “And I want to be around him more.”

“Do you love him?” her father asked.

“I do,” she admitted.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I support you, Katara,” he said.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Katara was pleased when Zuko seemed to be even more similar to her than she’d thought he was. They spent a considerable amount of their free time together and engaged in a lot of physical touch such as hugging and snuggling and holding hands, but he never tried to make it sexual. Which was more than fine by her.

Eventually, though, he did bring it up.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this life we have?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well usually things would be, I don’t know, more physical?” he said. “Aren’t you interested in sex?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “I was a bit worried that would be a problem.”

Zuko let out a huge breath.

“Thank goodness,” he gushed. “I’m not interested in it either, which was another reason why my ex probably broke up with me, but that’s beside the point. You make me happy, Katara, and I’m glad we can be happy just the way we are.”

She reached out and took his hand in hers.

“So am I.”

@zutaramonth​

[fatandnerdy30]

Loki Helps a Boy

So this is the second installment to Loki Finds a Boy which so many people have been asking for. So I hope you like it!

@lokiismyhubby @laurenandloki @gt-marvel

It had been a two weeks since Peter had been found by Loki and the boy found he wasn't as scary as people made him out to be. He was curious and overly mischevious. But he had made sure not to be seen by the giant as he traversed the overly large tower. He had a few near sightings on his journeys to acquire the things his uncle needed for his sick aunt.

But it seemed like it wasn't enough, because May kept sicker. He sat by her bedside leg bouncing as he stared at her ashen face. Her breathing was heavy and raspy and when she coughed it sounded like sandpaper was trying to escape her lungs. Grabbing the towel from her forehead, Peter wet it again and placed it on her face half expecting it to sizzle with how hot to the touch she was.

Peter couldn't sit here any more and do nothing! He had to get help. Whatever help he could get. Running from the room he slammed into his Uncle Ben who looked shocked to see him. "What's wrong, Peter? Is May all right?"

"She-she's all right...but she just keeps getting sicker...I need to find help." He ran around Ben and ran to grab his bag and shoes, ignoring the wide eyed Ben.

"Peter if you're doing what I think you're doing it's not a good idea! If the humans spot you, they'll squish you flat! I won't let that happen to you!" The man reached for the boy' shoulder, but he just dodged him.

"I've already met one of them, Ben! He was nice and let me go...I think he'll do that again." Or at least Peter hoped that he would be coming back for May's sake. It was with that hope he ignored Ben's pleas and ran from the tiny home in the walls.

Using the beams and concrete ledges, Peter managed to make it to where he climbed down what seemed like so long ago now. Wiping his nose the boy dropped his rope and watched it land on the same shelf he thought he would lose his life on, but had made a friend instead.

Wedging his hook into the vent, Peter began to climb down, grunting a little bit from how tired he was from staying up as long as he could while Ben was running onto the garden floor to gather the herbs that weren't working on May.

"Well, well. You finally show again, little one." Loki's voice snapped Peter from his thoughts as he turned his head to see the black haired man staring at him from a chair with amusement. "I thought you had forgotten about me. You cut me to the quick." Loki placed a hand over his heart and smirked, but it died when Peter didn't laugh. Instead he stared at the man with watery eyes, his lower lip trembling. The giant rose quickly and made his way over to the boy, concern written on his face. "What is it?"

"My aunt....she....she's really sick and not getting better...I didn't know what to do, so I came here, but now I'm thinking it was a bad decision to come here...." Peter shimmied his way down to the shelf to give his arms a rest as he stared up at Loki's face. "Please...can you help me?"

"What are her symptoms, little one?"

"She's gray, her skin is hot and she's coughing a lot, her breathing is harsh like there's something in her lungs...I dont know what to do! I...I can't lose her...Ben can't lose her either." Looking up at the man, Peter fell to his knees. "Please....I have nowhere else to turn."

Loki smiled kindly and placed his hand up to the shelf, palm up. "Fear not little one. I do by chance know a way to help her, but...there is a catch." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know if you are desperate enough, but it involves meeting someone else...perhaps multiple Midgardians."

Tp say Peter was shocked was putting it lightly. Would he have to meet the person? Or people? "What...what are Midgardians?"

It took a few seconds before Loki laughed low in his throat. "I forget you live on Midgard, so you would not know of their other name, but they are humans, which I am not. I am Asgardian, the prince of Asgard, brother to Thor."

The boy stared at Loki in shock while taking a step onto the man's palm timidly. He was speaking to a prince?! "I-I-I didn't know Mr. Loki! Should I be calling you 'your highness' or something like that?" Slowly he made his way into the man's hand, still a little nervous around the man's fingers that could literally crush him with so little pressure. So when Loki gave him a look, he tensed afraid he'd hurt the man's feelings.

"You will call me Loki, young Peter. I like you so you do not have to call me as such. As for the others living here...they show me no respect and Stark is the worst with his names..." The god shivered and brought Peter close to his chest as he started walking. "I will bring you to meet doctor Banner, for he is the most familiar with human illnesses. I do not trust the others to care for your aunt." Ever since his first meeting with the doctor's alter ego he had gained a certain respect for the man.

Beginning a brisk pace, they left the room and making sure no one was around before he started for the elevator. He didn't want to stop and explain Peter's existence especially when the boy seemed to be more than worked up about the woman's condition.

"I hope he knows what happened and how to treat May," the tiny boy said. He was gripping onto Loki's fingers like a life line, his limbs shaking as he felt the wind in his hair with each of the man's steps.

"I'm sure he knows. Just explain her symptoms to him as you did to me." Loki sent a reassuring look down to the boy who looked frightened. "Are you all right?" Peter nodded, though his lips were tightly sealed which made the prince smile. "Would it help if I did this?" Bringing the boy closer to his body he secured his hand this way there was no way he would be able to fall.

Feeling the heat behind him made the boy open his eyes and look to see green fabric pressed against him. He turned his eyes upward and saw the bottom of the man's chin and little else. And believe it or not, Peter did feel safer knowing that Loki was protecting him so he slowly let go of the fingers and sat back and was actually able to enjoy the breeze, smiling a bit. 'This feels nice,' he thought as he sighed letting the beating of the giant's heart under and behind him calm him down as well.

Loki tried to pay little attention to the being leaning into his chest as he made his way to the elevator. "You are not allowed past the thirtieth floor," Friday reminded him making the man roll his eyes.

"Yes I know you dimwitted machine. You tell me every time I enter this infernal contraption. Take me to Banner."

"I can't do that, Reindeer Games," the machine replied making Peter giggle. "He is on the fortieth floor."

"Then tell him to come to me you daft waste basket!" With a huff he stormed off the elevator and made his way back to his room. I swear that idiotic mainframe is trying to make me go insane." He then brought his hand up to his face, scowling at Peter who stared at him in shock.. "And what were you laughing at in there, hmm?"

The boy's face went red and he stared down at Loki's palm. "Sorry...I thought the name was funny."

"You would. That was one of the names Stark made up when we were in Germany. He was making fun of my helmet, it had long horns adorning it."

"I'll bet it looked really cool! Not like a reindeer at all!" Peter tried to make up for his laughing wich made Loki narrow his eyes and sigh.

"You are forgiven. This time. For now we must await the arrival of Dr. Banner." Loki walked back into his room to find his brother sitting on his bed staring at the door.

"Brother! Why do you have need of a doctor? Are you sick? Injured?" Thor got up and rushed to Loki's side, completely missing the small boy in his palm and began patting Loki down, much to the smaller's disapproval.

"I am fine, Thor...I do not need the doctor." He took a look at Peter, seeing how scared he was but the small being had agreed to this. "This boy does." Finally Thor brought his gaze down to his brother's hand and his eyes went wide.

"Is that...a borrower?" He was whispering but his voice still boomed. "I have only heard stories of them! How ever did you manage to capture it?" Thor went to poke Peter, but Loki brought his other hand up to block the impending finger.

"I did not capture him. He came to me of his own volition, isn't that right young Peter?" The by who was too scared to say anything just nodded. "See? Now stop scaring him and back away." He glared at Thor until he did that. He swore his brother was the thickest idiot of them all. How did he get the offer of King before Loki?

"I truly am sorry, little one. I did not mean to scare you. I was simply excited to see one of your kind. Please accept my apology." Thor bowed his head and Peter stood there looking dumbfounded as he nodded.

"S-sure..." Was a human apologizing to him!? He knew the people of this tower were weird, but this took the cake!

"Loki, I swear if you called me up here because you turned your brother into a certain type of toy again, I will gladly ask for those chains your brother used on you last time-" Bruce stopped as he stared at the tiny figure in Loki's hands. "Please tell me that's a doll and not an innocent from the streets.." He could not handle the situation if it wasn't a doll.

"He is not a doll, nor have I shrunk him. This is Peter, he is a borrower and in dire need of your help, doctor." Loki swept his hand forward and Peter was frozen in the dark man's gaze as they stared at one another. "Do not be afraid, Peter. He is a doctor and can help your aunt."

At that Bruce snapped out of it and a look of concern came over his face. "What happened? Is someone hurt?" He bent down to look Peter in the face, concern written on his features. "Tell me what happened?"

It took a minute for the boy to unfreeze, but his need to heal his aunt came out and he nodded. "It started last week with a cough, then May was having a hard time breathing now she can't even get out of bed. She's burning up and barely wakes up and every time she breathes or coughs it sounds like she's got something in her chest but nothing comes out."

Bruce's brows went down in worry. "That sounds like pneumonia, which is serious. Peter, can you get her out here?"

At that the boy shook his head. "Uncle Ben would never allow it. He's too scared of humans." But, if it meant May's life, he was sure Ben would approve. "Maybe...maybe you can talk to him through the vents? Tell him how dangerous it is if she's not taken care of...please?" Peter was really hoping his uncle would listen to the humans. May's life depended on it.

"Well...I can try." Bruce was stunned that this being smaller than his hand was sentient enough to feel emotions. He wanted to run so many tests, ask so many questions but right now he had another patient to worry about. "Where should I speak?"

"I'll get him to come to the vents. Mr. Loki? Can you please put me on the shelf? I can climb up from there."

"I can do much better than that, little one." Loki's hand started glowing a dark green and suddenly the boy was lifted in the air, his cries turning into happy laughter as he rose towards the vents.

"Thanks Mr. Loki! I'll be right back!" Peter started running through the walls using the ledges and beams to fling himself forward untl he was slamming his front door open startling his uncle who apparently was getting ready to go out. "Uncle Ben! Come on, I found a doctor! He says she has something called Pneumonia which can kill her! Let him help May please!" He was sweating and panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"P-Peter? Where have you been? Your aunt...she's not eating or drinking." He looked down at the ground sadly. "I think this may be the last for her."

Peter's head started shaking back and forth, tears falling from his eyes. "NO! Uncle Ben, you have to let this doctor take a look at her! Please! He can save her!"

Ben stared at the boy and nodded. "Where is he?"

"He's outside the vents...but...he's human." Peter winced when he said that and Ben's eyes went wide.

"H-humans?" He stuttered. "Peter how could you? You know the rules! Never be seen! Now we'll have to move and with May being so sick she'll never make it.." The man sat heavily on the armchair and stared at the boy. "You've doomed us.."

"No Uncle Ben! They're nice, I promise...please..just let the doctor treat May. I know he can save her, please! We can't...we can't lose her. Please." He whispered the last word and Ben looked up at him and finally nodded. Smiling, Peter raced into May's room and taking a look at her sick form got her to sit up. "Ben! Help me carry her please!"

Ben walked slowly into the room and collected his wife who woke to look up at him with confusion but he smiled down at her. "It'll be okay, May. I promise." He kissed her forehead and leveled a gaze at Peter. "If this doctor turns out to be just a scientist who wants to study us..."

"He's not like that. Now come on..." He started walking out of the house when doctor Banner's voice came through the vents echoing around them.

"Peter? Are you there? I've been trying to call to you for the past five minutes."

"Doctor Banner! We're coming out!" Peter helped carry May up the ledges and through the maze of bars before they reached the vents and he poked his head through. "Mr. Loki? Can you pelase do the green thing? May's too weak to climb down." The dark haired man nodded and in the next instant they were all lifted, Ben crying out and holding May closer to him as they were brought down to the dresser where the man tried to stand proud but his knees were quaking and he was trembling.

"Sir, there's no need to be scared. I'm doctor Banner. I heard your wife was sick. May I see her please?" Bruce kneeled next to the dresser and smiled softly as the man nodded and loosened his grip on May to let him see her face. "It's worse than you said, Peter. She'll need fluids and medication quickly. Mr. Parker I know its hard but please allow me to bring her to the med bay where my equipment is. Please."

Ben stared at the human for a moment before nodding. "Under one condition. I go with her." Bruce nodded and put his hand down next to the dresser and Ben stepped onto the palm, almost losing his balance but he righted himself. "You can lift us now, human."

Peter groaned and shook his head. Trust his uncle to treat the man trying to save his wife's life with an attitude. Suddenly there was pressure on the back of his shirt and he was lifted to look into Loki's eyes. "You, young one, will be staying with me until the deed is done and the doctor has save your aunt." He smiled and placed Peter in his palm. "Come. We can go and meander and look at the sights and hopefully not bump into Tony Stark."

A week had passed and May was up and feeling much better. Peter hadn't seen her since Ben had taken her up to the floor because Loki wasn't allowed up to the medbay but Friday told him multiple times a day how her condition was. So it was with anticipation that he was waiting on Loki's bed while the man paced and kept looking at the door. "Damn it all, where is that looney doctor? He said he would be here within the hour!"

"And this looney keeps his promises." Bruce walked into the room and frowned at Loki. "Peter could have come up and visited with one of the others."

At this Peter shook his head. "I..I don't know the others so I'd rather stay where I know people."

"And that's how we raised you." May's voice came from the doctor's hands and Peter smiled up and jumped trying to see her.

"May! You're okay!"

Loki who had been watching rolled his eyes and picked the boy up. "Go see your family." He brought the boy to Bruce's hands and Peter jumped off. He looked like he wanted to run to May but he knew she was still weak.

"Oh Peter...." The woman smiled and opened her arms to Peter who ran into them with a little sob.

"I'm so glad you're okay..." It felt good to be held by the woman who raised him and he held her as tight as he dared. He looked up at the doctor and with eyes he smiled. "Thank you," he said and buried his head into her shoulder. He was glad he had met Loki and that he had brought doctor Banner to save May. He knew they would always have a special place in their hearts.

[bakubitch-minusultra]

Not Alone: Chapter Eleven

-> an apocalyptic series with bnha characters but without quirks because im the writer and i can do whatever the fuck i want :P new character unlocked

-> Word Count: 2.1k

-> Warnings: none(?)

-> Taglist: @5sosfckss @laudthingcat @zphilophobiaz

The sun set as they reached the top of a hill she never climbed. It was in the opposite mountain range from where she had been and she was nervous of it. She didn’t know what lied on the other side. Her feet hurt and she was tired.

He layed a bunch of bows on the ground and gave Y/n a very appealing look. It made her stomach hurt.

She walked to where he had chosen to sleep and smiled at it. There were branches on the ground which made a mat for sleeping. He had chosen a huge tree with great bows to protect them in case it rained. He was like her father, more than she expected him to be. Not that she ever expected to meet him.

“They think you’re dead.”

He put the last bow down and sat on it. He took the jacket he had brought with him and put it down, patting it for Y/n to sit beside him. Her steps hurt her feet now that they had stopped walking. She dropped onto the ground beside him and watched his eyes sparkle as darkness took over the night sky. She tucked her bow and quiver next to her, always close.

“I was taken to the work farms. We were hiding in this old house like your farmhouse. I wasn’t smart like you though. I never thought about bunkers or having a few different houses and traveling between them. I was an idiot. Anyway they came. I hid Mina and Kirishima and let them take me.”

His face was stoic. She wanted him to kiss her again. She started to wonder if he was going to.

“How did you get away from the farms?”

“I met some people while I was there. Doctors who were forced to work the breeder camps and other scientists. They convinced me I needed to start a revolution from the outside. I escaped with some of him.” He shook his head, as if his thoughts entertained him and brushed his hand through his hair again. He looked at Y/n and smiled, “You know a good spot to clean up around here?”

She shook her head, “Never been here before. You’re starting a revolution?”

He nodded, “The camp we were just at is one of our peace camps. It’s like a retreat. The children and young and old stay there. We have people coming and going constantly. Didn’t you notice how easily you were welcomed?”

“I guess. I just thought that’s what people were like when they live in a camp like that. Aside from the machine gun escort that is.”

He laughed again. She liked the sound of it but it reminded her of Kirishima.

“Well that was a big wolf Y/n. How’d you end up with him?”

“His mother gave birth and must’ve gotten sick shortly after. Hades was waiting for me at the door of the cabin one day. He was tiny then. I could hear his brothers and sisters in the woods. I found the mother dead and half eaten surrounded by the other cubs who were weak and sick. It was awful. I shot them and burned them. It’s the closest the infection ever got to my cabin. He was immune anyway so that’s helpful.”

“He’s immune? Naturally? Maybe he never ate any of the mom.”

Y/n shook her head, “Nah, she wasn’t the only sick thing Hades has eaten. He likes the infected.”

He grimaced, “That’s disgusting. Disgusting and lucky all at the same time.”

“It is.”

“What do you know about the start of the infection?”

Y/n shrugged, “People got sick and some died but others lived and went a little crazy.”

His eyes looked dark as his expression lost its humor and the sun set completely. “No Y/n, people didn’t just get sick. The infection was spread on purpose. Everything that’s happened has been a plan all along.”

“That can’t be true.”

“I wish it weren’t. There was something called the United Nations. They did all of this.”

Y/n felt sick, “They were evil?”

“Not evil, just detached. The world was running out of resources and everyone was constantly putting a hand out to them and asking for aid and food and money. The UN had been warning us forever about global warming and the ice melting and the ocean becoming acidic. Anyway in 2012 all of Greenland's ice and snow melted in a week. The earth started to enter a drought. We thought it was a cyclical event but it wasn’t. It was man made. We had pushed it too far. The same time all this was happening, a conference was held in Rio about the environment. Canada, the US and China pretty much pulled out and admitted they had no intention of slowing their pollution to the recommended level. It would be too hard on their economies. That was the final straw. Apparently the UN had a backup plan for a worst-case scenario such as that. They had a plague. It had a vaccine, which made it easy to spread and then control. The problem was it mutated. They spread the virus at the same time they had bombs placed deep in the ocean along the Japanese coastline. They bombed the shelf and pretty much wiped Japan off the face of the earth and made the west coast of North America a target for huge tidal waves.”

It felt like a movie to Y/n. It didn’t feel real. It felt like the ramblings of her father, before.

“How could you know all this?”

“The work farms. I met people who had been part of the initial plan. The plan was to reset everything. Instead the UN decided they wanted to start humanity over but set it up to succeed this time. The breeder farms were built where only the fit and healthy were allowed to reproduce."

She shivered just imagining it.

Bakugo laughed, “It isn’t what you think. I know what everyone thinks happens but it’s not. The girls only breed every three years and only up to three times. The pregnancy isn’t the result of rape, it’s done using science. The baby is made in a lab and then inserted into the woman’s womb.” Y/n gagged and Bakugo laughed. “The religious had the same reaction. The UN never mentioned this plan to anyone but the very high ups. It never went well.”

“The girls are still taken against their will and made to make babies against their will.”

She saw his head nod in the dark, “Yup and the babies are not God’s children to the Christians. Anyway the UN runs the military but again, they sit in their closed office and plan using numbers and facts and data. They don’t leave it to see what the world looks like or how corrupt the military is. They’ve built six cities world wide from the ashes and rubble of previous cities. They plan on cleaning every inch of the world.

Y/n’s head was spinning, “What about the borderlands?”

“They can’t use anymore bombs without affecting the weather and pollution again, so the plan stands at leaving us to our own devices until they have this part of the world cleaned up. Then they’ll come round us up.”

“Why?”

“They want the diseases and illnesses bred out. They won’t allow those people to live and breed.”

“Oh my god it’s like a nightmare.”

“It is. On that note, we need sleep. You sleep first and I’ll keep watch.”

“That’s some bedtime story.” She liked Kirishima’s better. He laughed and Y/n watched his silhouette in the dark for a moment. He didn’t lean in to kiss her. He was watching the hill they climbed. “How long have they been breeding science babies?”

His outline turned to her and she saw the shine of his eyes in the dark,”A long time.”

“Are the babies different than the rest of us?”

“Yeah.”

The broken branches led them to a camp in a valley on the opposite side of the mountain where her farmhouse sat. The size of the camp was disturbing. Bakugo smiled as he saw it and walked directly up to the man holding the gun amid the trees.

“Halt.”

“Oi dunce face!” Bakugo shouted.

The gunman smiled, “No shit, Bakugo you’re alive. I heard they caught you.”

Bakugo laughed, “They think they did. Is Monoma still in charge?”

The man Bakugo called dunce face pointed to the camp, “He’s still in the smallest tent, you know what he’s like. Still paranoid they’ll bomb us.”

Bakugo laughed and pointed towards Y/n, “This is my friend Y/n.” She felt hurt when he called her his friend. She didn’t know why but the word stung.

“I’m Denki,” He put a hand out and Y/n noticed he had a nice smile. She met his golden eyes and smiled back, “Nice to meet you.” His eyes flickered to Bakugo and an even bigger smile crossed his lips, “So where’d ya two meet?”

She looked at Bakugo.

“She walked up to the mountain retreat the other day with a huge wolf for a pet and an unruly teenager.”

Denki’s eyes grew wide, “You have a wolf?”

She nodded. She wanted to find Mina and Kirishima. She didn’t understand why Bakugo wasn’t busting inside to see them. She felt herself fidget in place,

“Well I’m gonna go see Monoma and see what’s new on this side of the hill.”

They walked toward the camp as the sound of birds squawking filled the forest. The gunmen lower their weapons as they hear the sound and they walk past them. The camp opened as the forest spread thin. It looked like the camp they were at before except that everyone was wearing a firearm or knife. At one point Y/n swore she saw a sword. There were no children here.

“Bakguo! You’re alive!”

A girl with long blonde hair and cut off shorts ran and jumped into his arms. Y/n’s heart stopped as she watched the girl kiss his lips. The lips that only just kissed Y/n the day before. She felt heat radiating from her cheeks. She heard about men who weren’t tied down in romance novels and felt sick thinking that she had fallen for one. All the years of reading the novels and judging the ladies who seemed strong and smart and then fell for a jerk. Reality hurts. She wanted Kirishima and Mina and her cabin and Hades and Jirou. She wanted to let the world kill itself and hide up in the mountains. She never wanted to kiss Bakugo again. She couldn’t believe she was so reckless.

“Camie what the hell. You know me better than that,” He twirled her around and looked sheepishly at Y/n, “This is Y/n.” Y.n nodded and gripped her bow.

Camie beamed at her, “Wow nice find Bakugo, He save you from the farms too?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, “I don’t need a hero.”

Camie looked at Bakugo, who was staring at Y/n. Y/n walked past him and started to look around. If he didn’t want to find his friends then that’s his problem. Y/n would be damned if she would let them live another moment without the knowledge that their asshole of a friend was alive and well.

“You pissed at me?” Y/n didn’t turn and continued along, eyes desperately searching the crowds of people.

“Bakugo.” He shook hands with a very tanned man with the whitest smile Y/n had ever seen. People continued to greet him, but she couldn’t hear them anymore. She saw what she was looking for. She saw a tall guy limping with shaggy red hair. She broke into a run and dived into his arms when she was close enough to him.

As she made contact he turned. His face was exactly as she remembered it. He had her in his arms before she could speak a word.

“Y/n oh my god. Y/n it’s you. Holy shit I thought they got you.” He was planting kisses everywhere across her face.

“Where’s Mina?”

Kirishima’s kisses stopped but his grip on her face was still strong, “They took her.” Y/n felt her heart drop and wanted to collapse into his arms and sub.

“Shitty hair.”

Kirishima dropped to his knees in front of Y/n. His hands left her face and fell onto the tops of his knees.

“Bakugo? Bakugo is that you?”

Bakugo rushed at him and lifted him up. He pulled him into his embrace. The friend’s hug was fierce but all she heard was the sentence ‘they took her’ repeating in her mind.

Kirishima looked back at her, “You found him?”

Y/n shook his head, she had no words. They hug and cry and laugh but she was stunned. Finally able to speak, she muttered, “Where’d they take her?”

Their reunion no longer meant anything to Y/n.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Innocence - Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x Reader (Animal Kingdom)

@mandy23b​ @wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

GIF CREDIT: X

‘This is gonna be one hell of a night, I know you want it...’ ~ Kim Petras, There Will Be Blood.

Author’s Note: Basically, this is a fic in response to #ThatOneFic on AO3. I got a little bit of ‘if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em.’ syndrome and then decided I was better than that.  Could have written the one that’s in my drafts, but doing my Director’s Cut and then talking to everyone about it really got me like... 

Why not start some probably not very good smut with murder, after all? 😉

Can I disclaimer myself? The notes for this (written, as tradition states at like, 3am) are just pure filth. And I was horrified reading them back. So yeah, you’re not... getting that, but you’re getting remnants of what it could have been...

Added 800 words during the editing process because he needed it. I’ll fight for my vision of Andrew one fic at a time...

Innocence - Halestorm

Disclaimer: AK nothing to do with me / Part inspired by my own Director’s Cut analysis of Andrew & further fic research / lyrics & gif not mine

Small ‘need to know’ info: David is a policeman, and readers oldest brother.

Premise: When a drugs deal goes awry on the wrong side of town, and the police on the case, Andrew has one place to go. You’re used to this behaviour, but there is something about that dangerous side of him you just can’t resist - and you don’t want him to hold back...

