#the only doctor who doesn’t trigger my white coat anxiety

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

Thinking about writing for Kenzo Tenma from Naoki Urasawa’s Monster anime 👁️

[dcbutinamrev]

The 27th

Sorry y'all...

Some trigger warnings that I think you all should be aware of:

tw:

sexual fantasies (not sure if that's a trigger warning, though it is only brief but still--),

violence,

graphic violence (as it is war, though I don't think it's too graphic.)

death

~~~

Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens sits in his headquarters, alone in the room. He sits at his desk, a lone candle flickering back and forth, giving the room some light. The sky now a dim shade of blue, the sun beginning to rise. Laurens huffs out a breath as he turns from the window back towards his desk, frowning with his lips pinched together. He squints at the oval miniature in his palm, the portrait of his beautiful Hamilton gazing up at him with a kind smile, soft clear eyes, his dark maghony red hair powdered. Laurens feels the corner of his lips quirk upward, his thumb trailing up and down over the twisty vines of the ivory frame before moving towards Hamilton himself, brushing his cheek.

He pauses, furrowing his brows together as he stares at the miniature. What number freckle was he on?

Laurens shakes his head, pressing a kiss to portrait before placing it face up on his desk. He grabs a random sheet of parchment stacked nearby, a quill and inkpot. He tucks back a loose strand of blonde hair behind his ear, letting himself cough a couple times, followed by a sniff. He groans with annoyance as he has been dealing with this sickness for the past couple of days. He hasn't recuperated one bit, despite what his doctors have treated him with.

Laurens bites his lower lip, swallowing hard as he dips the quill in the ink pot, letting the tip of his pen hover over the page momentarily as he tries to figure out what to say. He knows he may not make it out alive, despite his health circumstances. He knows he may not return to his Hamilton, who is at home in New York, waiting for him. He knows he may never get to see Hamilton's bright, sunny smile, hear his tingling laugh, see that bright red of his hair, those unique lavender eyes of his that always seems to cause Laurens to fall into a trance. He knows he'll perhaps never get to kiss those soft lips again, see Hamilton bare and exposed beneath him, all his, not Betsey's--Hamilton's now wife.

Laurens bites his tongue and grimaces, trying to focus on the now. He dips his quill in ink again and lets the sound of the pen's scratching against the rough parchment distract his anxieties.

My dear boy,

The enemy’s system was perfectly defensive, and rendered the campaign insipid. Many of our sanguine citizens have flattered themselves with the idea of a prompt evacuation of Charleston. I wish the garrison would either withdraw or fight us. Adieu, my dear friend; while circumstances place so great a distance between us, I entreat you not to withdraw the consolation of your letters. You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens.

Laurens sighs heavily, swallowing the lump down his throat as he puts the quill back into it's holder, reading his work. He nods to himself with a shaky breath, blowing the ink before folding the paper into perfect squares, grabbing an envelope nearby, peeling it open before sliding the letter into the envelope, sealing it close and addressing it to Hamilton.

Laurens stands from his chair slowly, grimacing and gripping the back of the chair tightly--so tight his knuckles turn white, clutching onto his stomach with his other arm. He stares at his feet, waiting for the dizzying to pass, clenching his jaw. He blinks several times before his spinning vision comes back. He clears his throat and continues walking towards the edge of the bed where his uniform is draped over. He lets his fingers touch the soft silky fabric of his dark blue coat, feeling the thin gold epaulettes touch his skin before he snatches it swiftly off the bed, sliding his arms through the sleeves, adjusting his white, ruffled cuffs.

He turns to face the bed, frowning slightly as he sees a faint shadow of Hamilton's wasp-waisted figure before him on the bed, a sly grin upon the angelic face, Hamilton's clothes off, his eyebrows raised high and his red hair pulled out of the tight braid, surrounding his rather feminine face like a sea of red, like lava. He wiggles his index finger, tempting Laurens to crawl onto the bed, hover on top of him. Laurens fights back the tempation, pressing his lips tight together as he sees himself on the bed ridiculously hovering over nothing, pinning nothing beneath him and kissing air, not soft petal pink lips, hearing nothing--not hearing Hamilton sing to him, crying out Laurens's name in a low moan, not feeling his chest pressed against his as his back arches off the bed.

Laurens clears his throat, shaking his head and blinking out of his sexual fantasies, before bolting out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He stands in front of the door, frozen, his expression almost that of guilt but his eyes narrowed with determination. He glances back at the door over his shoulders, his jail for the past week or so due to his illness--the doctor insisiting Laurens should stay abed in this very room, as to not to spread the disease.

Laurens grabs his black tricorn hat from under his arm, perching it on his head and tipping the pointed end of the hat so it covers his narrowed sky eyes.

He leaves the headquarters.

Without turning back.

~~~

Laurens now sits upon his horse, gripping the reigns and occasionally adjusting himself in his saddle. It's quiet, Laurens realizes. Too quiet.

Laurens peeks through branches before him and the cracks of grass green leaves. He sees the field before him with dry grass turned from dark green to brown. He sees the clear water of the Combahee River a few yards away from him. He hears birds crow as they flap their wings across the dark blue sky. It's now nearly five in the morning. Last Laurens saw it was closer around three or four.

Laurens presses his lips together, inhaling sharply and slowly through his nose. He sees his men beside him with the same determiend gazes. He lets his hand slip into his coat pocket, pulling out the minitaure of Hamilton. He smiles softly, tilting his head to one shoulder, his thumb stroking over Hamilton's powdered hair, staring deep into those dark eyes--they almost look black in the portrait instead of the blue Laurens knows all to well.

"I'm sorry, my dear boy," Laurens whispers to himself, hoping no one could hear him as he keeps Hamilton's intense gaze. "I hope you could forgive me."

He presses a quick kiss to the top of the ivory frame before slipping it back into his pocket. He turns to his left when he feels eyes on him. He straightens himself up, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest, gripping his reigns once more, giving the Colonel a challenging look.

The Colonel ducks his chin towards his chest. He doesn't say a word.

Laurens turns his head towards back towards the Combahee River.

Now, it's silent.

Completely, utterly, dreadfully silent.

No one says a word.

No one moves a muscle.

Laurens grips the handle of his sword, leaning forward against his horse, readying himself. He takes a few shallow breathes through his nose, his eyes skimming the area.

POP!

Laurens gasps suddenly, ducking instinctively and raising both arms over his head as though that would prptect him, merely out of instinct. He hears a sharp wail, a desperate cry from behind. Laurens whips his head over his shoulder, his eyes wide and blood pumping with adrenaline. He sees his men charging forward, screaming and shouting, sword slicing in the air, rifles popping.

Laurens mutters a curse and pulls out his sword from its sheath and follows the men. He grins devilishly when he slices his sword across a Redcoat's torso, red blood splurting out covering the edge of Laurens's silver sword with a coat of red. Red as the coat the Colonel wore.

Laurens wheels his horse around in a semi-circle, seeing another of his enemy ride up towards him with his sword raised high. The Redcoat aims to jab his weapon into Laurens's chest, but Laurens deflects the sword and slams his own into the man's chest. The man screams, high with pure agony as he tumbles off his horse, laying in the light brown grass.

Laurens doesn't look.

He slices his sword through the air, up and down, left and right, forward and back. He sees his own men in his peripheral as he gallops on, seeing them fall of their horses--groaning as they clutch at the wound in their chest.

Laurens screams at the top of his lungs, raising his sword high, urging his men to go forward with a nod of his head. He grips the reigns, snapping them against the horse, galloping as fast as he can. As he gallops, he jabs his sword into oncoming Redcoats, reeling his sword back with a wide grin, his face stained with dirt now and a few scrapes of blood.

Laurens doesn't know how long it's been since the skirmish has begun when he feels something sharp in his chest.

He skids to a stop, his eyes wide and jaw slightly slacked. He breathes slowly, shallowly. He blinks his eyes as he dips his head down seeing his waistcoat turn from white to a bright red. He feels his sword falling from his hand and clattering onto the grass. He feels his vision fading in and out, struggling to maintain his balance on his horse despite the amount of readjustments on the reigns.

Laurens feels his arms go slack, his eyes rolling back as he slides off the horse, landing onto the ground with a thud. He grunts, huffing and puffing, gently pressing the tips of his fingers to his chest. He bites his lip to hold back the groan. He lets his arm drop to the side, letting his head hit the ground as it's no use.

He has his eyes closed momentarily, feeling himself lighter by the second. He cracks opens his eyes, blinking the dots in his vision. He squints as he gazes up at the still starry night--soon turn to morning. He sees a faint outline of what he believes to think of his Hamilton above him.

Laurens grins, a deep sense of relief in knowing Hamilton was no were near in direct harm's way, that he is safe. He lets his head loll to the side, gazing up at his darling boy. Above him, Hamilton beams, his smile wide and so are his eyes--a clear, dark blue with a few flecks of violet--a strange yet beautiful color indeedd. He laughs at something, perhaps a joke Meade has said. Laurens sighs, pulling the miniature portrait of Hamilton out from his pocket. He still finds it a surprise still attached to his person.

Laurens rubs his thumb over Hamilton's face, from his hair to his chest. Laurens then closes his eyes, resting both of his hands on top of his miniature.

"My love," Laurens whispers. "Take your time..."

A pause.