Words: 5639

Warnings: Swearing / Sex / Sinday/Sunday Smut / Drugs references

____ You see it from the outside You're running toward the wall Swinging from your blind side But you don't know me at all I've been here too many times before And your tears don't mean a thing I only come when you scream Is this what you wanted Did I make your dreams come true? You're sitting in a corner Wondering what you got into And you ache for things you don't understand That your tears don't mean a thing And I only come when you scream, I told you Child, don't follow me home You're just too perfect for my hands to hold If you choose to stay, you'll throw it all away And I just want to take your innocence There's no such thing as fate Only yourself to blame You never walked away Child, don't follow me home You're just too perfect for my hands to hold If you choose to stay, you'll throw it all away And I just want to take your innocence

---

The scent of bleach filled the apartment; opening the front door gave you nothing more than an instant headache. You were lucky it didn’t make you gag, and you stood blinking for a few minutes – surely the feeling of your eyes stinging was only phycological?! Slipping your bag from your shoulder you exhaled deeply, followed by an inhale you instantly regretted, groaning and dragging a hand over your face. There could only be one culprit. What the hell had he done this time? He was probably long gone by now, tidied away and back home “ANDREW!” This was certainly more a cry of frustration to yourself; it wasn’t like you’d actively get mad at someone so volatile. This time you were met by an answer, coming from vaguely the direction of your bathroom. “Okay. But it wasn’t my fault this time.” You jumped immediately, dropping your bag, hand to your heart. “Geez! Are you incapable of giving me anything other than a heart attack!?!” Instead of being verbally answered, the man himself appeared; the white shirt and black slacks were ill fitting. Like he’d just grabbed the first possible thing he could from some shelf or other. Judging by the sizing, they were likely your brother David’s. Your eyes instantly narrowed; only one reason Andrew wouldn’t be wearing his own clothes. “What the fuck did you do?” He held both his hands up, the attempt to stop you from jumping to conclusions clearly not working by your unimpressed face: “Got caught in the crossfire, that’s all.” You folded your arms, daring him to pull the other: “Oh yeah, my whole apartment smells like bleach because you got caught in the crossfire.” His face was deadly serious: “You can’t expect me not to retaliate now, can you.” Your body’s instant reaction to that was to move away from him, but your jerk away was not followed by a step back, “So you did kill someone.” His eyes flicked over your shoulder for a split second, “Not exactly.” “Andrew!” “Would you rather I was dead?” He touched his hand to his chest, immediately making you defensive. “Don’t say things like that--!” Of course not, you never liked thinking that it was a distinct possibility. The corporate world of the men you used to date – of the man you almost married – was a million miles from the one standing in front of you right now. Andrew turning up here unannounced was not unusual, but it usually meant something had pushed him here. It was that thought that prompted your next question; “What happened?” “Drugs run gone wrong.” Too blunt. You opened you mouth, eyes going point a-z - you weren’t really looking at anything, you just didn’t want to look into his eyes when you knew all they’d show was how deadly serious he was – “You know, sometimes I wish you’d be just a little more subtle with me, Andrew.” You shook your head “But, I know that’s not your strong suit.” He gave a shrug, “You asked. Usually you don’t want to know.” “Yeah well, now I wished I hadn’t.” You indicated to your bathroom, “What state is it in?” “It’s fine.” You pushed passed him with a huff; “I’ll be the judge of that!” You couldn’t actually stand in there for more than a few seconds at a time, but when finally you deemed it safe, you couldn’t help but conclude that he was right. Even if he was on thin ice. “How much damn blood was there for you to need that much bleach?” Andrew gave you a single slow blink; “I like to be thorough.” There was an edge to his voice that sent a shudder up your spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Yeah, you knew that. “Did you come all the way up to my apartment in blood stained clothes?!” “Not exactly.” “This I don’t want to hear.” “I know there’s cameras. I know the blind spots and trust me, no one saw me.” That was about the only thing he’d said so far you did trust. Andrew was far too good at this – if he said no one saw him, then no one saw him. Or they were already sworn to silence. “And your clothes are where?” Because if they weren’t in a dumpster about 6 miles away, you’d throttle him yourself. “Oh no, you-” “It better not have been a shirt I liked!” This blink meant nothing, and his face remained stoic. So it probably was, now doused in someone else’s blood. Vital evidence, of course. You sighed and stepped towards him, “The police?” “Drug land wars. It’s gonna look like exactly what it was.” “Promise me this isn’t traceable?” “It wasn’t our side of town. But you know that means nothing.” “A…Andrew…” You took his face in your hands, beneath your fingertips the tiny litter of scars you could still feel, but not see. His body was littered with such marks – you doubted he’d ever consider healing properly before he was off to the next big ‘adventure’. “Tell me you’re gonna be okay?” He placed his hands gently on your waist, but shook his head, “I can’t. You know that.” Andrew would stretch the truth, perhaps even lie by omission; but never blatantly. Not to you – not to someone who cared about him in the way you did. You shook your head, fingers holding him a little firmer before you placed your forehead to his: “I’m just glad you’re safe.” It was all you could say, but you meant it. It could have been his blood all over someone else’s clothes, with their significant other now holding them the way you were holding him. Instead they were likely getting news that the person they loved was dead, and you got to feel Andrew Cody breathe. He wasn’t holding you like a man who loved you, you weren’t even close. You weren’t about to unpick his feelings right this second, but you knew exactly what that meant.   “You can’t stay, can you?” He shook his head again, slowly, detaching himself from you. “Not today.” Not I’m sorry, not I love you, just not today. His brothers were at the scene, but Andrew was the one that was in trouble. You wondered if that meant he should be staying – or if he thought staying would put you in danger. This was meant to be his safe house… then again, maybe he needed to get back to his family. Andrew had a knack for disappearing by coming to you – for exactly that reason, no one would think to look for him in this part of town – if the Cody’s didn’t know where he’d got to, they’d be facing chaos. You weren’t about to tell him that his presence god-knows-how-long later dressed in someone else’s clothes probably would only add to that. “If you need me…” “I’ll come back.” He only gave a single nod, those blue eyes telling nothing but the truth. Andrew let you steal a single kiss before he was heading toward your front door, he opened it without a word, pausing only to half raise his hand to say goodbye. You wanted to tell him you loved him, it didn’t seem like an appropriate moment, and with a last lingering look your apartment door closed, leaving you alone. You let out another breath, this time loud as it built into a groan, hands running into your hair: ‘What the fuck am I doing!?’

***

You weren’t exactly in the know on this type of thing, and living across Melbourne in your apartment, you saw Andrew by arrangement, or when he chose to see you. Crime in Melbourne didn’t interest you until it had to – and half the time it was only because he forced your hand. A shoot out on the wrong side of town attracted the attention of the police. The Cody’s weren’t in favour with the police at the best of times, so this only made the cops go haywire. You were none the wiser, but the boys knew it. The law would be all over them – Baz was surprised that they weren’t already, and to counteract this, quickly managed to set a plan in motion. Although it was enacted with an air of panic. “Alright! This time we take no chances, its lockdown. We can’t go anywhere; we move slow and cautious and don’t do anything.” Baz stilled and thought for a moment before turning to his friend, the most likely candidate to get into the wrong kind of trouble. They’d all been there, sure, but it was Andrew the police would come down hardest on. “If we do, we gotta stay put – if necessary, hide. Pope, that means you-!” Craig and Darren immediately began arguing about “How can the house be safe!?” and Baz had the job of reasoning about alibis and how they usually got out of this with help from Ezra, commonly - without evidence - nothing went anywhere… and trying to knock some sense into their panic. Andrew wasn’t hearing any of this, instead he just sat calmly, eyes on a fixed spot – staying here wasn’t his only option. In fact, it was an option he’d rather not take. He stood, wandering off to his bedroom, exiting barely a minute later with a bag. At this point the others realised that he was in fact, leaving, and their yelling after him didn’t cause a turn back. Andrew Cody left without a word. “Andrew!! POPE! Where the HELL do you think you’re going man?!” Baz was too preoccupied with his friend to bother holding the other two back, and yet they didn’t attempt to chase their older brother. He knew the answer that Andrew wouldn’t give; “Y/N.” Darren turned to him with wide eyes; “Is that even safe-!?!” Baz thought that was doing you a disservice as a head strong city girl, you knew what you were getting into. You knew who Andrew was. “Man, I don’t even know where she lives. It’s perfect. After all, who is gonna ask a girl - who barely knows the names of three drugs - where the hell Andrew Cody is. She’s the last place you’d think to look...”

They all heard the car engine start, and as it pulled from the drive they were left in silence. “Should we stop him?” “Nope. It’s not worth it. Pope’s made his choice, best he lay low and out of it for now.” Craig tipped nearly his entire body as he mused his thought; “How did he even get her anyway!?!” Baz frowned, “It’s not about how he got her,” Although he was sure he knew the answer to that,  “it’s about how he’s keeping her.” “Fear?” Baz was almost worried that that was Darren’s gut answer and shook his head firmly. “No. No that’s not it. Pope wouldn’t hurt her.” “You sure about that. He’s got pretty violent tendencies...” This particular incident was a case in point. “No. Because she really WOULD leave.” Unless it was truly accidental; you’d kicked him out for drugs – he lay a hand on you (in a way you didn’t like; he’d seen the scratches and bruises that often adorned your hips that you seemed to like showing off sometimes) Baz wouldn’t think you’d be incapable of calling the cops yourself. That wasn’t a thought he liked. “Oh, she loves him, dearly…” “So what is she to him?” There was a tone of disgust in Craig’s voice, Baz gave him a significant look, “At the very least, a safer space than he’ll ever have here.”

** Weekends alone were nice. You liked waking in someone’s arms, you liked wasting your time on nothing, maybe you’d be treated to a walk somewhere, but it was likely that if Andrew was staying the weekend, you’d not leave your apartment. But alone you could very nearly sleep the whole thing away, eat whenever you wanted – maybe do a grocery store snack run, see your friends at all your favourite Melbourne coffee bars, take your car up to your parents for the weekend to see the kids… but staying under the covers with nothing but your dreams was the priority.   And given that the smell of bleach was finally completely dissipating from your apartment, tonight was the best you slept in days. However, when you woke this morning you weren’t alone. Which was fine either way, your boyfriend had a key and this behaviour wasn’t uncommon, but he was not beside you in bed. Rather, standing at the foot of it staring at you. Andrew Cody wasn’t even blinking, and the only thing that would indicate that he wasn’t a statue, was the rise and fall of his chest for every breath he took. He’d been here for a while, simply observing your sleeping form, your movements and your breathing; Andrew didn’t want to wake you when the dreams seemed good. He didn’t scare you, or make you jump. If anything his presence made you feel a little safer, but by the indication of your clock it was nearly midday… what was he doing here? You flattened yourself out onto your back as you stared right back at him, but his eyes didn’t hold yours very long, raking themselves down your body. The fluctuation of his breathing changed, and you could read that like a book. This man was clearly DTF. And although you couldn’t possibly believe that Andrew would make the journey across the city just for that, it wasn’t out of Andrew’s remit. “What?” Your voice was still soft as you pushed yourself up with your arms so you sat. “Andrew? Baby, what?” Your pulse was elevating to meet the look on his face, the hunger in his eyes. Clearly your body was more than happy to read the signals of his and be roused from its dreams to give signals of its own. Your tongue danced across your bottom lip as you lowered your gaze to the rest of Andrew’s body. You couldn’t deny that you could feel the rise in your arousal and this time, as his eyes came up to meet yours again, your body tingled under the weight of his stare. You wanted him right now too. “C’mere.” You encouraged him, tipping your body back to rest on your hands, head inclined. Andrew didn’t need more than that invitation, crawling onto the bed, hands either side of you. You could hear his breathing now, and he was close, but still not touching you. You continued watching the way he was still staring at your body, the change to the colour of his eyes – he was putting too much thought into this and it was torture. Andrew inhaled you, and you could almost feel the heat coming from him. For a moment you realised you’d been forgetting to breathe, and as you did so your body gave a throb, stomach knotting deliciously. The scent of him covered you. With Andrew this close you didn’t think there was any going back from that. “Do you want me? Andrew? Babe? Do you want me? You can say it...” He still wasn’t looking at your face, and although his head movements were neither confirmation or denial, they were indecisive. With no verbal reaction, but consent certainly needed in order to continue, you closed that gap, grazing your lips to his cheek you nudged his head back just enough to ghost his lips. “I want you, too. Baby, I need you.” If he wouldn’t consent verbally, you would simply let him know you did. He immediately let out a growl, pushing you back into the sheets. Even if you expected kisses, you didn’t expect them to be this harsh and it was very nearly shocking – was Andrew only trying to hold himself back? He pinned you down; knees by your hips, feet between your legs. But you didn’t struggle against him, hands shooting to his shoulders and through his hair – Andrew didn’t pin your wrists. You could feel your hips widening for him – knowing immediately that you wanted him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to you. Shifting himself so that you were still pinned, Andrew pulled your underwear down your legs, discarding them. All the while his lips were still on yours and he wasn’t affording you much breathing room. Some would say this was too close, but this was just where he liked to be. His hands ran smoothly back up your thighs and your hips wiggled underneath his, looking for anything. Andrew answered you sooner than expected, clearly he wasn’t in the mood to wait for this, and slowed his hands to part your thighs just that little more. You immediately moaned into his kiss as Andrew ran his index finger teasingly through your folds. You knew he wouldn’t stop there, and you had to leave his lips in order to draw enough breath to whine as he circled your clit slow. Andrew freed you from being pinned just so you could feed your legs into a more comfortable position whilst still giving him access to you; already flushed, you knew he wouldn’t have to do much to work you up. Dipping his fingers into your arousal as he brushed his thumb across your clit, it wasn’t long before he pushed a finger inside you and even shorter before another joined it – widening you for him. You weren’t even sure you were fully awake yet and your mouth to brain filters hadn’t kicked in, hands shaking as you undid the buttons on your own shirt. “Fuck baby, I need you inside me. Oh, baby please, fuck me, hard. Harder. Edge me, tease me, make me yours.” Clearly neither of you were quite sure where that had come from by the look on his face, but if Andrew thought that was what you wanted, that was what he would give you. Andrew knew what the way you were talking was doing to him as he undid his belt and jeans; it was weird to hear out of your mouth sure, but you were only succeeding in turning him on even more. He removed his fingers from you and thrust in with more force than you expected – causing you to cry out again; not entirely in pain. He growled, lips to your neck as his nails dug into your hips, you pulled his body closer, locking your legs behind him. You drew Andrew deeper; but that was exactly where you wanted him. Here we go with another set of bruises I luckily never have to explain… No trips to the beach for another week, then. If this was back at his, if he’d have called you and asked you to come over – which wasn’t often but it did happen - then this would have to be quiet, and you got the feeling that he was going to be so rough with you that it would be impossible to be silent. But also Andrew liked it when you weren’t – he liked hearing the sounds that he was capable of drawing from you. For just a second he placed his head against yours, and that single kiss was gentle; you thought you were already breathless, perhaps in anticipation, but still managed to say it: “Baby, I will be as loud as you want.” It didn’t take long before you were blissfully sighing his name, moaning and arching you back into him and the travel of his hands. You had to admit you were insanely turned on, but also, in your house you could turn the volume to 10, because that’s what he enjoyed. Andrew didn’t hurt you when you had sex, it wasn’t something that occurred to him; sure he held you tight enough to leave marks and scratches, but he wasn’t actively hurting you. So him being this rough was an unusual experience. But Andrew also didn’t usually talk, beyond the occasional phenomena of his own quiet sighs, and his whispers of your name. So, you weren’t sure if you had unlocked or awakened something in him that was always there, but he never knew you wanted, or Andrew was simply playing into your request – but the threatening growl in his voice as he spoke basically had you doing as he commanded on the spot, “I’m gonna make you cum over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and then when you can’t take it any more I’ll finally cum for you.” You whimpered your ‘what!?’ in such a way that it didn’t even sound like a word – your fingers clinging onto him and tangling into his shirt for dear life as he continued his reckless rhythm inside you. You felt too high on the feeling of him fucking you, but you would take him at his word – that was exactly what Andrew was going to do, unless you told him to stop. And he would, if he didn’t want to hurt you, he would. He'd be out the door faster than he could apologise if not. Did you want him to stop, was the question? Instead you responded in kind; “Fuck me Andrew. Do whatever you want with my body, it’s yours.”

Andrew didn’t say anything unless it was worth saying, unless he meant it (at least sober) - that was like an unwritten rule. Although maybe with you like this he wasn’t entirely sober, ever. But it felt so heat of the moment and foreign to him - what he was telling you wasn’t calculated… it wasn’t even truly blunt information but it turned you on. And that clench of your muscles around him was something that he could feel. The same way he could feel your pulse under his fingertips, and your warmth: that was your life, your heartbeat and it jumped with your excitement. The sound of it with the ticking of his watch; everything was suddenly so sensory to him. It ran wild the harsher he was with you and the harder you panted; desperate to take on more air. He didn’t have to associate that sound with life, either, he knew that noise when taking it. Andrew wasn’t sure if he was supposed to find that sexy or not; but he thought he did.

Every little sign of your body was all he needed; Andrew could pay attention to that minutia of detail, whether it be the sounds you made, or the shake that you fought so hard against, the movement of your body under his, how it felt to have your fingertips glide over him, for your lips to press into his skin, smaller tensions of resistance… but also how it felt to be inside you - how being a little rough and talking a little dirty seemed only to make you wetter, a little tighter, a lot more desperate for him - as if suddenly all your senses had heightened too. Maybe this was just something you both needed. But all of this was bringing you pleasure - that’s what mattered most. That Andrew was bringing you something positive; HE was doing this to you. He didn’t know why you stuck around; he gave you plenty of reason to leave. But you proved a point, even if really you knew you were only proving it to yourself; that Andrew Cody could make a positive impact on people’s lives. You wanted nothing more than to desperately confirm to him that he wasn’t just some tool his family could use for violence without mercy. Andrew could be this for someone; a life partner, needed, wanted, loved... And it wasn’t just you - but the way your whole family felt about him; Andrew deserved a real family.

He watched the sweat dance on your skin for a minute, acutely aware of the way your nails were digging into him; “Andrew, PLEASE, give me more-!” You weren’t just a someone though. You were you. You of all the damn people in this city, let alone the world. You could have anyone you wanted - you almost got married. Whether that man be long gone or not, occasionally it crossed Andrew’s mind that if it wasn’t for him coming into your life, your absolute fascination with him, the fact that this was practically an affair… you would be married right now; in some extravagant mansion in some fancy part of Melbourne. But you weren’t, you were with him - having loud rough sex in your apartment in a moment where you were thinking things didn’t get much better than that. Andrew proved to you that you didn’t have to settle for what you thought you wanted - but you could just as easily find what you really needed, even in the most unexpected of places. For Andrew, he couldn’t help but admit there was an excitement about the potential of corrupting someone not from his world, nor should have ever crossed the line into it. And yet here you were, beneath him.

He didn’t go back on any of his growled promises; and every time you came it felt different. Because this wasn’t just about one thing – not just the physical act; it was how you were feeling about him, and how Andrew felt for you. How he listened intently to what your body was telling him and changed it up - how you vocalised what you liked (and maybe when he got a little too rough). Emotions might have been hard to find in Andrew Cody but they were buried there somewhere, and they were real, and sometimes he gave you a glimpse of them. Even if it was just the look on his face right now, as you came for him again, and again, and again… The slight sympathy in his features as you begged him to cum for you, in short sharp breaths that he could really barely register as a sentence: hot and flushed and sweaty and spent… but his; completely his. Heart, Body, Mind and Soul. And Andrew didn’t need to look at the marks across your skin to know it.

By the time he did finally come undone inside you, your energy was completely drained, body shaking beneath his. You were both drenched in sweat and breathing hard – but every second had been worth it – and your body was singing from every single high you were still on. You couldn’t be sure you were even down from the first yet. You weren’t sure if your mental note should be: we should really do this again, or, we really should never do this again! So you’d put a pin in it for now, far too tired to do more than sift your fingers through his hair as he lay quietly on your chest listening to your heartbeat. Whatever that decision would be, you couldn’t help thinking on the fact that you wanted this more often, you would keep Andrew here if you could… If you thought that was ever possible. One day you’d work up the nerve to broach him moving in, for now you lay still and quiet. Now wasn’t the time… Now you just wanted to get lost in the way he made you feel. ** You had barely left the bed all weekend, if only to shower. (Which hardly ever turned out as innocent as it sounded). Usually exhausted, but hardly something to worry about. Andrew took good care of you. But he really had worn you out and after he’d set you on the sofa, so that he could change your sheets and tidy up, Andrew returned to your sleeping form. He tilted his head to watch you; remnants of that afterglow remained, smile on your face as your body curled up. Although you were tired you looked content, no worries.  Exactly how Andrew wished he could keep you. You were with him though, so that certainly wasn’t easy. He stooped, arms under your body as he pulled you into him. You groaned gently as he tipped you, head against his chest. Andrew gave pause again as you immediately sought the warmth of his body with a sleepy hum. His head gave an involuntary little shake as he carried you back to your bedroom. Depositing you back on your bed to curl up once more, Andrew stopped in the doorway only to make sure you had settled, before he closed the door on you and continued his tidying. *** Andrew thought about simply leaving, maybe it would have calmed down at home, maybe he could find somewhere else to lay low… But, although you’d talked this weekend you’d never quite broached the subject of why he was here. It wasn’t something important to you, he supposed, it wasn’t something you’d ask probably because usually you’d get a blunt answer. You didn’t need to know. And yet maybe this time you did. You were still sleeping when he re-entered your bedroom, and Andrew settled on the bed to watch you this time. However, your body didn’t stir, as it had when he’d arrived; you were relaxed and peaceful. Andrew knew you enough to know that you slept pretty light usually, but you seemed a lot deeper in this time around. He was right, you were exhausted. Through good things, at least. He placed his fingers gently to your neck, searching for the run of your pulse… when he found it Andrew applied increasing pressure, it changed under his fingertips; manipulated by his exertion on you – but when he did this, he could feel it stronger. That was your life under his fingertips; something that he could so easily take from you. And that thought almost scared him, you walked a razors edge - balanced constantly - and yet never seemed to let it faze you. You stood up to him without fear that he could turn around and kill you, even though Andrew knew how aware you were of that possibility. Andrew supposed you just never let it cross your mind. That you wouldn’t allow yourself to believe that your relationship could ever end that way. He would keep it to himself, of course, but Andrew had an uneasy feeling this relationship would only end when one of you was dead. Uncomfortable with the applied pressure, your body woke you; Andrew withdrew his hand fascinated with the way you took on more air as you awoke. It really would be that easy… You stretched slowly and turned to him, “Oh… my god. I-” you glanced to the clock, “…I’m sorry.” “You needed it.” Andrew gave a nonchalant shrug. “I thought you might leave.” “I considered it.” He was still being blunt, you weren’t all that sure Andrew would recognise the difference and let you down softly: “…I might need to overstay my welcome.” You pulled yourself up, taking his hand in yours, “You are always welcome here. What happened?” He would take his leave, if there wasn’t a reason he couldn’t return home. “You know.” “The same as before? So the police are after you?” You said it with an undertone of ‘I told you so’. “Appears that way.” “And you’re gonna tell me what it’s about?” That was a rare event. “…I told you.” He indicated, “But-” and shuffling over to his things he presented you with a large polished wooden box. You were immediately unsure you were going to like this, and opened the lid cautiously, only at the last second realising now your fingerprints were on this thing. ‘David would scream at me!’ You blew out a breath at the contents, unable to quite raise your eyes to his. The entire box was filled with drugs, of various types, surely you couldn’t name them all, but pills, needles and powder were all present in various shapes and colours. Spoils of war? The darker patches of brown you could see around the edges of the box were saying blood to you. You were silent for a long while, before you said the first thing you could really think of, “This... is a lot.” A lot for me. “I know.” You weren’t sure he let your sentence settle enough for him to really know. You became sad for a minute, fingers dancing across the surface of the box as you closed it, unsure of what to do. What you were supposed to do with this information now. Andrew continued, deciding to take the leap of: “I can’t be what you want me to be.” You raised your head, with a blink and looked at him; clear and true, dead in the eye: “I don’t want you to be anything.” You had never wanted him to be anything, you knew exactly who he was. “You might be what they say you are, Andrew.” Not that you would know, being so out of the loop. But you’d seen enough, in your opinion far too much, “But that is not ALL you are.” I know you... I. Know. You. You could think of nothing else than to gather him to you, you didn’t care if he reciprocated or not – it was something you needed to do. Even if it was only for yourself. You buried your head in his shoulder, lacing yours fingers with his. Andrew wasn’t looking at you, he wasn’t even really giving you anything back. But he wasn’t pulling away from you either – and that was just as important. You rubbed his arm affectionately, running up to his collar. Those blue eyes trailed to yours; and you held him there. Your voice was gentle, voicing the only thing that really mattered to you in this moment – his own safety. “Stay as long as you need, we’ll get through this, we always do.”

You always would.

---

Thank yoooooou for reading! 💙💜

[lightsupinthenorth]

Harringrove teachers AU part 3

Part 1 - Part 2 

Thank you to everyone who read, liked and/or reblogged the previous parts. Also, the people who said something nice in the tags or in reactions own my heart. Just thought you should know ;) <3 

Tag list: @twoprettyboys, @inkedplume​, @marianaosborne​, @liglitterbug​, @hmg621 @spreckle @goldenweatherharringrove @yikesharringrove @yogurtfordinner @wingedbears @charlotte-frey @hargrovesharrington​

If anyone wants to be added to or taken off the tag list for the future posts of this AU, let me know ;)

I hope the tags are working because I recently had some trouble with them (ah, Tumblr is a mess). 

I was planning on keeping the chapters short but every part has been longer than the last so far ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (then again, it’s still pretty short so I guess it’s fine ^^). 

I’ll stop rambling now.

*

Billy didn’t know how he had ended up in this situation, this situation being Steve and he making out in the otherwise empty teachers’ lounge, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He wanted to keep Steve’s soft lips on his forever. Sadly, he didn’t get his way: there was a loud bang, and suddenly Steve’s lips were gone. Steve was gone too, as well as the teachers’ lounge. Billy woke up at home, in his bed, hard as a rock in the basket-ball shorts he was wearing as pajamas.

Great, he got an erection just from dreaming he and Steve were kissing. What was he? A teenager? That was pathetic.

Billy was considering rubbing one out, despite the embarrassment, but there was another loud bang that made him remember why he had woken up in the first place.

What the fuck was happening this early on a Saturday?

Billy instantly worried Max had fallen or, worse, that someone had broken into the flat and would hurt her (highly improbable in such a small town, but Billy wasn’t alert enough to be logical). The concern killed his arousal in two seconds tops. He shot up from bed and exited his bedroom in a hurry.

He found Max in their open kitchen, mixing what appeared to be pancakes ingredients.

“What was that noise?” He asked, in lieu of a greeting.  

“I dropped the pan. Sorry.”

“There were two noises.”

“I dropped the mixing bowl too. Let me live! It’s your fault, you stored both these things on the highest shelf” Max complained.

“Hey, no need for a defense, I’m not accusing you. I was just worried, shitbird.”

“Oh… well, I’m okay.”

“And you’re making pancakes, so I’m certainly not going to complain.” Billy added.

“Who told you I was making some for you?”

Billy pouted, even though he knew Max was bluffing. He could see the amount of batter in the mixing bowl. She had quite an appetite, but there was no way she’d be able to eat all of that on her own.

“So mean, so early in the morning.”

“What can I say, I love messing with you.”  

Paradoxically, Billy was happy that she did. When they had first met, he’d been a perpetually angry teenager, and teeny tiny Max had done everything she could to stay out of his way. Once Susan had announced she was ill, though, Billy had tried his hardest to be the brother Max deserved. After Susan’s death, Billy had looked after Max and kept her safe from his father until he had turned legal. He had then fought to get Max away from Neil and had obtained full custody of her.  

It had been hard to balance getting his degree, working part-time jobs, and taking care of Max. Even more so with Neil trying to steer trouble every now and again. But they had made it out alright, in the hand, and Billy didn’t regret a second of it.

“Sit your ass down.” Max said as she turned the stove on.

“Oh no, no way. You ‘sit your ass down’. I’ll take it from here.”

Max was good at finding the best recipes and at mixing ingredients, but the cooking process was another thing entirely: she had nearly burned the kitchen down almost every time she had tried using the oven or the stove. Her cooking privileges had been revoked after the fifth time.

“Ugh, fine.”

Billy had two plates full on pancakes in no time. He put one in front of Max and went to sit down with his own on the other side of the table. The second his ass touched his chair, Max asked:

“So, you have plans with Steve and Robin this afternoon?”

Billy frowned.

“First of all, it’s Mrs. Buckley and Mr. Harrington for you”, he started, just to get on her nerves (he didn’t give a fuck how she called her teachers), “and second, how do you know that?”

Max arched an eyebrow.

“You literally talked about it with Steve right in front of me yesterday”, she said, ignoring Billy’s reprimand (no surprise, there).

“Oh… right… I did.”

Truthfully, Billy had stopped paying attention to Max and El the second he had laid eyes on Steve and the dumb spot of blue paint that had been resting on his cheek as if it had any right to.

“So, what are you guys going to do?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re going to grade papers.”

“Well, that’s exciting.”

Her sarcasm was off the charts.

“Tell me about it”, Billy mumbled, around a mouthful of pancake.

“Ew, gross.”

Billy stuffed even more pancake into his mouth, in defiance, before he spoke again:

“So, Art club, uh? What’s up with that?”

They hadn’t had an opportunity to talk about it the day before, because Friday night was movie night, and they had eaten dinner in front of the tv. Plus, Billy would have been too distracted to hold a conversation (Steve hadn’t left his mind).

“Steve said I should come. He noticed I haven’t been speaking to a lot of people, and he said it might help to do an activity in a smaller group…” Max wasn’t looking at Billy as she explained.

“Anyway, I think he was right. He’s the best!” She beamed as she said it, finally looking up from her slowly but surely diminishing pile of pancakes.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

Billy was glad, really. He was also a bit frustrated that Steve had managed to talk to Max about making friends, when Billy hadn’t known how to bring it up without offending her, but he wasn’t petty enough to show he had a problem with it. Even if Max calling Steve “the best” was treason of the highest order, Billy just wanted her to be happy. If Steve’s intervention helped more than Billy himself could, then so be it.

They finished breakfast, got ready for the day and then went grocery shopping. As they got back to the flat, Max went to her room to chill, and Billy read for a while before he started preparing lunch. Keeping busy distracted him from thinking about seeing Steve in the afternoon. Well, he didn’t think about it too much, at least.

-

When Billy made his way into the coffee shop, Steve and Robin were already seated, talking animatedly… in another language.

“Hi. Was that Italian?”

They must not have noticed him approaching, because as soon as he greeted them, they stopped talking, and Steve looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Hey Billy”, Robin said, “as a matter of fact, it was.”

“Don’t you teach French and Spanish?”

Billy was perplexed.

“I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t speak Italian.”

“It figures”, Billy shrugged.

He wanted to ask Steve where he had learnt Italian, because it intrigued him. However, he chose not to. He didn’t want to talk to him unless it was necessary. It’d be better for everyone if they had the bare minimum of interactions together, surely.

“Are these new piercings?” Robin asked, gesturing toward his ears.

“Uh, no. I’ve had them for a long time. I just don’t wear them at school.”

“Well, you should. They look really cool, and I’m sure no one would have anything to say about it.”

Billy stared at Steve pointedly, but Steve looked away as soon as he caught his gaze.

“I’ll think about it.” Billy finally said.

Steve and Robin already had their orders, so Billy took his wallet from his bag and went to the counter. He glanced at the display case and eyed the cherry pie with envy, but decided against it. After this morning’s pancakes, it wouldn’t be reasonable. Plus, he hadn’t hit the gym in a few days. He had to start indulging less if he wanted to stay in shape. He went for a simple black coffee. As the burly man behind the counter, whom Billy guessed to be Benny, asked him if he wanted anything else, Billy nearly surrendered, but he powered through. He handed Benny a ten-dollar bill and put the change he was given in one of his pockets.

When Billy went back to their table with his cup of coffee, Steve was blowing on his cup of steaming hot tea. Billy’s eyes caught on the ‘o’ shape of Steve’s lips, which reminded him of his dream. He averted his eyes, praying to God he wasn’t blushing, now that he couldn’t hide it behind his tan anymore (screw Hawkins, Indiana).

As Billy sat down, he noticed Steve had a piece of the pie he’d been eyeing. Not fair. He nearly started pouting but caught himself. After all, his pie-less state was his own fault. Why did he have to be reasonable?

Billy took his pen and the essays he had to grade out of his backpack to give himself something to focus on. But then Steve started eating. And he moaned. Quite obscenely.

“Mh, this is so good. Benny is a magician. You guys want a bite?”

Billy really wanted to say yes, not only because he wanted pie, but because Steve was the one offering. It would have been weird, though? Right?

“No thanks” he ended up saying. What a hard thing to say.

Robin had no such qualms. She needn’t have, since she and Steve were actually friends. Not only did she get to experience Steve warmth and kindness, she also got a bite of his pie. Did she even know how lucky she was?

Billy got into his grading. And he was already past the no-pouting stage of the afternoon. It sucked to be him, sometimes.

“You should probably wait for Steve to finish eating… and drinking too, to be honest, before you put your students’ paper on the table. That man is a disaster.”

Billy had to admit Robin was right. He ate lunch with Steve on a regular basis, and had therefore seen him spill a bunch of things on himself. Thankfully, nothing he had ever spilled had reached Billy, so they were probably safe.

“Oh come on! We’re on opposite ends of the table.” Steve objected.

“I know, but I’m sure you’d find a way.”

Steve scoffed but didn’t try to argue his case any further. He looked adorably ruffled when Robin laughed at his expanse.

They didn’t say anything more for a while, as they were finally doing what they had come here to do. At some point, though, Robin brought up a point one of her students had made about the French translation of “Newspeak” in George Orwell’s 1984, which led her and Billy to launch a discussion about the novel.

Steve offered no input whatsoever, but he had stopped grading and had been staring at them for five minutes straight.

It was making Billy’s skin itch.

At some point, he couldn’t take it anymore and asked:

“What’s your opinion Steve?”

“Uh… I… I don’t really have one.” He stammered, caught off guard.

“How come?”

“I, uh, I haven’t actually read the book.”

“Oh. Well, you should. It’s an amazing book.”

Steve fidgeted with his red pen, repeatedly taking the cap off and then putting it back on.

“Uh… I don’t know about that. It’s not really my thing.”

“How can you know it’s not your thing if you haven’t read it?” Billy asked, a tad defensively.

“I didn’t mean the book… I meant, reading.”

Steve bit his lower lip.

“Why not? Is that beneath a math buff such as yourself, or something?” Billy’s tone had become hostile.

And, by pulling accusations out of his ass like that, he had gone from defensive to straight up aggressive.

“No. ‘course not… It’s just… reading is hard for me… I’m, uh… I’m dyslexic, so…” Steve trailed off, looking down at the pen he was seemingly holding in a vice grip.

Billy was speechless with shame and regret, as Steve offered a wobbly smile and said: “I’m gonna… go get some more tea”, before leaving the table.

Billy stared at his retreating form before he turned to Robin and found her glaring at him. If he could have felt worse than he already did, he would have.

“So… should I go apologize right now or should I leave him alone and apologize later?”

Teenage Billy would have probably not apologized at all, but present-time Billy knew better. He felt like the biggest jerk.

“I’d say, go for it.”

Billy followed Robin’s advice and, with knots in his stomach, he went to Steve, who was waiting for his tea behind the counter.

“Steve, man… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay…” Steve said, but his eyes didn’t leave his own shoes.

That wouldn’t do. Billy had made Steve feel shitty, and he would make it better if it were the last thing he did.

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Billy had let his frustration with Steve get the better of him, and that was unacceptable. Steve was not particularly nice to him, so what? It wasn’t a reason to be outright mean to the guy.

“Really, it’s no big deal… It’s not like it’s a secret… my dyslexia, I mean.”

“Yeah, but you obviously didn’t want to share this piece of info with me, and I should have dropped it.”

“I just… I was afraid you’d find me stupid… But you probably thought I was stupid already, anyway… what with me never having anything interesting to say when Robin and you talk about literature.”

“Hey, I don’t…”

Benny placed Steve’s cup of tea on the counter, cutting Billy mid-sentence.

“It’s on me”, Billy said, fishing his five-dollar bill of change out of his jean’s back pocket and handing it to Benny.

“You didn’t have to.”

Was Steve blushing or was it a trick of the light?

“I want to make it up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up for, but thanks.”

Steve grabbed his cup of tea and was going to go back to their table, but Billy held him back.

“Wait… I want you to know I don’t find you stupid, okay? I know I’m kind of a jackass, but not enough of one to actually think dyslexic people are stupid.”

“Good to know”, Steve replied.

“So, are we good?”

“I told you, we are.” Steve assured, smiling brighter than he had ever smiled at Billy before.

The knots in Billy’s stomach loosened, and his heart filled with warmth. So that was how it felt, when Steve’s sunshine fell upon you? Billy couldn’t wait to experience that feeling again.

“We should get back to Robin.”

“We should” Billy echoed, before following Steve, awestruck.

[orwocolor]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Gwilym shows up in your bookstore to apologise but there still might be more obstacles on your way to happiness.

Author’s Note: And another sprinkle of angst so that chapter six doesn’t feel so lonely. Only one more chapter and an epilogue remain, so keep an eye out for those! Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym​.

Dragging your feet, you crash on your sofa, a floral pattern of one of the walls spinning around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, but as you lose the point of focus, you sense a rise of, so far, the most powerful wave of nausea. You fight the feeling and instead fix your gaze on one of the paintings decorating the living room.

Breathe in.

And breathe out.

You should not have drunk that much. But Jane and Charlotte were unstoppable and admittedly, you needed it. After a couple of drinks, you actually started having fun. Daniel turned out to be a very pleasant companion with a taste for slightly dry humour that, partially due to your inebriated state, made you burst in laughter multiple times during the party.

Oh god, you are going to hate yourself so much tomorrow.

Once it seems the whole world will not tilt again and toss you on your side, you brave a few steps into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. Gulping it down, you can already feel its beneficial effects, which are further enhanced when you press the cold glass against your forehead. You serve yourself another drink and with each sip, you begin to trust your legs again.

You release a content sigh as a soft breeze and smell of rain touch your cheeks when you open the windows; it truly does a world of good. Grabbing yourself two slices of toast bread, you settle onto the sofa, open your laptop and click on a random video for you to watch while you wait to get better before you go to bed. If you lay down right now, you’re sure you would throw up.

With an occasional chuckle leaving your lips as you listen rather than watch a stand-up show, you almost miss a soft, hesitant knock on your door. Almost. Your fingers hover above the keyboard as you contemplate pausing the video. If you press the space key right now, there will be no doubt you’ve heard the knocking.

Slowly retracting your hand back to your side, you let the comedian continue in her sketch and you just wait. It probably takes only a minute, but for you, it’s an eternity before you can hear Gwil shut the door to his flat behind him.

You release a breath you have not realised you were holding and hide your face in your palms.

You are not in a state to face him right now. You need some time. And most importantly, you need to put some space between you, otherwise you’re going to care way too much, and you are not in the position of allowing yourself feelings of that sort.

~

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be back in a minute, just let me attend to this young lady,” you throw behind your shoulder as you rush to the cash desk and leave a customer in the historical section.

“Maybe I can be of service,” Mr Dean appears next to the customer’s shoulder, who jumps a bit, not expecting someone else, and you send a grateful glance to your friend. You knew you could count on him. Whenever he’s in a good mood, he loves to entertain people in the bookshop and no matter the topic or genre they’re looking for, he turns into an expert, gladly offering recommendations.

You hide a smile when you notice Mr Dean’s eyes sparkling as the man mentions the French revolution and he starts guiding him to the needed section.

“Here you go,” you hand the young woman her bag and say your goodbyes, a shrilling sound of chimes hanging at the entrance door announcing her departure.

While you bend down and disappear behind the till to throw away the receipt the woman didn’t want, the chimes sound again, and you emerge from behind the cash desk.

No.

He’s there, right in front of you, the surprise written in his face matching yours.

“Hello,” Gwil says softly and for a split of a second, you forget to breathe.

You’ve managed to avoid him the whole weekend by some miracle, although, admittedly, on one occasion, when you were forced out of your flat to do grocery shopping, you spotted him at the entrance door when you made a turn to your street. At that moment, you remembered you wanted to check something on your phone, and after fiddling with it long enough for Gwil to get home, you plucked up the courage to do the same.

You assured yourself you just needed some time and space and by the time you would meet him, you would have known what to tell him.

Well, your past self can go screw herself because here you are with your tongue tied.

“Hi, Y/N!” Ben is on Gwil’s tail and greets you cheerfully, his hand raised in a wave.

“Hi,” you manage to blurt out, quite happy with yourself for not butchering the single syllable. It’s all about little victories, right?

“So, uh, I’ll go check some books I guess,” Ben breaks the silence when neither you nor Gwil seems to do so, and scurries farther into the store.

“I am so, so sorry, Y/N,” Gwil eventually breathes out and raises his lowered eyes. “I wish I could have a good reason for not showing up the other day and for copping out on you like that, but I just don’t. I…”

He looks around and bites his lips, looking for a way of how to finish his sentence in books-filled shelves.

You wait patiently because you have the feeling that there is something he needs to say, and it would be ill-advised to interrupt his thoughts.

“Okay, I’m probably already not in your good books, so why not make even a bigger twat of myself, eh.”

“Ha, in the good books. Get it? You’re in a bookshop,” you chuckle, your voice not as strong as you would like it to be.

“Yeah,” he replies, and the corners of his lips rise up slightly. Soon, his voice turns serious again. “Well, I went to that stupid audition and I just fucked it up. Yeah, there’s no better word for that. I fucked it up, big time. I tried to persuade them to give me another chance, I said I would do anything, and the production assistant surprised me. She promised me another audition if I went for a drink with her afterwards, and I… didn’t refuse.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, presumably the first one since he started explaining what had happened. “I wasn’t thinking, and when I realised I was supposed to be with you, it was too late.”

“You could have called me,” you say slowly, daring to meet his gaze.

“My phone was dead. I was fiddling with it so much while I was waiting for the audition. Was driving Ben absolutely crazy.”

“Can confirm!” Ben’s head peeps out from behind a shelf and quickly hides again when he spots both your and Gwil’s not so amused expressions.

“Still,” you start and shake away the trembling feeling that is creeping to your voice, “You could have come by later and explain all of that to me that night.”

By some miracle, it’s as if he senses the direction of your thoughts, and rushes to set the record straight, offering the absolution you haven’t, until now, realised you desperately craved.

“The moment it dawned on me what a jerk I was, I said my goodbyes and left. But it was too late, and I felt like such a prick, so I actually dropped in another pub and drank some more. Was so shit-faced I stayed at my brother’s ‘cause he lives in that area.”

A great weight is lifted from your shoulders and you can finally take a deep and long breath. You feel a smile tugging at the corners of your lips but Gwilym does not see it; he is avoiding your eyes, as mortification keeps surrounding his whole person.

“I am so, so sorry,” he repeats once again and the moment the words leave his lips, you forgive him.

Actually, you already have.

You are just about to tell him so when he finally finds the courage to look into your eyes as he reaches out and gently grasps your hands that have been resting on the counter.

“Please, can you forgive me?”

His thumbs are lightly stroking your skin and you cannot tear away your gaze from his beautiful blue eyes.

“Sir, I must ask you to leave right now!”

Wait, what?

It takes you a moment to become aware of where you are and what is happening. The bookshop, right. And as for what is going on…

“Sir, I won’t repeat myself, leave this building immediately!” Peter’s voice reaches such volume that every customer stops in their tracks, their curiosity taking the better of themselves.  

“I was only showing this young lad the historic section. I don’t reckon it’s a crime,” Mr Dean responds in his defence, which only infuriates Peter some more.

“You’re always just helping other customers, or browsing, or, God forbid, reading our books without paying a single penny for them. I want you gone. This is not a library!”

“Peter,” you say weakly, not capable of wrapping your head around it. He isn’t supposed to be here, otherwise you would have warned Mr Dean beforehand.

“Is that the Mr Dean you told me about?” Gwil whispers and it is only then when you notice your hands are still placed in his and his face is much closer to yours than you remember.

“Yes, I’m–” you start but Gwilym won’t let you finish the sentence.

“Trust me, darling. I’ll stop by at your place at around seven, okay?” he hastily says and places a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you at the till dumbfounded.

“Grandpa!” he greets joyfully and rushes to Mr Dean to give him a proper hug. “Have you found the book you told me about?”

Mr Dean shoots a glance your way before he replies. “Ah, I… Yes. Yes, yes, I did, give me a second.” You’re taken aback by his quick reaction because you have not moved from your spot, your jaw down, and you are pretty sure your arms are still stretched in front of you although Gwilym’s warm palms are no longer holding them. You fix your posture in an instant and clear your throat, at least trying to give the impression of having everything under control.

Although you are not particularly proud of yourself, you’re still doing better than Peter. He is just standing there, opening his mouth like fish as no words are leaving his lips.

Gwilym pretends he has only just noticed him and raises his eyebrows in make-believe innocence. “Is there any problem here?”

It takes a couple of moments before Peter gathers his bearings.

“I’m sorry, but this is your grandfather?” he finally finds his voice and points an accusatory finger at your dear friend.

“Yeah! He’s been wearing my ear off about this wonderful book he discovered here, so I’m here to get it for him. For his birthday, you know? Which is coming soon, isn’t that right, grandpa?”

“In a couple of days, actually,” Mr Dean confirms and nods his head seriously as if contemplating the fleetingness of time and existence.

“Urgh, I’m the worst grandson ever, really, looking for gifts this late, I should be ashamed of myself.” You are fascinated by Gwil’s acting; he doesn’t miss a beat and comes up with lies so quickly, all you can do is stare in astonishment. It’s not like anyone needs you right now because all customers are watching the scene unfold.

“Ah, got it!” The victorious announcement of Mr Dean makes Gwil turn on his heel and leave Peter behind.

“Wow, that’s really pretty! You weren’t lying about the photographs.” Gwil expertly inspects the pictures of various relics and nods, approvement and appreciation readable from his pursed lips. “Excellent! We’ll take it.” He closes the book in one swift motion and heads to your cash desk.

By this time, you have composed yourself enough to remember all the common niceties, and you are quite proud of your performance as you easily scan the book that you’ve seen cradled in Mr Dean’s palms many afternoons and punch the price into the card reader so that Gwil can pay.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you do not forget to ask and when your gaze meets Gwil, your heart starts beating so fast you almost can’t hear the answer.

“Oh yes, please, that is if we’re not bothering you.” Gwil’s smile lights up his whole face.

“No bother at all,” the corners of your lips rise in a matching smile and you procced to neatly wrap the book in a piece of brown paper, taking extra care to tie a dark blue ribbon around the package.

“Thank you so much, have a lovely day!” Gwilym places the book under his arm and leaves the shop, Mr Dean on his tail offers a wave and a wink that, hopefully, Peter cannot see.

Through the display window, you almost miss Gwil turning around and mouthing ‘see you tonight’ before he and Mr Dean disappear behind the corner. You almost burst into laughter when Ben suddenly emerges from behind the bookshelves and dashes after them.

You have got the feeling that Peter is mumbling something, but all you can think about is your lovely neighbour and the kiss he ever so gently placed on your cheek.

You resist the temptation to touch your face, wondering whether the imprint of Gwil’s lips can be found there, or whether the gesture is forever inscribed into your mind only.

But then, you finally register Peter’s words...

“I can’t believe it! And of all days he’s got to pick today and embarrass me in front of the buyers. God damn it!”

… and your smile freezes.

~

Buyers.

The sequence of syllables still sounds foreign and dangerous to your ears.

Buyers.

No matter how many times it rolls off your tongue, the word remains the same.

So that’s it. Peter’s made up his mind and he is going to sell the bookshop. And that leaves so many questions unanswered. The new owners, are they going to keep the staff, or do they plan to hire a new bunch of people? Is there even some certainty that they will not rebrand and establish a branch of a fast-food chain? It’s not like the city is flooded with them, right.

You feel the dizziness creeping up your neck as those thoughts swirl in your head, not permitting you a moment of peace. You almost crash into a passer-by, but thankfully you manage to keep yourself upright and the take-out bag with your late lunch intact in your hold.

Once you finally arrive home, you heat up the food you have brought with you and open your favourite book in a desperate attempt to diverge the direction of your thoughts.

You are torn between biting your nails from the uncertainty of your future career and halting in the story and daydreaming about Gwilym’s visit tonight. And with that mindset, you go about your day while you clean up, water plants, and dust your flat; you have been putting it off for ages.

Emerged in thoughts, you almost mishear the buzzing sound of the bell. You are wearing baggy trousers and an old t-shirt with stains God-knows from what. You have reckoned you’ve still got time to change before Gwil’s visit. Oh well, he has seen you at your worse.

However, your brows furrow as you step into the hall and catch a glimpse of the digital clock.

5.40 p.m.

Swinging the door open, you are met with no one. Another sound of the bell and the line on your forehead deepens.

“Hello,” you mutter when you press the intercom, and the static comes through.

“Y/N! Hi! Ready to go out and grab coffee with me?”

It takes a moment before the dots connect.

“Oh, Daniel, hi! I… erm… can you give me ten minutes?”

“Sure thing!”

The dash across your flat, from the door to the dresser, then to the bathroom and back to the hall could be considered a match to any Olympian’s winning sprint race, but it is too early after your accident and your ankle makes itself known. You grit your teeth and grab a purse, leaving your flat and hoping no appliances have stayed turned on.

How could you have forgotten?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Hi!” you greet breathlessly when you fly from the entrance door, and Daniel gives you a lopsided smile.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” No matter how hard you try not to give anything away, the blush on your cheeks betrays you. “Oh my God, you did!” Barking out a laugh, he lets you take a couple of deep breaths before you start walking down the street. “Maybe it should be you who’s gonna buy the coffee today.”

“Gladly,” you smile and spot a cosy café. For a split second, you consider taking him to Hazel’s, but then you imagine the soft hues of brown and gold against black and white background of your most beloved café. Your mind goes straight to the day you bumped into Gwil and Ben in there and you do not wish to stain that memory. Besides, this café is right behind the corner of your block of flats, which means you shouldn’t get stuck at some far-off place. “Actually, I owe you ‘cos I’ve got some plans at seven and I need to get home by then.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies hesitantly, and you bite your lips, feeling like an arse. Well, you can make it up for him by paying for the coffee, right?

~

You are trying. You are really, truly trying. Daniel is nice. Funny, smart, and knows all the iconic movie lines off pat, however, the moment you look into his eyes, you feel nothing, there is no bated breath, no heart beating fast. Nothing. And honestly, it seems you are not making a particularly good impression either. He takes notice of your constant checking the time on your phone, and when you catch yourself doing it for an umpteenth time, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter after a moment of silence, which you wish were a companionable one, but you are too fidgety.

“It’s fine, I get it,” Dan offers a sheepish smile, which you return. “Let’s get you back home, okay?”

The wind is chilling and light drizzle lands on your hair. As you walk down the street, you notice that Daniel is trying to gently hold your hand. It starts with your fingers brushing and you would dismiss it as an accidental touch but when his fingertips graze the back of your palm, you sense the intention in the gesture. You bring your hand up, brushing off a damp strand of hair and scratching the back of your neck so as not to give him another opportunity for touch.

Hoping this debacle is behind you now, you say your goodbyes and grab the door handle to your building. Oh, how foolish!

“I know you’re lost in thought today but it was a nice date and honestly, I’m not ready for it to end.” He gives you a smile and his eyes sparkle when you stop in your tracks and turn your head to face him.

His gaze drops down to your lips and you are (literally) taken aback by the movement to such extent that your body shoots away. In the process, you press your back to the doorbell panel and jump a bit, not expecting that kind of contact.

“Careful.” Daniel’s fingers find your waist to keep you upright. “I realise I might not be the man of your dreams, but I hope we can go for dinner next time.”

“I…” you start, unable to find the words that would not hurt him.

“No, don’t say anything,” he whispers, and it is only then when you realise his face has inched closer to yours. And then he presses his lips to yours, and you freeze at the spot.

Your eyelids do not tremble with emotion, neither do you melt into his touch. You just stand there, barely moving your lips and thinking that this guy just cannot take a hint. You might have been waving the ‘I am not interested’ flag right in front of his face and he still would be none the wiser.

When he finally lets go, your gaze is still fixed forward and you suck in your lips in a subconscious effort to prevent him from another attempt of a kiss. However, you catch a flicker of light in the corner of your eyes and without giving it a second thought you twist your neck, and your gaze falls into the entrance hall. The windowpane which reflected two figures kissing a moment ago turns transparent and reveals a figure standing inside.

He’s there, at the top of the staircase, taking you by surprise for a second time this day.

But this time, his eyes are hurt behind his glasses, a deep line is forming on his forehead, and it seems as if he’s rooted to the cold stone floor. Your heart is breaking at the sight of him and you know you must do anything within your power to atone for this moment because you never ever want to see such pain written in his face.

“Gwil,” you breathe out softly and bend down to escape Daniel’s embrace. Pushing the main door, you rush to your neighbour, your friend, your… “Gwil, this means nothing, I’m not –”

“My doorbell rang, and I was foolish enough to think you couldn’t wait until seven. I…” He is avoiding your gaze, his eyes roving round the hall. He brings his hands to his sides, but quickly finds out there are no pockets in his soft camel pleated trousers and so he clasps them together. When he bites his trembling lips, it is almost unbearable to keep your eyes on him, but you cannot look away either.

Then, his features harden, and it is probably worse than before as your stomach tightens.

“Goodbye.”

You almost miss the sound, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks, but Gwilym is already gone, his moccasins tapping against the cold tiles of the stairs. You fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and have a breakdown right here and now. All you do is simply turn around, every movement calculated so as not to make an unnecessary one. Daniel is still standing at the entrance, his eyebrows raised in the piqued curiosity of what has just occurred.

“I can’t go for another date with you. I’m sorry.”

But you don’t feel sorry at all, well, not sorry for him at least. Your thoughts have turned into a tangled ball of turmoil and indescribable emotions, which are hard to make sense of.

When you reach your floor, you stop in your tracks to your flat. You have thought you lost all the courage, but you muster some from deep inside and cross the hall to knock on his door with determination.

God knows how long you are standing there, you knock again, and again.

Nothing.

Not even a sign of hope.

Your heart skips a beat when you finally hear the creak of a door being open, but a lump forms in your throat instead when it dawns on you that it is not Gwil’s door but Mrs Thompson’s.

“Hello Mrs Thompson,” you greet meekly the slightly open door of the 3A flat and drag your feet to your home.

You do not bother taking off your shoes or clothes. Crushing straight into your bed, you finally give yourself the permission to let your emotions flow and cry yourself to sleep.