"I'll see you on the other side..."

~~~

"Anything?" a Major Redcoat grunts as he kicks a lifeless Continental's leg to the side before crouching down and going through the Colonel's pockets, pulling anything that may be of value.

Another Redcoat, a Private, shakes his head before he stops by Laurens.

"No."

He frowns as he stares down at Laurens's lifeless form, his chest flat, a dark red hole popping through. He sees something black underneat his hands. The Private furrows his brows together, tilting his head to one shoulder curiously as he crouches beside Laurens.

The Private pries Laurens's cold hands off of the ivory frame and grabs the minitature. He glances at Laurens for a moment before back at the miniature and flips it over to reveal Hamilton gazing up at him.

The Private stares at the miniature, entranced by the dark eyes in the portrait, the slightly pointed nose, thin lips and sharp jaw. He ticks his head back up to Laurens before back down at the miniature. It takes him a couple of minutes to figure out what it means, but when he does, his face pales and eyes grow wide as he whips his head back up to Laurens.

"Anything, Private?" the Major demands a few yards away.

The Private stands back up, clearing his throat and giving Laurens one last look. He has this strange feeling that the portrait should be where it was. He glances over his shoulder at the Major still digging through other lifeless soldier's pockets before back at Laurens once more.

He places the portrait back onto Laurens's chest, face down, before standing up straighter and turning towards the Major.

"No," the Private whispers as he marches off.

"Nothing at all, sir. Nothing at all..."

[huearmy]

Life is Beautiful - I

Summary: You are a glass half full person, your life motto is "Life is too short to... Insert something and anything here". During your whole life you wanted something more, and even not knowing what it is, you put yourself to find out and get it, experiencing everything  brilliant that the world offers - within the measure of what is safe, of course. The curious thing is that your way of living ended up rousing  the interest of two vampires. One who sees beauty in everything and  loves to exist, currently working with suicide prevention; and another one who no longer sees grace in things, in that boring immortality that never ends, and only complains about the Netflix catalog all the time.

Pairing: Jimin x reader / Taehyung x reader.

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut (very soft, ok?)...

Words:  7509.

Rating: +18

Warnings: As much as my writing is soft and light, and as these are not the main topic of the story, treated in a non-descriptive way, there are sensitive themes from the beginning of the first chapter to the end of the fic that can trigger sensitive people, like depression, suicide, addictions in general - Jimin literally works at a suicide prevention center here. SO PLEASE! Read responsibly, my intention when dealing with topics like this is always 1) dealing with them in myself, as a way of putting out part of my own healing process 2) generating identification in other people, so they can go through the difficult time a little less alone. THIS IS A STORY THAT SEES THE WORLD WITH POSITIVITY.

Chapter II Chapter III .

After some centuries of not living, all vampires go through a kind of midlife crisis in which everything loses its grace and eternity becomes endless boredom. Nothing new happens, humans are born, sometimes they are relevant to world history, they become vampire food or they die dull. Vampires do not need to sleep or use the bathroom, nor to feed more than once a month, so the days are long, and often lonely, which leads many of them to stand still without moving, looking at nothing until their thirst quits, forcing them to go after a pulsating neck. Many go through this phase as serial killers, with killing as their only source of pleasure, others prefer to hibernate in some dark place or tomb, because false death is more interesting than false life. Some never get past the phase.

Jimin is not like that. With almost a thousand years of existence he is totally in love with life. Every day when the sun rises and the sunlight forces him to stay indoors so as not to burst into flames, he spends his hours with a smile on his face, engaging in small banal hobbies, such as gardening or online courses at distance - after almost a decade of doing this, Jimin already has fifty-two certificates in different areas, and he is pretty pride of it. When night comes and he can go out and see the world it’s even more interesting, because humans ’nightlife isn’t as hectic as daytime, so those who live in those dark hours are different. There are those who do wrong things and commit crimes, those who have double lives or who keep secrets, there are people working to protect and save, like doctors and police, there are night guards and twenty-four hours convenience store attendants, groups of friends who spend the night partying until dawn, and those who feel lonely in their empty apartments unable to sleep... And this is the part that he likes the most: people.

He likes to meet random people in the empty metro, buy a drink for a girl who doesn't take her eyes off him and then dance with her, strike up a conversation with a homeless man under a marquee because he knows the guy must be lonely. Watching and learning about other lives keeps him alive, more than the blood he needs to drink.

He likes to get temporary jobs to have some human experience. He has worked in pizzerias, both in the kitchen - he was not very good, so he was put in the dishwasher - both in deliveries, and at a gas station, as a hotel receptionist... But now it looks like he found a job he wants to stay in, so much that it has been a year and he has not yet resigned. Perhaps Jimin has found his calling.

"It's okay... You are not alone, I'm here and I'll stay until you feel good again." He said with his sweet, angelical voice. "Can you get away from the sharp objects? Please?"

The voice on the other end of the line sounded like just a choked whisper, before the answer came, fast, heavy breathing filled the air.

"No... I can't..." The female sobbed.

"Can you tell me why?" Jimin's voice was calm. "I... my legs are numb... I can't... stand up." Her breathing was erratic and desperate.

"Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance to be sent to you?" He used his most reassuring voice possible.

"No!" She started to cry even harder. "I don't want no one... to see me... like this." Jimin bite the inside of his cheek, thinking, maybe she just wasn't able to get up  because of the anxiety attack, but she also didn't say she wasn't hurt.

Regardless of the case, he needed to make the girl trust him in order to help her.

"What is your name?" He smiled, hopping she would listen to it in his voice. "... Ana" She whispered. "Nice to meet you, Ana. Do you remember my name? I told you at the beginning of the call."

One moment of silence.

"Jimin." She said with little certainty.

"Exactly, good job. Hi, Ana." "Hi, Jimin." Despite the crying voice, she was no longer sobbing.

"Ana, can you recall the last thing you did that made you feel safe? Secure?" A sigh reached Jimin's ears. As he waited for an answer his hands moved over a sheet of paper, he was drawing a beautiful face of a girl with crayons, without paying much attention, but getting a beautiful result.

"No." She said at last.

"I know you can, Ana. No need to rush. Breath." She thought some more, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Almost a full minute passed, the two of them silent on the call. Jimin did not press for an answer.

"I was watching Friends... with my cat." "Your cat?" Jimin smiled more spontaneously now, noticing in her voice an oscillation of affection when saying the word cat. "Talk more about your cat."

"His name is Sushi, he's fat, full of himself, and loving. He likes children, food and sleeping. I recently bought him a cute collar, it looks like a pink bow tie." She almost laughed.

"Wow...He is a lucky cat." Suddenly she started to cry again, sobbing so hard that Jimin hardly understood what she was saying.

"He ran away and hasn't come back yet... He's never been away from home  so long... He's all I have, there's no one else... I don't want to live... alone." "Is it just you and Sushi?" Jimin spoke more forcefully for her to hear over the sobs.

"Yes." She choked. "I can't get up... It hurts so much. I'm so-sorry..."

"Ana, do you need an ambulance to be sent to you?" He tried again. Silence.

"Yes." "So I will stay with you until they come to help you. You are not alone."

Jimin was a vampire in love with live, eager to live each day as if it were the most precious gift, so working in the Center of Valuing Life and Preventing Suicide was perfect. He considers himself an expert in convincing anyone that life is beautiful when he has the opportunity to say everything he thinks about. And not letting people feel alone is one of his favorite hobbies.

After all, eternity can be quite lonely, he knows how it is.

________________________________________________________________

That call is over. Jimin was searching for missing cat posts on social media. In the silent office room it was just him and three other people working, each at their separated personal table. Perhaps due to the nature of the work, or due to the late hours of the night, nobody spoke loudly or made a lot of noise when doing things, even when talking to each other, everything is always very restrained, calm.

Jimin's eyes followed the clock hands on the wall above the door. It was almost one in the morning, actually, to be exact, twelve minutes to go, so in two minutes, you would punctually enter that door with your heavy backpack full of books, of someone who just left college on the other side of the city, and after stopping at a twenty-four hours fast food to get a well-deserved burger spent an hour on a subway trip. He could already hear your footsteps down the hall, the characteristic sound of the rubber on the soles of your boots and your bunch of keys stuck in the handle of your backpack tinkling. He heard you putting your stuff in your closet and hanging your coat on the rack in the next room, and a smile formed on Jimin's face. When the hand on the clock struck ten to one and you opened the door trying not to make any noise so as not to disturb anyone's call, Jimin pretended not to notice you entering, not taking his eyes off the computer screen full of images of cute cats. You straightened up and held firmly the pair of coffee cups in your hands till the knots turned white, looking straight at him - in fact, from the moment you walked through the door you were already expecting to see Jimin sitting at his table, as always, and since then you haven't looked away. Walking in light steps - that he could hear by the way - to him who had his back to you, you tried to control the butterflies in your stomach, happy he wasn't in a call right now.

"Jimin?" You called softly, close to his ear, but not that close. Yet. Jimin contained a smile and turned around as if you had taken him by surprise. "Hey, Y/N, didn't see you there". As usual, his direct look made your heart race and you gave a nervous laugh before getting along with his flirty tone. "I bought you coffee." You handed him one of the cups. "To take the night shift a little better."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

You are the other reason Jimin didn't quit this job yet. A few weeks ago, when he was working long enough to decide to leave and go for the next adventure, you started working at the night shift, and right away you caught Jimin's attention, even though at first you didn't talk with him that much - in fact you only talked to the women on the team, and avoided the men. More than once he found himself paying attention to your emergency calls, how you talk, being positive without being suffocating for those in pain ... how you love life. After a while you started doing the same thing, a little less easily, since you don't have a vampire audition, but it was enough for you to acquire a platonic crush on Jimin, which resulted in you opening up, and you two start talking here and there. Now almost whenever you have time or money left over - college life is poor life - you bring him coffee. Jimin doesn't actually drink coffee at all, and he doesn't feel sleepy either, but he thinks it's cute that you worry for him. You see each other three to four times a week, depending on the schedule of work, and he is always eager to see you. Flirting is exciting, and he hasn't done that in a while... Like two centuries, and how it was done back there was quite different. Other times indeed.

"Did you lose your cat?" You asked, confused.

"Oh, no, I didn't." He closed the page with the photo of a white and gray cat wearing a pink bow tie.. "One friend of mine lost her cat, Sushi." "Poor thing. I hope she finds Sushi soon..." You slightly pouted.

"Me too. I'll help her." Jimin said, and the butterflies in your stomach thought it was beautiful.

Something on his desk caught your attention, a colorful draw of said cat made with crayon. Before Jimin could stop you - he was distracted by hearing your heart beat faster because of him - you picked up the stack of papers to get a closer look.

"And you drew him! How beautiful... I didn't know you were so talented." "Thank you. My friend who taught me, he is much better than me..." Jimin simply answered.

You moved on to the next sheet, where another sketch of the cat in different colors made your eyes shine. "So he must be awesome. Look at this!" Jimin was happy to be praised by you, the pink of your cheeks when speaking was a beautiful sign for him, but then he remembered what was the next drawing in your hands, and before you could see it, he cleared his throat and took them back, keeping them in the drawer. It was a drawing of a girl's pretty face. Your face. "They are not quite ready yet..." He pretended modesty.

"Oh, sorry. If you need help, just tell me. I can hang up posters or something. About finding the lost cat, I mean." You volunteered, and then looked around. "I better get to work before someone scolds me."

You went to your desk, across his, and your eyes met a few more times before as you sat down and turned on your computer. Jimin's phone rang and he forced himself to look away from your face, someone else needed him now. "Good night, my name is Jimin and you called the Life Valuation Center. Can I help?" He spoke, his voice welcome and full of affection. ________________________________________________________________

Jimin's shift ends before yours, just before three in the morning he puts things away and leaves the table ready for the person who will use the next shift, but he won't leave, even if everyone thinks so. Instead he goes to the roof to look at the stars and wait for you to leave - not that you know he is waiting for you. He was listening to a random playlist on spotify, stretching his body to the beat just because it feels good, thinking about nothing specific, just existing and feeling good about it.

The night breeze brought his scent to him, looking down from the parapet, he could see you leaving the building, with your scarf well wrapped around your neck, covering half of your face to protect you from the cold air. He doesn't understand you... It's beautiful that you want to help people who are going through a difficult time, and you've commented before that the night shift matches your other schedules, and that you like to stay up at night. However, he thinks you should consider it's not worth it. It's so late and empty when you go home, it's dangerous for a human woman, and as much as he knows that you have a pocketknife in your pocket, Jimin thinks it's silly of you. Usually he wouldn't think much about it, but it's you, and he is fond of you, he can't just do nothing about it. So even if you don't know it, he accompanies you home every night to make sure you are safe. He is only satisfied and goes home when he hears you enter your room. Sometimes he stays a little longer, sitting on the emergency stairs outside your building, listening to you walking up and down in your room, doing whatever, instead of going to sleep soon.

That's kind of creepy. He knows. But he is a vampire, he is already creepy in essence. But of course he would never watch you sleep, for exemple, this is a stalker limit that he does not intend to cross.

"Okay." He sighed as he heard you getting into bed. "I have one hour and a half before the sun rises... Let's find that cat." __________________________________________

You were awake for a couple of hours already, currently packing your books at the end of a lecture, really needing sugar to feel prepared before the last class of the day, and excited that instead of going to the study group you are a part of, you will take an experimental dance class and it's your day off, which means that instead of staying up until dawn working, you can stay up until dawn studying, and maybe sleep a little earlier. Life is too short to not take all the free trial classes available just because your schedule is already full and totally demanding. Anyways you are dead tired, wishing your body doesn't need to sleep... Since you started to work on the Life Valuation Center all your sleeping schedule went down the drain. At first your plan was to work the night shift only at the beginning, and then change your hours, but for some reason you always liked to stay up all night, also the movement of calls in this period is bigger and more specific, which helps in your internship report, and of course, in the day shift there is no Jimin... You've settled in, and now after months of this crazy, fickle routine, your body is feeling the side effects.

"Three of this rainbow donuts please." You asked at the college cafe. One because you want, two because one is not enough, three because you are greedy. Life is too short not to overeat your current favorite sugar source. You sigh to yourself, taking a seat along your friends. Your mantra for life is life is too short to...insert anything here, experimenting and doing things that you never imagined before and that your mother probably wouldn't approve a hundred percent is what moves you. Basically nothing scares you, since childhood you were courageous and fearless. You subject yourself to almost anything, within the measures of what is safe, to have good stories to tell. The world is too big to be content with just having good grades to graduate and have a good job. What you want is much more... so much more that you don't even know what... But it’s not just because you don’t know yet that you’ll stand still without going after it to find out.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you gonna do on the weekend?" Your friend, Becca, asked comfortably within her girlfriend's embrace. As usual, whenever you see the two of them together being all lovey dovey, you feel a twinge of pride in your heart, because you were responsible for them to start dating in the first place. Although your romantic life is not very interesting, without serious or successful relationships, you are a great cupid.

"For the very first time in months... I don't know. I didn't plan anything, maybe something will show up, if not I'm just going to sleep. Why?" You smiled your happy smile of eating what you like.

"Pool party. You need to get a tan, you look like a vampire with that pale, tired face of yours."

You laughed because it's true, since you started changing the day for the night, your skin has acquired a not healthy tone that you are not used to. You've been missing the sun a little.

"First of all, I'm too cute to be a vampire. Second, yeah I'll think about it, I have a new bikini I haven't worn yet that makes my breasts look stunning." One of your friends that was sitting by your side put his arm over your shoulder. "I changed my mind, I'm going to this party." He loudly said. The girls in the group didn't laugh at all. "Shut up, Mike." You playfully pushed him. ________________________________________________________________

This was the second night that Jimin was looking for the cat, Sushi. It was not difficult to find out the address of it’s owner, since he had to activate an ambulance for her, and with that he started looking for the animal in her neighborhood. Passing through the empty streets at night after his work shift, he could see the girl's tracks leaving "missing" posters with a picture of a kitten wearing a pink bow tie, on lampposts and bus stops. At first Jimin thought it was going to be easy, with his keen vampire senses, but all he found were stray cats that weren't Sushi. The second night of searching was already ending, the sun was rising, threatening to make him explode into ashes if he didn't come home soon, and no clue as to where to look the next night he had.