~

Taglist: @lv7867​, @spacedustmazzello​, @queenwouldyourathers​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @supernaturalee​, @queenlover05​, @geek-and-proud​, @chlobo6​, @mrsmazzello​, @timeandpixiedust​, @kerouacsroad​, @gwilsmainhoe​​

[hi-5-sunflower]

Saeed's intro

I did a post recently of the book's first chapter, which is Laura's introduction. However, since our other main protagonist, Saeed, doesn't come in until chapter seven, I'm jumping ahead to his intro to let the people of writeblr get to know this alchemist buddy a little bit 🙂

Length: 1,300 words

Summary: Saeed works on a potion to compete with his best friend for a permanent job as an alchemist.

Content warnings: Mention of illness. None others that I'm aware of (but please let me know if you think any need to be added!)

Saeed Azhari hardly saw where he was going as he made his way upstairs to the alchemy lab, his mind working like a colony of ants.

Stripewood bark has some anti-inflammatory properties, he thought, running a hand through his shaggy, overgrown hair. Might be a good addition to the sunleaf mixture.

The tiny lab was quiet when he arrived, and he took his preferred spot in the rear corner, close to the supply cupboard. He flipped open his pack to retrieve a stack of scribbled notes from inside before letting it drop at the foot of his stool.

A gray tabby cat leapt onto the long table to greet him, staring at him with huge green eyes.

“Hi, Quicksilver,” said Saeed.

He stroked the top of her head, and she responded with a purr, spinning around leisurely. Then he spent a few minutes absently gathering supplies for the day, considering the herb ratios for his potion. As he returned to his seat, the door swung open.

Tavi’s face was lit up in a broad grin as she strolled in. “Morning, Sai.”

“Hey. You’re in a good mood today.”

“Of course I am,” she said. “You do know what today is, don’t you?”

Saeed considered it, half panicking for a second that he’d forgotten her birthday. But no, that had been a few months ago. “Uh...sweetbread day in the dining hall?”

“No, silly.” She flopped her bag down onto her end of the table. “Today marks exactly one month until Emberhawk officially hires me.”

“Oh yeah,” said Saeed, his own lips quirking up. “Except I think you meant to say, until Emberhawk gives you the boot.”

“Ha!” Tavi casually tossed her burgundy braid back over her shoulder. “Honestly, you might want to spend today packing your bags. This thing is as good as done.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She was right about one thing anyway: the end of their year-long apprenticeship with Emberhawk Alchemy was rapidly approaching. At its end awaited a permanent, well-paying alchemist position with the company—but only one. Both of them had impressive achievements under their belts. The remaining question was which of them would come out on top.

Saeed pored over his notes for a few minutes as Tavi got settled. He’d been thinking about his current project—a cough remedy—nonstop, and he had some new ideas to try out.

Maybe a little more sunleaf this time. He shredded the herb by hand, staining his tawny fingers a yellowish green, and piled the foliage into his alembic. Fragrant vapors issued from the device as the mix simmered.

Most days, he and Tavi worked as lab assistants, running errands for the alchemy team, taking inventory, and performing repetitious production tasks. Today, however, was what they called a “free day”—a day off from their scheduled assignments, usually granted once or twice a week, in which they got to utilize this cramped little lab to conduct their own projects.

Simply put, these were the days that really counted. Here was the space in which they could prove their personal worth in potioncraft.

“How’s it going with the endurance tonic?” Saeed asked, his cheek resting on his palm while he waited for his concoction to distill.

“Could be better, actually,” said Tavi. “I had to scrap the recipe I was working on. We’re all out of lion blossom.” She rolled her eyes.

Saeed sympathized with that. Their limited access to materials was the one big stumbling block of the apprenticeship. Particularly with more expensive ingredients, they were allotted minimal amounts to work with, if any, so they had to ration carefully.

In fact, that was the primary challenge of his cough remedy project. Lyusk root was well-known to be highly effective for respiratory ailments—particularly this new, stubborn one, to which Saeed’s own brother had recently fallen victim—but there was never any of the root in their supply cupboard.

He’d just have to find an alternative.

And he would. One way or another.

Tavi stripped the husks off some chiba stalks, leaving green stains on her long fingers to match the ones on Saeed’s shorter human ones. As a member of the Jirian race, Tavi had a physique naturally built for arboreal life: remarkably long fingers and toes, effective for branch-gripping, and a prehensile simian tail. Their skin came in an array of grays, and Tavi’s complexion was a pale shade reminiscent of a dawn sky. Her burgundy hair was bound, like most days, into a single plait hanging down her back.

Saeed returned his attention to his notes for another quick review, then stood up and made for the supply cupboard again.

The shelves of the narrow closet were lined with jars and sacks of herbs, minerals, and brightly colored concentrates. Just standing in here, breathing in the cacophony of herbal scents, sent a thrill through his veins. Despite their complaints about the limits upon them, they still had a good variety of ingredients to experiment with.

Now, to find that stripewood. The S’s were on the lower shelves, which was convenient, as Saeed was rather short. There you are. He plucked a jar off the shelf. Curls of shredded brown bark filled it halfway, and Saeed unscrewed the lid, gingerly extracting a few pieces.

He closed his palm around them, focusing. In this dead and dried form, there was only a trace of its original life energy left within it, but it was there, and he could feel it if he really concentrated. He let his mind go quiet, let the little shavings tell him what their purpose was.

Its essence, once brought out, would provide a mild soothing effect, but without numbing. Just what I need. He sent a wave of gratitude to the bark before heading back to the table to put it to use.

In his peripheral vision, Tavi was scribbling away, making that face she always did when she was deep in her tasks, with her eyebrows furrowed and the end of her tongue sticking out. He set to work, smiling to himself.

Starting with their first alchemy lesson when they were just eleven years old, the two of them had shared a fascination for potion making, matched only by their drive to outdo one another every step of the way. They had something of a code between them: no cheating, no sabotage, and no being a sore loser. Even as teens, they’d adhered to that code strictly.

Most of the time, anyway.

Saeed used a mortar and pestle to grind the stripewood bark into a coarse powder before stirring it into the sunleaf mixture. Then he shuffled through his notes again, resenting the fact that he could barely read his own handwriting.

“Sai,” said Tavi, nodding toward his equipment, “let me borrow that quarterspoon really quick.”

He slid the little measuring scoop down the table to her.

“Thanks.”

They spoke little over the course of the next few hours, and Tavi wrapped up her day by transferring her potion-in-progress into a brass storage urn. Saeed did the same with his own product. Soon he’d need to find time to run safety testing on the potion, but he felt good about what he’d come up with today. He hummed a little tune as he set to putting away supplies.

“I see that cocky look on your face,” said Tavi, smirking as she came up beside him.

Saeed shot her a look of feigned indignance. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you.” Tavi gave him a playful shove. “Don’t you worry, I’ve still got some good ideas to try out.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Saeed. They walked back to the table together, and as Saeed prepared to pack up, he noticed a few greenish potion droplets on his notes. The ink smudged as he tried to wipe it dry.

We’ll see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! And as usual, here's the tumblr link to the book's full intro for anybody new to the story!

You can also buy a copy for 99 cents (USD)!

Tag list: @thelaughingstag @a-completely-normal-writer

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  Oh my gosh i am so so so so happy that youre finally writing for the Batfam!!!! Ive been following you for awhile now and I'm glad that youve fell into the rabbit hole that is thos crazy family😂 For a prompt, how about Jason and Dick taking care of each other at home when theyre both in varying degrees of sick? Your last fic was amazing and I love your group writing. Have a great day

I’m glad you like my group writing because I STRUGGLE to write more than one person honestly, lol

Jason’s dragging his feet around the small convenience store, too tired to move, his muscles melting to hot, thick goo. He’s been fighting a cold for the better half of two days now, having picked one up from a sick kid taking residence in one of his shelters, and normally, he’d isolate himself in one of his safe houses for a few days to sleep off the cold, but with his shelters expanding outside of Gotham to Bludhaven, he’s too busy interviewing for team leaders and security to temporarily remove himself from the world.

Instead, he’s reduced to a sniffling, shivery mess of a man who’s wandering a convenience store in Bludhaven at 1 AM. His head is hot and feeling like it’s stuffed to the brim with cotton. His concentration is waning under the thick, pounding pressure in his head, slowing his thoughts down to basic, one-word sentences as he scans the shelf for medicine, hoping for a concoction that will kick this cold square in the ass.

“Jason?”

Jason was willingly taking his time, prolonging the inevitable bike ride back to Gotham; however, the sudden, incredibly unwanted, presence of one pesky bird tightens his muscles and clears his head enough to move faster.

“Dick,” Jason says, keeping his eyes glued to the shelf. “What a pleasant surprise,” he adds flatly, groaning when he spots Dick, with his badge on full display, walking toward him through his peripherals.

“What are you doing in Bludhaven?”

Jason sighs deep in his throat, the breathing coming off as a muted growl. He grabs a bottle of fever reducers and snags a few other bottles of varying medicines before he turns toward Dick. “Business.”

Dick cocks his head to the side, a small frown playing at his lips. “What business?”

“I’m sorry,” Jason bites out, “is this an interrogation, Officer Grayson?” His eyes find Dick’s badge, sharp, narrow, and incredibly annoyed.

Dick deflates before him, pocketing his badge with a few coughs. “No, sorry. Habit. Will you be here long?”

“I was just leaving,” Jason grumbles, though the second he turns on his heel, his body decides to remind him of the fucking fever he’s been running, and he stumbles, vision tunneling for a breath of a moment but just enough to have Dick wrapping quick hands around his arms to steady him.

“Woah, Jay, you okay?” Dick’s pulling Jason back to him, guiding him around until they are facing, and Jason can’t fight off the annoyingly strong grip, his body too weak under the weight of this persistent cold.

“Peachy,” he gripes out, jaw clenched tightly, and he holds Dick’s narrow, worried gaze with his own tight one, only moving to slap Dick’s hand away before Dick can press a palm to his forehead.

“Jason.”

“Dick Brain,” Jason sighs, shoulders slumping. “You can save the puppy dog look for one of the other bats. I’m fine.”

“You’re sick,” Dick presses, following Jason to the cash register.

“Yep,” Jason mutters, dropping the medicine bottles onto the counter. “It happens.” Dick muffles a few coughs behind him, and he peers over his shoulder, arching one brow.

“Bug going around the office,” Dick explains, clearing his throat. “Are you driving back to Gotham?” He follows Jason out of the store, and Jason sighs long and loud, free hand dropping to his bike seat.

“That’s the plan.”

“Why don’t you come back to mine? Just for the night. You look terrible.” Dick means every word, the instinctive pull of older brother is bleeding into his voice. Jason’s pale before him, but even with the dull, flickering street light serving as the only source of light before them, he can still see two splashes or unnatural red coloring Jason’s cheeks.

“And watch you stumble around trying to play nursemaid? Not exactly on my list of things to do.” Jason thumbs at his bike helmet, wishing he could will this conversation to end faster.

“Jay, I don’t think riding back to Gotham in your condition is a good idea.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason slips his helmet over his head and swings his leg over his bike, tucking the pill bottles into his jacket pockets. “Good thing bad ideas are kinda my forte.” He twists his key into the ignition, revving his bike loudly. “Later Golden Boy. Go get some rest. The sickly pale look doesn’t suit you.” He shoots forward, probably a little too fast, but the quicker he can forget about this small encounter, the better.

***

Jason makes it ten minutes outside of Bludhaven before he turns around, underestimating the ill affects his fever has on his vision. After almost flipping into a ditch three separate times when his vision frayed gray, he slows his bike into a U-Turn and starts toward the damn address etched in his brain, something he’s tried to forget but actively cannot.

It takes another fifteen minutes until he’s pulling up to Dick’s apartment and another ten to climb on jello legs up the two flights of stairs to Dick’s door. Forgetting it’s nearing 2 AM, he curls his hand into a fist and bangs against the door.

He hears coughing on the other end, growing louder, and then the door’s pulled open, and a gun’s pointed at his face.

Dick blinks slowly, eyes still riddled with sleep but hand frighteningly steady around the gun.

“Jason?”

“How come when I even look at a gun, I get lectured, but you have a guest stare down a barrel?”

Dick’s hand falls, clicking the safety of the gun on its way down. “Shit, sorry.” Frowning, he drags his gaze across Jason’s face. “You must really feel like crap if you’re actually taking my offer.”

Jason groans and shoves past Dick, legs wobbly but determined to get to the couch before he crumbles to the floor. “I figured your couch would be just a little better than a fucking ditch.” He sags against the couch, head rolling back and eyes fluttering closed, only opening when a palm brushes across his forehead.

“Shit, Jay, you’re really burning up.”

Jason feels the couch dip beside him, and he groans low in his throat, coughing weakly. “Just a cold.”

“You really believe that?” Dick sighs, nudging Jason with his elbow until Jason’s curling onto his side, fully reclined on the couch. He reaches for a blanket draped across the back of the couch and tucks it around Jason, worry spiking when Jason doesn’t try and stop him.

“No,” Jason says flatly, “but I do believe that you should shut the fuck up.”

“Well you’re still an ass, so I guess that means you aren’t dying.”

“Again,” Jason grumbles, succumbing, already, to the thick layer of fatigue coating him.

Wincing, Dick slips to his feet, arms wrapping around himself. “Sorry, I...”

“‘S fine,” Jason slurs, one eye slitting open. “Go sleep or some shit. You look like hell.” He nods off, face relaxing, and Dick lingers for a long minute, just watching, an older brother thing, he guesses. 

He only breaks his gaze when a dull cramp twists in his stomach, and he shuffles to his room, closing his door and flopping onto his bed.

***

Jason’s dreams are fitful, filled with hot, suffocating memories of the Joker, the Lazarus Pit, green hair turning toward green sparks of rage that dwell within him. He’s not sure what wakes him, but he’s thankful for it, his heart rapid fire in his chest, his clothes sticky and damp with sweat. He finds a now warm cloth on his forehead, and he pulls it off, frowning, mind thick and hazy.

He hears a loud gag and winces, pulling a slow gaze to the hallway and spotting the bathroom door closed. He’s even slower to his feet, his head feeling simultaneously too heavy and too light as he stumbles across the room and to the hall, stopping at the bathroom door. It’s gone quiet on the other side, too quiet. He knocks, swallowing back a spike of tension.

“Yo, Golden Boy. You still alive?”

He can hear ragged breathing, but then he hears a thump, and his heart threatens to climb up his throat. “Dick?” he tries, knocking again. Every inch of him feels wrong when he still doesn’t get an answer, and he takes a few steps back and slams his foot high into the door, wood cracking under the force as the door flies open.

Dick’s pulling himself up to his feet, bracing himself against the edge of the sink. He pulls a too pale face over his shoulder, frowning. “The door was unlocked.”

“You didn’t answer,” Jason growls, stepping into the room, grimacing at the toilet.

“Do you normally not try doorknobs first?”

“What kind of a brother would I be if I didn’t dramatically bust in to save you?”

Dick’s face falls to pure, vulnerable surprise, and Jason groans, rubbing at his temples as he shoves Dick to the edge of the tub to fill a glass of water for him.

“Fuck, I said the sacred word, and now you’re short circuiting.” His tone is flat as he offers the glass of water to Dick, who absently takes it, still slack jaw and wide eyed.

“You never say brother.”

“Easy slip up. Just means I’ve been hanging around you too long already.” He kicks Dick’s foot lightly. “Drink.”

Dick sips the water, the adrenaline subsiding until he’s only shivering slightly.

“Have you been throwing up? Before this?”

Dick shakes his head. “New development.” He eyes Jason’s damp face, cheeks still too red for his liking. “How’s the fever? I thought I was going to have to drag you to the hospital a couple of hours ago.”

Jason can still feel heat under his finger tips. He’s still exhausted, but his mind is a fraction clearer, so he takes that as a good sign he’s on the mend, if only slightly. “Still pretty high, but it’s going down.” 

“Good,” Dick breathes, relief smoothing across his worn features. “I was worried.”

“Ugh, stop before I throw up next.” Jason drags out each word, hunching over to smooth a palm across Dick’s forehead, finding it warm to the touch but not alarmingly so. “Finish the water then go back to bed.” He turns to leave, wincing at the damaged door.

“I’ll fix this,” he mutters, and Dick laughs lightly, falling into a few coughs.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[thewritingstar]

Falling Back to You

Pairing: Blossick (Blossom x Brick, Reds)

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

Soft, sweet reds because I've been feeling angsty lately and needed a breather lol. Sorry to everyone who follows me for other fandoms, I promise Ill write more for FT (you can always leave asks lol)

Tag List: @over-under-through1 @shellielyzabeth (if you want to be on my tag list, you can find the post or dm me)

I hope you enjoy. This has been sitting in my drafts for a few months and decided to just finish it lol. 

---

“I’m surprised you don’t have your hat on.” A voice came from behind him. But not just any voice. The moment the first word left those lips, the hair on his neck stood up and sent a familiar chill down his back. It was a voice that he knew well, could distinguish in a crowd of a thousand voices, it was the equivalent of his favorite song or the taste of the sweetest thing to melt in your mouth.

“Blossom.” He said under his breath but her super hearing picked it up.

She thought she was prepared to see him, after all its been two years. That’s enough time to heal, right? But she prayed that he didn’t hear the small gasp that escaped her lips as he turned. That crisp dark red suit fit him like a glove and she spotted him from a mile away in that signature color. He looked good in red.

“Hi.” She managed to say smoothly as he took a step towards her. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked with a reluctant tone. It was only the most important night of his life. The one where he would be promoted to the head of the department, the one he busted his ass off from the ground up. Not to mention an award for a case he worked on last year. 

She shrugged and bit her lip. “My boss is here and I have to write a report for him.” Then added. “And I wasn’t going to miss the achievement you have been talking about for literal years.” She said shyly. “I promised after all.” 

And she did. Back when they had dated all those years ago. Blossom was by his side as he worked from being an assistant at the law firm to one of the most promising lawyers, and now the highest ranked lawyer, but she missed the last part. Unfortunately. 

He studied his ass off and she did too, both of them determined to outshine anyone in their paths, maybe that why they chose different companies. They had traded their childhood rivalry for a path of lust and love, a simple competition would not be throwing them down that path. In fact their jobs were the reason they weren’t together.

“You remembered.” He said under his breath. She heard it, of course. 

She tapped her foot and looked around before giving a puzzling look. “Wheres Jasmine?” It pained her to ask. 

Jasmine. Oh yes, his girlfriend who couldn’t be bothered to celebrate to most important time of his career. Or rather, ex girlfriend, As of last night where he found her with another man. 

“Not my girlfriend.” He simply stated as she nodded before taking a sip of her drink. 

It must have been good if she brought it to her lips. Blossom loved a good cocktail but if it was hard liquor, she required top shelf, something he admired. He was like that too and was the reason she only drank the highest quality. 

“What about Tyson?” 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Not my boyfriend.” She said bitterly and he didn’t know why he was happy about it. “Cheated on me for a blonde.” Her glass was on the verge of cracking before she smoothed out her dress. “Typical.” 

He hummed in agreement. There was a feeling of anger running through him as he thought about any man hurting Blossom, sure he hurt her too but nothing like that. No their fight was different, it was a fight about whats best for both of them. 

They had just under an hour before the cermony started. He didn’t want to bother being inside socailzing with a bunch of random people and he had a feeling she didn’t either. The wide open hallway was becoming stuffy and he could see a trio of men walking their way and knew Blossom would become the talking point. 

Before Brick could turn them the other way, the men were already there. 

“Brick.” The tall one spat. 

“Landon.” Brick matched his tone. What a dumb name he thought. 

Landon turned and did not bother to hide the fact that he was checking out Blossom. Of course he was. Even in her simple black cocktail dress that screamed sophistication, she was a walking dream. 

“And you are?” He gave her a smirk that could charm anyone, expcet for Blossom of course. 

Brick was pracitcally smiling as Blossom shook his hand. He knew she wouldn’t take his bait. 

“Blossom Utonium. Head of corrupt affairs at Duchess Law.” She started with what Brick likes to call her “Miss Business voice”. 

Landon smirked. “Duchess Law? Someones a smart cookie.” He winked. 

The other men behind him agreed and Blossom held her tounge. She hated being patronized or looked down on. He should be thanking the lucky stars that he’s even in her presence.

Brick could tell she was annoyed and wrapped his arm around her waist before looking at Landon. “She makes more money than all three of you combine and actally can win a case so show some repect.” He spat and he turned them around towards the back doors that led to the garden space. 

The feeling of having his arm around her sent a spark through her body. At first it felt foreign but the memories came rolling in waves as they walked.

“I could handle myself.” She stated and he hid his laugh.

“I know, but you won’t because of your repuation. I for one don’t care about mine that much.”

“Or maybe its because you still care.” She teased as she sat on the stone bench with him. 

He was about to response but his phone began to ring. He wanted to ignore it but Blossom probably would say something about it. 

“Its Butch.” He said before trying to put it back into his pocket. 

“You should anwser it. I’m sure he’s wanting to wish his brother well.”

He huffed and anwsered on the final ring. 

“Hello?”

“Hey quick question. Do you think that I would win in a fight against Thanos?” 

Brick only shook his head.

“Butch.”

“Its serious cause Buttercup doesn’t think so but I could take him for sure.” 

Blossom was holding a hand to her mouth as the guy kept going on about the stupid question. 

“Oh shit dude, tonights your night!”

“Yes it is now Imma hang up now.”

“Brick be nice.”

“Wait a minute bro. Is that Miss Blossom with you?”

“Yes because shes the only one who bothered to care.”

“Hey you’re the one who said not to come. Anyways tell her I said hi and that you two should totally get back together because you kept going on and on about how you missed her and leaving her was the worst choice you made-” The line cut dead and the phone was shoved in his pocket. 

“Hes stupid.” He mumbled and Blossom drank the rest of her drink. 

“Hes not wrong.”

He turned towards her and gazed silently. She was just as he remembered. Gorgeous and graceful and even without a word spoken, she could command a room. He admired her greatly and she felt the same. 

“Brick, can we just skip all of it?” She asked softly. 

“I’ve kinda been looking forward to my award.”

“No, not this.” She gestured to the building. “But this.” She pointed between them. 

“Skip what?”

“Oh I don’t know, the drama of it all? Because if we don’t confess now we are going to waste so much time running after each other and I-I dont want to waste time.” She looked down at her shoes. A sad sigh leaving her lips. “I just miss you.” 

The confession surprised him. They were both forward people who never beat around the bush but when it came to their feelings between them, they had always been shy. Boomer and Bubbles were easy to confess and even Butch and Buttercup seemed to have it together but for them, it felt impossible sometimes.

No matter where he turned, she was there. They had always crossed paths like star-crossed lovers and it was as if the universe was constantly pulling them together and they had tried. They really did. 

Perhaps the timing wasn’t enough or their pride had stood in the way. they never meant to fall apart the way they did but when the other side of the bed was empty, those walls they held up became transparent and it only took a mere few seconds to see what they had lost. 

But he understood what she meant. They both knew that if anything were to happen between them tonight it would start a snowball effect that everyone was tired of seeing. Over and over they would fall in line and build each other up before something came between them and pulled them apart. 

He wanted to get past all the hurdles of playing cat and mouse until on of them caved and said their feelings. But her saying she missed him wasn’t her caving, she was just tired and so was he.

They had been young when they had fallen in love. The rules of life tossing them into a sea of doubt but now they were adults who knew the game and could easily avoid anything in their paths, except each other. 

His hand slid over hers. “I missed you too.”

She smiled softly before her hand rested on his cheek. “I’m really proud of you Brick, you’ve come along way.” 

“I’m just happy you got to see it.” He whispered before his lips touched hers with a fire they both had missed. 

A swirl of fire and ice that only they knew. No matter how much life decided to pull them apart or change the course, he would always find himself coming back to her. 

The kiss didn’t last as long as he would have liked but seeing the faint blush on her cheeks made it all worth it. 

“What are you doing later?” He asked as he helped her up from the bench. 

“I was going to get take out and sit in my hotel room watching movies.” 

Brick leaned over to fix the bow in her hair, taking the time to have her close. “I don’t suppose you would accept any company?” He winked before kissing the back of her hand and handing her the red purse.

“I think I can make an exception.” She winked and he had never thought she had looked more stunning. 

She took his hand, their palms resting naturally together, before walking back to the ceremony, where he would leave with not only his award but the woman he had loved for years and years. 

--

was the ending lazy? yes. do I care, only a little bit. Lol. I’ve had a really off day so I hope this is good.

Hope you enjoyed :) 

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 58)

Author’s note: It’s hilarious to me that this happens to come out in July, about as far as possible from Christmas. An alternate title for this part would be Christmas in July.

Warnings: Illness, hospitals, Remus, nsfw mention, mention of getting hit by a car, censored swearing, references to poor family relationships, peer pressure, Christmas stuff

Word count: 5186

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

When Logan got home from the hospital for the second time that day, he went straight to his room. He kicked off his shoes, set a timer on his phone, and turned to the bed. His body thumped on the mattress, and he was instantly asleep.

Two hours later, he was being woken by the song that served as his alarm. Normally, he enjoyed the song; at that moment, it was one of his least favorite sounds in the world.

Logan groaned into his pillow, then reached over and fumbled around on the bedside table, only to realize that he hadn’t actually taken the time to put his phone there before he fell asleep. He lifted his head from the pillow and looked around, finally spotting the device at his side on the comforter. He rolled over and grabbed the phone, silencing the alarm.

He yawned, glanced at the time, and reluctantly got out of bed before he could persuade himself not to. He needed to prepare dinner for himself and the “mouse-men”, and then he needed to go back to the hospital for the third time that day.

With Remus this time.

Logan wasn’t sure how he expected that visit to go. He hoped it would go well, or at least not end in disaster. Remus seemed like a bit of a loose cannon. Plus there was always the fact that he and Roman hadn’t seen each other in a long time, and Logan didn’t know why.

When Logan had gone to drop off Roman’s belongings, Roman had said that he was willing to see Remus sometime after dinner. Logan had texted Roman’s brother afterwards, letting him know the news. Remus and Logan had then agreed that Remus would be at the apartment building at 6:30, and Logan would drive them both over. Sure, Remus technically could have driven himself, but Logan got the feeling that Roman preferred that Logan be there, too.

…

Logan probably shouldn’t have been all that surprised that the knocking began only five minutes after the clock struck 6.

He frowned, pulling his phone out to confirm the time, and sighed, looking back to the “mouse-men”, who until seconds before had been eating their own dinner across from him.

“My apologies,” he sighed. “That must be Roman’s brother. I wasn’t expecting him for another half hour.”

Logan had warned the “mouse-men” that Remus would he returning, of course; but none of them had expected to be interrupted like this.

They seemed to accept that he was telling the truth, although Virgil still made a point of sending a warning glance his way, just in case.

Logan stood up, set his half-finished plate on the chair, and went to get the door.

Remus stood there, wearing a Santa hat and holding one out for Logan to take. Remus’s had lime green leopard fur where the white would usually go, and the one he offered Logan had comically large elf ears.

“Ready to go?”