Before getting into the car and driving home, Jimin took one last look at the slightly open curtains in the girl's room, Ana, just to make sure she was okay. She had been discharged from the hospital that afternoon and was now sleeping on the couch, probably medicated. Jimin didn't want to leave her alone, but he couldn't just walk into her apartment and offer help, for now all he could do was find a way to find the cat. ________________________________________________________________ Jimin lives in an old pretty house in the wealthiest part of the city, it isn't a mansion, but it is big and expensive enough to impress anyone who sees it, privileges of centuries of saved money. It's a cliché, but vampires dress in designer clothes, ride luxury cars and live in expensive mansions, houses, apartments, and Jimin is no exception.

From one of the main rooms, behind a heavy curtain, hidden in the gloom, was another vampire, watching the street with intent, expressionless eyes. When Jimin's car turned the corner and up the wide street lined with huge trees, the vampire got uneasy, his beautiful restless hands worrying the hem of his sleeves. He was anxious and angry, if his heart was still beating it would be racing. The garage door opened and the car entered, disappearing from view, in the next second the vampire was no longer in the room but in front of the door leading to the garage, waiting in the empty, dark hall. The knob turned the door slightly opened, Jimin with his head down did not seem to notice the presence of the other before being attacked.

"AH!" Jimin screamed as long arms embraced his neck. If it wasn't for the wall behind him he would have fallen, yet he had no escape, with a body much larger than his overpowering him. "Taehyungie!"

"You are late! Is the second day in a row you get home after sunrise! Are you trying to die?" Taehyung said, and didn't let Jimin go just yet. "It's okay. I was careful, I just had to do a few things before I came home. Look, there's not even smoke coming out of me." Jimin ran his hands over Tae's back, making him relax. The other stepped back a little, taking his face in his big hands.

"You could have sent a message. I asked you to let me know if you were going to be late again, Jiminie..." Tae pouted, still distressed. "And why do your clothes smell like garbage? Take it off."

Even feeling deprived of affection, Taehyung walked away looking disgusted, covering his nose with two fingers. Jimin obeyed, taking off his sneakers, jacket and jeans, following Taehyung through the corridor to the laundry room, where he put everything in a basket to wash later, and also exchanged the shirt for a clean one too. "I went into some alleys today, looking for a cat. That's why." Jimin explained, feeling much more comfortable in not smelling bad.

"And where's it? I don't think Tannie will like to share the house with a cat..." "Where is what?" Jimin was confused. Tae crossed his arms.

"The cat?"

"Oh no!" Jimin laughed, reaching for Tae to take him by the shoulders. "I wasn't looking for a cat to bring home, as much as I would love one as a pet... It's the cat of a girl I met, and is very sad to have lost it..."

"I got it..." Taehyung mumbled.

Jimin was just helping someone. Again. And Taehyung couldn't say exactly why it bothers him so much every time, but it does, he feels distressed, almost as if the world around him collapsed, and it makes him think he's being overdramatic. Live an eternity when you can't even put your feelings out in moments of frustration. Damn, it is conflicting... If vampires could cry, he would. But never that he would let Jimin discover that he feels that way.

It was Jimin's turn to take Tae's face in his little hands.

"You are so skinny. When was the last time you fed?" Taehyung didn't answer.

"You don't even remember, right?" Jimin's eyes went worried. "Did you see that I brought some O- packs for you? I left it in the fridge."

"No, I didn't." A shy smile spread across Tae's face. O- is his favorite blood type, but because it is a not so common type, and humans need transplantation, it's not always that Jimin brings it to him, usually opting for his second favorite flavor or other one available.

Jimin has been trying to cheer his friend up with little treats. It has been a difficult phase, in which he thinks Tae is going through the vampiric midlife crisis. He hasn't been out of the house for almost two decades and does nothing without a little external motivation, even the simplest things like eating. So Jimin tries to bring the best blood types to fill the fridge, signed all available streaming platforms, updates Taehyung's video game consoles as soon as a new model comes out, tries to get him interested in new hobbies - which never works but he doesn't give up - and he even adopted a puppy so that Tae would never be alone.

"Come." Jimin pulled him by the hand to their modern practically untouched kitchen, opened the fridge and picked two packs of blood, the dark liquid shining at the cold light. “In my room or yours?"

"Yours."

The two of them got to Jimin's room, followed by the sound of four paws scraping the polished wooden floor, Yeontan chasing them closely. Jimin pulled the covers off the clean bed, on which he rarely lies down, so they could get more comfortable. Tae laid on his back, against the pile of smooth pillows, carefully opening a packet of blood to not spill a single drop, and put a stainless steel straw in the opening. Jimin turned on the TV, put the dog in the bed, and cuddled Tae's side, with his head on his chest.

"What show have you been watching?" Jimin asked.

"None. I've been looking for something interesting in this shit for days and I can't find anything." Tae took a sip of his blood with a pout.

Jimin chuckled. "I'm choosing then."

A moment of silence followed, in which the only sound was of Tae drinking the rest of his first pack, and then opening another one.

"I think I need to shower..." Jimin commented.

Taehyung's arm that was around Jimin tightened. "Not now. Later." Jimin laughed, thinking it was cute. An idea crossed his mind, another small treat.

"Do you want to bath with me instead?" He looked up to Tae.

Tae hold tightened even more.

"Not now. Later. Now we cuddle."

As if agreeing, Yeontan climbed over the two vampires, finding a comfortable place to lie down and join the cuddle pile.

"Ok."

________________________________________________________________

Tonight you didn't have time to talk to Jimin when you arrived at work, he was on a call, and it seemed really serious. You didn't have the money to buy extra coffee even for yourself, so you hadn't an excuse to pass quietly by his desk to leave a post-it written "Hi :)". In those circumstances, you went straight to your desk to work, to do your best to be a good listener.

To your surprise, making your heart melt and your breath hold at the bottom of the throat, you saw at the top of your computer screen a post-it with a "Hi, sweetheart." written on it, and another one with a "Look in the fridge.". After working with him for that time, regularly doing some paperwork like filling out documentation and such things, you could say for sure that this was Jimin's handwriting, besides, only he calls you sweetheart.

You checked the clock on the wall with an eager look and a silly smile. As you always arrive ten minutes early, there was time to go to the break room quickly, and look inside the fridge before starting to work. And so you did. The break room was nothing more than a small table with a few chairs, a small couch, a sink, an old coffee machine, a microwave and the refrigerator, all in a tight space lit by white lights that leave the place a little impersonal. None of your co-workers were there, as usual. You crossed the small room to the fridge and opened it trying not to make a noise, more out of habit than necessity.

The interior was very empty, with some forgotten lunchboxes, but that didn't interest you. Your goal was right in the middle. A big cup of iced coffee, from a franchise that you don't usually buy from because you find it a little too expensive for your student budget, with your name written on a post-it on top of it.

"Y/N, I wanted to be me treating you today. Hope you like it."

That coffee was as cold as Jimin's fingertips when touching yours, but it warmed your heart. Sometimes you question yourself if it's healthy how head over heels you are for this guy, for so little.

Back at your desk, now with your iced coffee, you wrote a post-it and pasted it on the back of your computer screen, where Jimin could see it. "Thanks :)" Then you started to work. Other people needed you now. ________________________________________________________________ On your fifteen minutes break time, you were leaving the restroom, passing a moisturizing hand cream - because you swear that the soap in this place dries out your skin, and god forbid you from harsh hands -, the sound of the break room's door opening made you lift your eyes from the floor. It was Jimin. He don't take breaks, it's not like he needs it, he doesn't get tired, but he didn't get the chance to talk to you today yet, so as soon he saw you stretching in your chair, indicating that you would soon get up to go to the bathroom - yes, he learned your routine and mannerisms - he discreetly left the room to meet you by coincidence in the hall afterwards.

"Hi, Y/N. Did you like the coffee?" He charmly smiled at you, he was eager to ask it to you, to find out if he made the right choice of flavor, or if he made a bad mistake and you hated it - he couldn't help thinking about that possibility. Anyway, he was looking forward to your approval.

The truth is that you were so stunned by his caring that it didn't matter what the flavor was.

"Actually, yes. I love vanilla flavored things. It's basic but it makes me happy." You fixed your hair, pulling it behind your ears. Jimin could tell by your smile and your heated face that you aren't lying.

"Nice. I wanted to make you happy." He approached you, more than is suitable for the work environment, and it made you nervous, and of course he noticed. But it was okay, if someone came close he would hear and walk away before they could see you, too bad he couldn't tell you that.

"Mission completed successfully." You said, without looking away from his eyes - no matter how much part of you shouted at you to do it, your heart felt like it was going to explode. Well, your heart has a limit, so you changed the subject. "Did your friend find her cat?" Sadness took over Jimin's eyes.

"Unfortunately not. I've been looking for him for two days and nothing, I swear I think I've looked in every street, alley and trash can. I don't want to think like that, but I think Sushi is no longer with us." He sighed, clearly frustrated. You had the impulse to rub his forearms to comfort him, it was the very first time you really touched him. "If he is a cat that wasn't accustomed to getting out, and didn't know how to walk on the street, it is possible that something bad happened... But! He's a cat, if he used to go out often, he might have some other house, other owners, and that's why he hasn't come back yet." You optimistically said.

A smile spread in Jimin's face.

"That makes sense! She told me something like 'He's never been away from home for so long', there's hope then. And you also gave me an idea. Thank you, Y/N." He pulled you into a hug, and you thought you could die.

"You welcome." You said against his chest, deciding not to waste the opportunity to return the hug. ________________________________________________________________ The day was perfect for a vampire walk in the daytime. Cloudy and rainy. No deadly sunbeams and an excuse to use an umbrella without calling attention to it. After the tip you gave, Jimin looked in the right place after accompanying you home that night, and in less than an hour he was outside the window of two children's rooms, in a ground floor apartment, looking inside, and sleeping between the feet of one of the children was the cat, he wasn't with his bow tie but there was no mistake, Jimin was sure. Even without being able to enter - vampiric rules, you only can get in somebody's house if invited, or else you explode as if you were under sunlight - Jimin could smell cat all over the house, and the windows all had anti-escape screens, which indicated that it was a family of cat people.

Jimin would need to come back to pick the cat during the day, knock on the front door and politely ask. That's why heavy weather is perfect. With a dark couture coat, covering all from his neck to the back of his hands, to his knees, a design hat and sunglasses, and last but nos least, a big umbrella, he approached the lower middle class apartment complex. Without hesitation he raised his hand and knocked. Some seconds passed by, sound of kids running inside and a voice of a famale scolding them muffled by the closed door, and then a little girl, maybe six-year-old, appeared in Jimin's field of vision, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen after all.

"Hello." Jimin smiled. "Are your parents home?"

She smiled at him, but shook her head negatively.

"Jo, who is it?" An older girl opened the door wider and faced Jimin with a frown that fell apart when she saw his smile. Great, a teenager, he thought. "What do you want?"

"Sorry to bother, I really wanted to talk to an adult, but..." Jimin lifted his phone, the screen showing Sushi's missed post. "I saw my friend's cat on your window."

The older girl narrowed her eyes as she looked at the photo, but before she could answer, the little girl she called Jo before ran away.

"No!" She screamed, disappearing inside the apartment, and then slamming a door somewhere.

"Sorry for that, please wait a minute." The teenager closed the door on his face, and he could hear her shouting and scolding the girl little inside. He was starting to lose his patience. Jimin doesn't like to be ignored at all. Should he knock again and use his mind control powers to get the cat? He was pondering the idea when the door opened again, the two girls were still loudly arguing inside, and this time it was a small boy who must be the middle sibling in front of him.

"Hi, grandma said to tell you to come in." He mumbled.

"So you are letting me get in your house?" Jimin asked with a satisfied grin.

"Yeah... follow me." The boy was avoiding eye contact, being shy. Jimin thought he was adorable.

Jimin followed the boy to a tiny living room, where an old woman was sitting in front of the TV. The girls were now silent, but clearly wanting to argue some more, and the small one was with Sushi in her arms. Jimin sighed, he likes children, a lot, even though he doesn't live with many, but he likes them even more when they're not having a tantrum.

"Hello. Please, take a seat." The old lady pointed to the old couch. The vampire obliged, and almost immediately a fat orange cat jumped into his lap. In this small room alone he could see three more of them. "So, why do you want to steal one of my babies?" Steal? Jimin was slightly offended, he already explained himself, but the chaotic situation created a misunderstanding. "I'm not here to steal nothing, ma'am." He showed his cellphone again. "One of your cats is Sushi, my friend's cat."

"That's not his name!" The little girl shouted tapping a foot on the floor in anger. Jimin just raised his eyebrows at her, making her swallow hard. But he is in control of the situation, so Jimin smiled to remain pleasant.

"Of course it is. Just watch, little one." He reached out to call the cat. "Come here, Sushi." Even though the cat didn't know Jimin to trust him - and these people don't need to know that - cats are creatures of the night, strongly attached to magic and protection in the dark hours, and in the hierarchy of the night they obeyed vampires. The only things that cats respect more than vampires are witches and their own owners whom they protect. As Jimin expected, Sushi jumped off the girl's tight hold and went over to him.

"Good boy. Ana is missing you like hell." Jimin scratched behind his ears. Before someone else could say anything, he proceeded. "When he got lost he was using a pink bow tie." The old lady was still with Jimin cellphone in her hand, and he could see she was convinced he know the cat, but wasn't intending on letting him leave with him yet.

"I'm seeing it in the post, but there was no tie when we got him." She replied. "You just didn't see it, ma'am." Jimin was tired of this conversation, it was being a lot less nice than he imagined on his way there. When he looked to the little girl to talk to her, his eyes were intense and powerful, and his voice was full of authority. "Go get the tie where you hid it, little one."

Mesmerized by Jimin's power, the girl didn't even blink or say anything as she obeyed, turned around and ran to one of the rooms. Jimin doesn't use hypnosis very often but he has fun every time. She got back with it and handed it to him.

"Thanks." He removed the effect and the little girl blinked a few times before understanding what happened.

The old lady was clearly angry with the girl, but it wasn't Jimin's business. "Well I think that's all. We are going now." Jimin got up from the couch.

"Wait!" The teenager snapped. "Jo lied about the bow to keep the cat, and that's bad, but she already loves him! You can't just take him away!"

Jimin was almost on the door.

"Of course I can. Besides, it's not because what she did is bad, young lady. It's because my friend loves him, actually this cat is Ana's family. No one should live alone, right?"

"Right!" The old lady got up too. "I'll get you to the door, tell our friend we are sorry."

"I will. Thank you." ________________________________________________________________

"You found the cat!" Tae sniffed the back of Jimin's neck. "Where is it?"

Jimin was putting the clothes he was using to wash, to remove the smell of cat and the places he passed by. And to get comfortable, as is his habit when he gets home, he just stayed in his underwear and t-shirt.

"I already gave him back to his owner." In the next second Jimin was dropping himself on the leather couch.

"And how was it? Did she thank you with tears in her eyes?" Tae leaned over the back of the sofa with his chin in his hands.

Jimin chuckled, Taehyung's thirst for drama is funny, and he's always been like that. And at least that doesn't seem to have changed...

"Well... She cried a lot when she found him in the window. She looked really happy!" Jimin sang. He was really happy too. He helped someone to find their smile again, even if it is a little bit, it made him really proud of himself, a warm feeling in his chest telling him it was the right thing to do, and that he should do it again if he gets the opportunity. Taehyung's expression changed, suddenly he was disinterested.

"You didn't even talk to her? Just left the cat there for her to find?"

"Well, yeah." Jimin threw his hair back. "I couldn't risk she recognizing my voice and thinking I was stalking her. Scaring her was not the goal, Tae, quite the contrary..."

Taehyung stared at him in silence for what felt a whole minute - maybe it really was, vampires perceive time differently. "You are not a secret superhero, Jimin. You are a vampire." Said that he got back to his room.

Jimin doesn't understand. These outbursts and mood swings leave him confused. And it's not like he hasn't already tried to talk. This... This he doesn't recognize in Taehyung. It hurt his feelings and at same time he feels it is partially his faut. "I can be both if I want to!" He exclaimed.

No answer. To find somebody who would be happy for him and understand the euphoria he felt for saving a little bit that girl he went through his contact list. A lot of vampire names - a lot is maybe an exaggeration, since he doesn't have many friends at all - who wouldn't be rude, but wouldn't understand, and also some former human colleagues from past jobs with whom he hasn't spoken in a long time and maybe should erase the number... And you. Of course you are the obvious choice. You had sympathy for the case from the beginning, even offered to help. And if it weren't for you he wouldn't have succeeded...