“Um.” Logan frowned, looking down at the offered hat. “It’s only just past 6. We weren’t going to depart for another half hour.”

“Were we?”

“Yes.”

“Wellllll.” Remus made a face, then shrugged. “We might as well leave now; I’m here.”

“I haven’t finished dinner,” Logan said. “We’ll leave at 6:30, as planned. You can wait in the hall, or in the lobby downstairs.”

Remus pouted, but Logan stood firm.

“Hat?” he said finally, still pouting. He swung the object slightly closer, like he was trying to tempt Logan with it.

Logan sighed and took the hat, having no intentions of actually wearing it. He closed the door and went back to the living room.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he returned to his chair, taking another bite of his dinner.

“So long as he’s not poking around in here again,” Virgil muttered, probably to himself, but notably loud enough that Logan heard.

“Don’t worry; I asked him to wait outside.”

…

Half an hour passed, and Logan was ready to return to the hospital.

He’d expected Remus to have left, to wait down in the lobby; but instead, when he opened the door, there he was in the hall, his back and head on the floor and his legs up on the wall, playing a game on his phone.

“Man,” he sighed, when Logan appeared, “if I knew it’d take this long to get to the hospital, I’d’ve made them give me a ride. I could easily get hit by a car or something. Do you think if I did it right I could do a flip over the—” His gaze moved to Logan then, and he broke off with a frown. “Where’s your hat?”

“Inside.”

Remus didn’t blink.

Logan stared back at him for a second, then walked back into the apartment, grabbed the ridiculous hat, and returned to the hall.

Remus smiled and allowed his legs to slide to one side and thunk down on the floor beside him. He scrambled to his feet.

“Let’s go!”

…

Logan wrinkled his nose.

He and Remus were sitting in the car together. They were more than halfway to their destination, and perhaps Logan should have just let it drop; but an unpleasant odor was getting harder to ignore.

“I hope that one of your presents this year includes some deodorant,” he sighed as they turned onto the block the hospital was on.

Remus hummed. “Sorry, I’m out. I was feeling snackish last night.”

“…What?”

“Kidding. I forgot to pack it.”

“There’s a convenience store not far from the hospital. We’re going to stop there first.”

Remus sighed. “Fine, but they’d better have the good flavors.”

Whatever reply Logan might have given was interrupted by a sudden, loud ding!

…

Remus fished out his phone, turned down his volume, and opened up the new text.

 Unknown Number: [photo message]

 The photo was of Roman, lying down in a hospital bed, with a cannula in his nose. He was smiling crookedly, but he looked exhausted.

Remus wasn’t sure he liked the feeling that the picture made churn about in his stomach, but only a second later, a new message popped up under the first and made him forget it.

 Unknown Number: I lived b*tch

 Remus started cackling.

“Look, look,” he said gleefully, shoving the phone at Logan so the nerd could see.

“I’m driving,” the spoilsport said.

“So pull over!” Remus said, leaning back in his own seat and beginning to type a reply. “I’ve got comedy gold right here.”

 Remus: Your a resilant Grape

Unknown Number: thanks Stinkbug

 “Awww, he remembered,” Remus said. He tried to shove the phone at Logan again, only for him to dodge, leaning away to keep looking at the road. Rude.

 Remus: Getting redy to stink up ur rm

 While he waited for a reply, and occasionally nudged the phone at an unwilling Logan, Remus tried to imagine what an eight-year-old grape would look like. Would it be all wrinkled, like a raisin? Would it harden like some kind of fruit marble? Would it still be all moldy? Or was eight years way too long for that? Maybe the grape mold would have evolved into a grape mold monster, growing and growing and growing until it was too powerful to be held back by the constraints of a shelf life.

Remus fantasized for a moment about a giant grape mold monster attacking the buildings the car passed by, Godzilla style.

He was interrupted as the car pulled over, and Logan thrust out a hand. “Alright, show me this ‘comedy gold’ of yours.”

Remus grinned and showed Logan his brother’s texts.

“Ah,” said Logan. He didn’t seem to understand what was funny about a photo of Roman in a hospital bed captioned, “I lived b*tch”.

Remus stuck his tongue out at him, and went back to his phone, disappointed. “No sense of humor.”

Logan frowned, and they pulled back onto the road.

…

Once they had checked in as visitors to the hospital, Logan strode towards the stairwell.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Remus said, making him glance back, “didn’t she say he was in room 503? As in the fifth floor 503?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe you like being tortured; but I’m not walking up five flights of stairs!”

Logan glanced towards the stairs, then back at Remus, who was starting towards the elevator bay.

“Stairs are better for cardiovascular health.”

“My twin has asthma; that makes me asthma-adjacent, so making me go up stairs is child abuse.”

“You’re 19 years old.”

“So?”

“That makes you neither a child nor significantly younger than me.”

“Roommate’s brother abuse, then.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“It’s five flights,” Remus reminded him. “The elevator will be so much faster!”

Logan glanced towards the elevator bay, folding his arms. “…What if I wear the hat?”

Remus laughed. “Come on, like you’re getting out of wearing the hat.” He walked forwards, took Logan’s wrist, and pulled him towards the elevators.

“I’d really rather not,” Logan said as he was dragged along.

“What, are you claustrophobic or something?”

“…I’m admittedly not a fan of elevators.”

“You’ll be fine, it’s one ride.”

He pressed the button for the elevator, and they waited. Logan couldn’t help but glance occasionally back towards the stairs, especially since by the time the elevator arrived, there were three more people waiting for the same elevator.

The doors slid open. Logan was glad to see that it was not as small as he had feared—probably to make room for gurneys and wheelchairs, he reflected—and if anything it only had the same unnaturally clean smell as the rest of the hospital, and nothing worse.

Still, as all five of them crowded into the elevator, along with the frankly excessively large bunch of balloons one of them held, Logan was not exactly happy.

The elevator began to move, and Logan gripped the railing tightly, standing as far away from the others as could be managed in such a small space.

Remus kept eyeing the enormous cluster of balloons, a stark opposition to the single Get Well Soon! balloon that they had picked up at the convenience store, envy in his eyes.

A silver lining to the experience for Logan was that the three visitors got off at the third floor, and no one else joined them, so the trip up the last two floors was fairly tolerable.

Finally, they arrived, and the elevator doors slid open. Remus stepped out, and Logan followed after, trying to seem less relieved than he actually was.

“We’re taking the stairs on the way down if you want a ride back,” he told Remus.

“Fiiine. Now put on your hat, his room’s right there.”

Logan kept the hat in his hands as they approached.

Just before they reached the doorway, Remus paused. Logan glanced back at him. He looked nervous, suddenly.

“Are you ready?” Logan asked.

Remus grinned, adjusting the hat on his head. Logan noticed as he lifted his arms that the sweater he wore read ‘Merry X-mas F*ckers’.

“Yep! ’Course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

Logan looked him up and down, then strode into the room, opening the door quietly. “Roman?”

Roman lay in the bed, his eyes closed, earbuds in his ears. His eyes opened as Logan came in, and he smiled tiredly. He pulled out the earbuds, tapping a button on his phone. “There’s my… favorite nerd. Back again… so soon? You must’ve… really missed me.”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I brought someone to see you.”

“Hazel, is that you?”

A confused expression crossed Roman’s face, and he looked past Logan to where Remus stood in the doorway in his lime green Santa hat and vulgar sweater, the Get Well Soon! balloon bobbing at his side. Logan moved to sit beside the bed, glancing between them.

“Jeez, I know you cried like a baby at The Fault in Our Stars, but you might be taking this fanboy thing too far.”

Roman cracked a smile, laughing softly and clearly trying not to cough. “That was… years ago. Now, get over here… Stinkbug.”

…

They spent nearly two hours at the hospital. Remus and Roman talked, and Logan did his best not to be too intrusive. He could tell they were dancing around the elephant in the room, the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in quite some time; but he figured there were better times to discuss such a thing.

Finally, a nurse came by to let them know that visiting hours had ended.

“Aw, come on,” Remus whined at him. “Tomorrow’s Christmas. Just think of the sleepover we could have.”

“I’m sorry, but you do have to leave. Your brother needs his rest.”

“Who says he’s my brother? Maybe he’s my cousin.”

The nurse glanced between the obvious twins, then towards Logan, as if asking for help.

“He’s joking,” Logan assured him. “We’ll leave in a minute; don’t worry.”

The nurse nodded. “Have a good night,” he said, before leaving the room.

Remus sighed, then looked back to Roman. “Sorry, The Man says we have to leave.”

Roman shook his head, looking amused. The expression faded a second later, though, at the prospect of being alone again. Logan frowned, remembering the news Roman had given him when they arrived—that the doctors thought it would be best for him to stay in the hospital for Christmas as well, rather than checking out in the morning as they had hoped.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Logan promised.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Remus corrected, grinning at Roman. “And I’ll make him wear the hat!”

“We’ll be back,” Logan agreed, deciding to ignore the hat comment.

…

“So, what’s the plan?”

Logan glanced at Remus, who had his feet up on the dashboard despite Logan’s repeated protestations about safety and sanitation concerns.

“The plan?” he repeated.

“Yeah. The plan, for tomorrow? For Christmas?”

“My only plan was to visit Roman.”

Remus’s mouth opened, and he stared at Logan for a solid five seconds. Logan’s fingers tapped on the wheel awkwardly.

“I take it that isn’t acceptable to you?”

“Isn’t acceptable—alright, come on. Really. You can do better than that. You can’t really make my brother spend Christmas in the hospital and not do better than that.”

“I’m not making him spend Christmas in the—”

“Missing the point, Nerdy Wolverine! We’ve got planning to do.”

Logan frowned, not liking where this was going.

“We can go back to your place and figure it out.”

Logan hesitated, waiting for a car to pass by before turning a corner. “I suppose we can do that in the building’s lobby.”

“Okay, seriously. What’s up? Do you really think I’m going to rob you or something? I know I haven’t been around lately, but you know I wouldn’t do that to Roman.”

Logan chewed on the inside of his lip. He didn’t mean to offend Remus, but he really couldn’t let him in the apartment, whether it hurt his feelings or not.

Remus looked out the window. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Keep your secrets.”

“I just don’t know you that well,” Logan defended, unsure of what else to say. There wasn’t much else he could say.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever.”

They drove in silence for a moment.

“You do know where he’s got the presents hidden, right? Since you won’t let me get them?”

“What presents?”

“You really think Roman doesn’t have presents hidden away?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

Remus squinted at him. “…You didn’t get him anything, did you?”

Logan was aware of how telling his silence was.

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t celebrate Christmas; Roman knows that.”

“Did you not get him a birthday present either because it wasn’t your birthday?”

Logan sighed.

“He even got me a Christmas present. I got it in the mail already. Do you really think he didn’t get you one?”

Logan just huffed, until a realization dawned on him. “That’s how you knew where our apartment was.” Apparently the joke about internet stalking had just been that—a joke.

“Yep. And I didn’t even open my present yet because I wanted to come here and surprise him! And I get here, and I bet you two don’t even have a Christmas tree!”

Logan adjusted his grip on the wheel. Remus wasn’t wrong. In their defense, they had been a bit distracted, given what had happened with Emile and the other “mouse-men”.

“You’ve got a mall here, right? What time does it close?”

“…In about an hour.”

…

Logan closed the apartment door behind himself, stuck the keys in his pocket, and strode into the kitchen, pausing the flick on the lights. He set down the ridiculous hat Remus had gotten him on the kitchen table, and paused in front of the doorway into the living room. He’d left the light on in there for obvious reasons, since the sun had gone down even before he’d left with Remus.

As he debated going in to check on the guests within, Patton looked up at him and put a hand to his mouth. Logan realized he was holding a finger to his lips. He glanced past Patton and saw that both Virgil and Emile were asleep, Emile in his bed and Virgil on his side between his brother and Patton. Logan held up a hand in an acknowledging gesture, and continued down the hall and into Roman’s room.

Remus had said that Roman had always had a habit of hiding presents in an air vent, and would most likely have done the same now. Logan looked around and spotted the vent above Roman’s desk—fairly easily accessed, he had to admit.

He glanced around at the floor leading up to it, grimaced, and decided he had a little time to clean up, first. Remus could wait a few extra minutes.

He gathered up the rocks first—most of them were easily spotted, although several had made their way under the bed and bedside table, and a few even up to the bedroom door—and deposited them back into  their box, which he returned to the bedside table. He also returned the fallen dresser drawer to its usual place. One of the corners of the drawer was broken, but it was only a minor cosmetic issue. Logan simply threw away the scrap of wood and slid the drawer back in the slot. Then, he collected the things that had fallen out of the drawer; and while he was certain that how he arranged them would not match whatever organization system Roman might—or might not—have had in place, he did his best. At any rate, it was certainly better how he had found it.

He found the inhaler last, sitting under the bed, not far from where he had found the expired one he had tried to help Roman with. Logan looked at it for a long moment, silently placed it on top of the dresser, and moved on to the vent.

He glanced around for a screwdriver, guessing that Roman would have one in here if he were really hiding presents in the vent, and spotted it on the desk, next to a fresh-looking scratch in the wood. Logan frowned, running a finger over the damage, then glanced up at the vent. Only three of the screws were in place. He glanced around, and, not spotting the missing one on the desk, finally spotted it on the floor.

Odd.

Logan shook his head, picked up the screwdriver, and stood on the desk chair to reach the vent. He unscrewed the three screws, pocketed them with the other, and removed the vent cover. There was something inside: a large plastic bag. He slid it out of its hiding place, waving away some stray dust motes that came free, and set it on the desk. He glanced inside, confirming that there were in fact presents inside. Then, he replaced the vent cover, stepped down from the desk chair, and left the room, bringing the bag of gifts with him.

He paused to wave good-bye to Patton, turned off the kitchen light, and went down to meet Remus in the lobby.

He found the young man sitting in a chair, his feet up in the one across from him, the shopping bags from the mall at his side. He perked up upon seeing Logan.

“You found them!”

“I did,” Logan confirmed. “You were right.”

“Of course I am.” Remus leaned forward and took the bag from Logan. “He’s so predictable. See, there’s two for you in here….” He pawed around in the bag some more, absently listing a few more names, then paused, pulling out three very small, carefully giftwrapped boxes.

“Who are E, V, and P?” Remus asked, turning them over in his hands.

Logan glanced over sharply, his eyes widening before he could stop them. “Those are, um, college friends,” he said.

Remus clearly didn’t buy it. “He got three college friends ring boxes? Ooh, are they his boyfriends? Does my bro really have three boyfriends? Is that what you didn’t want me to see in the apartment? Damn, he’s outdoing me! Is he going to propose to them all at once?”

Logan opened his mouth and shut it again. “…No,” he said meekly.

Remus grinned, looking over the boxes for a second longer. “Sure, sure. I believe you.” He obviously did not believe Logan; but he did return the three small boxes to their place in the bag, instead only removing the two with Logan’s name on them.

He set the presents aside and picked up one of their shopping bags, pulling out gift bags, tissue paper, and a few other items.

“So, let’s figure out tomorrow. What time should we get there?”

…

Logan reluctantly allowed himself to be herded into the elevator again. As much as he… preferred not to use elevators, he had to admit that he wasn’t keen to carry so much stuff up five flights of stairs.

Thankfully, no one seemed to want to share an elevator with them, given how crowded it would have been. Logan was relieved.

Roman grinned as they walked into the hospital room. “You wore the hat!”

“I wore the hat,” Logan confirmed, sounding disgruntled. It was only to free up space in his arms, and for no other reason, of course. Remus’s nagging about how much it would cheer up his brother had had nothing to do with it. He hadn’t come across any mirrors, but he was sure he looked ridiculous, with his professional attire clashing with the giant-eared hat.

“What’s… all that?” Roman asked, watching as they hauled in the large shopping bags.

“Christmas,” Remus grinned. He’d dumped his bags on the floor and was already pulling out the tree. It was small, and plastic—pickings at the store had been slim, and they couldn’t exactly bring in a nine-foot fir tree—but it would fit perfectly on one of the chairs. Remus grabbed one from beside the empty bed and dragged it over, setting the tree on top.

Meanwhile, Logan set down his own bags and began unpacking them, stacking the presents at the end of the bed, and handing the box of ornaments to Remus.

Roman watched them both with wide eyes as they transformed the hospital room into something more festive, putting up garlands (strictly where they would not be even remotely in the way, upon Logan’s insistence), decorating the tree (Remus held it up so Roman could add the star at the top), and placed a box of various Christmas cookies on the table. Roman soon wore a reindeer headband and a necklace of colorful LED lightbulbs. Remus had brought his laptop, and had (perhaps less than legally, Logan suspected) downloaded several classic Christmas movies.

“We can always go for some Netflix or Hulu if you’re not feeling the classics,” he said as he set it up on what was meant to be Roman’s serving tray, “and I personally love some good Krampus, but I know you’re like obsessed with Rudolph.”

Remus had also gotten a pack of colorful paper at the mall, so while the movies played, all three of them cut out snowflakes and slowly decorated the walls.

The nurses who occasionally came in to check in on Roman seemed to like what they’d done to the room, despite Logan’s worries that they might have gone overboard or inconvenienced them. But the laptop and quickly dwindling cookies were easily moved if need be, and none of their stuff was in the way of getting to Roman or his monitors.

Just past lunchtime, Remus reached out to pause the movie—Frosty the Snowman—and dramatically placed a gift bag in Roman’s lap. “Time for presents!”

Roman, who had seemed unable to stop smiling since they’d arrived, grinned wider. “Guys, you… didn’t have to….”

“Yes we did! And don’t worry, it’s not just you opening stuff. You’re not very good at hiding presents.”

Roman glanced at Logan, a trace of alarm in his eyes, and Logan quickly clarified, “He told me you like to hide things in vents.”

Roman relaxed, and he laughed, breaking off to cough. “It works… doesn’t it?”

“It definitely worked for me when we were kids,” Remus readily agreed. “Very convenient for early access.”

Roman threw his pillow at him.

“Alright, alright, no pillow fights in the hospital; you’ll break something.” Logan grabbed the pillow and handing it back. “Which of these would you prefer I open first?”

Roman pointed at one, and meanwhile, Remus nudged one of the gift bags on Roman’s lap closer to him. “Open mine first!”

Logan peeled back the paper on the first gift, careful not to tear anything, revealing a shoe box. He lifted the lid, and saw a book inside—one he didn’t recognize. It was thick, and had a dark red cover with a simple black design of a magnifying glass.

“What is this?” he asked, picking it up.

Roman had waited to watch Logan open the gift. “It’s a book! Well… a story. I wrote it. It’s about… Sherlock Holmes… but you’re Watson.”

Logan blinked, inspecting the book more closely. It did, in fact, have Roman’s name stamped where the author’s would normally go. “Really? How did you get it bound like this?”

“The internet.”

“Ah, of course. Thank you, Roman—I’m very intrigued. I’m certain I’ll love it.”

Roman grinned, only to have Remus shove his gift at him more insistently. Roman shook his head, amused, and picked it up. He took none of the care that Logan had in opening his present, tossing torn scraps of paper to the side. Inside was a teddy bear, but not exactly like the ones Logan usually saw in stores. This one was zombified, complete with blood and a partially exposed brain.

“You got this… at Halloween, didn’t you?”

“Maaaybe,” Remus said, grinning. He turned to tear into his own gift then, the one that Roman had mailed to him, with fervor. Logan silently gathered up scraps of paper as Remus scattered them. “Oooh!”

It was a book about frog dissection, complete with numerous illustrations.

“I’m going to rip these out and put them on my wall,” he announced, thumbing eagerly through the pages.

“Okay, open your… second one,” Roman said to Logan.

The second present was heavier than the first, but smaller. Logan unwrapped it carefully. It was a rounded, clear glass paperweight, the center engraved with the spiraling Milky Way Galaxy.

“Oh, wow…. Thank you, Roman,” he said sincerely, lifting it up so that he could look at it in the light.

Logan’s gift for Roman, despite being the last opened, was nothing special, in his opinion—it had been gotten in a hurry, of course, within the hour that he and Remus had had at the mall; but as Roman pulled out the book on Disney’s art through the years, the joy on his face was clearly genuine.

“Oh my gosh… Logan, I love this!”

…

They left most of the decorations up in Roman’s room for the night, with Logan planning to take them down before his roommate checked out in the morning. He figured there was no harm in it, and Roman clearly enjoyed them.

Remus and Logan drove back to the apartment building that evening, their stomachs full of cookies, a bow stuck to Remus’s forehead, and the presents they’d received in the backseat. Logan was still wearing the ridiculous hat Remus had gotten him.

“Thanks,” Remus said as they got out of the car.

“For driving you back? That’s no trouble, I assure you.”

“No,” Remus said. “Well, that too, but I meant… thanks for helping me with this. I can’t say the hospital was part of my plan, but I really wanted this Christmas to be special.” He shifted where he stood. “I haven’t seen Roman in a while, and I was hoping that… you know, that maybe I could just show up, and maybe… I don’t know. I wanted my brother back is all.”

Logan glanced at him.

“Anyway. Thanks for helping me.”

He grabbed his dissection book from the backseat, looked at the cover, and glanced over to his car. “Guess I should be going. I’ve got boyfriends to kiss, mischief to… mischievize.”

“Remus… may I ask you something?”

Remus tilted his head. “If you want to be my third boyfriend, I’m sorry, but I don’t date my brother’s roomies. Besides, you live kind of far, and I’m not into the whole long distance thing.”

“What? No.”

Remus cackled. “Kidding. Shoot.”

Logan cleared his throat. “I know that you and Roman had some family issues, but I must admit that I’m unaware of what they are. I understand if you are against telling me, but I would appreciate some insight, if you’re willing to provide it.”

Remus screwed up his face. “Well… if Roman didn’t want to say….”

“Of course.” Logan shook his head. “Forget I asked. That was insensitive of me. It was simply an impulse question, think nothing of it.”

Remus glanced towards his car again, then looked down at the pavement.. “I don’t know what exactly it was,” he admitted. “Our parents lied to me about it, said he… Well, they said some things that weren’t true, so I’d side with them.” He grimaced, then forced a grin to his face. “I got back at them, though. Let’s just say I “butt-dialed” them, in the middle of a very fun time with my boyfriends.”

Logan cleared his throat. “I get the idea, yes.”

“Anyway. I found out they lied, and I want to make it better, because I was kind of a d*ck to him about it. So, thanks. Nerd.”

Logan nodded, and watched as Remus walked off to his car, throwing and catching the keys as he went. He dropped them just as he reached the car. Logan watched as he picked them up, pretended nothing had happened, and unlocked the door.

It had been quite an unusual Christmas, to say the least.

[the-real-tc]

Fic UPDATE! Wide River to Cross: Chapter 23

A.N.: This chapter took way longer to churn out than I expected, and there will be another update very shortly. We're moved into Episode 713 territory now, so you know that means things are getting even closer to where they are supposed to be. Enjoy!

Chapter 23: Chance Encounter

The drive back from Moose Jaw on Tuesday was its usual eight-hour, mind-numbing slog for Tim Fleming. Shane and Miranda seemed to be doing fine without him, though something in his gut warned Tim there was something going on neither of them wished to speak of in his presence. The visit started off on a positive note. Shane excitedly asked about Pal before politely moving on to inquiring about his half-sisters. By the actual Thanksgiving Monday, Tim knew he was wearing out his welcome, as if Miranda could not wait to be rid of him. Yes, it was true they had called it quits, but there was a distant air about her that Tim could not put his finger on. When he mentioned he would like to come out in a month for the Remembrance Day holiday, he was met with a non-committal sort of answer, but not an outright "no". Shane's sullen resentment over the absence of a father-figure in his life was still brewing beneath the surface. Tim recognized the signs; he just had no idea what to do about it, especially since Miranda was apparently hedging about the next time he could visit his son. How was he supposed to be a father to Shane if he was not even permitted to see him on a regular basis?

By the time Tim reached Hudson, he was exhausted both physically and emotionally. He had half a mind to drop in at Heartland and stick around long enough to invite himself to dinner, but he was not in the mood to hear Jack complain about the sheep again, which he was sure to do. Instead, Tim pulled into the local McDonald's Drive-thru and ordered something he knew he would barely taste, but would otherwise tide him over until the next day. On Wednesday morning, Tim regretfully realised he was completely out of supplies and would need to head into town for groceries.

He was still contemplating what to do about convincing Miranda to allow him to visit again in a month's time while grabbing some steaks from a refrigerated shelf in the Deli section. Maybe the boy could come out to Heartland instead, Tim pondered. After all, Shane was still obviously interested in riding Pal. Amy and Lou would be happy to see their half-brother, of course. Tim also had a feeling Shane and Georgie would get along just fine, if given the chance.

What would he think about Tricia? Tim suddenly wondered as he mechanically loaded his groceries into his truck before starting the drive back to Big River.

What would Tricia think about Shane?

When is the right time to tell her about my "illegitimate" son?

Are we serious enough for that yet?

Those thoughts quickly fled as Tim did a double-take at the unexpected sight of an oddly familiar auburn-haired woman. She stood at the bank of green community mailboxes on the side of the rural road, unaware of his scrutiny. The presence of her nearby silver-grey Porsche SUV confirmed it: the usually blonde Lisa Stillman had returned to Hudson. Tim pulled his truck to a stop—he simply had to get the low-down on this. Lisa was the last person he expected to see here, especially after Lou bought back her share of the Dude Ranch so many months ago. Jack's continued silence on Lisa's whereabouts and the status of their relationship compelled Tim to approach. After all, Lisa was godmother to his granddaughter Katie. It would be impolite to drive past her without a word, he reasoned.

"Hey, Lisa!" he called when he was within earshot.

Her shoulders jerked slightly, causing Tim to feel slightly guilty for startling her when he caught the stunned expression on her face. She recovered in time to respond, though somewhat hesitantly. "Oh. Hi, Tim!" she called back with forced brightness. Her smile, too, was forced.

"Wow, I didn't expect to see you back in town," Tim said as he neared. "How ya been? How was France?"

"Busy. I've been really busy," she replied hastily, closing her mailbox door and snapping the lock shut before stuffing her envelopes into a side pocket. "Um, France was fine. Sorry I can't stay and chat. I just got back from dropping off my sister at the airport, and I've still got lots to do today. As a matter of fact, I have an appointment with someone in less than half an hour."

"Your sister was visiting?" Tim echoed. "Huh. That's nice. Don't think I've ever met her. The appointment wouldn't happen to be with Jack would it?"

Lisa's spirits sank at the mention of the man she loved but was avoiding. She wondered if Tim did it on purpose—honing right in on a person's vulnerable spot and then exposing it.

"Uh, no. No, I'm not meeting Jack," Lisa's voice faltered.

"Then who are you meeting?" Tim pressed.

Lisa felt cornered now. Knowing the news would eventually get out, anyway, she decided to be straight with the man. "A real estate agent," she answered testily. "I've put Fairfield on the market."

Tim's face betrayed mild surprise. Wow, he thought. She really is making that move to France permanent. "You're selling Fairfield. Whoa. Does Jack know about this?"