Jimin: hey sweetheart Jimin: I found sushi! Jimin: thanks to you btw He sent the messages, hoping it wouldn't be strange. It wasn't the first time you two texted before, but it was just an exchange of memes and silly flirt... without compromise talk. And what he wanted this time was different. You took too long to answer, and he wondered if you were in class and if he was bothering you. He wanted everything but to mess it up with you right now. Maybe he should've checked your class schedule for the week to make sure he texted you when he was sure you were free. But he was so eager to talk to someone... with you. He gave up waiting and went after doing something productive. Crochet dolls. He was doing a mini Taehyung, with red eyes and little cute fangs - an apology for later, neither of them like fighting with each other, even if you can't call that earlier thing a fight- when his cell phone started to crazily vibrate and beep.

You: OMG! You: thts amazing! You: sorry i didn't aswr before You: I was taking a nap hehe You: anyways You: i'm so happy u found him You: [image.jpg] You: ur friend must be even happier :) You: what do u mean thanx to me? You: sorry i spammed u :( Jimin can't handle you. You are too cute. You literally sent him a photo of you with an enormous smile, cheering, to show him your reaction. And you were with your hair all messed and the puffy face of someone who just woke up. Precious. Jimin: no problem, sweetheart Jimin: you said to look in other owners' houses. basically. I found him with a old cat lady with three grandchildren   Jimin: you are looking cute btw You: OwO You: i'm looking like shit Jimin You: BUT thats awesome You: if it was me id be crying til my eyes fall You weren't even there with him, in person, and you were putting a smile on his face. How dare you say you look like shit when you have those perfect cute cheeks? So alive...

Jimin: EXACTLY. that's why I wanted to find him so much. Jimin: and because you helped me, I want to reward you Jimin: i know you don't work today. me neither. do you want to go out for coffee in a nice place? You took too long to answer again, and that's because your heart is exploding and knees trembling while you stare at your cell phone screen, standing midway in your kitchen. You: u dont need to. i did nothing. This time Jimin took too long to answer. He was making a decision. To be more straightforward. More honest. Until now he was dictating a slow pace for your flirting, because for him romance is like that. But what if he tries to speed things up a bit? Or if he lets you command? How would things be?

Jimin: Y/N, respect my excuse to ask you out.

He knew what your answer would be. Even so, he felt anxious, hearing a non-existent heartbeat in his ear, while the three dots indicated that you were typing.

You: ok. what time do you come to pick me?

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[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Seven: Target Practice

AN: So, life has been crappy as of late and my anxiety is rising because of the election, but I hope this chapter lifts your spirit. It’s a lot more cheery than I’m currently feeling.

Word Count: 3.2k

Trigger Warnings: mentions of past abuse, dated/offense language

Chapter Eight: Tis’ the Season

Oh what a sight the dining hall was to behold.

Instead of the drab and barren interior that Sabine was accustomed to seeing for months on end, the hall was now decorated in festive galore. It was Christmas Eve after all. The tables had been pushed back against the walls, dressed up in candelabra's and lined with delicious looking food, wine, and other spirits. The walls were hung with holly, mistletoe dangled from the doorways, and a makeshift Christmas tree stood in one corner of the dining hall, the candlelight reflecting off of the ornaments.

The room was filled with warmth and laughter as the celebrations were in full swing.

The dance floor was packed full of Union soldiers, doctors, nurses, and other personnel, all dancing to the sound of a fiddle. The fiddle player stood in the corner, violin raised to his chin, his body swaying along to the music. The song was filled with merriment, emitting a joyful, upbeat melody in which everyone was either dancing or clapping along to.

Sabine was among those dancing on the dance floor.

"There you go, you're getting the hang of it now!" Josef cheered, as he led her around the floor.

He had been teaching her the steps to the polka for the past twenty minutes and Sabine had stepped on his toes more than a few times. With each mistake she made, Sabine felt herself grow hotter and hotter and wanted to give up, preferring to watch everyone else dance, but Josef refused to let her do so. He wasn't going to let a few missteps ruin the fun.

She was glad that he didn’t.

Sabine laughed gaily as she skipped along, feeling herself being spun around in circles. Josef and Sabine danced past the table that Booker and Andy were sitting at and even as she was whirled away, she managed to get a glimpse of the pair. Booker was sipping from his cup, watching the couples dance before a grin broke onto his face at something Andy said. Seeing both of them in such high spirits was a shock to Sabine, she had never seen them look so...bright.

The holidays really do bring out the best in everyone it seems.

The fiddler's bow sailed over the strings, and with a flourish he brought the dance to an end. Everyone on the dance floor fell about laughing and clapping. Josef gave a playful bow and Sabine mirrored his actions with a curtsy of her own, letting out a few giggles as she lowered her head.

"Thank you for this wonderful dance Sabine," Josef said, grinning at her. "I couldn't have asked for a better dance partner," he complimented, lightly taking a hold of her hand and raising it to his lips.

Sabine rolled her eyes, "Josef, you can't possibly mean that," she replied skeptically, as he released her hand. "I trampled all over your toes," she reminded, lightly chuckling.

"And I'm all the better for it," he quipped, a twinkle in his eye and Sabine just shook her head and laughed. "Accompany me to the punch bowl?" he invited, sticking his arm out for her to take.

"Actually, I think I'm going to step outside for a moment for some air," she replied. "But save a glass for me," she requested, briefly placing her hand on his arm.

Josef nodded, "Don't be gone too long," he warned, lifting a finger. "I believe Nicky wants to teach you how to waltz next," he remarked, a warm smile on his face.

Sabine breathed out another laugh and nodded her head before walking to entrance, miraculously finding her coat before stepping out the building. A shiver made its way through her body as the wintry night air surrounded her in its entire splendor. She wrapped her coat tight against her body, drawing her arms around her and leaned against a column wrapped in red and golden ribbons. Little flakes of snow could be seen being blown around in the wind and Sabine let out a sigh, smiling to herself. She watched the snow fall silently and slowly onto the ground, coating the camp in a blanket of white silk.

Tonight felt like an absolute dream for Sabine.

She wondered if she would ever manage to forget such an evening, but she found it highly unlikely. Sabine would remembered the warmth of the dining hall, the lightness she had felt when she danced with Josef, and most importantly the fact that this was the first Christmas Eve she celebrated as a free woman. Her mind began to wander, thinking of all the slaves that she freed. Did they all make it North? Were they reunited with lost family members? Did they make new families of their own?

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, last Christmas they were outside their slave cabins celebrating the brief respite they were given from the grueling labor they were forced to do yearly. They didn't have gifts to exchange, but together the slaves shared their collective joy with each other. The cheerful tunes of fiddles and banjos being played echoed in the air on the Martin Plantation along with laughter from the slaves. Sabine even sung 'O Holy Night' by herself once she had enough cider in her.

O' Holy night, the stars are brightly shining It is the night of our dear Savior's birth Long lay the world

The sudden feeling of being tapped on the shoulder brought Sabine's singing to end and made her nearly jump out of her skin. Spinning around, her face cracked into a smile once she realized who it was.

She placed her hand on her heart, "Jesus Booker," she breathed, laughing a little. "You startled me," she commented, shaking her head.

"Forgive me, that was not my intention," he apologized, looking down at her. "You had disappeared from the hall and I was curious where you gone," he stated, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Sabine lifted her brow, "I wasn't making a run for it, if that's what you thought," Sabine replied, and Booker just grinned. "I was feeling a bit too warm in there," she explained, moving her head in the direction of the door.

"So you came out here to freeze to death in hopes of cooling off," Booker joked, raising an eyebrow of his own.

"Ehh," Sabine began, shrugging her shoulders. "I would thaw out eventually," she quipped, a knowing smile on her lips.

Booker's eyes crinkled into a smile as a laugh came from him, one that Sabine joined in with.

Booker's laughter slowly subsided after a few moments, "You have a lovely voice," he commented, moving over to the opposite column and leaning back against it. "I didn't know you could sing," he added, his light colored eyes meeting her dark ones.

She slightly shrugged her shoulder again, "I haven't had much to sing about lately," Sabine pointed out, glancing down at her boots. "But seeing how I will be enjoying this Christmas Eve as a free woman, I do believe it's a cause for celebration and singing," she noted, a half smile on her face as she brought her attention back to Booker.

"Undoubtedly," he agreed, nodding his head.

Sabine shifted her body on the column, "Was there another reason why you left the hall Booker?" she asked curiously, tilting her head slightly. "Was it too merry in there for your liking?" she questioned, her lips curving upwards.

Booker let out a snort, "No, that's not the reason," he answered, shaking his head and chuckling. "Actually," he began. "There's something I'd like to give you," he announced, and Sabine's eyebrows rose in shock. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. "Here," he said, offering it to her.

Sabine stared at it with visible confusion, "What's this?" she asked, her eyes bouncing from the parcel to him.

Booker quirked his eyebrow, "It's a Christmas gift," he answered dryly.

"For...for me?" Sabine questioned, pointing to herself.

"No, for the man standing behind you," Booker responded sarcastically. Foolishly enough, Sabine looked over his shoulder, causing Booker to laugh. "I was only joking. Yes, for you," he stated, with a small smile.

"Oh," Sabine breathed, grabbing the gift from him hesitantly, as if it might bite.

"It's not poisonous," Booker remarked, chucking a little.

"No, it's just..." Sabine trailed off, very close to tears. "I've never received a gift before," she admitted, letting a tear shed as she lifted her eyes to look at Booker, his expression softening. "I-I'm afraid I haven't brought anything for you,"

He waved a hand, "That's not the point. Won't you open it?" he asked, an expectant look on his face.

Sabine carefully pulled away at the twine, unfolding one corner of the paper, then another, before tugging it gently away. Inside, she found a journal bound in burgundy leather.

"Open it," Booker ushered softly.

Sabine opened the book to find page after page of blank paper and a ribbon bookmark.

"It's lovely," Sabine commented, returning her attention to Booker. "But, forgive me, I don't quite understand," she admitted sheepishly.

"I want you to fill it," Booker explained, gesturing towards the journal. "I've been told that writing down your thoughts and feelings helps clear the mind," he continued. "And with your nightmares or any unpleasant memories that come to surface, I figured it would be better for you to write them down instead of keeping it bottled inside," he stated. "But it doesn't have to be just for negative memories, you can also write about the daily goings-on in your life," he suggested, flashing her a quick smile.

"Wow," Sabine breathed again, glancing down at the journal. "Not to be rude, but Booker you could use your own advice," she chuckled slightly, staring at him.

Booker chuckled as well, "I've found other ways," he said, patting his pocket where she knew his flask was stored. "You will use it, won't you?" he asked, a hint of worry in his voice. "I hope I haven't been too presumptuous..." he trailed off, looking a little regretful now.

Sabine placed her hand on his arm, "Not at all," Sabine disagreed, shaking her head. "I'm just...I'm touched. You're very kind. Thank you Booker," she said, smiling brightly.

His eyes softened again, "You're welcome," he replied, relief written all over his face.

"Hmmm," Sabine hummed, staring at her present. "Last time I received something around Christmastime, it was not as...pleasant," Sabine commented, a grimace forming on her face.

"What was it?"

"It all started when Aaron Martin had woke up some of the slaves up in the dead of night, he wanted some entertainment," Sabine recalled, going off into a daze. "He wanted to watch the negroes dance for him," she said, her nose turning up in disgust. "So, we danced. And as I danced I thought would be safe. Around that time my hair had been forcibly cut to the point of looking like a man," she went on, pushing a few strands of hair from her face. "But I was wrong, I had caught Aaron's eye as I danced, even short hair did not deter his appetite for me. One moment I was twirling around, the next, my face was exploding in excruciating pain. I blacked out soon after," she finished, finally gazing back over at Booker.

"What happened?"

"When I came to the slaves told me what happened. When I was dancing, Aaron didn't take his eyes off of me, it was like he was in a trance. And in a fit of rage and jealousy, Genevieve stormed over to a table and threw a crystal decanter at me," she recalled. "I was left with a black eye for weeks," she informed, running a finger underneath her left eye. "And to think the she saw me as a daughter," she added, a sardonic chuckle coming from her.

Booker shifted on his feet, "You're not serious?" he asked, a frown lining his features.

"Honestly, she only said that to save her own hide," Sabine replied, staring at Booker. "But maybe somewhere in that sick, twisted mind of hers, Genevieve might actually have viewed me as a daughter of some sort," she guessed, moving her head from side to side. "And if that was the case, to view me as one of her own, she treated me most cruelly,"

Booker sighed heavily, "I'm sorry for what you went through," he apologized.

Sabine shook her head, "No, maybe it is me who should be apologizing," she corrected. "How quickly I spoiled this merry evening into a dark one," she mused, her lips forming a thin line.

"Oh, come now," Booker started, sticking his hands out. "My spirits are still high, no harm done," he reassured, and Sabine's lips quirked up into a small smile.

A silence fell over between the two of them and Sabine looked down at her gift. She let her fingers softly trail down the smooth, blank pages, thinking of all things that she could possibly write down to fill the journal pages.

"You know, I've been thinking," Booker began, causing Sabine look up from her journal. "You don't have a surname," he pointed out, digging into his coat again and retrieving his flask.

Sabine's eyes lit up, "You're right," she agreed, nodding her head. "So much has happened in the past few months that it completely slipped my mind," she remarked, tapping her temple.

"Most people take the surname of their father," Booker informed, unscrewing the cap. "Do you know it?" he asked, before taking a swig of his drink.

She chuckled slightly, "I hardly remember his face, let alone his surname if he even had one," Sabine responded, watching Booker fastened the cap back onto the flask.

"Well then, I guess you start with a clean slate," he remarked, stuffing his flask back inside his coat. "Have anything in mind?" he questioned, staring at her.

Sabine cocked her head to the side in contemplation, it was such a small decision and yet she found herself racking her brain to give herself a full name. There was no one she could think of that she could take a surname after who had been kind to her. The only people that were kind to her were the slaves on the Martin Plantation, but like her, they were addressed by their forenames. There was also Alain, who was kind to her, but he was a Martin. No way in hell, was she taking that name.

Alain.

Didn't she and Alain talk about surnames a long time ago?

Sabine dragged the rag in her hand along the bookshelf, careful not to bump into the occupant of the chair behind her.

"Did you know the surname Lavelle originated from a town called Laval in France?" Alain questioned, tracing his finger along the world map that was spread out on the desk in the study.

Sabine smiled to herself, she had gotten used to Alain supplying her with random and sometimes useless facts.

"I did not," she answered, briefly looking over her shoulder.

"In English it translates to 'of the valley,'" Alain informed, his chair creaking as he shifted in his seat.

Sabine stopped what she was doing and turned around, "Lavelle, did you say?" she asked, staring down into his blue orbs.

"Yes," Alain responded, nodding his head. "The town is west of Paris, come look," he said, as Sabine moved closer to the map.

Her finger hovered over the map, before lowering it down and tapping the town twice with her finger.

"Sabine Lavelle," she murmured, staring down at the paper.

"What did you say?"

Sabine raised her head from the map, "I said, 'Sabine Lavelle'," she repeated. "It has quite the ring to it," she remarked, a smile pulling at her lips.

"It certainly does, Miss Lavelle,"

God, how long ago was that memory from? Was it three years ago or maybe four years ago? She'd all but forgotten the surname she had given herself all that time ago, and it was all because one of Alain's random facts.

"Lavelle," Sabine said, finally answering.

"Sabine Lavelle," Booker addressed, nodding to himself. "It flows together rather nicely," he commented, a smile on his face. "Better than Cec-" he began, but stopped himself.

"Cecile?" Sabine finished, quirking her eyebrow.

"Yes," he replied. "Genevieve, she gave you that name didn’t she?" he questioned. "When I called you that when we first met...you reacted so violently," he recalled.

Sabine nodded her head, "She changed my name within moments of me being given to her," she informed, carefully slipping the journal back into its wrapping. "She told me, 'Sabine', the name that my mama gave me, was an ‘ugly’ name," she recalled, breathing out a laugh as she shook her head.

"She's wrong," Booker disputed, and Sabine noticed how his jaw clenched. "Sabine is...très beaux," he finished, sincerity shining in his eyes.

Sabine felt her cheeks flush with heat and she darted her eyes from him, looking over to the tents. It was strange to hear a compliment come from Booker, especially one that involved the words 'very beautiful'. It was even stranger for her to receive a compliment from a white man and know that they are being genuine about it.

Booker cleared his throat awkwardly, "We should probably head back inside," he suggested. "I think we might actually freeze if we stay out here any longer," he joked, rubbing his hands together.

Sabine looked up to the sky for one last look of the snowfall, and from the corner of her eye she could see something with green leaves hanging above the two of them.

A smile made its way on her lips, "Booker, you sly old dog!" she called, and a confused frown formed on his face. "If you just wanted to kiss me, you didn't have to go through all this trouble," she teased, flicking her eyes upwards to guide Booker's gaze.

Booker slowly looked up and his face contorted into mixture of embarrassment and horror.

"Sabine I-" Booker stammered, his face turning red.

"My goodness Booker, don't look so horrified at the prospect," Sabine remarked. "I know have my flaws and all-"

"It's not...not..."

Sabine took a step closer to him, "Relax Booker," she laughed, lightly tapping him on the arm with her present. "I was just pulling your leg," she said, a wide grin on her face as Booker seemed to release a breath that he didn't realize he was holding in. "Come on, I'm sure Nicky has been waiting to waltz me away," she joked.

Booker cocked his head slightly, "Funny, I was going to ask for the next dance, but you're teasing caught me off guard,"

Sabine's eyes widened, "Really?" she questioned, her tone a bit higher than usual.

"Don't look so horrified Sabine," Booker mocked, with a playful smirk on his lips. "I'm not full of misery like you think I am," he quipped, holding his arm out for her to take.

She laughed, interlocking her arm with his, "I never took you as someone who knew how to dance," she admitted, looking into his eyes.

"I was born in eighteenth century France, I had no choice," he said, with a chuckle.

Chapter Nine: Home on the Range

[weclassygirl]

𝐓𝐮𝐮𝐦 𝐞𝐬𝐭

Word count: +5.8k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Summary: “You’ll fit right in, I promise.”

Warnings: none i think, triggering? (if i got it wrong please tell me! i don't want to offend anyone)

Author’s note: hello, i’m back! as mentioned above if i got something wrong, please tell me! as always give me your most brutal honest opinion so i can improve. english is not my first language so beware. 

dulce periculum series: 01 / 02 / ... / 04

Gif credits (x) 

You wake up with a gasp, your hand immediately rising up to your neck, holding it gently. Another nightmare. Your whole body is shaking lightly, your hand releases your neck slowly and drops onto your lap. 

It's sunrise. The faint light of the morning raises up directly in front of you but you see some dark clouds forming in the distance. You wonder what time it is and look towards the nightstand. The clock reads 7:30 am. You sigh, running your hands through your hair. You rub your eyes in means to wake up when you hear a distant voice coming from the hallway. 

You get out of the bed and grab the white robe you left laying on the couches under the windows. You reach the door knob and turn it slowly as to not make much of a noise. 

The voice that you've heard is beginning to grow more louder with every step you make. You stop by the kitchen and hear Santino talking on the phone in Italian.

You're not really surprised, it's his mother language after all, but you can hear him switch to French every now and then. Probably talking to more than one person. You hear him speaking more quietly, in a harsh tone. 

You peak your head slightly from behind the wall and see him turned away from you, he paces back and forth, his hair adorned by a few curly strands that hang above his forehead. 

"I think you forget your place here. You answer to me now and when I say that you have to comply to my order than you do so without hesitation, is that clear?" he says in Italian. "I am aware of what happened last night, I was there, no? Sooner or later people all over the world will take an interest in her, don't you think that-" he stops mid sentence noticing you in the doorway. You can't really read his expression, you see him showing surprise and that hint of seriousness disappears from his face. 

"We'll talk about it when I'm back." he ends the call before the person on the other side can respond. Santino's gaze is focused on you. 

"Good morning, slept well?" he asks as he moves towards on of the cabinets, pulling out two mugs and placing them under the coffee machine. 

You move closer and sit at the chair beside the marble island. "Like a baby." you lie. You haven't slept all night due to the nightmares, it's always the same, it's always that same basement, nothing really changes in it. You move in your seat and feel pain growing up your body. You hang your head down and grit your teeth. 

Santino’s expression softens but you don’t see it. He knows that there isn't much that he could do to help you ease your pain. Instead he places a cup of fresh coffee in front of you. You took some of the painkillers the doctor gave you but they still haven’t kicked in. You wrap your hands the mug and immediately take a sip of the warm liquid. Santino does the same. The morning sun has already rose up and is now casting a gold light in the kitchen. You look up from your mug at the man in front of you. 

He's wearing only a dark gray shirt without a tie. His Camorra ring gleams in the golden light. 

"News travel fast in this world, don't they?" you point out suddenly. You sip on your coffee, the liquid warming you up inside. 

"It would appear so. The events of last night are spreading worldwide, people know who you are, where you've came from. Some choose not to believe it." 

"Do you believe it?" you asks with curiosity. 

"Call me crazy, but I guess I do." he puts his finished coffee back on the table and plays with his ring. Your eyes snap to it. It's golden with a red ruby inside of it. 

You chuckle under your breath. "You are crazy, you called a contract on John Wick." 

"Which you made me call off."

"You're welcome, by the way. If it weren't for me you'd be lying cold in the Continental's basement." you say a matter of factly. You saw it with your own eyes… well through a screen. Him laying on the metal table while the Adjudicator leans over him and examining the damage that John caused. 

The cuts on his face seem to be fading away. Yours do to. The bruises are still there but not nearly as visible as before. 

"What happens now?" you wonder out loud. " I heard your conversation and I'm guessing it was someone from Camorra. Do I have some kind of bounty on my head?" 

His eyebrows draw in confusion. "Bounty? Why would you think that, bella?" 

"I don't know.” you shrug. You can feel a sensation of anxiety building up in your body. “Maybe… maybe Winston told the High Table of what happened at the Continental and now they've decided that it would be easier to eliminate the threat." you feel yourself slightly starting to panic. "I know what happened after your death” you point to him “what if some of the events won't change?"

It's hasn't been even 24 hours and the reality of the situation finally starts to get to you. You are not entirely safe here, Santino could grant you protection, but will it be enough? One wrong move and you could be as good as dead. 

Santino notices your uneasiness and stands up. "Hey, look at me." he says softly, which is surprising to hear from him. You do as he asks, staring at his emerald eyes, the sunlight falling into them from the side. "Winston will not tell the High Table of what happened there, he doesn't have any reason to. No blood was shed on its grounds." he tries to calm you down, your breathing slowly becomes more uneven. You feel like you can't breathe. 

Santino sees that movement and you move away from him, your back hitting the cabinets behind you. You slide down on the floor. Your breathing is even more rapid now and you feel tears starting to gather in your eyes. You try to calm down but nothing works. You don't hear Santino sitting beside you, his arm stretched out, palm face up. You look at it, consider taking it, to ground yourself somehow. 

You carefully place your shaky hand in his. He doesn't say anything just runs his thumb over your knuckles. It's a soothing gesture and you feel your heart rate calm down as you hear him speak.

"I can't even imagine how you feel. Being trapped in this world." you can tell that this isn't a thing he is used to doing. Comforting someone, a complete stranger at that. But he tries and you're grateful. "When my father told me of who I will become in the future I was terrified. I was always aware of this world, but when he said it, it felt like a new door has been opened. My sister and I were always here, but we never had a choice in it. She always wanted the seat and so did I. But the only reason she got it was because my father favored her more than me." your breathing starts to calm down as you listen to his story. 

"To be able to take up one of the seats at the High Table is a great honor. Camorra is one of the most powerful at that table. One of us taking that seat was a big deal, no one knew who it would be and even we didn't know it." your eyes move to him, he keeps his vision on your entangled hands. Still running soft circles over your knuckles. "No one expected our father's decision, especially me." he sighs and brings his eyes up to yours. "But that's just the course of life, isn't it, bella?" he smiles sadly. You grip his hand a little tighter. 

"If- if I can be honest, your father was kind of a dick." you say softly, still trying to calm your beating heart. Santino grins. "Yes, well, he wasn't particularly liked by people. They always saw him as someone that should be respected but mostly feared." 

You look at the window, the sun has already risen up. The day has officially started. You begin to slowly stand up from the floor, Santino follows your lead. Your hand still hold his and you release it from his grip.

"There are clothes prepared for you in your room." he informs you. Clothes? You don't remember seeing them in the room. You draw your eyebrows together.

You exit the kitchen area and head towards your temporary bedroom to see a fresh set of clothes and shoes sitting on the couch beneath the window. You take them in your hands. 

A classic black jeans, dark blue shirt and a pair of semi high boots. It's casual but also an elegant set. There's also a black coat next to the neat pile. It reaches your calves, the material of it is soft, firm and flexible. You quickly get dressed and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. The clothes lay perfectly on you and you wonder if maybe Santino somehow found out your measurements throughout the night. 

You step out of the bedroom and go straight to the living room. Santino is not in it but you see him from the corner of your eye, standing on the small terrace connected to the room. You gently open the door and stand beside him.

New York is beautiful at this time of day. You can hear honks of the cars from here, see people walking by in the far distance. Where are they going? Do they know of this hidden world? 

"So… what now?" you lean against the railing.

"We’re going to Italy." he responds shortly still looking ahead. 

Italy. His country. The place where his family rules with an iron hand. Or ruled, you have no idea how it functions now with his father and sister dead.

"Before you ask, let me explain few things." he offers, in exchange you nod your head. "Your appearance here is noticeable and it's starts to turn a lot of heads. You under Camorra's protection is the only good option for you now. I suggest you take it." he narrows his eyes at you and you quickly draw your eyebrows.

"And if I don't?" you lift your chin up and raise your eyebrow at him. He grins. "Then you end up dead in some of the alleys of this city." he confesses with a seriousness drawing on his face. You press your lips together in a thin line. 

You consider his option. You already agreed to go with him so what's the difference? He may use you to his advantage but who says that it can't be used against him. You don't have to comply with whatever he would want. You just need to survive here, that's all. And if that happens because of him and his offer, you might as well take it. 

"Fine. When do we leave?" you ask. 

His lips draw upwards. "In 2 hours, but we need stop somewhere first." He says and turns to leave the terrace. You look one last time at the skyline of the city. Thinking it may be your last time. "There's a package waiting for me on the other side of the city." 

"What is it?" you question. 

"Now that would be unwise for me to tell you, no?"

"Well seeing as you would be taking me with you then I might as well know."

"It's something my father left." he says after a beat.

You don't question further. If it's from his father then it must be important, even if he wasn't the favorite child. But for him to leave Santino something and receiving it after his death… you can only guess what it is.

Both of you quickly ride down the elevator to the lobby. Santino returns the keys to the concierge and you head towards the car waiting outside. 

"Don't you think that it would be faster to get your package by metro?" you turn to him. He raises his eyebrow at you as if you've just told the most ridiculous idea. "What? I might have never been in New York, but I know that the metro is the fastest way to go around. You rather just sit in traffic? Like yesterday?" 

Last night the drive from the Continental to the penthouse took over 30 minutes. The distance from the hotel to the penthouse was short, but the traffic made it seem too long.

You can feel the tiny drops of rain falling onto your face and look up, the bright sun has began to hide behind gray clouds. 

The Italian considers your option. "Very well." Both of you start walking towards the nearest subway and Santino takes out the metro card from his wallet and presses it to the scanner. 

You're surprised that he even has one. You stand at the station, awaiting for your train when you notice something from the corner of your eye. A homeless man in baggy clothes. There isn't many people around, only few on the other side of the station. 

"I think we have a company." you say looking up at Santino. His face expresses confusion. "What makes you say that, cara?" he questions. 

"The guy in the corner has been watching us since we got here… and I know who he is." you glance towards the homeless man as he stands up, definitely hearing your last sentence. He starts walking towards you and Santino starts to gently place you behind him, but you stop him before he can finish that action.

He looks down on you, questions filling his head. But as soon as the man comes closer, Santino realizes who he might be and for who he works. 

"The Bowery King wants to talk with you." he says in a scruffy voice. His clothes are dirty and worn out but you catch a glimpse of a shiny watch on his wrist. 

The three of you hear an announcement of the train coming from the speakers and feel the rush of air behind you as the train passes by and stops. People slowly start to exit the train, the three of you don’t move. The Bowery King himself wants to speak with you. You shouldn’t be surprised, after all he has every eye in the city, or at least he would be one of the people that do.  

“We’ll go with you.” you respond. 

“He wants to speak with you alone.” he insists, glancing towards Santino and throwing him a dirty look. You look between both men and smile mischievously.

“No,” you step closer to the man “either we both go or you can just go back to your boss and tell him to fuck off.” the homeless man stares at you with wide eyes. 

"He won't accept this, people don't refuse him." 

"Well, first time for everything right?" you say raising an eyebrow. "Either we both go or none of us do."

The little morning breakdown is now sitting deep in the back of your mind, you can't afford being seen as a vulnerable girl from another world. Santino stands beside you, his lips twitching to smile. 

The man looks between you too and considers taking the option at hand. "Follow me." he says through gritted teeth. 

You miss the train and Santino doesn't gather his package in time. 

Both of you arrive at the Bowery King's domain. People scattered all around the shelter, wearing dirty and worn out clothes. A facade. You know that all of this is just a cover up for the whole industry inside. Money flows here as well as it flows in the hands of rich people. 

You walk down the rusty, metal staircase with a torn umbrella over your head, Santino trailing behind you and the King's man ahead, leading you to his boss. 

The boss himself is standing on an open platform almost beneath the Manhattan Bridge. He’s holding one of the pigeons in his hands, petting it carefully.  The New York air hits you with chilly wind. Your coat flatters lightly from it. Santino stands beside you, his shoulders tense. None of you know why the Bowery King would want to speak with you. 

"As I live and breath, miss Jade." exclaims the dark skinned man. "I must admit it is an honor to meet you and you" he turns his sight to Santino "the man who offered 7 million dollars for the life of John Wick. Spare pocket change perhaps? We would gladly accept it." the Bowery King grins at Earl who’s standing behind you alongside four other men.

"What do you want?" you ask with an icy cold voice. 

"Ah, straight to the point, I like it." he puts the bird gently back in his cage and turns to you, a transparent red umbrella over above his head and spreading his arms lightly. "You are the talk of the city. The girl who stopped the Boogeyman. To save him?" he glances in Santino's way. "And for what?"

You side eye the Italian, he doesn't say a word, only silently watches your conversation with the King.

"You’re all seeing and all knowing, shouldn’t you know that by now?" you squint your eyes at him, the left of the morning sun hitting you in the face, you hear raindrops bouncing off your umbrella.

"Hmm, your right," he hums, deep in thought. "I assume you’ve told him your explanation in a more private setting.” the King smiles, it's a pleasant smile but it holds that cold attitude. “But you know a lot too, don't you?" he steps in closer, Santino moves a bit closer to you too. "You are from a world where all of this is a movie." he gestures around himself. "A movie, Earl! Can you believe it? We are stars." 

The New York traffic on the bridge is starting to get louder with every passing minute. You and Santino stand close to each other, listening, awaiting for the Bowery King's next move. The Italian decides to speak up.

"You might want to speed up your little speech, we have more important things to do than talk with rodents like you." he comments and the King grins. 

"Well, no one likes to waste time, but on you," he turns to you with a mischief in his eyes "everyone in this damn city would do so in a blink of an eye." 

The word does travel fast in this world. Maybe Winston did inform the High Table. You look towards the stairs from where you came from, expecting an Adjudicator to come in at any second. You feel relieved when that doesn't happen. 

"Why? How many people know? No one was at the lounge yesterday." you slide your eyesight to the King. 

"Well you do seem to be missing those few guests that were there before you interrupted their lovely night." 

The guests. There were a few of them before you crashed into the railing of the stairs at the Continental. Few heads turned your way, and all of them left the venue when Winston told them to. What if one of them stayed in the shadows? 

"Let me guess, one of them was working for you." you acknowledge.

"Indeed she was." the man says it slowly with a smile playing on his lips. "Quite a scene you've made, placing yourself in front of a gun, shielding the Camorra prince. You have some guts on you, baby." he directs his eye on the Italian beside you.

"And to answer your rude request Mr. D'Antonio, I am here to offer a deal to your lovely saviour." 

You furrow your eyebrows as the Camorra head places his arm on the low of your back. 

"No, we're going." Santino says coldly. 

Both of you turn to walk back but before you can do that the Bowery's men stop right in front of you, hands placed on the guns hidden inside their torn jackets. 

You hear a small chuckle from the King. "So quick to refuse when you haven't even heard my offer." you keep your eyes on Earl and a few other men before you turn your sight to the man standing behind you. 

"Work for me." he simply says. You look towards Santino, looking for his reaction. "You supposedly considered going here in the first place, why not making it true?" your eyes slide from Santino's and go in the direction of the Bowery King. 

"I'm afraid that I have already beaten you to it, she's going with me." the Italian cuts in, his eyes still focused on your frame before they move to the man.

The King stares at the prince with hooded eyes, his gaze piercing into Italian's. One leader versus another. 

"I was speaking to our guest and not you, Mr. D'Antonio. So what do you say?" he takes slow steps in your direction  "We could teach you everything you need to know about this world, teach you how to blend in with shadows, be unnoticeable."

You think about it and feel conflicted. On one hand staying with the Bowery could help you blend in this world, on the other you could go with Santino and see where that leads you. He owes you, that much you know, you did save him. You could use that favor in the future.

"Thanks for the offer, but... I think that going with Santino will be somewhat a better option."

The Italian stares at you in disbelief, he thought that you might take up on the man's offer. 

"Call me surprised," he says slowly "do tell me one thing before we depart. Why do you think you're safer with him than with us?"