Lisa exhaled. "Jack knows I love France," she eventually responded as she averted her glance. "I tried to share that part of my life with him, but it didn't work. He hates France, and there's no changing that fact. It's best I make a clean break. For now, he doesn't even know I'm in Hudson, and I'd like to keep it that way, please. So don't tell him you saw me, okay?"

Despite not quite receiving a straight answer to his question, Tim nevertheless made a zipping motion across his lips. "O-kay."

"You promise you will not tell him I'm here?" Lisa said, eyeing him now with skepticism.

"I promise I will not tell Jack you're here, Lisa," Tim proclaimed, raising his hand in a Scout salute.

"Good. Thank you," she said, making her move back to the Porsche. "Now, I really have to go. Take care, Tim. 'Bye."

"Yeah, 'bye," Tim said, absently securing his hat on his head.

Without bothering to look back at him, Lisa raised a hand in a farewell gesture as she climbed into the driver's seat.

Tim called out: "But you are gonna tell him eventually, right?"

The motor roaring to life drowned out the question, causing Tim to frown. Aw, man. Something's gotta be done about those two before it's too late, he thought. I just need to figure out what.

**

Lisa pulled away from the mailboxes in a daze. Now that Tim had seen her, it was only a matter of time before Jack found out she was in Hudson. Of all the people I had to run into, why did it have to be Tim Fleming?! she fretted. And once Jack does find out, what will I do? Guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

The real estate agent warned Lisa from the outset her asking-price was high, given the current slump in the market. While she knew this, it was a tactic she hoped to use to her advantage. It was intended to weed out a bulk of potential buyers who would only waste her time. Genuinely interested buyers would be savvy enough to try to negotiate a lower selling price they would both be comfortable with. Lisa was ready to play that game. Besides, if someone did agree to the initial price, the agent stood to make a fantastic commission.

There would be no way to hide the signs or the real estate listing, of course, so even if she never laid eyes on Jack, he would eventually find out about the sale. She was plagued with feelings of guilt. Was it really fair to avoid him? How difficult would it be to make a quick call to say: "Hi, I've returned to Hudson to sell the old place. Thanks for the good times we had; I'm moving to France for good."

Very difficult indeed.

Those thoughts were quickly dismissed when Lisa reached Fairfield and business concerns once again consumed her mental energies. Among those concerns was the sale of Cinders, a horse for which Lisa felt an uncommon fondness due to his resemblance to her long-ago cherished Silver. Riding Cinders out to Lookout Point every morning was part of her daily routine when in Hudson, so she was reluctant to part with the animal. I have Indigo back in Toulon for my morning ride, Lisa thought practically, knowing one fewer horse to transport to France could be good for cost-saving in the long run.

A buyer from Montana was interested; Lisa was awaiting the finalization of that sale before booking transport. Three other horses would be going to buyers in Alberta; two to British Columbia, and one to Saskatchewan. That left several other horses that might eventually need to be auctioned, including the pregnant Rhapsody. The broodmare's pregnancy and the subsequent weaning process once the foal arrived meant travel any time soon would be ill-advised, so having her remain in Canada to be sold made sense.

The clone of Fairfield Flyer—when it arrived—was still a question mark. Dan seemed overly confident it would help them make their mark once they launched their breeding business overseas. Lisa was more cautious and hesitant about the whole idea; in time, maybe she would feel differently about the situation, as her sister Rachel had predicted.

And I'm still quite angry Dan did it, Lisa realised, almost feeling her blood pressure rising just thinking about the whole mess. Why am I even still in business with him? The answer she always arrived at whenever she pondered that question was that they still made good business partners, despite their failed marriage. This time, though, Lisa wondered whether business success in partnership with Dan was a good enough reason.

I have spent more than half my life doing this, Lisa said to herself. I've achieved a lot in that time. I would like to think I have made my father proud of the 'Fairfield' name. That alone should be worth it, right? And it's like I told Rachel: the money I've earned has made it possible to realise a lot of dreams, do things I wanted to do, and see the world. But at the end of the day, I go home to an empty house. What dreams am I chasing now? I always dreamed of retiring to France. And then Jack came into my life.

Lisa reflected fondly on that day at Heartland when she encountered Jack at the Open House barbecue. Amy had just awed the crowd by showing off her work with Promise, and with the way she had risen to Val Stanton's seemingly impossible, impromptu challenge to fix the hundred-thousand-dollar horse that refused to jump.

"You're doing a really good job with her, Jack," Lisa recalled telling him. What she didn't tell him was that she had inquired discreetly about his fifteen-year-old granddaughter after being impressed by her during their first meeting at Fairfield. Since Nick Harwell had sung Amy's praises regarding her work with Star, Lisa called him up. She hoped to find out a little more about this Amy Fleming, daughter of the late Marion Fleming. She had a vague recollection hearing about Marion and Heartland since returning to Hudson from the 'States. Even so, she had at least known of the existence of 'Heartland Ranch' in the same sort of familiar way Hudsonites would know of the existence of any other ranch in the area.

"I read in the Hudson Times about Marion Fleming's passing and how Amy's grandfather is a rodeo legend," Lisa had told Nick during their conversation. "What else should I know about this family?"

"Yes, Jack Bartlett is pretty well-known for his rodeo days. And Marion... Marion was something else," Nick had stated. "And I really think Amy has the gift, too. What did you think of her?"

"It's too early to tell," Lisa had replied honestly, "but I like her spunk. I had my reservations about Promise going under the care of a fifteen-year-old, but she won some points with me. She set me straight when she told me her mother didn't 'whisper' to horses; she listened to them."

Nick had chuckled. "Whatever you want to call it, Marion sure worked magic with horses, and Amy can, too. You just have to sit back and let the magic happen."

"How is Heartland Ranch doing?" Lisa then inquired. "Are they going to be okay without Marion working with troubled horses? That was their main source of income, wasn't it?"

"I'm not sure," Nick replied with a sigh. "Jack does have a herd of cattle, but it's small. His adult granddaughter Lou is back in town from New York to help, but who knows how long she plans to stay... And Jack's wife, Lyndy, died a few years ago. I heard through the grapevine Amy and Lou's dad is a rodeo legend too, but he's also a total deadbeat. So now Jack has got to raise Amy by himself. It's not going to be easy for them. I do believe Amy has her mother's gift, but she's still so young to be taking on the 'family business', if you know what I mean. Jack has his work cut out for him."

"Yes, I guess he does," Lisa had remarked thoughtfully, imagining an elderly man all of a sudden saddled with a responsibility he did not anticipate in the wake of his daughter's tragic death.

To see Jack Bartlett in the flesh was a revelation. The man was nowhere near the 'elderly' grandfather Lisa had envisioned after speaking with Nick. He was tall, fit, and grizzled with irregular features, yet handsome in an unconventional way she found attractive. She would almost have guessed he was Amy's father had she not known any better. So this was the man who was taking care of his teenaged granddaughter. This was the man who had clearly taken the responsibility very seriously, and was succeeding at the task despite the burden of loss and heartbreak. This man, a salt-of-the-earth type, exuding quiet confidence and strength—this man she simply had to get to know better.

He was the first man in a very long time Lisa felt the urge to flirt with; the first man she felt comfortable sending out signals she wanted to know him on a deeper level. Their first real conversation was brief. She paid him a compliment about the burgers he was grilling up, then added she thought he was doing a great job with Amy. She mentioned her own situation with taking on her nephew following his parents' divorce. As they parted company that evening, she brushed her shoulder against his after his offer to help with Ben, hoping the message was received.

Bringing up those old memories of the weeks and months that followed the Open House was bittersweet. Back then, it was Immediately clear to Lisa that Jack was nothing remotely resembling a social butterfly. He was never at any of the parties she attended, nor was he known to folks in her Hudson social circles. She would have to ferret out what his interests were and meet him at that level if she wanted to get closer to him. Lisa would be forever grateful to Maggie for suggesting Amy have a look at the traumatized Gallant Prince, as it provided more opportunities to visit Heartland—and to see Jack.

And then I asked him to accompany me to that auction... and his truck broke down.

It was a deviation in her plan she had not expected, but rolled with it by suggesting they eat right then instead of after the sale. They discussed nothing of consequence during that interlude while they ate turkey-and-swiss sandwiches, but Lisa enjoyed every minute of it.

"Aren't you something?" Jack had asked, clearly not expecting anything like this when she told him she made coffee for him; that she had planned a picnic treat from the very beginning.

The early fall weather was pleasant, a soft breeze fluttering through the leaves of the trees that surrounded them. She seldom had a chance to pause like this, sitting in the company of just one other person, undisturbed by the rest of the world. He complimented her on the coffee, subtly making her realise he had strong opinions about the beverage. Time slipped away much too quickly. After a particularly long stretch of silence between them after the last of the coffee had been drunk, Jack finally spoke up: "Well, I guess I should probably see if that old truck of mine is ready to start. Can't have you missing that auction, can we?"

Reluctantly, they tidied up and trekked back to the stalled vehicle. It started without complaint, bearing them safely to High River for the auction. Lisa mentally skipped over the part when they encountered Dan, knowing what she knew now about how he had the temerity to tell Jack she was still his wife. Lisa remembered her acute disappointment upon discovering Jack had abandoned her there without a word. Something about that scenario did not sit right with her, as she was quite certain he had enjoyed their picnic.

Perhaps another woman might have dismissed him for that perceived slight, Lisa reasoned, but I knew I couldn't let him go that easily. Fortunately, a good friend she ran into at the close of the auction was willing to give her a lift to Heartland so she could retrieve her Porsche. At the time, she was tempted to knock on Jack's door to demand an explanation, but something told her that would be the wrong move. Let this thing play out, she remembered thinking. Let him come to you when he's ready.

And the explanation did come out, confirming for Lisa she made the right choice by not blowing the situation out of proportion, though she had every right to be upset. Handling it with a dose of humour had de-escalated what could have been a very uncomfortable situation. After all, Dan had just sourly peeled out of Heartland, having been told off by Jack, and after being rebuffed by Lisa.

"Well, since men keep driving away on me, would you mind driving me home in your truck, please?" she remembered asking with a smile and a good-natured chuckle. Of course Jack had not minded one bit. She had noticed the look of gradual, earnest relief on his face once he realised she was not married to Dan any longer; that she had not been playing with his emotions or leading him on.

"Jack, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding with my EX-husband," she said contritely during that ride back to Fairfield. "He had no right to do that, and I want to make it very clear I—"

And he had broken in gently then, telling her she had no need to apologize; that he was the one that needed to do the apologizing for abandoning her at the auction.

"Hmm," she had said playfully. "I suppose you have a plan in mind about how you're going to make it up to me?"

"Well, as a matter of fact... I was wondering..."

After a few seconds of tense silence, he had asked if he could have the pleasure of her company at his private cabin in a few weeks' time. She could tell it took some effort on his part to ask the question, but she readily accepted his invitation to try a little fly fishing, despite the lateness of the season, as he told her.

"I would love to, Jack," she had replied, grinning from ear to ear, thinking this reconciliation had gone miles better than she hoped.

Maggie had helped her pick out all the requisite equipment after she realised she would actually need hip waders and rods for the date. Expensive hobby, she remembered thinking when her friend rang up all the purchases at the cash register.

"I'd better catch something, huh?" she had ruefully asked.

"I think you already did," Maggie had quipped.

At the time, the meaning of those words had not been lost on Lisa. Now, after all the time since those early days when they were still practically strangers, Lisa wondered if he was still on the line, or if Jack had pulled loose. Severed from her life, he would be pulled away from her shore, lost to the currents of the passing world.

Despite never using the equipment again since that first date, Lisa had never availed herself of Maggie's promise of a refund.

I always hoped we would go fishing together again, Lisa mused. Why is it we never did? Maybe it's high time I got rid of all that stuff; I certainly won't be doing much fly fishing in France.

Lisa shook her head slightly, knowing she had to cease thinking about such matters and concentrate instead on getting her Fairfield business in order. As if on cue, her office line rang, its call display revealing a Montana area code.

Looks like I have an answer about Cinders, she rightly guessed.

"Lisa, hi! It's Wayne Mosley. I'll make this call short and sweet: We have a deal on your horse. I can have the funds wired to you today."

"That's great, Wayne," Lisa replied, squelching the sentiment that unexpectedly sprang up at the thought she was really going to be parting with the animal for good. "I can get transport booked for Cinders as early as Sunday."

"Perfect. Thanks, Lisa."

"You're welcome. Glad we were able to work something out."

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you. Take care. 'Bye."

"Likewise, Wayne. 'Bye."

**

Lightning almost as bright as day flashed, visible even through Lisa's closed eyelids. That alone might have been enough to awaken her, but the following crash of ear-splitting thunder made it impossible to remain in the land of dreams.

Lisa rolled over in bed, gradually becoming aware of the fact of the storm raging outside. When she cracked open an eye to check the time on the bedside digital clock, she could barely make out a blank display screen.

Have we lost power? she wondered groggily. Another flash of lightning briefly illuminated the bedroom. Her ears picked up on the wind-driven rains beating against the windowpanes. A quick glance outside confirmed Hudson had indeed lost power. Seconds later, the Fairfield generators kicked in, bringing to life the security lights outside. The numbers on the clock now blinked '12:00' a.m. in a rhythmic pattern, its green glow a slight irritant.

With a sigh, Lisa let her head fall back onto one of the many the pillows scattered about the mattress. Installing those generators had come at some expense, but she was grateful for them now and in times past when an outage occurred. She listened to the sounds of the storm, unable to fall back asleep quite yet. Some of the horses in the stables would be restless, and she wondered if Rhapsody was okay, given her expectant state.

Harry and the rest of the hands are going to be dealing with a few grumpy, skittish equines in the morning, she thought as she finally sat up to re-set the time on the clock after consulting her iPhone.

The lightning flashes were less frequent now; the answering thunder a distant rumble. The storm was either moving on or its intensity petering out.

Oh, no. Things are going to be a mess out there tomorrow, this new thought entered her mind, as it dawned on her the power loss was probably caused by downed tree branches. The trees around Fairfield were never spared damage in such instances in the past. The real estate agent would expect the property to be in pristine condition if there were going to be any showings.

Better call the landscaping company first thing... It was the last thought she remembered thinking before drifting off again.

**

Clean-up the morning after the storm that knocked out power at Heartland occupied a fair chunk of the Bartlett-Fleming-Morris family's time. Branches lay haphazardly about the yard. Piles of scattered leaves and twigs littered the ground, blown off by the earlier violent winds.

Tim pulled up in his truck uncharacteristically early to lend a hand, though he certainly had ulterior motives. Lisa made me promise not to tell Jack she was back in town. She didn't make me promise not to tell anyone else, though... He approached Amy, hoping to determine if Jack was wise to the situation of Lisa's return to Hudson.

"Guess who I saw in town yesterday?" he asked his daughter, unable to keep a lid on the information bubbling up to the surface.

The surprise that registered on Amy's face told him everything: Poor Jack was clueless.

**

Lisa's backside smarted. That's going to leave a bruise, she thought ruefully as she checked herself over for any other potential injuries after being unceremoniously dumped to the damp ground by Cinders. But no, every other part of her body seemed just fine. No broken bones or sprains, thank God. That's the last thing I would need right now just as I'm trying to get things sorted out at Fairfield. Now where has that horse trotted off to, and what the heck happened?

Lisa's brow creased as she recalled a sudden uncomfortable, intense buzzing sensation right before being tossed from the saddle. Her eyes sought and quickly spotted something that confirmed a dim suspicion: a downed tree tangled up with the line from an electrical fence erected around the slough Cinders had stepped into.

So that's what that shock was, Lisa realised.

"Cinders!" she called, hoping the sound of her voice would bring the horse back. It was usually an exercise in futility; Cinders was not trained to come when beckoned as a pet dog might. A careful inspection of the sod around her revealed hoof prints.

I hope that horse hasn't gone too far, Lisa thought in irritation. In truth, she was more annoyed at herself for not noticing the downed line. Fortunately, she spotted the dappled grey horse not too far away, pulling at some vegetation.

"Hey, you," Lisa softly chided as she approached him with deliberate caution. "What was that all about? Did you get spooked by that silly electric fence?"

Cinders seemed to bristle slightly when she neared, but he did not refuse when she took hold of his bridle. "Let's go home, huh?" she said, placing her right foot into the stirrup to mount up. With a squeeze of her calves, Lisa cued the horse to begin the return the way they came. Ahead, she could see the muddy banks of the slough along with the energizer and tangle of electrical wiring and branches.

Everything about the ride seemed normal until they were a few feet away from the water. Cinders stiffened as soon as he sighted the pond, stopping dead in his tracks. He balked when Lisa urged him on again; a snort of terror issued from his nostrils before he reared up in protest.

"Whoa, whoa!" Lisa called out, barely avoiding another fall as she regained her balance. "What's the matter with you?"

Without being commanded to do so, the horse backed away, giving his head a few contrary shakes.

"Come on, Cinders," Lisa coaxed, applying more pressure to his sides with her legs. She clicked her tongue loudly twice. The horse eventually got the idea, and he sidestepped the muddy bank, pacing off to the right, giving the slough a wide berth.

**

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Scott," Lisa said.

"You've always been one of my best clients, Lisa," Scott commented warmly. "Happy to be of service. I was surprised to hear from you, to be honest; I haven't had a call from Fairfield in months."

"I know," she said vaguely, "being in France and all meant I wasn't as hands-on here as I have been in the past."

At that moment, Ty ambled in to the holding area. If he was surprised to see her there, he hid the emotion well. "Hi, Lisa," he said casually, as if this were any other normal visit.

"Hello, Ty," she answered back with a wan smile. Kicking herself mentally, she now knew she should have counted on the possibility Ty would be on duty at the clinic today. Oh, shoot. First Tim; now Ty. It's going to be impossible to keep my being in Hudson from Jack.

"I noticed the 'For Sale' signs up at Fairfield," Scott continued. "Don't tell me you're thinking of leaving us for good?"

Lisa bobbed her head, still wary of Ty's presence. "Yeah, I've had a good run here," she replied. "I'm looking at a new opportunity in Avignon."

With that short answer, both Scott and Ty understood she was not going to say anything more on the topic.

"So what's going on with this guy?" Scott asked, looking now at the horse. "You said something about an electrical fence?"

"Uh, yes," Lisa spoke up, re-organizing her thoughts to focus on the reason for her hasty appointment. "Meet Cinders."

The horse's level of agitation had come down since the earlier ride, but Lisa caught subtle cues that told a different story, making it clear to her Cinders was not over the sudden electrical shock they had experienced at the slough. She explained the whole episode while Scott examined the animal, inviting Ty to do the same as a learning exercise.

Presently, Scott declared: "In my medical opinion, there's nothing wrong with him physically, Lisa."

"That's good," Lisa said in relief. She rubbed Cinders' forehead. "It's just that he now absolutely refuses to go near water, Scott. The shock was pretty intense. Even I felt it right before I ended up on my butt. I'm afraid he thinks he's going to get zapped every time he steps into a puddle."

"I wish there was a magic pill I could give him to cure aquaphobia," Scott said with a smirk.

"Yeah, I know," Lisa sighed. "I just sold him yesterday to a guy in Montana. He's being shipped out on Sunday. I can't sell a 'defective' product."

"Want me to ask Amy if she can take the case?" Ty interjected, sympathetic to her situation.

Lisa contemplated. Involving Amy came with a risk. If Jack found out... She was grateful Ty had not asked any prying questions, seemingly aware the topic of her reappearance was verboten, but his suggestion was her best chance at fixing the problem.

"Okay," she eventually replied. "But could you—could you please tell her to keep it confidential...? Jack doesn't know I'm back, and I mean to keep it that way."

Ty nodded at her with understanding; Scott looked at her quizzically, but wisely held his tongue.

"Thanks," she said, blowing out a breath. "I hope she can figure him out before Sunday. But then again, she's always come through for me in the past. Go ahead, Ty. He's all yours."

"I'll get Cinders trailered out to Heartland right away," Ty said, taking hold of the lead rope.

Once Ty was safely on the way back to Heartland, Lisa carried on with some additional errands. As she drove, she came to the conclusion she was simply prolonging the inevitable. Even though I've sworn Scott, Ty and Tim to secrecy, walls have ears. Jack's going to know I'm here before the day is done, guaranteed.

**

Jack's sleep had been restive and uneasy. Katie's fright over the storm in addition to her irritability at missing Lou had not made for a peaceful night. Pete had sheepishly apologized for the toddler's cries, but the older man sympathized. He had been through those same parenting woes when Marion had been a baby, though he had admittedly missed months at a time of her growing up due to being on the rodeo circuit.

As Jack drove out to the town Yard Waste and Recycle Centre to deposit their dead branches and leaf sweepings, he wondered what his grandson-in-law was going to do if Katie continued to regress in her potty-training regimen. Clearly, these new parents had not counted on a lengthy separation between child and mother during this crucial time. Pete was doing his best, but it seemed not to be enough at this time.

He was still pondering this problem on his return trip to Heartland, slowly coming to the realisation there might not be any easy solutions. He was so engrossed in this mental exercise he had a double-take when he spotted a woman he thought he recognized on the side of the road.

Lisa?! he thought in a daze. It can't be.

But his eyes were not deceiving him. This was no case of mistaken identity as in times past when he thought he saw her in town. This was his old flame, quietly checking her mail like any other person. Only she was not any other person. She was the one who somehow managed to slip through his fingers. A subtle heat burned in his chest as he brought the truck to a slow roll before setting the brake.

Lisa is back. What is she doing here? Why is she back? Lisa is here.

Jack very nearly stumbled over his two feet on his approach. He could tell she heard his footsteps though he was trying to be stealthy.

"Hi, Lisa," he uttered, unsure of what to say now that he had been presented with this unexpected opportunity to talk with her.

She looked up almost guiltily at him.

Busted, Lisa thought. Here I am, trying to avoid Jack this whole time, and he has to spot me getting the mail. How silly is that?

Yet, her heart swelled at the sight of this cowboy, dressed as usual in his boots, jeans, plaid-patterned shirt, coat and hat. He looks healthy. I'm so glad. And now that she had seen him, every word she had once hoped to speak to him fled from her mind, leaving her tongue-tied. Her first instinct was to bolt from the scene rather than try to explain why she had not told him she was in Hudson. That same reticence seemed to be reflected in Jack's eyes; this unplanned encounter thoroughly throwing them both into an state of confusion.

They both mouthed meaningless words to each other, clumsily working through some semblance of a conversation that lasted less than a minute. Twin coals that once burned as one had turned stone cold, the former lovers behaving more like passing acquaintances. Absent from this meeting was any sense of excitement or jubilation; no crushing embrace or feverish kiss.

Jack's heart sank perceptibly when Lisa admitted she had been back for maybe a week—and that she was selling Fairfield.

"Well, I guess that was always the plan, wasn't it?" he spoke with an air of indifference, despite the chill brought on by the revelation. Yes, you always said you wanted to retire to France, Lisa. I never figured it would be so soon; and not without telling me, first.

Rather than prolong the sheer awkwardness of the encounter, Lisa excused herself, claiming—truthfully—she had a busy schedule to keep.

"'Bye'," she said, before turning to climb into the SUV.

"'Bye'," Jack managed to articulate, a lump forming in his throat watching her hasty retreat.

No "See you later" or "Let's catch up soon", and certainly not anything close to "I'm ready to make up".

Jack looked on a second or two while Lisa drove away, struck by the memory of another similar departure over a year prior, the one that had come as a sort of coda to their "break". Attempts had been made back then to repair that break; circumstances had not been in their favour.

"Not goodbye," he had corrected her at the time, a sad smile creasing his face. He remembered being heartsick at the prospect of suffering another lengthy separation from her, especially when their relationship was still so fractured.

"'til next time," she had repeated, her eyes misting, almost as if she sensed it could very well be the last time they ever saw each other.

The fact it almost was the last time they ever saw each other was not lost on Jack. His brush with death brought her rushing back. Now, he considered something new: Would she ever have come back if I had not had the heart attack? She did write that letter... But no. Just as swiftly as she had arrived, she had left him.

And now she's driving away again. For a fleeting moment he entertained the notion of chasing her down. No, that would be foolish, Jack thought, idly scratching the side of his face. She gave no indication she was happy to see me; let it go. That whole meeting went over like a lead balloon. Dejected, he paced back to his truck, trying to stem the flood of old memories of happier times with Lisa.

We're driving off in opposite directions. I'm going to Heartland, and she's going to Fairfield. She's selling Fairfield. I must have missed the realtor's signs, somehow. Jack knew how he had missed them, however, as he had taken to deliberately avoiding looking at Lisa's property any time his course took him along the stretch of road bordering it.

He could not help but remember the first time he had seen Fairfield up close. I was driving Lisa back after I told off that jerk of an ex-husband of hers. I was so happy that she still wanted to talk to me after leaving her stranded at the auction. She's so forgiving. Why did she give me a second chance? She accepted my apology so easily. I thought I had blown it.

His brain had been spinning at top speed throughout that drive, reaching for some way of asking her out on an honest-to-goodness date, but could think of no simple way to bring up the subject. Thank goodness she had provided an opening when she playfully asked if he had a plan in mind about how he was going to make it up to her. He had always felt comfortable and relaxed at his cabin, so before he even knew what he was saying, he asked if she was free to go fly fishing with him in a few weeks.

"Well, as a matter of fact... I do have something in mind about how to make it up to you..."

And she said "yes" so quickly, I almost couldn't believe my ears. What was I thinking asking a woman like Lisa out to a ratty old fishing cabin for a date?

Presently, Jack pulled back into Heartland. The sun was starting to go down, splashing golden rays across the open fields, highlighting the tops of the trees. He noticed Amy and Georgie in the jumping pen; the former taking a new horse around the course over what looked like empty liverpools. Heart and feet heavy, he dragged himself onto the porch and sank heavily into the bench, mind still full of that first date with her.

"To whatever it is," she had toasted them, a spark of warmth bursting in those blue eyes he already loved so dearly.

Whatever it was, Jack now thought with a doleful shake of his head. She didn't even tell me she was back in Hudson. After all we've been through, she didn't see it fit to tell me she was selling Fairfield. I deserved that much at least, didn't I?

But the more he tried to take umbrage at Lisa's lack of communication this time around, the more he was convicted of his own behaviour the last time they were together. She doesn't want anything to do with me after that falling out we had over that ridiculous hospital bed. The spark in her eyes was gone today. I never thought those eyes could look so cold... And sad.

It tormented him to know he was the proximate cause of that sadness and cold, impersonal reception.

**

Of all the dumb luck. I can't believe after all that avoidance, I had to run into Jack at the mailboxes. Lisa replayed that disappointing encounter, analysing each careless word spoken, wondering what she might have done differently. I honestly have no idea how to interpret how that went down back there, she thought. I don't know how to read that expression on Jack's face. Was he happy to see me? He didn't sound like it. And he certainly didn't sound surprised when I told him I was selling my place. What did I expect, anyway? That he would break down and beg me to stay? Oh, no. That's not Jack Bartlett's style. In fact, I have no idea at all what he was thinking. It's like we were almost strangers by the way we talked.