You look towards the man in question, right into his emerald eyes. The sun is not hitting them anymore, hiding behind the clouds but they still hold that bright look in them, his hair wave slightly at the feeling of the wind flowing on the platform. The birds faintly chirp in the background. 

"He's Camorra and a member of the High Table. I saw how easily it is to take your bowery down. Your people, even trained , don't stand a chance against professional killers." you step closer to the King and you hear shuffling of feet behind you and soft clicks of guns.

"Careful now, it's dangerous saying things in that tone here, baby." he smiles widely but there is nothing sweet about it. "You've seen it? In this movie?" he wonders. 

The King heads to one of the cages and you slowly walk towards him. The people behind you are still ready to attack if it comes to it. He pets on of the birds with his gloves hands. 

"Yes and I also saw that you gave John seven bullets. But don't worry, I don't think that you're endangered now that I saved him." he knows you're talking about Santino, but he shows surprise at your mention of the bullets. It reminds you of the same surprise on John's face when you told him his real name. 

The Bowery King sighs and closes the birdcage. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, miss Jade. Our doors are always open for you, we could really use your knowledge." your shoulder loose their build up tension just a bit. "I do hope we meet each other again."

You keep your sight on him, your eyes burning into his. 

"Don't hold your breath."

He hums. "Hmm, definitely a fighter soul. I'm sure we'll hear about you again.” the man smiles and nods towards the man who brought you here. “Earl will guide you on your way out."

You turn to leave and look at Santino, his expression blank. As you head up the stairs you can hear a faint laugh of the man. 

Outside there's a car waiting for you and the driver from last night. He was probably informed by Santino of your location. When he did that though, you don't know. Maybe on your way here? 

Both of you enter the car and head towards the airport. The rain keeps falling onto the car and makes a tapping sound against it. You follow a single drop that slides on the window and see it connecting with the others. After a brief moment of tranquility you speak up.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Santino responds. "You've seemed to be handling the situation pretty well. You didn't need my help."

You feel a sense of pride coursing through you. You refused the Bowery King, one of the most powerful people in New York. How many refused his offers and lived to see another day? You don't ponder about it for too long. 

"He's a cool character, you know," the Italian raises an eyebrow "in the movie. The actor that played him was working with Keanu on a previous massive movie trilogy."

"Keanu?" he asks with curiosity lacing his question.

"Ah, right, you don't know, that's how John's actor is called, Keanu Reeves." you quickly inform him. 

"Unusual name." he says as you pass the river. 

"Yeah, it is, but it falls in memory." you stare at the water, some small boats float above it, fishermans sitting on the shore. "Just like John now that I think about it." you smile at the thought.

Santino glances at you, at your shy smile. The tranquility fills up the small space of the car. You hear the faint sound of the tires, moving on the pavement, the passing cars and a quiet sound of the flowing river.  

"What about your package?” you turn to him, your face filled with concern. “We wasted a lot of time there, don't you wanna know what your father left you?" you question with furrowed eyebrows. 

"He's dead anyway, I don't think that it would be something useful." he only answers. You wonder what would his father leave him? What if it was something to show that he cared about him? Or maybe something to make him hurt even more? 

You don’t respond to his answer, but don’t want for the silence to fill up the atmosphere again. 

"So… Italy. We're going to Naples?" you question, he looks at you as if he just acknowledged your question.  "Camorra exists in my world too. They're placed in Naples and have people working for them worldwide, many of them fear them and are the second most active Italian mob." you inform the Italian. 

"You just described the Camorra working here." he says with an amused smile. 

You say nothing, he observes you as your coat falls delicately on the car seat, your hands clasped together in front of you. Your face is turned to the direction of the window, admiring the view of the New York. You're not in the middle of the city but it doesn't stop you from marvelling at the scenery next to you. 

"Would you be taking up on the bowery's offer if I weren't there?" the Italian breaks the silence with a sudden question. You answer him without even thinking about it. 

"No." you tell him the truth. You wouldn't, over the course of last events you realized that maybe being in the presence of the new Head of the High Table would be more efficient than staying with the Bowery. 

"Why?" he questions further. He's curious, you did propose that offer in the first place as a suggestion, but even suggestions could be your true intention. Why changing your mind then? 

"You owe me," you smirk "and I could really use a decent protection. If the bowery knows about me then it would be turning a lot of heads in my direction." you say as a matter of fact. 

Last night's events may have already reach some dangerous people, maybe even the High Table itself. You don't want to risk meeting face to face with one of their servants. "I know things that some don't, that's an advantage." 

"It could get you killed here." he leans in closer, his whole expression flashes with softness and seriousness all in one second. You decide to lean in too, narrowing your eyes. 

"That's why I stayed with you.” you exclaim as you study him. His expression doesn’t change. You slowly start to smirk. “ You're welcome... again, you may find out one thing or two from me and my knowledge of this world." you lean back in your seat and cross your arms on your chest. "And you still haven't thanked me for that." you point out. Santino says nothing but you can see from the corner of your eyes that he tries to hide a smile. 

Both of you arrive at the private airport. It’s empty, the only thing standing in the center of the open space is a pearly white plane. You step out of the car and look towards the beautiful machine. The sun has already started to peak out from the clouds, giving away to the stormy weather. 

"Of course it’s a private jet.” you mumble under your breath. Santino seems to have heard that cause there's a smirk on his face as he turns to you. 

“Come on.” he urges you. You walk towards the stairs leading to the plane and are met with one of the Camorra guards. He's dressed in a grey three piece suit with his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Welcome back boss.” he says to Santino and the man nods his head. The Italian starts to enter the plane but the guard stops you before you can do the same. Santino notices your absence by his side and turns to the guard. 

“It’s alright, she’s going with us.” you hold your gaze with the guard as he still holds your arm. He releases the grip on your arm and takes a step back. You look towards Santino and he only tilts his head as if to say Come on. 

The interior of the plane is simple but still shows that state of luxury that comes with everyone flying on private planes. 

“Take a seat anywhere you want. The flight is over 8 hours long.” Santino tells you as he sits down in one of the comfy chairs. You sit across from him. The only people in the small space are both of you and a hostess that comes up to you with a smile on her face. You suggest that she also works for Camorra and is probably trained in how to defend herself.  

“Welcome aboard, can I get you anything to drink?” she asks politely. Her head turns from you to Santino. The Italian shakes his head, not wanting anything at this moment. You look up at the woman. 

“Um… water is fine.” you say softly and return the smile. The hostess disappears and you look outside of the small window. The sun is high up in the sky, by the time you arrive in Italy it will be already night. You stare at the New York far in the distance, the high skyscrapers gleaming with light reflecting on them. 

You wonder if you made a right decision. Yes, going to Camorra is a safer option but you are still not sure if they would even accept you, an outsider, one that doesn't belong in this world. 

All this time that you've been here you haven't even thought of a way to get back home. Or even a way of how you really got here in the first place. Do you want to go back home? Is it worth it, to go back to a place where you were not fully acknowledged by others? You feel like the questions won't end for a long time. You break your thoughts with one question that has been bugging you since the Lounge. 

“Do you think it’s a good idea taking me with you?” you ask the man sitting across from you. He glances towards you and his green eyes shine in the afternoon light. 

"How many times will you ask this before we get there?" he asks with a hint of that Italian accent of his. You smirk his way, mirroring his own, faint grin. 

"As many as it takes, I just… need to be sure." you hesitate with the last part. You see from the corner of your eye the sun peaking out from the leftover clouds, some of its rays fall on the side of your face. 

Santino keeps his eyes on you and slowly turns his gaze towards the window. Everything is already prepared for the departure. You can hear the engines of the plane becoming alive. They roar faintly in you ear. 

“You’ll fit right in, I promise.” you hear Santino say. His gaze still focused on the window, the plane begins to move and it slowly takes off.  “You’ll be safe there.” 

New York starts to become a small point in the distance now that you're in the air. The city is even more beautiful from above, you can still see cars moving and even the platform below the Manhattan Bridge, but you don't see any of the Bower King's men or even the King himself. 

“I hope you’re right," you say quietly, he narrows his eyes at you. "cause I don’t really wanna end up six feet under, especially in this world.” 

You look at your reflection in the small window, the bruises started to fade and don’t hurt as much as before. The painkillers helped but you will still have to take them in the evening, just to ease the rest of the pain as you’ll fall asleep.

It hasn't been even full 24 hours and you feel a big change coming. You don't know if it will affect the world around but you're sure that it will get to you. You sitting on that plane proves it, in a few hours you'll be in the center of the underground world or at least a big part of it. 

You wonder if Camorra will be the only organization you meet during your time here. You've met the Bowery, but you know that there's so much more underneath this world. 

The tranquility filling the air of the small space is deafening. Over 8 hour flight, might as well get comfortable. You lean back in your chair and lean on the side of the plane. The soft trembling of the walls lulls you to sleep, before you can fully submerge yourself into the dream land you feel a soft material being placed on your body. 

[particularemu]

Insanity | A Hwang Hyunjin Series | Part 1

Part: [Prologue] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Epilogue]

Word Count: 5046

Type: Angst

Warnings: violence, drugs, descriptions of anxiety, panic disorders, fucked up hospitals, a sassy Jinnie boi, and corruption.

Author’s Note: Without further ado, I present part 1 of Insanity. Please understand that I’m no doctor, and I have 0 medical knowledge, so if I make a mistake, shoot me a message and school me so I can fix it :3 

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he stepped off the bus, hand tugging his suitcase behind him. There it was — Rosewood Psychiatric Institution — the medical facility he was going to stay and work in for the next couple of years. Hyunjin would stay longer, but he had strict plans to start his own institution after getting some work experience. Judging by the beautiful landscape — it looked like he picked the right place. 

The land rolled smoothly under the thick, luscious grass, the picture-perfect landscape looking as if it was sculpted by the gods. There were several colorful plants and shrubs along the cobblestone path, leading Hyunjin directly to the gates. After being waved through by a couple of nice-looking guards, Hyunjin made his way over to the living quarters for the staff. Thank goodness the way was pointed by various golden signs, otherwise, he’d surely get lost in the big institution made up of several buildings. 

Hyunjin’s lips parted in surprise as several sprinklers turned on, watering the beautiful lawn for the first time that morning. Wow… they obviously had a passionate landscaper who thrives on taking care of all these plants. It must take the man (or woman) all day to water the plants, cut the grass, and pull each and every weed out of the landscape. 

The institution was incredible. Most mental health facilities he visited during his university years weren’t this large — or as aesthetically pleasing. The boy couldn’t help but gawk at the beautiful architecture. 

Hyunjin cursed as his watch beeped, signaling the start of his shift in the next hour. He opened the door to the living quarters, gasping at the luxurious decor coating the walls. This doctor must make loads of money off this place to be able to afford decor this nice. It was nice to know that Dr. Douglas took care of the staff. Hyunjin quickly made his way over to room 108, grateful that he wouldn’t have to drag his suitcase up 3 flights of stairs. Hyunjin tucked his suitcase under the bed, brows creasing when he saw the pure white uniform laying across his bed. 

Fuck, he hated white. Of course, he expected he’d have to wear the typical white coat, but usually, he was allowed to wear blue scrubs. Why the hell were they forcing the staff to wear some 1950s style uniform? Oh well. Hyunjin changed into the uniform. 

Dr. Douglas must be obsessed with the look of white — Hyunjin assumed because all the rooms were coated with white paint, decorated with white knick-knacks, and beds were made with white sheets and comforters. Hyunjin would have to find a poster or something to go on the wall, or he might have to check himself into the institution. 

Hyunjin rushed out the door, checking to make sure it locked before heading over to the main building. From what he could tell on his map, he would be working in the largest building. Hyunjin headed inside, eyes scanning the room for some sign of where he should go. 

“Hello, how can I help you, sir?” A kind woman dressed in some 1950s looking nurse uniform caught Hyunjin’s attention. 

What is with these old-fashioned uniforms? Maybe they were trying to keep things timeless for those who’ve been in the institution a while? Or perhaps Dr. Douglass just enjoyed vintage things. Either way, Hyunjin thought the uniform choice was odd. Throw some dirt, grime, and blood on them and the uniforms would look like they’re straight from a horror movie.  

“Hi, I’m Dr. Hyunjin. It’s my first day. I’m supposed to start today.” Hyunjin couldn’t help but gawk at how clean everything looked. All hospitals should be clean but this — this institution looked as though it was scrubbed top to bottom with bleach. There was no scuff mark, footprint, or speck of dust in sight. 

“Ah, Dr. Hyunjin welcome.” A kind-looking man on the other side stepped out. “Come on over.” 

Hyunjin squeezed through the door and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to met you Dr?” 

“Dr. Henry.” The man smiled at Hyunjin. “We’ve been understaffed for so long. I’m happy they finally have someone to take over the day shift for Miss ______.” Dr. Henry handed Hyunjin a medical chart packed full of your medical history.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he scanned the papers. Twenty-five sedations? In just over two months? “Umm, excuse me for asking, but why has she been sedated 25 times in the past couple of months?” 

“She is a feisty young thing. If she doesn’t get her way she starts hitting and screaming.” Dr. Henry laughed. “So we typically have to sedate her before she hurts one of the doctors or herself.” 

Hmm… That still doesn’t sound right. Hyunjin brushed it off until he spotted an obvious problem in your chart. “Hey, why is she getting a stimulant?” Hyunjin frowned. 

“What do you mean?” Dr. Henry leaned over Hyunjin’s shoulder to look at your chart. 

Hyunjin pointed to a spot. “It says right here that she’s dealing with intense anxiety, panic attacks, manic, nightmares, and I’m not sure why it says etcetera there, we should be listing all her symptoms.” Hyunjin paused and pointed to another section on her chart. “Then over here, it says she’s taking Adderall — a stimulant.” 

“The doctor prescribed it for her ADHD.” Dr. Henry smiled. 

Hyunjin pursed his lips. The chart claimed that she had no memory of her life before the institution — and there were no notes stating she was diagnosed with ADHD. “We might want to consider taking her off of it. Stimulants can increase panic episodes. If she’s still having intense panic attacks, why are we still giving her Adderall?” Hyunjin pulled a pen out of his breast pocket. “We should remove that from her list.” 

“Don’t do anything yet.” Dr. Henry pat Hyunjin’s shoulder. “The doctor has to approve any prescription changes.” 

Hyunjin cocked his head in confusion. They were all doctors… Why did they need to have medication changes approved? All doctors had the ability to prescribe and change prescriptions. Whatever… Maybe it’s just a safety precaution?

“You guys have her on a steroid too.” Hyunjin pointed at your list of medications once more “Betamethasone? What’s she taking that for?” 

“You know what? I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask the doctor about that.” Dr. Henry smiled. “I only started working with her recently, so I’m not aware of her entire medical history.” 

Okay, is this guy really a doctor? Hyunjin sighed in frustration as he scanned your chart. How could this man be taking care of you, and not even care about your previous medical history? Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel grateful that he was taking over your care. Maybe he could give you a fighting chance.

“Ergotamine? Does she get migraines?”

“I don’t know.” Dr. Henry sighed, crossing his arms in annoyance. 

“The reason I’m asking is Ergotamine contains caffeine. Adding prescriptions full of steroids, stimulants, and caffeine is only going to make her anxiety worse. No wonder she’s having such a hard time.” Hyunjin couldn’t help but glare at the man. 

“Like I said. Take it up with the doctor.” Dr. Henry snapped. “Why isn’t she getting a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor?” Hyunjin was baffled. SSRIs are typically given to patients who suffer from panic attacks. The medication prevents serotonin from being absorbed by the nerve cells in the brain. Stabilizing those serotonin levels reduces anxiety and panic. “She should be taking Prozac or Lexapro,” Hyunjin mumbled as he flipped through your chart. 

Dr. Henry scoffed. “She doesn’t need an SSRI. The doctor doesn’t like prescribing those unless the patient has gone through a successful therapy session.” 

What the fuck equals a successful therapy session? 

Hyunjin flipped through your chart, spotting the therapist’s notes over the past few sessions. Sure enough, panic attacks, anxiety episodes, refusal to cooperate, violence — you had it all. Hyunjin decided that he should sit through one of your therapy sessions to see what might be triggering your panic episodes.

“Okay, then give her a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor?” Hyunijn sighed in frustration. “Those prevent the absorption of serotonin and norepinephrine. It’ll calm her down in stressful situations.” 

“I know what they do.” Dr. Henry slammed his hand on the counter.

“Okay, then why aren’t you giving her any?” Hyunjin raised his voice as well.

“There aren’t any that are approved by the drug administration jackass.” He scoffed. 

“Yes, there is dumbass.” Hyunjin sighed and slipped your medical chart in his bag. “Venlafaxine. If you don’t have any in this hospital you need to get some.” 

“We have it, but it’s an SSRI.” 