Lisa pulled onto the access road to Fairfield, flashing by the 'For Sale' sign. Her heart throbbed after concluding that might very well have been the last time she ever saw Jack. What a sour note to end things on, she mused bitterly. What a wasted opportunity.

Business concerns soon took over once again as she was obliged to inspect the clean-up job done by the landscaping company. Everything looked ship-shape; Fairfield would be more than ready for prospective buyers the realtor wished to bring for a viewing.

Out of nowhere, a distant memory of Val Stanton's mocking voice surfaced. "So, you'll be living at Fairfield, then?"

Lisa paused in her tracks, swept up in the residual irritation of that long-ago exchange. "Jack did hit the jackpot, didn't he?" Val had teased, though she seemed to know she was poking at one of Lisa's private insecurities. "I'm sure you'll have an ironclad pre-nup."

Val's thinly veiled antagonism stirred up feelings of resentment now. Jack and Lisa's hasty engagement was over just as quickly as it had begun, all because they truly had not seriously considered how their lives would come together in a practical sense. Oh, we had the romantic side figured out, Lisa acknowledged, but now even that's gone. No engagement, no marriage. We'll never be together at Fairfield now, and we certainly won't ever have France. Our relationship is officially road-kill, and I'll bet Val the Vulture is still lurking around, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

**

Next Chapter: Chapter 24: Things I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You

[frenchfrysplash]

fic: between heaven, the sky, the earth

The Haunting of Bly Manor

Dani/Jamie

Chapter 3/10

Read on AO3 Here! Or you can continue into the Read More.

Summary: Jamie goes between one moment, and the next. Falling around her like rain, like snow.

She’s here for a reason. Here to help.

She just needs to remember.

Chapter Three: dearly departed

But even when one is dead and gone It still takes two to make a house a home Well I'm as lonesome as the catacombs I hear you call my name but no one's there

- The Shakey Graves, "Dearly Departed"

February 2001

"I think this is what you're looking for, Mrs. Clayton."

A plain clamshell box was placed gingerly in front of Jamie, the cardboard corners worn from being pushed and pulled to and fro a shelf for years. The archivist, a young blond woman with round-framed glasses, opened it carefully, and thumbed through the files. She glanced at Jamie, smiling uncertainly.

"It's not a lot," she said. "400 year old papers are fragile, and well, it's a miracle some of these have survived this long. We don't have the same kind of money for conservation as the big places. But this is what we have of the Lloyd papers."

"Right," Jamie stared at the box, apprehension brewing in her belly. She flexed her fingers against the foldable plastic table the archivist had set up for her, wedged in a corner of the tiny museum office. "So, have I got to wear gloves or something?"

"Oh, yes!" the archivist produced a pair of white cotton gloves, and laid them on the table next to box. "Now, these papers have survived pretty well, but they are fragile."

"Should I be worried about them crumbling in my hands?" Jamie asked.

"Nothing like that," the archivist shrugged. "They could tear though. Just be careful."

"Will do." Jamie pulled the gloves on.

"If you need anything, I'll be just over here," the archivist said, indicating the desk in the opposite corner.

"Thank you."

The archivist nodded, and made her way over to sit at her desk, sparing one last curious glance at her visitor. Jamie got the impression that this little museum and archives, hidden as it was in a tiny village in Devon, didn't really get all that many researchers. Especially ones specifically asking to see the papers of one Arthur Lloyd, whose trail she had been following like a dog with a bone for three months now.

She had started with one name - Viola. A Viola who had lived - and died - at Bly Manor, at some point in its long, dark past. It had seemed an impossibly thin lead, so she had called up Henry Wingrave, hoping he knew something of the history of his country home. He hadn't, not really, and Jamie was left to wonder if this was a fool's errand.

Until Flora had called.

"Uncle Henry said you were looking into the history of Bly Manor," she had said. "Specifically someone called Viola?"

"Yeah," Jamie had replied. "But he didn't know anything."

"No, he's not one for history," Flora had chuckled. "But that name sounded familiar. So I went looking through some of my old things, and guess what!"

"Flora."

"I have an old grave rubbing with that name on it! First name, last name, birth and death dates."

"Flora," Jamie had nearly dropped the phone in her excitement. "That's amazing!"

"I can send you a picture by e-mail?"

Jamie had blanched. "Can't you just tell me what it says?"

"Luddite."

And that conversation had led her to Viola Lloyd, born 1645, died 1680, who had lived at Bly Manor for the entirety of her short life, and had died and been buried there. From there, she was able to visit the local parish records office, and find a marriage record between one Arthur Lloyd and Viola Willoughby, in 1674. There hadn't been much else on Viola, but there was another marriage record for Arthur Lloyd, seven years later, to a Perdita Willoughby.

Scandalous.

Perdita had died too, according to the death record Jamie had found in the same Parish office. Plus, there had been a christening for a Lloyd baby in 1675, though the child's first name had been rendered illegible by the intervening years.

That had been it for the Parish records, but Jamie had something else now. Arthur Lloyd. A merchant, according to his marriage records. Born somewhere around 1640, but not buried at Bly Manor, or in the Parish cemetery. He'd probably left after the death of his second wife, then. But to where?

And that was the question that had led Jamie here, to this tiny museum. It hadn't been easy, and Jamie wasn't a natural researcher. But she was smart, and determined, and when the man at the National Archives had informed her he couldn't find any primary sources on Arthur Lloyd in the collection, but had found an obscure reference to a merchant named Lloyd in a book written in 1973 about the history of a little farming community in South Devon, well. Jamie had followed the lead, and been rewarded for her efforts.

Gingerly, she pulled out the first file, and flipped it open. The papers inside were yellowed, the handwriting looping and nearly impossible to read. Jamie sighed, glanced at the archivist again, and pulled her reading glasses out of her jacket pocket.

"I love when you wear those," Dani said from the other side of the table, resting her cheek on one hand, gazing at Jamie adoringly.

"I've had 'em for two years," Jamie replied, eyes scanning the pages in the front of her. "Thought you'd be used to it by now."

"You look so cute with them on."

"They make me feel old."

This file seemed to be mostly pages from Lloyd's ledgers, listing his business dealings, his trading in tobacco and spices and fine linens. Jamie's brow knotted together in concentration as she made her way through the rest of the pages.

"All good over here?"

Jamie looked up at the archivist, who stood in the spot Dani had been sitting, moments before.

"All good," she said. "I'll, uh, probably be a while, yeah?"

"Oh, of course!" The archivist smiled. "We're open until five. You're welcome to stay until then if you need to."

"Thanks," Jamie said, and took the next files from the box, wordlessly dismissing the archivist.

"You could be nicer," Dani chided from behind her.

"I'm busy," Jamie replied.

"She's just trying to be helpful."

Jamie sighed, and leaned forward, adjusting her glasses.

This file was more of the same, for the most part. And the next one was a deed to a cottage just outside the little village, as well as a few household expenses. Jamie tried not to feel frustrated.

"I don't even know what I'm looking for," she said, placing the file back in the box, and pulling the next one out.

"You'll know when you find it," Dani replied, voice more distant than it had been before.

Jamie paused, and looked back at Dani, who stood against the wall, smiling encouragingly. There was something off about her, and it took Jamie a moment to understand.

"You're fading," she said.

Dani blinked, and tilted her head, a frown appearing on her face. Confusion flashed through her eyes, and she glanced around, then focused back on Jamie

"Jamie," she said. "Where-?"

And she was gone.

Jamie's shoulders slumped, and she turned back to her table. The file in front of her was thicker than the others, and Jamie was extra careful opening it. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the first page.

"Here we go," she whispered to herself.

Letters. Dozens of letters, spanning just as many years, from one Jonathan Lloyd, Vicar in Essex, to his brother Arthur, Merchant in Devon. As Jamie read through them, taking notes on a little notepad she'd brought, a puzzle began to take shape. So many pieces were missing, but there was a solid outline, as Jonathan asked after Arthur's ill wife, Viola; solemnly comforted him at her death; congratulated him on his second marriage; counselled him on his money problems; offered advice and support as Arthur decided to move away from Bly Manor; lamented how fast children grow as Arthur's daughter married a man called Norton.

A sound from behind her; someone shifting against the wall. A rustle of fabric, the squelch of mud against the floor, and a few drops of water hitting wood.

"Do you remember?" Jamie asked, not turning around. "Do you remember him?"

Wet footsteps moved forward, stopping right behind Jamie's right shoulder. A water droplet hit her notebook, and Jamie caught a glimpse of long black hair from the corner of her eye, as Viola leaned forward.

"His name was Arthur," Jamie continued. "He was your husband."

A low, guttural keening bubbled up from the woman at Jamie's shoulder, soft at first, but growing louder. Jamie whipped her head around, eyes widening as she saw the woman leaning over her shoulder. Her face was different than before, more human. Still no eyes, but the outline of her nose and brow was stronger, her mouth less a hole in her face as lips were now visible. A hand clutched at Jamie's shoulder as the keening reached a crescendo, and Jamie reeled from the rush of anguish that followed it. Memories of love and happiness, followed by betrayal and anger and bitterness, flitting through her as her vision turned black.

---------------------

May 1995

The hand on Jamie's shoulder made her jump, and she nearly knocked the pan off the stove as she turned around. Dani shot her an amused smile, letting her hand slide down Jamie's arm. Her other arm wrapped around Jamie's waist, as she pressed herself against her fiancée and chuckled.

"Jumpy this morning?" She asked, leaning in to kiss Jamie on the cheek and rest her chin on her shoulder. "Mmm, bacon?"

"And eggs, and sausages, and beans, and mushrooms, and tomatoes, and toast." Jamie grinned that cocksure grin that Dani loved. "You're getting a full English this morning."

"You already had me full of English last night," Dani said, nuzzling under Jamie's ear.

Jamie groaned. "That was terrible. That doesn't even make sense."

"I'm loopy," Dani defended herself. "Because I love you. And I'm going to marry you."

"Oh?" Jamie put the spatula down, and turned in Dani's arms. She settled her arms on Dani's shoulders, and leaned in for a kiss.

"You'll burn the bacon," Dani mumbled against her lips, smiling, even as her fingers slipped beneath Jamie's shirt, skirting along her hips.

"You like burnt bacon," Jamie replied, dotting kisses along Dani's jaw.

"Do I?" Dani pulled back, eyebrow raised. "Or is it the only kind of bacon you know how to make?"

"Dani," Jamie whined, as Dani took a step back, a smirk on her face.

"I don't think I should distract you right now," Dani said, voice light. "You have to concentrate on not burning the apartment down."

"That's not fair!" But Jamie was already turning back to her pan, realizing that, indeed, the bacon was in danger of burning. Beside her, Dani poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Do you need my help?" She asked, taking a sip.

"No, no." Jamie waved her away. "You go sit down. I'm making you breakfast."

"Whatever you say," Dani said, shrugging and making her way over to the kitchen island. She sat down on the other side, hands encircling her coffee mug as she watched Jamie move around the kitchen.

"This is literally the only thing I know I can make well," Jamie said. She paused, and her voice was quiet for her next words. "My Dad used to make it for us, when he was home, rare as that was."

"I didn't know that,' Dani said, voice soft and careful.

Jamie hummed. "He used to burn the bacon too."

"Well," Dani tapped her fingers against her mug. "Maybe burnt bacon isn't so bad."

Jamie shot her a grin, and the couple lapsed into comfortable silence. Dani drank her coffee, enjoying the sight of Jamie working, the smell of sizzling food, and the warm feeling in the kitchen.

"Do you want to have a ceremony?" Dani asked suddenly.

Jamie turned around, eyebrows raised. "A ceremony?"

"Like, a wedding," Dani said. "I know it wouldn't be…legally binding, or whatever. But we could still have a ceremony. Invite the people we love, eat some cake, have a party."

Jamie turned back to the stove, falling quiet for a moment, absently stirring the mushrooms.

"Do you want that?" She asked.

Dani swallowed, smile dropping. She looked into her coffee for a moment, then shook herself.

"We don't need it," she said, the smile returning. "But we should go on a honeymoon."

"A honeymoon, eh?" Jamie had begun plating, and with a final, careful placement of some very unburnt bacon, she turned and brought breakfast over to Dani. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah." Dani pulled her stool forward, picking up her fork. "Yeah! We could go to Paris."

"And never leave the hotel room?" Jamie waggled her eyebrows.

Dani laughed. "We have to at least see Owen."

"Oh, well," Jamie leaned forward on her elbows. "I suppose we can do that."

"And then spend the rest of the time in the hotel room." Dani said, taking a bite of the baked beans.

Jamie laughed, and Dani's eyes crinkled at the edges as she laughed with her.

"Oh." Jamie sighed, her smile fading as she gazed at Dani. "I was an idiot today, wasn't I?"

Dani frowned. "What?" She asked around a mouthful of beans.

"I wish I had said yes," Jamie said. "To a ceremony. To a party. To a wedding. With you."

"Jamie," Dani breathed, slowly lowering her fork.

"I know we called each other wife after this," Jamie said, reaching forward and grasping Dani's hand. "And I know when civil unions came about we got one. But we never celebrated, did we?"

Dani's eyes shone, and she clutched Jamie's hands between her own, tightly. "It didn't matter," she said softly. "The rings-"

"Enough for me, if they're enough for you?" Jamie turned Dani's hand over, running her thumb over the claddagh ring on her finger, the one that matched her own. She lifted it to her lips, and kissed it, shutting her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks.

"And they were, Jamie," Dani whispered fiercely. "You were enough for me, always enough for me."

"And you for me." Jamie opened her eyes. "But the truth is, the more time went on, the more I thought about it, the more I wished I had said yes to a celebration. I wished I could have stood up in front of our friends, and our family, and committed to always being there for you, to loving you."

"Flora could have been a bridesmaid," Dani said, a light smile on her lips.

"Owen could have been my best man," Jamie grinned. "Or I'd ask him to walk me down the aisle. I can't decide which one he would freak out about more."

Dani gasped. "Miles could bring his boyfriend!"

"Oh, yes, except," Jamie titled her head. "They weren't together yet, when this happened."

"Right," Dani nodded. "Miles wasn't even out yet, poor kid. But maybe if we'd done it when we got the civil union."

Jamie pointed at her. "The smart one, as usual." She glanced towards the windows, covered in plants. "I could do the flowers."

"You'd want to do your own flowers?"

"Who else could I trust to get it right?"

Dani laughed, clear and bright as a bell.

"I would have liked planning a wedding this time," she said. "If it were with you."

"I'd have helped more, for one thing," Jamie replied, tucking a strand of hair behind Dani's ear.

"That's true."

Jamie gazed at her for a moment, before her expression became more distant, eyes looking past Dani.

"They legalized gay marriage in the Netherlands, you know?" She said. "In April."

"They did?" Dani asked, eyes widening slightly.

"Yeah," Jamie nodded. "And there's talk in Canada. And other countries. It's happening, Dani. If we'd just-if you'd just-"

"If we'd had a little more time," Dani whispered, hands gripping Jamie's painfully tight. "Jamie, I'm so-"

"Don't," Jamie stopped her, a warning in her voice. "Don't apologize."

"But-"

"No."

Dani's brow was furrowed, staring at Jamie as though something about her was confusing her.

"This is strange," she muttered. "Something is…wrong."

"It's just a memory," Jamie said, dropping her gaze to their joined hands. "It's not even real. What did you say the kids called it? Dream hopping. This is all just my memory."

Dani shook her head. "But this is…there's something weird."

"It's ok, Dani." Jamie kissed her fingers again. "It's just a memory."

Dani continued to stare, blue eyes darting between Jamie's green ones. She was fading away, even as Jamie watched her, and Jamie found herself desperately holding on.

"Wait," she said, voice breaking. "Please don't - don't go. Not yet. I like this one. Can we just stay here for a bit? It's not enough time, I haven't had enough time."

"There's never enough time, is there?"

Dani was gone, but from the seat beside her vacated one, Viola Lloyd gazed sadly at Jamie.

She looked different, again. Still not completely human, hair and dress still damp. She had eyes now, though they were clouded over, and the rest of her face was unnaturally smooth, like a mannequin in a store front. She heaved a heavy sigh, eyes trailing back to where Dani had sat moments before.

"You took her from me," Jamie whispered, tears spilling over.

"I did," Viola said. Her voice was scratchy, disused. "Before her time. It was the same with me, I think."

Jamie opened her mouth to retort angrily, but caught herself. This isn't why you're here, she thought sternly. Closing her eyes for a moment, she steadied herself against the counter, and breathed in, out and in again.

"You were sick," she said finally, opening her eyes, her voice carefully even.

"Yes," Viola replied, turning her face towards Jamie. "Very sick. I should have died, really. But I didn't. I held on. Stubborn."

"You didn't want to leave your husband," Jamie said.

"No," Viola shook her head. "It wasn't fair. I had fought so hard for the life I had. And there it was, slipping through my fingers, like sand in an hourglass."

"You wanted more time with him."

"Not just him." Viola's brow furrowed. "There were others. A family, I had a family. A small family, but a family all the same."

Jamie nodded. "A sister, maybe?"

Viola's face turned towards Jamie so fast it seemed to blur, and something there twisted, mouth curling, eyes hardening.

"Yes," she said, the word coming out in a snarl. "A sister."

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 36

Ansgar slept fitfully during the night. The unfamiliar bed, the soft occasional coos and rustles coming from the baby monitor, the thumps and sleepy whines from the Bean’s room, and ultimately, the lack of Joline’s warm body beside his kept him wide and painfully awake.

Not to mention the arrival of his brother and sister in law at two o’clock in the morning. Their attempt at quiet whispers and floor-creaking tip toes as they made their way through their house was comical to Ansgar at just how ineffectual it was. They may as well have stomped and shouted for all the noise they made.

At least, it sounded like they had fun.

And so, come early morning, still dark, Ansgar pushed himself, groaning, out of bed. He reached immediately for his phone, disappointed to find Joline hadn’t responded to, or even read his texts.

“Shit,” he muttered, running his palm viciously down his face. “It’s too early anyway,” he said. “Probably still sleeping, the lucky darling.” He rubbed his eyes, blinked away the rest of the sleep - or lack thereof - and texted.

5:01: Good morning, darling. 5 am comes too quickly. Hope you rested well. See you at 10 x

***

He strode out of the bedroom, dressed and showered, combing his hands through his damp hair. He’d left his curls loose again, eschewing his typical slicked, combed and pomaded look. It wasn’t a conscious decision, not a calculated thought, just… an instinct. A knowledge. A deference to Joline’s comments, to the way she toyed with his hair when they made love, to the anticipation of more of it to come.

And of course, Rebecka noticed.

“You look… different, Sgar,” she said, handing him a cup of coffee. “What gives?”

“Well, good morning to you too, my dearest sister.” He took the cup, bent to her and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek. “Thanks,” he muttered, and took a long drink of the fragrant brew. “Mmmm. You’re up early, early bird.”

“Ingrid woke up. Had to feed her,” she shrugged, yawning. She walked back to the table and sat slowly down, straightening out the placket of her pyjama top. “What’s going on with you?” she pressed. “Something’s off.”

“How was the wedding?” Ansgar asked congenially. “Did Mags make a fool of himself on the dance floor?”

Her eyes flicked up to him, fixing him with a deep, delving stare. “Quit the diversionary tactics, Sgar. I’m a journalist. I’m tenacious. I won’t give up. Now, spill.” She sipped at her coffee.

Ansgar leaned against the back of a chair, crossing his legs beneath him. He drank his coffee, eyeing Bec over the rim. “I’m sure I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”

Rebecka glared at him, eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she intoned, nodding sagely. “Don’t forget, Sgar. I’m married to your twin.”

“So?” Ansgar shrugged.

“So, I can tell what you’re thinking. I can read you and Mags like books on a shelf.”

“No. You can’t.” He spat, shaking his head. “Don’t even try.”

“Oh. Really.” Bec’s eyes widened above a broad, knowing smile. She settled back into her seat, perched her feet on the opposite chair and cradled her steaming cup by her chest. “Tell me, Ansgar. What’s her name?”

He stopped, mid-sip, and stared. He held the cup to his lips for a long moment before he lowered it slowly, set it on the table, and straightened. He swallowed, dropped his customary mask, and let his lips curl into a blithe sigh of a smile. “Her name,” he said brightly, “is Joline.”

***

10:35 a.m. Monday

Ansgar peered at his watch for what he knew was at least the fiftieth time since he’d read the face at 10:00. He’d paced Joline’s office back and forth for the past twenty minutes, sure he’d worn a fresh path in her already threadbare Oriental rug.

He’d even taken to sitting at her desk, making a surreptitious attempt to gain access to her laptop in an attempt to locate her. He tried various combinations of the names Hugo and Adrian and Emilie and Elias and even his own name until the system locked him out of any further tries.

He’d called, and by the time he’d finished, his phone showed twelve calls to her mobile number and two calls to her land line, all of which went unanswered. Voice mails, two. Face time attempts, three.

He’d walked the theatre, asking for her at the reception desk, the ticket office, the light booth. He asked the foreman of his own company, the costume designer, the stage manager, the director of the production of Aida. None had seen her. None had heard from her. With every person he’d asked, it became more and more difficult to hide his anxiety, his fear, his apprehension….

… his anger.

And, then there were the texts.

10:05: You’re late.

10:07: How long are you going to keep me waiting?

10:18: I’m still at your office. Are you on your way? Are you okay?

10:26: Joline, respond to me. Pick up your phone. It is most unprofessional of you to miss a meeting with your partner without notice. Please advise where you are ASAP. Work cannot proceed without your authorization.

10:30: If you are not here by 10:40 I am going back to my office. Text me when it is convenient for you to reschedule this meeting.

10:35: Joline. Where the fuck are you?

“God damn it to hell!” he bellowed, wrenching open her office door. He strode angrily down the marble hallway, his loafers slapping against the slick surface, echoing off the walls like his heartbeat in his ears.

He clenched the steering wheel two-handed as he bobbed and weaved his Tesla viciously through the midday Stockholm traffic. He sat forward, keeping  his eyes fixed straight ahead. But his thoughts were elsewhere, far away.

He couldn’t help it. He thought of Faye, damn her. His flesh, his bones, his very soul remembered. Remembered that desperate, empty coldness, that numbness of the nerves and fire behind the eyes and thickness in the chest that felt as if he were choking in the sulfuric clouds of Hell.

He wondered, as he slipped the car dangerously into the left lane, nearly missing a trash collector truck, whether she’d, whether Joline, too, had run from him. Whether she had severed ties and slipped away and deserted him like Faye had. Wondered if she, too, abandoned him.

Left him.

Took his heart and wrenched it asunder at the seam of his scars.

Heaving the wheel hand-over-hand, he caromed the Tesla, tires squealing, into his parking spot, and threw the car into park. He sat there, breathing like a grampus through his nose, his throat too tight, his jaw too clenched to even open his mouth. His heart pounded against his chest wall like a caged lion desperate for its freedom. “Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the dashboard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Not again! Not fucking again! I never should have said that! Never should have told you… told you….”

Never should have told you I loved you.

He peered down at his phone, the mute-arsed piece of shit. He lifted it, opened the messages, and peered at it. “Come on,” he growled, willing it to chime. “Fucker, come on, give me something, you useless bastard.”

Nothing.

He opened the car door, lifted the phone high and nearly threw it across the garage, his imagination painting him a picture of the phone and all of his overtures of love to Joline breaking into a million pieces – glass and little red broken hearts shattered against the concrete abutment.

But instead, he lowered the device, regarded it once more, set his thumbs to the keyboard and typed.

11:10:  Ms. Lindberg. Come when convenient. I may or may not be available.

Pocketing the phone, he lit from the car, slamming the door shut with an echoing, hollow thunk. He kept his hand there, on the top of his Tesla, and he bowed his head, thinking - or trying to think. His mind was clouded, foggy, his logic blocked with filthy, sticky clots of pain. He breathed, calming himself, flushing those mental pathways clean of corrosive emotion.

And then, he imagined two compartments set apart by a partition in his mind. A massive wall.

He placed Faye in one compartment. Placed her there and sealed her up along with the gory, blood-soaked detritus of her -  his anxiety, his worry, panic, desperation, despair, self-hatred, loneliness, loss, and hopelessness.

And Joline he set, free to roam, within the other.

And this wall, he fashioned it of steel girders and heavy masonry block and thick concrete and kevlar siding.

Impregnable. Indestructible. Mathematical.

Faye =/= Joline. The two sets do not intersect. Disjoinder. Non-union.

And thereby, the fog lifted. He found he could think again. He stood up straighter. He settled his shoulders. He relaxed his breathing, let his clamped jaw go slack, slowed his heartbeat. Logic, as it does, won out over emotion once again and the calculations and numbers and words flowed freely through his intellect.

“Something has to be wrong,” he told himself, calmly. “It’s not you. She’s not left you. Ergo,” he muttered. “She can’t communicate. She’s distracted. Something happened. She had an accident, she… Jesus!” His eyes flashed with the realization of it. “Her mother!”

And, like a shot arrow, he ran toward his private lift, mashing his hand on the button. While he waited, foot tapping, eyes staring at the moving numbers, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

And as expected, the call went to voice mail.

“Elias,” he barked. “Ansgar Martinsson here. Ring me when you get this. It is an urgent matter so you must respond immediately if you can.”

And as the lift arrived, he hung up and opened his messages again.

11:14: Joline. Is it your mother? Is she ill? Tell me where you are and I will be there.

***

Peritoneal Dialysis Infection.

The doctor called it. The doctor used those words to explain what happened, why Emelie needed to be hooked up to hemodialysis, intravenous antibiotics, a heavy drip of hydration and a ventilator to breathe for her. Her body suffered from a massive infection. She no longer had the antibodies to fight, her system already weak and depleted by her low red blood count. Her own immune system attacking itself, gone haywire by a disease that confused healthy and detrimental cells. The lupus had destroyed her kidneys, her blood full of toxins, her belly full of infection.

Joline understood it logically, but she couldn’t justify it happening all at once and certainly not to her mother. The doctors explained it time and time again to both of them, but Jolie still felt a sense of outrage for all of it. For the doctors explanations. For the lack of a cure. For their inability to fix it, to even make it better.

Joline felt her mother being ripped from her life, ripped from her arms, and ripped from her heart. Her heart ached with missing her mother already, the way she pulled Joline’s leg about her choice in shoes, the way she played with Joline’s hair while she worked at her computer, how she met Joline at the door when she was due in.

Joline clutched her mother’s hand (not cold but not warm either) as she listened to the machines beep and whirl and drip and spin. She willed all of it to work, to bring life back into her mother, to bring her mother back to her. She wasn’t done, and even as a grown woman, she needed her mother’s practical guidance and savage logic.

Tears slid down her cheeks in utter helplessness. She couldn’t lose hope and she wouldn’t, but she felt impotent, handicapped and entirely lame… just sitting there, doing nothing. But didn’t dare more, to wander away and leave her mother’s side. Emelie needed her, and Joline needed her mother.

The chair was anything but comfortable, but she stayed, nearly glued to it, waiting for a miracle to occur. She’d sit on railroad pikes if it meant saving her mother from this danger, this hint of death. Joline laid her forehead on her hand gripped around her mother’s and stared at the jeans she wore beneath. She couldn’t remember putting them on, the act of sliding into them forgotten in her haste, in her agonizing stress… but she must have done.

On her days off, at home, oversized t-shirts with the neck cut out suited her. She still wore the Harley Davidson one that she’d been wearing while reviewing her notes for Ansgar.

Ansgar… he felt a million miles removed from this, from her, from their fledging relationship. A million miles, a million hours, a million heartbeats and breaths away.

The jeans she’d shimmied into just before the first responders arrived and rung the bell to fetch her mother had been the first pair Ansgar had seen her in, after the smart pencil skirt that she’d worn to invade his office. She’d changed into the threadbare, broken knees, painted massacre of denim, but the first pair of jeans she’d worn in front of Ansgar, that first day they met. She couldn’t figure why this was important, other than… she missed him. She missed her life.

Absently she pulled at the white strings at the knee of her jeans, trying not to cry, trying not to dissolve on the spot. She didn’t often find comfort in another’s arms but she suddenly longed and craved for Ansgar’s, coveted his confident strength, yearned for his unflappable arrogance.

Joline could imagine him in her mind berating the doctors until they fixed her mother. Demanding a better doctor, a better specialist, a better hospital, even a better procedure because he simply could. That’s precisely who Ansgar Martinsson was. He expected the best and accepted no less than that. He didn’t accept failure.

A sob, a combination of fear for her mother’s fate and the realization about how she felt for Ansgar, escaped in a hiccoughing sound and she finally lifted her head. Swiping at the tears with the heel of her free hand, she whined and cried to the woman in the bed, “Oh, God, mama… I love him and you haven’t met him yet.”

Please don’t leave me. I can’t bear it, mama. Not yet. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Finally, mercilessly, Elias made it to the hospital. He held Joline securely in his arms as the doctor repeated everything for him, for his benefit, without the filter of Joline’s limited knowledge. Elias remained stoic, listening, intent on getting pertinent information and a possible course of treatment. The next three days were critical to get through and would indicate whether Emelie would survive this bout of infection. The doctor also mentioned a kidney transplant, not for the first time, as a possibility.

Elias rubbed Joline’s back, imbuing her with some form of comfort, as she took it the hardest. His sister was capable of so much, she exceeded in diplomacy and logic and management in her everyday life, but she experienced intense empathy for her family. That strong part of her all but disappeared when her emotional, compassionate side emerged.

When the doctor left them alone outside the intensive care unit, just outside their mother’s window, the siblings tried to make sense of all that happened in such a short amount of time. “Did she give any indication that she was unwell?” Elias asked softly, without blame.

“You know how she is, she’s so stubborn about… God! I wish I’d known. I should’ve known!”

Elias pulled her to his shoulder and kissed the top of his sister’s head. “You can’t blame yourself, Jo-Bo. You know that. This,” he indicated their mother upon the hospital cot with a wave of his hand, “was always a danger. The course treatment she chose… it was a risk.”

“I just… I need her well. I need her with me. I need her, Elias.”

He nodded silently, stroking her back again. He let the quiet between them calm her, dry her tears some. It was so rare to see or hear Joline cry that he didn’t know any other way to stop them other than letting them run their course. “I remember the first day mum brought you home. I hated you, Jo-Bo,” he said with a sad chuckle.

Joline laughed through her tears even.

“It was a Friday. I was meant for this show and tell or some shit at school. Instead our grandmother kept me home to meet my baby sister. I was pissed right the fuck off—“

“At five?” Joline asked with a reserved smile.

“Don’t mock me. I never got to show off my car collection.”

“The horror!”

“You were a little terror,” Elias pulsed his arm around her shoulders. “Cried all the damn time. I was the star until you came along.”

Although their father was a big part of both of their lives when he was alive, for the most part, Emelie was a single parent. Bryan, their father, visited once a month and took long vacations in the summer to spend time with them.

“Sorry, I stole your spotlight, big brother.”

Elias brought Joline into a hug. “I do remember when things changed though… just so you know.”

“You don’t still hate me for stealing your thunder?”

“Just a bit sore, but I’m getting better,” he joked, holding her tightly. “You gave me your scone. You were maybe, three or four? I was whining mum’s ear sore about something… she gave you the last lemon glazed or cranberry. From your highchair, you pushed your plate to me. You kept the peace even then, and I knew you wanted it.”

“Did you give it back?”

“Hell, no! I wanted it! But you weren’t so bad after that.”

After another lull in their conversation, both lost in their musing about Emelie, Joline asked, “What are we going to do, Elias? This… this is serious. I can’t lose her. Not now!”

“It is serious,” Elias acknowledged with a nod. “We just have to see how the next few days go, and we’ll make the decisions together. Yeah?”

Joline nodded, fighting back another wave of tears. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know… I still don’t know what to do, how to fix this.”

“Be patient. There’s nothing you can do. I know you’re used to fixing things, finding the best solutions for all parties, Jo-Bo. But this isn’t one of those things for you to solve.”

She nodded, unconvinced.

“Why don’t I sit here with you and mum for a couple of hours, yeah? We’ll talk. Keep her company. Let her know that we’re here pulling for her. At nine,” he said looking at his mobile, “I’ll hit the cafeteria to get breakfast. If you need anything in the morning, I’ll get it and you can stay by mum, okay?”

[heads-in-the-clouds-spacecadet]

When asked to write a daily diary for anxiety management.

Here are a few days example....

Sunday 24th 

Mood/anxiety = numb. 

Additional meds =8mg of diazipam.

My whole body aches yet it shouldn't. My stomach is growling yet i feel physically sick. 

Things i ask myself....

Q.1 Will i leave my safe space, weighted blanket & mountain of pillows?

A.1 NO. 

Q.2 Will i manage my yoga routine

A.2 NO

Reasons....Why

I feel exhausted even though ive not been outside since Thursday. I just want the aching to subside the pain to leave. My jaw is clenched closed making eating an ordeal. I know this needs to be done. 

The dread of what passive aggressive message/s ill receive today either in person or written either way im struggling to motivate myself to move.

The Internet has been blocked for nearly a wk now. But i just let it slide as the saying goes choose your arguements "wifi is not the hill i want to die on" quote from TBBT. I hear Luke (my brother) is now in his bedroom and his door is closed. He has been banging around the house sending passive aggressive messages (sms) since 4am. My belongings that i left downstairs were thrown into my room. I'm nervous to leave my room till i know he is asleep. 

Flashback/negative thoughts....

1. How can my baby brother be an emotional manipulator. 

2. Last time i had to justify my everymove i was in Portugal in a very bad relationship. 

*****Ways im looking to excuse his behaviour. Find the cause to my sudden crash of low mood aka depression with a nice battle of anxiety.

---Logically i know its not the same. 

---Emotionally it hurts the same. 

The way he looks at me with disgust, resentment & impatience is the trigger. I realise this. How someone you love can make you feel this way. 

Solution: i decide to find a solution to the sudden conflict of money and i know there is a receipt in the car. I go to the normal place the keys are kept and theyre no where to be found. I look in all the obvious logical places they  could be and realise theyre hidden by my loving brother. His Reasons, 1-to stop me  buying shit (his words). 2. He has decided its his house, his car so therefore his rules. (Its all my mums btw)

As im downstairs i notice the kitchen is a mess. Pots all over from a feast Luke cooked up the night before. Or should i say 2am. 

So i feel defeated. Ive basically been cleaning non stop everytime i use a room as per gov guidelines and he just doesnt seem to comprehend the severity of the situation. 

I decide i need to eat. So i opt for Shreddies with Oat Milk (Luke has a serious milk allergy to the milk proteins in cows milk so im not fussed about milk and am happy to use alternatives) topped with vanilla soya yogurt, bannana, a few cranberries, 3 strawberries, sultanas and crushed Almonds. My logical brain is telling me eat well as we are not leaving the bedroom again unless desperate. 

I send a few messages to the family whats app (Luke refuses to be a part of this) and receive encouraging and support in return. Everyone is struggling in their own way so i appreciate having a small outlet between us all.

After food i sleep finally. 

Trying now to Ready myself for round 2 which i know is coming.

My mum calls i dont want to answer but i do. I explain the situation. She knows, she has dealt with his angry behaviour since he was 11yrs old. She stated she is coming to visit Tuesday as per new gov guidelines and we will meet in the park. She then asks me to pass the phone to Luke which i pointblank refuse. Im not ready for round 2 yet. Especially since he has his own phone he is just not answering making everyone worry about him but he just resents it. Its safe to say im proud i refused to do something. Gold star award ⭐

Monday 25th

Mood/Anxiety -  still no change from yesterday but i decide i have to force myself to move. Wash, clean and pack the additional things my mum has requested. 

Additional meds - i decided against taking anything today as i need to be clear headed for my appointment Tues and obvs my mums visit.

I check the weather see its a nice day decide washing is task 1. I set a bath running (multi tasking saving time from all the free time) and head downstairs to pop the washing machine on. Before i left my room i checked my phone for messages i have one from my mum telling me she has had words with Luke and that he needs to basically deal with the resentment in a more positive way. 

This explains all the banging and loud music yesterday early eve. He decided to actually clean. 

Anyhow I head downstairs. Kitchen is clean, messages all wiped from the black board. 

I decide i must try and communicate with Luke as we cant take the conflict with us to the park it isnt fair to our mum. 

I can hear him moving so send a sms message asking if he wants anything in the oven. No response. ***He did finally get out of bed at 3pm so a peaceful day so far. 

I decide food is required. I opt for protein soya burgers x2 with Spinach, tomatos, avacado, sultanas, almond pieces and some crumpets. I sit in the garden to eat.

All washing is out and drying but im to anxiety ridden and unmotivated to enjoy the sunshine. 

I head back to my room to sort bits for my mum and throw away my origami collection. It was over taking my room and again causing conflict. 

Lukes awake!!!. I decide to say hello. So far so good. He decides to make himself lunch and throws a fit because i ate a £0.45 avocado. I walk away as i know he is just venting and i need to not start the circle of negative thoughts or interactions. This is rewarded with resentment. Luke suddenly decides to do his own washing and cut the grass. Which means my washing is in his way. Before he even starts i am pulling in whats dry mainly because i want to go back to bed and need my bedsheets but also because he wont care if my washing turns green or is damaged. To my delight my sheets are dry but my pjs etc need another 30mins so i leave them whilst i go and make my bed. 

Im bellowed at about washing as Luke needs the line. So i head down stairs to reteive the rest of my belongings. 

Self soothing thoughts...

Im walking on eggshells trying not to provoke the beast and i need to keep going. Focus on my achievements. I left my room. I cleaned myself, my clothing and my pillow fort which has been my safe zone for the past 4days. 

Deep down thought i am disappointed as i know isolation and distancing is not a long turn solution as the yrs pass im becoming more and more isolated and lonely. 

Im downstairs again and i ask Luke if he wants anything popping in the oven as i was having toast. He requested 2 burgers and chips but on seperate trays as he was hungry. Easy to do popped into the oven. 40mins later chips are cooked he is plating up and all he says is "why have you cooked so many chips, clearly we now live in a household of wastefulness". 

This was the turning point for me id had enough for 1day and just told him to give it a rest and went to my room. 

Im dozing with Big Bang on in the backround and Luke is banging on my door. Mums on the phone. Confirming arrangements for tomorrow. I say a few oks with the occasional nod. 

I start packing the bits n bobs my mum has asked for and carry then downstairs so theyre ready for the car tomorrow am. 

Its PJs and bed time. Luke has other ideas. He is awake and up and about at 4.30am. Having a bath at 5am, doing weights after his bath at 6am then leaves in the car at 7am. He is back around 8am banging has a shower then decides to leave again in the car. He is meant to be house-bound until July 1st. This in itself causes me anxiety as i cant handle watching another member of my family die in front of my eyes. 

Thoughts...

Yes this is VERY dramatic. STOP IT BRAIN!

Take precautions all will be ok. 

Tuesday 26th

Mood/Anxiety = No change 

Additional meds = 4mg diazipam but late afternoon as i couldnt stop shaking and fidgeting.

My mum is coming to visit. Im trying not to think about the fact Luke is out of the house. 

We are having a picnic social distancing style. 

We head to the coop as Luke has decided even after knowing our mum all his life never be on time, we have to be early. I buy Costa coffee, fresh bread, hummus, bananas, diet coke and some biscuits the nature valley ones theyre really good. Luke doesnt go into the shop I think at least he is listening to some rules. He rolls his eyes as i spray the shopping with dettol spray and use the alcohol hand sanitizer for my hands and door handle etc. I just tell him its how it needs to be done.

We find a perfect parking spot under a bunch of trees. I notice that all the trees are trimmed in a very even shelf across the bottom. It looked like it was designed perfectly for people to walk straight onto the park from the car park without having to fight with tree branches or go around.  But in actual fact its the deer. They eat the lower leaves this made me smile and relax for a moment. WIN.

My mum is late so im nervous that she is 

1. Stuck somewhere (over reaction)

2. Lost (over reaction)

3. Just running late (normal reaction) 

Im a tad fidgety as im aware i have an appointment in 2hrs. Hurry up MOTHER...

I ponder about work and whether or not ill still have a job to return too. Had an email this am stating theyre cutting 200jobs from the team i work in. So not sure if thats a good thing or not. But its also increasing my anxiety as ive read the email and now have a burning desire to do the research to see what my probability of keeping my job will be. Before my brain can go on a major tangent my mum arrives. 

Shes brought Oscar (her poodle) he is so excited to see me. And the big hairy fluff ball  gave me the biggest snuggles. He has a major Covid hairdoo. My mum doesnt hug me which hurts but i know she cant. 

Picnic time. We sit in the middle.of a field away from everyone. Social distancing 10/10. My mum has made me my favourite cakes, rock buns. (Apparently these are a northern thing) but im feeling the love. Its fairly chilled only 1 disagreement with Luke over blinkin avocados.

Im clock checking and aware of impending appointment, im a little (understated) nervous because ive not had positive relationships with therapists or doctors in the past. 

[jamesbucksiclebarnes]

Rating: Mature

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11] | [12]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

Tag List: @crossbowking

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: To Love the Unlovable.

By the time I’d come back inside, Merle had destroyed the entire collection of mattresses on the first floor. He’d made it partway through the second floor, too, though someone had stopped him before he could ruin them all. I didn’t doubt Rick had likely found him, rummaging through the thin foam within the stained mattress cover for whatever source of substance he could use to take a brain-vacation. Whatever had transpired between them, Merle was no longer in the cellblock. Rick looked troubled, sitting upon one of the metal tables with Hershel, staring blankly out toward the upper window. I wondered if he were rethinking his decision.

Probably not.

When I walked past him, his gaze flicked to me and the creased in his forehead smoothed out. I met his gaze evenly as I passed, giving him a slight nod before walking past him into the corridor of cells. He could take whatever he wanted from that exchange. I didn’t care. It wasn’t as if I had accepted the likelihood I would be back with the Governor before nightfall. I didn’t. In fact, the thought of it made me almost physically ill. But I wouldn’t put these people at risk for my own sense of comfort. Not like I had for so many others beneath Philip’s reign.

Searching for Merle became more of a chore than I’d been prepared for. I passed Carol in the cellblock corridor. She gave me a pensive look, stopping mid-step and opening her mouth as if to say something before snapping it shut, having thought twice about whatever it was she’d been about to voice.

“You seen Merle?” I asked her. It was the first thing I’d ever said to her directly. She looked slightly troubled by the question.

“Yes,” Carol answered. “He’s down there.” She thrust a thumb in the direction she’d been walking from, thin lips pursed into a frown. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“I don’t,” I responded with a snorted chuckle. “He’s a lot easier to deal with when he knows you won’t take his shit.”

She gave a non-comital hum, watching me as I walked past her, toward where she had gestured.

“For the record,” I called over my shoulder. “Don’t hold back when it comes to him. He’ll see right through you, anyway.”

She didn’t respond, but I knew she’d understood what I’d meant. I didn’t need to look behind me to know she was watching me walk away.

The sound of Merle’s voice is what lead me to him, down the series of steps and into one of the machine rooms beneath the cellblock. He wasn’t alone when I arrived, standing silently enough that neither of the Dixon brothers within the room noticed me at first.

“He ain’t got the stomach for it,” Merle was saying plainly, seemingly amused. “He’s gonna buckle. You know that, right?”

Daryl nodded, slight though it was, to indicate his agreement. “If he does, he does.”

“You want him to?” Merle asked. He spotted me, then, standing at the bottom of the staircase, though made no mention of my presence to his little brother, who had his back to me.

I could see how tense his shoulders were and guessed he was likely quite uncomfortable with this conversation. As if he were toeing some kind of line even he was unsure of. As if he were still undecided upon whether his need for his brother’s approval outweighed the place he’d found and the man he had become without him.

After a moment, Daryl responded with a shrug. “Whatever he says goes.”

Merle coughed out a harsh, humourless laugh. “Man. Jacques, you wanna come in here and find out if my little brothers still got a set of balls? I mean, are they even attached anymore – and if they are, do they even belong to you?”

Daryl jerked his head to the side, looking at me over his shoulder. He barely kept his eyes on me for more than a millisecond before turning away, cheeks red.

Merle snorted again. “You used to call people like that sheep. What happened to you?”

“What happened with you and Glenn and Maggie?” Daryl snapped back.

I felt my own shoulders tense at that question, jaw clenching as the memory played itself back over and over again in my mind. Merle’s eyes turned to me as he chewed his lip.

Daryl stepped sideways, blocking off his older brother’s line of sight to me. “I ain’t askin’ her, I’m askin’ you.”

“I’ve done worse,” Merle answered.

I cringed.

“You need to grow up,” Daryl spat, his voice harsh and low. “Things are different now.”

At that, Merle snorted, taking a step to the side in order to gesture at me around his brother’s form. “Grabbing up those little love birds weren’t just me, little brother. She’s just as guilty as I am but ain’t none of you looking at her like she’s the damn devil.”

That was because they didn’t know better. Merle, they’d had a series of bad experiences with. Me? I was just some girl that had come to her senses and was trying to do right by them. They knew too little about me to look at me the way some back at Woodbury did. And I hoped it remained that way.

“What’s that about, huh? Do I gotta get myself a nice set of tits and a tight ass before I get any respect?”

I reached out to the open toolbox sitting atop the shelf in the wall to my left, grabbed a loose screw, and threw it at him over Daryl’s shoulder. The metal struck him in the forehead, and he stumbled back a step, lifting his hands to his face with a curse.

“God damn it, woman!” he yelled.

“Watch your mouth, asshole,” I growled.

He looked at me through the gaps in his fingers, glaring. I just looked evenly back at him, brow raised, daring him to say something else.

Daryl glanced over at me, silently watching, waiting to see which one of us broke first.

It was, unsurprisingly, Merle. He looked away, dropping his hands with a grumbled huff. “Ya’ll are just doin’ the same damn thing we did, anyway,” he stated, looking back to his brother. “Snatchin’ someone up and delivering them to the Governor.”

Ah. So, he didn’t know. Rick hadn’t told him the whole story. I wasn’t surprised, of course. Daryl had made the point quite obvious that Merle wouldn’t go along with the plan if he knew I was at risk, too. I could tell he was concerned that I was about to tell him. The way Daryl partially turned his head to look at me out of the corner of his eye, the hair hanging over his forehead obscuring the look from his brother’s view, told me as much.

I didn’t say anything. There was too much of a likelihood that Merle would lose his shit if he knew, and none of us here, in this room, needed that.

“It’s different,” I said softly after a moment of silence. “Rick thinks it’s the only way. That we can’t win this fight.”

“And he’d be damn right,” Merle answered. “If we didn’t have you.”

I gave him a pointed look, warning him to watch his wording. He knew I didn’t intend on informing these people that I used to literally murder people for a living. We both had the same inkling none of them would take that knowledge too well.

“Don’t give me that fucking look, woman,” Merle hissed. “I’m right and you know it. Why the hell am I going? What we should be doin’ is sending you. Get you nice and close to him so you can do your thing.”

Daryl turned to the side in order to look between me and his brother, one thin brow slightly raised.

“You tell Rick that strategy?” I asked tensely.

Merle scoffed and tossed his metal hand out in a wild gesture. “You think I’m stupid?”

“That a trick question?”

“Shut up,” he growled. “I’m just sayin’. Why bother sending him Michonne, like it’ll make some kind of difference? We all know he ain’t gonna stop just ‘cause we asked nicely.” Merle looked to his brother, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Maybe you and your friends need people like me and Jacques around, huh?” he mused. “Do their dirty work for ‘em. Be the bad guys. How’s that hit you?”

Daryl just looked back at him, a miserable look in his eye as he watched the man he called brother standing before him, prepared to be the villain everyone already saw him as. After a moment, the younger Dixon let out a sigh and said, in a soft voice that almost tore my heart from my chest, “I just want my brother back.”

I felt my expression soften and my throat tighten a little. When my gaze slid across to Merle, I forced myself to take a deep breath. His expression was almost as miserable as Daryl’s, though I could see the moment he shut himself off, put up that wall between his mysterious inner workings and his outside persona.

“Damn it, man. Get out of here.”

He waved his brother off, turning away from him and continuing with his mission to rummage through the entire prison block, looking for crystal.

Daryl stood there for a moment, watching his brother’s back with a sad frown before he realised, I was watching him. Once his eyes locked onto mine, he straightened his slouched shoulders and took a deep breath, wiping the sorrowful expression from his face.

Without another word, he turned away and climbed back up those stairs, every step weighted by the world atop his shoulders.

I watched him go silently, my own mirrored sadness beginning to boil, simmering until it had morphed into anger. Once I was sure the younger Dixon was out of range, I whirled on Merle. He had straightened, having also watched his brother leave, and caught sight of my hardened expression. The way his eyes widened would have made me laugh under any other circumstance. He turned instantly, making a run to hide behind one of the machines in the centre of the room. I chased after him, just missing getting a grip on his shirt by a centimetre.

“Get back here!” I yelled, following him through the gap between the machines.

He ducked behind another one just before I could reach him. “No! You’re gonna hit me!”

“Damn right I’m gonna hit you!”

We continued this stupid dance for another minute, while Merle tried to multitask between running from me and trying to explain himself.

“It ain’t like I’m gonna change!” he called from behind the green mechanical monstrosity to my left. “No point givin’ him hope!”

“You can say that without being a dick about it!” I called. “And stop bringing me into it!”

He poked his head out from behind the machine. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d just do what you damn do!”

“I’m not going after him on my own,” I snapped, leaping forward and trying to get a hold onto the sparse hairs on his head.

He ducked back behind the machine before I could, running around to the other side of it as I chased behind him. “Why the hell not?”

“Because Rick –“ I paused mid-step. “Because Rick hasn’t asked me to.”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” Merle groaned, stepping out from the machines. “You’re just jumpin’ from one damn master to another.”  

“Fuck off,” I hissed. “It’s more than that and you know it.”

“You don’t want Officer Friendly finding out your dirty little secret, that it?” Merle asked patronizingly.

“Mostly, yeah,” I admitted, though my tone was harsh. “What the hell does it matter, anyway? You know Woodbury will suspect me if he’s killed like that. How would that help us, huh? Do you think Martinez would look the other way because it’s me? Or do you think that’ll spur him into taking vengeance into his own damn hands?”

Merle let out a long breath before turning and thrusting his fist into the green metal side of the machine by his left.

“Sending in Michonne won’t help, either.” I lifted a hand to rub my face, looking to the sky in exhaustion. “Doesn’t matter what Rick thinks. Phil only made the terms to deliver us to him to make things easier for himself when he finally decides to lay waste to this place.”

Merle went silent and still. I didn’t notice for a few moments, too busy trying to calm myself, to let my shoulders relax as I breathed in and out through my nose. This entire thing was starting to stress me out.

When he spoke next, his voice was different. Softer, almost unguarded. The tonal shift surprised me so much, my attention snapped directly to him so fast I almost broke my damn neck.

“Promise me somethin’,” he said.

My face went blank as I gave him an even stare. “You know I can’t do that.”

“The hell you can’t,” he responded, taking a step toward me. “You just won’t.”

“I’m not like you. I make a promise, I have to keep it,” I answered.

“You sayin’ I don’t?” he asked, shifting slightly back into that aggressive tone of his.

“No. You know what I’m saying.”

Merle had no idea what I was. I’d never told him, never planned on it for the obvious reason of possible immediate annihilation. But he knew something. Though he’d never outright asked, as if voicing the question would make it all-too real, I’d given him enough information to go off without actually saying anything that would enable him to put a decent picture together.

Enhanced senses, inability to lie, the way I was bound to my word…

He knew enough. Enough to know better than to ask me for a promise.

“Just one thing,” he pressed, pushing off the machinery he’d been leaning on to stand in front of me, closer than he usually dared. “Please?”

I blinked up at him, my entire body jerking in surprise. “Did you just say “please”?”

He looked down at me without answering.

I found myself stuck on repeat. “Did you just, completely unironically, say the word “please” to me?”

“Syn…”

And now he was calling me by my first name? What the hell was going on? I looked up at him, at the earnest expression on his otherwise harsh face, and felt something odd settle at the pit of my stomach. It was an unease, an instinctual feeling of wrongness, as if, somewhere deep down, I knew something about this interaction wasn’t… right.

After a moment, I licked my lips and swallowed back against the strange sharp sensation in my throat. “Okay,” I breathed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Promise me you’ll look after my brother,” he said. There was no scorn beneath the words, no condescending smirk or smug little grin. It was a true, honest request.

This entire thing was too weird. “Merle…” I began, tilting my head to regard him, to really look at him. “What are you going to do?”

He sniffed and straightened, plastering on a grin that I don’t think even he believed as he opened his arms and made a face. “What make you think I’m gonna do anything? I’m offended you’d even ask.”

“Do not lie to me, Merle Dixon,” I hissed, reaching up to grab the neckline of his wifebeater and pulling him close to me.

The startled look in his eye faded quickly, replaced by that same odd look he’d had a moment earlier. Fear? No. Something else, something more. Resignation?

He was going to do something stupid. I just knew it. But what?

“You said you’d promise,” he said, his voice low, barely louder than a whisper.

I stiffened slightly. He was right. I had.

With my lip curled up over my teeth in a snarl, I said, “I promise to do my best to look after your brother.”

That irritatingly pleasant pang of magic shot through my body, signalling the solidification of that promise into my very core.

With a growl that was more animalistic than human, I shoved Merle backwards. He stumbled a step, slightly put off by the strength of it, reaching out to catch himself with his good hand on the corner of the machines.

“Thank you,” he said.

Every cell in my body felt as if it were on fire with the force of my anger in that moment. How dare he force me into that! Whatever the reality of his knowledge about me, he knew I wouldn’t be able to break that promise. Knew it just as well as he knew I could hear him calling out my name, even as I passed through the gate and back into the cellblock.