“No, it’s not.” Hyunjin raised his voice and pointed to one of the computers. “It’s an SNRI. Look it up.” He frowned, “Besides, there are so many other options out there for her. You could give her tricyclic antidepressants, monoamine oxidase inhibitors, or beta-blockers instead of letting her suffer.” Hyunjin spat.

“Take it up with the doctor.” The man yelled back in Hyunjin’s face. 

Hyunjin leaned forward, piercing eyes glaring at the other man as he crossed his arms. “Fine, I will.” 

“First, come meet your patient, then you could see if she’s worth the trouble.” Dr. Henry turned and walked down the hall. 

“What?” Hyunjin asked as he followed the man. Everyone is worth the trouble. Even if you were a psycho looking to attack everyone in that hospital, you were a human being. Besides, Hyunjin could imagine you weren’t being treated the best under Dr. Henry’s care — based on the way the asshole was treating him. 

“Here she is pretty boy.” Dr. Henry gestured in the room. 

Hyunjin’s heart broke at the sight. You were huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around yourself as if it was the only comfort you had in this mental institution. Your room was empty, save for a bed and a thin blanket that probably provided little to no warmth. Your arms were filled with scratches, from what he assumed to be your nails — but in this hospital, there was no telling. 

Hyunjin slowly stepped into the room, smiling at you as your big glassy eyes met his. “Hello there,” Hyunjin spoke in a low even voice, hoping to prevent scaring you further. “I’m Dr. Hyunjin, your new caretaker. I’m looking forward to helping you the best I can.”  

You quickly got up and stumbled towards the man, tears running down your cheeks as you frantically clawed at his chest. Hyunjin gasped and wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you, heart-shattering when you wrapped your arms around his neck and cried, “Please you have to help me. You have to get me out of here, please.” 

Dr. Henry grabbed your arm and practically threw you across the room. “No touching the doctors. Do you want another session in the lightning room?”

You grabbed the bedpost, body shaking as you cried, “No I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” 

“Hey!” Hyunjin yelled, pushing at Dr. Henry’s shoulders. “That wasn’t necessary, she’s just scared.” He darted to your side, resting his hand on your arm to try and soothe you. You flinched away from his touch, mumbling apologies here and there. “Shh, you did nothing wrong,” Hyunjin whispered. 

“What is the lightning room? Is that electroconvulsive therapy? Do you have the right permits to do that?” To say Hyunjin was concerned was an understatement. 

“Of course.” Dr. Henry scoffed. 

“Why are you using it as a punishment?” Hyunjin raised his brow. “Electroconvulsive therapy is quite beneficial if done right. Do you guys put the patients under with anesthesia?”

Dr. Henry crossed his arms over his chest, eyes filled with pure hatred as he looked at Hyunjin. “No, we mainly use it to get their act straight.” 

“So you’re inducing seizures on your patients to get them to stop rebelling?” Hyunjin scoffed. “Smart.” 

“Look smartass, I’m just doing my job. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the doctor.” Dr. Henry stormed off, leaving Hyunjin alone with you. 

Thank God he’s finally gone. 

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” Hyunjin reached his hand out to you, pausing a safe distance away so he wouldn’t frighten you. “When you feel comfortable, I’m right here.” He held his hand out to you, palm facing up, giving you full control over the situation. 

You turned to look at the beautiful man, noticing the way his eyes lit up when you made eye contact. He sure was gorgeous. Most caretakers wouldn’t have stayed this long, but Hyunjin stayed in front of you, hand out for you to touch when you were ready. You slowly lifted your shaky hand and gently pressed your fingers into his palm, making Hyunjin smile brightly.

“That’s it.” His voice sounded like heaven to your ears. You felt safe in his presence, even more so when he slowly closed his fingers around yours. God, it’s been months since you’ve felt such a comforting touch. “Will you let me check your vitals?”

You cocked your head to the side, confusion evident in your features as Hyunjin chuckled nervously. “Oh sorry, you might not remember. I’m going to check your pulse, your temperature, your respiration rate, and your blood pressure just to make sure everything’s okay. After all, you did get thrown to the ground and since we don’t know what triggers your panic episodes I want to make sure you aren’t experiencing any symptoms of anxiety or panic which could be increased heart rate, temperature and —” Hyunjin paused a second. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I do that a lot. I’ll just check your temperature.” Hyunjin pulled a thermometer out of his bag and placed it in your mouth, hand resting on your forehead for a second to make sure you didn’t feel abnormally warm. 

You found the gentle touch comforting as his hand shifted to rest on the pulse point on your throat. His beautiful lips moved as he counted, eyes fixed on his watch. You couldn’t help but notice the beauty mark underneath his eye. That’s not something you see every day — especially in here. It felt like everyone looked the same — well… from the few people, you’ve seen during your various attempts to escape this godforsaken place. You flinched when Hyunjin pulled out his stethoscope, which didn’t go unnoticed by the ebony-haired beauty. 

“You look like you’re breathing fine.” Hyunjin smiled softly as he shoved the stethoscope back into his bag. “Why don’t we skip that for now.” Hyunjin pulled the thermometer out of your mouth and smiled at the results. “Good. It’s normal.” 

You sighed in relief and pulled your sore body up off the floor, plopping on the bed so you could rest. Hyunjin stood up and scanned your knees, noticing the bruises already starting to form. He couldn’t just sit there and let these damn people hurt you like this. “I have a couple of things I need to talk to your doctor about. Will you be okay here?” Hyunjin smiled when you nodded. “Awesome. I won’t be long.” 

Hyunjin slowly closed the door behind him before rushing down the hallway to Doctor Douglas’s office. He was only here an hour and he feels like he’s starting all sorts of trouble. The hospital was filled with incompetent doctors — or so he assumed judging by the information in your chart. And then there was Dr. Henry… 

Hyunjin nearly opened the door to the doctor’s office when a woman stepped in front of him. “Doctor Douglas is busy now sir. Please come back later.” 

Of fucking course. “I’m so sorry miss.” Hyunjin smiled. “He called me down here, so I thought I’d come right away. It sounded urgent.” 

“Oh, I must be mistaken. Go right ahead.” The woman moved out of the way and sat back down at her desk, obnoxiously typing a response to an email. 

Wait, that actually worked?

Hyunjin quickly slipped into the office before she could see the victorious grin on his face. He frowned when he turned around, spotting Dr. Douglas sitting in his chair, playing a random game on his phone. Yeah, okay he was real busy. 

“Welcome Hyunjin!” Dr. Douglas beamed. “I was hoping you’d make it here okay. I trust the drive up wasn’t too bad?”

“Thank you, sir. The drive was fine.” Hyunjin shook Dr. Douglas’s hand. “Pardon me for intruding, but I have a few questions about my patient.” 

“I expected a few.” Dr. Douglas laughed. “Why don’t you introduce yourself first?” 

Hyunjin ignored Dr. Douglas’s request and pulled out your chart. “After. This is urgent. You have my patient on Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine, all three are known to have anxiety and panic episodes as a side effect.” Hyunjin paused, wracking his brain for information. “There was this case study a few years ago —” 

“Hyunjin please.” The doctor gestured for him to stop. “Why don’t we get to know each other first?” He chuckled. “I’m Dr. Douglas. I’m sure you know that I run this hospital, considering I was the one who hired you.” 

“Yes,” Hyunjin shook his hand. “But sir, we —” 

“Hyunjin.” 

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, feeling like a two-year-old ready to throw a tantrum. He felt like his childish nature was justified, considering no one in this damn hospital seemed to care about your condition. 

“I’m Dr. Hwang Hyunjin. I was top of my class at Southfield University and I dedicate my time helping my patients.” Hyunjin’s brows creased as he shoved your chart forward. “The one I have now needs help and I need you to approve some things so I can help her.” Hyunjin’s eyes hardened as the Doctor laughed, acting as if none of this was a problem. 

“Prestigious school Mr. Hwang.” Dr. Douglass sighed and looked at your chart. “What do you need approved?” 

“I want to take her off all the excess medication and put her on Prozac. I believe the mixture of Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine is making things worse for her. She’s already dealing with so much in an unfamiliar place — so let’s put her on Prozac and see if it helps.” 

“And what will Prozac do that Venlafaxine won’t?” Dr. Douglas’s eyes bore into Hyunjin’s, making the boy nervous. 

“E-excuse me?” Hyunjin stuttered. 

“She’s taking Venlafaxine.” 

“Umm, no she isn’t.” Hyunjin panned through her chart and pointed to your list of medications. “She’s getting these six medications, which is way too much for someone without existing health problems.” 

“She’s in a mental facility.” Dr. Douglas chuckled. “They are all to help her.” 

“Yeah? What does this one do?” Hyunjin pointed to a drug on the list. “Peroproxine?”  Hyunjin frowned. “I’ve heard of Proproxen, but that’s an anti-inflammatory drug.” 

“Peroproxine is an anti-anxiety medication.” Dr. Douglas stated as if it was common knowledge. 

Okay, what? Hyunjin couldn’t stop the obvious annoyance taking over his features. He spends a LOT of his free time researching new and existing medications out there. If there was a drug by the name of Peroproxine, he probably would have known about it. “Why haven’t I heard of it?” 

Dr. Douglas laughed. “You’re new in the business son.” Hearing the word ‘son’ come out of that man’s mouth pissed Hyunjin off.  “I’m not your son. Please just approve this so I can help her.” 

“I can’t do that.” Dr. Douglas sighed. “She’s improved drastically since she started taking those medications. I won’t set her back again. It’s just not humane.” He chuckled. 

“Sir, she’s been here six months, and it appears her mental stability has gotten worse. And, Dr. Henry is being violent with her. He threw her to the ground —” 

“Hyunjin enough!” The doctor slammed his hand on the desk, startling the boy. “Give her the medications on her list, or you’re fired.” 

Hyunjin paled — it was clear he crossed a line. 

“I will not have you slandering one of the most trustworthy doctors in this institution. Get back to work.” Dr. Douglas turned in his chair, cutting off the conversation. Hyunjin’s heart dropped as he left the office. 

Sure, he could always quit and work somewhere else that wasn’t fucked up, but he couldn’t leave you. Something told him that you shouldn’t be there — that something else was the problem. He sulked down the hallways until he felt someone grab his arm and pull him into one of the Janitor’s closets. 

The beautiful man flipped the light switch, allowing the dingy old light swinging above their heads to flicker on. So there was a dirty room in the institution. 

Hyunjin scanned the man in front of him, noticing the name tag on his chest that read ‘Minho.’ He could tell Minho worked at the hospital — unless he was a crazy patient who murdered his caretaker and stole the uniform. 

“Look, you’re a very beautiful man, but I have to get back to work,” Hyunjin muttered and tried to push past Minho. 

“What? No, you dumbass.” Minho paused a moment and smirked, wiggling his eyebrows before saying, “But thank you.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and tried to push past Minho once more, only to be shoved back against the brooms and mops hung on the wall. Minho blocked the door with his arm. “I’m trying to help you keep your job because someone is looking to get fired.” 

Hyunjin sighed. “I don’t want to get fired, I just want to help my patient.” 

“I know.” Minho’s mood shifted — a melancholy look replacing his once emotionless expression. “Just listen for a second.” 

Hyunjin nodded and leaned back against the wall. “Ok fine, you have five minutes.” 

“First of all, I’m older than you so you can fuck off with that attitude.” Minho snapped. “Second of all, you need to stop asking questions.” Minho paused, trying to figure out how to word his next sentence. “Just keep your head down and do your job.” 

“How do you know I’m not older?” Hyunjin snickered. 

“Dude really?” Minho sighed. “You look fifteen. Out of all that I said, that’s what you decided to comment on?” 

Hyunjin couldn’t help but chuckle at the older boy’s expression. “Look, I’d be happy to keep my head down if my patient wasn’t suffering.” 

“I know.” Minho paused. “But this hospital isn’t like the others. You have to keep your head down or you’ll be admitted.” 

“What?” Admitted to the hospital? That doesn’t make any sense…

A loud scream echoed through the hallway, frightening the two boys. “Fuck… That sounds like it’s coming from my patient’s room. Here take this, it’s her medication. Please tell her to take it.” Minho opened the door and rushed down the hall. 

Hyunjin stepped out of the closet and stared at the little plastic cup in his hands. From what he could tell, he had two options. One, he could give you the medicine, keep his job, and allow your mental health to deteriorate until you were clinically insane. Or two, he could simply dispose of the medication and see if you improve. His feet took him to your room, figuring it’d be best to give you the medicine for now and speak to Minho later. Perhaps the older boy could give him more information about you.

From what everyone has told him, you were a pain in the ass to deal with. Hyunjin just saw a girl who was confused and scared. He couldn’t imagine you being violent and deliberately trying to hurt someone. 

Hyunjin opened the door, smiling sadly when he saw you curled up underneath the thin blanket. “Hey, it’s time for your medicine.” 

“Don’t want it.” You mumbled into the blankets, turning your back to Hyunjin. 

“I don’t blame you...” Hyunjin trailed off.

You turned to look at him, eyes wide with surprise. Usually, the caretakers would hold you down and force the pills down your throat. They didn’t have any mercy at this hospital — they’d do whatever it takes to get you to take your pills.  

Hyunjin chuckled at your surprise and slid the pills into his bag. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” 

There was something about that smile of his that made you feel like you could trust him. Hyunjin wasn’t forcing you to take anything, he seemed genuinely concerned for your mental health, and he was treating you like a real human being. 

“Can I sit next to you?” His soft voice shook you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah.” You sat up in bed, giving him space to sit beside you. 

Hyunjin stayed silent, trying to think of questions he could ask you. He needed to know more about your medication and how you feel after taking them, but he didn’t want to trigger any painful memories. “Do you feel anxious after you take the medication?”

You thought about it for a minute before nodding. “It comes out of nowhere. I’m usually fine until I have to take my medicine during the day.” 

Okay, so the medication is definitely giving you anxiety. Was it the mixture of Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine, or was it that new drug… Peroproxine?

“Are you feeling anxious right now?” Hyunjin asked in a low voice. 

You nodded before mumbling. “A little bit. I don’t know you very well.” 

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself.” Hyunjin chuckled. “Would you like me to tell you a bit about myself?”

You nod, noticing the way Hyunjin smiled at your answer. 

“Well, I’m Dr. Hwang Hyunjin. I graduated at the top of my class from Southfield University.” He paused. “My father committed suicide when I was young, so I decided that I was going to study psychology so I could help people struggling with depression. Then I discovered that the medical side of psych would give me the ability to prescribe and help those at a medical level.” Hyunjin chuckled nervously. “You probably don’t want to know about all that though.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” You smiled. “I hear about how crazy I am day-in and day-out, so it’s refreshing to hear about someone else.” 

Hyunjin frowned. “Do they not give you time to socialize?”

You tucked your hands underneath your thighs, “Well, I get to talk to my therapist. The caretakers don’t like us to socialize with other patients. They said that we could get crazy ideas or something.” You frowned. “I don’t really remember.” 

“That’s not normally how things work.” Hyunjin pursed his lips. 

“Yeah?” You cocked your head to the side. “How do they normally work?”

“Typically you live in a room with a roommate — someone with a similar mental illness...” Hyunjin trailed off. “But you’d also have meals with the other patients and usually there’s a rec room where you guys can play games and chat.” 

You bounced on the bed, eyes filling with excitement as you grabbed Hyunjin’s arm. “We have the gardens!” 

Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. “The gardens?” 

“The doctor likes pretty things, so he has a big garden in the back of the asylum filled with all sorts of flowers. He has some exotic ones in there that smell really good.” You smiled brightly. “I like to go see the pretty flowers, but we aren’t allowed without our caretakers. Dr. Henry would never go with me.” 

So Dr. Henry was your old caretaker... Why did that asshole lie about not knowing your information? He’ll have to look into that later. 

“I’ll take you to the gardens as often as you want. I love to look at flowers.” Hyunjin smiled. “Actually do you want to go now?”

You smiled sadly and shook your head. “I’m feeling tired. I want to sleep.” 

“That’s fair. You’ve had a big day so far.” Hyunjin smiled. “Can you answer one more question for me?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips when you saw Hyunjin’s boyish grin. 

“Thank you. You’re such a big help.” Hyunjin rested his hand on yours. “Do you remember how you got here?” 

You closed your eyes, thinking about it for a moment. This was the question you’ve been asked every single day over the past six months. You never had an answer. Your brain only showed you flashes of a van and your cries for help, but the whole memory was foggy and unclear. 

Hyunjin paled when he felt your hand shake underneath his. “Hey, hey it’s okay.” He rubbed soothing circles on your back, smiling when you opened your eyes. 

“I’m so sorry I don’t remember.” You panicked, tears running down your face. “Please don’t tell them I’m not cooperating. I’m trying my hardest.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Hyunjin’s eyes widened when you crawled into his lap, head resting on his chest as you sobbed.  His heart completely shattered with every tear that ran down your face. 

He couldn’t imagine being in your position. Everyone at the hospital sucks, you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone, you were being given horrible medication, and to top it off, you had no one you could trust. Hyunjin felt honored that you trusted him enough to be this close to him on the first day.

“Your missing memories aren’t your fault.” Hyunjin ran his fingers through your hair, noticing the way you melted into his touch. “Some stressful experiences are so traumatic, the memories hide in the back of your brain like a shadow. So they can’t be consciously accessed. There are exercises and treatments we could do to retrieve those memories, but for now, I think it’s best that we get to know each other a bit more.” 

“I don’t feel safe here.” You sniffled and nuzzled into his chest. 

“You shouldn’t.” Hyunjin rubbed your arm, brows creasing as he tried to figure out his next move. 

The door slammed open— the loud noise startling the two of you as Minho ran into the room. 

“Hyunjin! There’s an emergency. I need your help.”

[alarawriting]

The Cold At The Heart of the Light: Chapter One

I’ve decided I’ll post probably the first three chapters of this as I work on it. There’s currently six chapters written and the seventh is started; I have been planning about twelve of them.

This is gonna have to be edited a lot when I finish the whole thing -- it’s too goddamn long, for one thing -- but I can’t spend too much time editing the first draft when I’m not done with it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the maid led me to the living room and I got my first look at the little girl, I could tell the child was dying.  She was sitting on an overstuffed, white suede couch with brown fringy pillows all around her, at the back of a living room that looked like something out of House Beautiful, all tall wide windows and understated elegance in brown and beige and gold and white. She was maybe about seven, if her disease hadn’t undersized her, feet dangling off the couch and not moving. When children whose feet are dangling are not kicking those feet, and there is neither a book nor a TV nearby to explain the discrepancy, I can generally tell something is wrong. Her blonde curly wig was as expensive as the décor of her parents’ living room, but I’m an expert in these matters – I could tell the chemo had taken her hair. And her skin was dull and dry looking, her eyes vague and unfocused, her expression indrawn and blank, her small limbs painfully skinny.  She showed all the signs of either being abused, drugged, or severely ill, and given that her father had called me in, I knew that at least it was the last. Probably the second as well.  The pharmaceutical industry has never solved the problem of stopping children’s pain to my satisfaction (or, for that matter, the children’s.)

Her mother would have been an elegantly plastic politician’s wife if she hadn’t been sitting tensely at the edge of the sofa, arm around her daughter, clutching the child. Fear and anxiety make even women with $500 haircuts and botoxed foreheads seem human. I’d already forgotten the woman’s name; after checking over the daughter with a quick glance, I turned to focus on her father. Senator John Lightman, one of those politicians who manages to look “boyish” simply by being a thin dark-haired man in his prime when everyone else in the Senate is somewhere between 60 and dead, was walking toward me, reaching out a hand as if to shake it. I saw the look of puzzlement cross his face as he got a good look at me. “Are you…”

“Dr. Mystery?” I filled in the blank. “Yes, of course, I apologize. You couldn’t possibly recognize me like this.”  I had arrived in a stock form, a middle-aged woman of average height, weight and appearance with blonde graying hair in a short fluffy do.  I couldn’t very well drive around town in my working form, but now that I was here, it was time to shock and awe the mundanes.  With a thought, I transformed.

When I first adopted this as my working form, it used to take me ten or twenty minutes in front of a mirror to get it just right, because it doesn’t look human enough for me to use DNA as a model anywhere – I have to brute-force it. But by this time I’d been doing it for so many years, it took only a few seconds. Changing doesn’t hurt – it feels like having a really good stretch, actually.  

In a moment, I was six feet tall, simultaneously busty and thin, with the golden skin of an Academy award, iris-less purple eyes with cat pupils, and flame-red hair down to the small of my back.  I wore a skin-tight black leather catsuit with no shoes, and modified pelvis and leg muscles so I looked like I was wearing high heels even though I was barefoot – an anatomic impossibility for other women, but there’s no point in having total control over your own flesh if you can’t use it to show off a little.  To complete the costume I grew a white cotton labcoat over the catsuit; not exactly a cape, but the name is Doctor Mystery, not Ms. Mystery or Lady Mystery or Sexy Chick I’d Like To Do Mystery.  

Being a supervillain’s all about the power and the respect.  Back when my working form wasn’t quite so do-me hot, I actually used to get less respect as a villain, as if a woman couldn’t possibly really be all that mad, bad and dangerous to know if she doesn’t look like a supermodel.  But when I do the catsuit without the lab coat, I get respect as a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, not as a biomedical genius.  Not that I’m not a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, but I’m not a teen thug for hire anymore, I’m a bona fide mad scientist and I want people to remember that, dammit.  

Mrs. Lightman’s eyes went wide, and she made a tiny little yelping noise and clutched her little girl… who rather than looking frightened, actually looked mildly interested for the first time since I’d arrived.  Her dad was trying to hide it, but his lips had compressed as if he were trying not to bite them and there was just the tiniest tremor in his hands.  I expected Mrs. Lightman’s reaction, but the Senator could have gone one of two ways – men usually react to me with fear or lust, or a combination.  I didn’t think I saw lust in Senator Lightman, and when I took his hand and shook it, I confirmed it.  He was on the verge of peeing his pants.  I might have believed he wasn’t reacting with any lust because he really had eyes only for his wife, if he weren’t a politician.  But I’ve known very few male politicians to be faithful, and even they couldn’t avoid being lustful.  Senator Lightman was terrified of me because I was a Proxima and he was a Sapien-centric bigot.  Also, probably, because I was a supervillain and a killer and I could drop him dead in a second, turn him inside out, make the skin melt off his flesh or give him cancer, just from the touch of his hand in mine.  But I suspected I’d have gotten the same reaction if I’d been a member of the Peace Force, or even a Girl Scout with purple eyes and gold skin trying to sell him cookies.  He hated my kind, but he needed me today.

And I intended to use his need to my people’s advantage.

“Introduce me to your family, Senator,” I said.

I felt his adrenaline spike through the skin connection of our clasped hands, but he managed not to show it.  He let go of me.  “This is my wife, Dot, and our daughter Mindy.  She’s eight.”

I walked over to Mindy and knelt down in front of her, prompting more tension and white knuckles from her mother clasping her.  “Hello, Mindy,” I said.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Do you know who I am?”

“My daddy says you’re some kind of super doctor.”

Super doctor. I liked that.  “He’s right.  I’m here to help you.  I imagine you’ve gotten real tired of being sick.”

She smiled wanly.  “Yeah.”

“Let me have your hands.”

“Will it hurt?”  Her tone was tired and apathetic, as if it didn’t really matter if it was going to hurt or not.  I suspected it was more resignation than apathy.

“Not at all.”  I smiled at her.  “I’m a super doctor, remember?  It doesn’t hurt if I don’t want it to.”  

She gave me her small hands and I clasped them in mine.  I can’t entirely describe what I feel when I examine a living creature, not in terms that refer to the senses everyone else has.  It’s like feeling a symphony or hearing a tapestry.  Everything is very complex and interrelated, and I get signals from thousands of processes in the body, but it all melds together into a single big picture.  The big picture here was that Mindy’s body was attacking itself.  Her bone marrow was busily churning out cancerous white blood cells that didn’t work, filling her bloodstream with useless cells that crowded out and starved the working, useful ones.  The pain signals were overwhelming even with the drugs trying to mask them, and the drugs themselves were dulling her mind as much as the fatigue and weakness from the disease.

Like many terminally ill children, she was quiet and accepting, which is constantly mistaken in glurgy human interest stories about terminally ill children for bravery.  Children who go out with scarves on their bald heads and run lemonade stands to raise money to research and cure their own illnesses are brave.  Children who are too tired to feel fear and have been living with a disease too long to cry about it are just normal human beings.  Mindy was a normal human being, and her leukemia was also perfectly normal, something I’d dealt with a hundred times before.  

I closed my eyes so I could focus better on Mindy’s internal world.  First I triggered the release of endorphins into her bloodstream to mask any pain caused by what I was about to do.  The human body rebels against my power, seeing my authority as a violation of its autonomy, and frequently reacts by tattling to the brain about it in a way that the mind perceives as agonizing, but unspecific, pain.  As I told Mindy, though, no one feels pain in my hands unless I allow it.  As soon as her body was saturated with endorphins and I’d shut down most of the internal sensory trunk lines to the brain, making her internally numb while leaving her ability to sense anything touching her skin, I swept my concentration through her body and killed every immature white blood cell she had.  I then targeted the surviving mature white cells and forced them to rapidly replicate and mature, until she had almost a normal white blood cell count and they all worked correctly.

To finish off, I blocked the drugs that hadn’t been working so well anyway, turned the internal nerves back on, and filled Mindy with a combination of endorphin and oxytocin, and other hormones designed to make people feel good.  This particular cocktail wouldn’t have sexual effects – Mindy’s brain lacked some of the structures needed to process that, yet, and I always took great care with children not to do anything inappropriate to their age.  After what my own father did to me… well, I may be a supervillain, but I am not a child molester, and that makes me better than he was.  What I was going for – what I always gave the children I treated – can be best described, if you remember being a kid, as the excitement from knowing you’re about to go to an amusement park, coupled with the pleasure you get from eating ice cream, and all that combined with the warm snuggly feeling you get when you’re cuddled with your parents.  Mindy wouldn’t know why, in the future, she looked forward to my visits and felt very warm and positive emotions toward me.  She would just know that seeing Dr. Mystery would be the coolest thing ever, and just my presence would be more fun than any doctor’s office lollipop ever was.

Combine such warm and pleasant emotions with the freakish physical appearance of an obvious Proxima, and Mindy would not grow up to share her dad’s bigotry, even if he tried to teach it to her.

“Mindy?” Dot Lightman asked, her voice trembling slightly.  “Are you all right?”

Mindy lifted her head.  Her skin didn’t look any better, of course – I hadn’t done any cosmetic work – but her eyes were refocusing, turning bright and engaged.  “Mommy?  I feel good, Mommy.  I think the doctor fixed me!”

With my endorphin cocktail chasing away her fatigue temporarily, she leapt to her feet.  “Thank you, Super Doctor Mystery!  I feel all better!”  She twirled around, perhaps to prove to all of us that she was fully healed… and stumbled.  “Whoa, dizzy!”

“Slow up there, kiddo,” I said.  “You’re not cured.  You feel a lot better and you’re going to be a lot better, but you’ve spent a couple of years being sick and you’re not going to be back to your full strength overnight.  Take it easy.”

“Is she—is she going to be cured?” her mother asked, looking at me, her lower lip trembling.

“She’s much healthier, right now.  But no, as I said, I haven’t cured her yet.  I triggered a temporary remission and bolstered her immune system to compensate for what the disease did to it, so she needn’t suffer while she’s waiting for a full cure.”  I turned to Senator Lightman.  “To cure her, I’ll need to perform three treatments, about two months apart.  The cost will be $8,000 per treatment.  When we’re done, not only won’t she have leukemia, but the genetic potential for cancer will be purged from her system, so it will be very, very unlikely that she ever get any cancer-like disease again.  Short of living on top of a radioactive landfill, of course, but you understand what I mean.”

“Oh, God….” Mrs. Lightman started to cry.  “Oh, God, thank you…”

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Mindy said, and gave her mom a hug.  “It’s good news. Don’t cry.”

“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” Mrs. Lightman said.

“I—I don’t know what to say, Doctor.  You have a deal.  I’d pay anything to save Mindy’s life, and your prices… well, they’re much more reasonable than I was led to assume.  I’d pay more than that for hospital treatments, even with the insurance.”  I was pretty sure this was a fib – Senators get damn good health insurance.  But of course Lightman belonged to the party that thought that health insurance was a privilege, not a right, and downplaying the high quality of his own state-sponsored insurance was probably a reflex by this point.  

I smiled at him.  “That’s because most of my payment is non-monetary.”

“Non-monetary?”

“Let’s go have a discussion, Senator.  I imagine you must have a private office in this house somewhere?”

His wife gave me a hard-eyed look. I returned her look with an “oh, please” expression, just the slightest of eye rolls and sardonic smile.  “There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say in front of my wife,” Lightman said, his voice hardening.

“Yes, there is,” I said, pleasantly.  “You want to tell her all about it when we’re done talking, that’s your prerogative.  But I am here to negotiate with a United States Senator, not a husband or a father.”

He stiffened.  “All right,” he said slowly.  “We can go downstairs to the den.”

“Is it—is it going to be all right?” Dot Lightman asked her husband.

“I don’t see that I have much choice, Dot,” he said.  “She’s the only hope Mindy has.  You know that.”

“Mommy? Can I play outside?”

“Sure.  Sure thing,” Dot said, her voice breaking again.  “I’ll play with you.”

“Don’t let her overexert herself,” I said.  “As I said, she’s better, not cured, and even if she were cured she’d still need time to recover her energy. She wants to run around and play now because she’s not in pain, but she actually still does need to save her strength.”

“We’ll go for a walk,” Dot said.  “How’s that sound, Mindy?”

“Sure, Mommy. We can do that.”

“The den is this way,” Senator Lightman said.

It was a typical suburban finished basement, not nearly as fancy looking as the living room, if you didn’t count the huge projection television.  I perched on the still-nice-but-obviously-worn couch, sitting on the back of it.  “Let’s get down to it, Senator,” I said.  “You’re a member of the Committee to Analyze Parahuman Activity.  You’re aware as well as I am that the United States government has been investigating or implementing various techniques to control or eliminate the Proxima population, including laws to create a registry for us as if we’re sex offenders, black ops soldiers with power suits to hunt us down, attempting to find cures for us like we’re a disease, secret databases being maintained in an attempt to identify us in the absence of a registry law… so on and so forth.”  I didn’t mention the biowarfare; people who didn’t live through being imprisoned in a government research facility and watching others being injected with various tailored viruses have a tendency to assume that government biowarfare is the stuff of paranoid conspiracy theories, and I doubted anyone had actually let Congress know what was going on there.  The others, I was pretty sure he’d been briefed on, if not actively involved with.  “And you’re an active supporter of the Human Definition Amendment, which would deprive us of any human rights whatsoever on the basis of junk science.”

The faintest beading of sweat broke out on his forehead.  “The United States government hasn’t taken any illegal actions to ‘control’ the Proxima population, as you put it, and certainly not to eliminate you.  You must understand, however, that we do have the right and the duty to protect normal humans from people like…”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “Me?”

“I was going to say, people like Caesar Primus or Optometron.  But if the rumors about your activities are true, then yes, you.  Weren’t you some sort of assassin?  An enforcer for a drug lord?”

While technically the description was almost true, the idea of describing David as a “drug lord” almost made me laugh.  Almost.  I don’t actually have a lot of a sense of humor when it comes to David.  “And I was rehabilitated by the Peace Force and today I’m a fine, upstanding citizen who cures little girls of leukemia,” I said.  

“That isn’t a lot of comfort to the families of the people you killed.”

“Maybe not.  But if I’d been killed by American soldiers in power suits then, your daughter would be out of luck now, wouldn’t she?”  I slid off the back of the couch and paced around him.  “And this isn’t about me.  How many people were saved when the Irregulars stopped that second plane from crashing into the Trade Towers?  When they held up the collapsing building so the firefighters could get out?  When the Peace Force shored up the levees in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina so the city didn’t flood, or when Maui’s volcano went active and they shut it down again?”  The Senator didn’t actually need to know that was a plot of Professor Octohedron’s, if he didn’t already. The Peace Force hadn’t actually broadcast the fact that the disaster had been caused by a Proxima in the first place; I only knew about it because Octohedron continued to believe that he could get into my pants if only he could impress me enough, and he hadn’t actually ever managed to figure out that I wasn’t impressed by grandiose plots to take over the world by threatening to activate volcanoes.  “You might owe your life to a Proxima. You are about to owe your daughter’s life.  So I want your support for our basic human rights.  Oppose the Parahuman Registry, oppose the research to kill us or break us of our powers, and oppose the Human Definition Amendment.”

“The Human Definition Amendment isn’t designed to take away your human rights,” he said.  “It’s designed to clarify the rights you do have.  I mean, there have to be different ways to handle you people vs. the rest of us.  Remember when the ACLU sued on behalf of the Heat Miser?  They said that it was cruel and unusual punishment to keep him continuously drugged in prison. And as soon as they won and the drugs were withdrawn, his powers came back and he burned the prison down. 700 people were killed, over 100 guards and the rest of them human inmates, who’d been sentenced to serve time in jail for their crimes, not to burn to death.”

“Then you redefine cruel and unusual punishment to state that methods intended to block Proximas from using superhuman powers to escape from prison are not cruel and are perfectly usual.  Passing an amendment to the Constitution that declares that Proximas aren’t human is overkill.”

“It actually declares that humans belong to the subspecies Homo sapiens sapiens, and that the law should not be automatically extended to grant human rights to people who can destroy our entire planet with a thought just because some bleeding heart doesn’t think they deserve to go to jail for killing hundreds of people.”

“Yes, and by declaring that Homo sapiens promixus does not automatically count as human, it effectively says that we’re not, and we can be shot on sight with no one but the ASPCA to worry about our murders, let alone suffer discrimination in every part of our lives.  You do not live with the reality of what being defined as non-human means, Senator.  I do.”

“And you, Doctor, don’t live with the reality of inhabiting a world filled with creatures who can kill you with a thought, steal everything you own, destroy your home without even touching it, or make you believe that up is down and black is white.”  

I could argue that last point, if I wanted to be a smartass – I lived in the world where there was conservative talk radio, and it had convinced any number of people that up was down and black was white.  But that would be sidetracking.  “True.  But you’re so focused on perceiving yourself as a victim of the existence of Proximas that you’ve given no thought to what it would be like to be one of us. And you really should.  Because you have a child, Senator, and she is too young to be confirmed as Sapien or Proxima.  You don’t know what she is, and you’re just assuming she’s Sapien.  What if she’s Proxima?”

He blinked.  “Well, of course I—but she doesn’t have anything in her background – I mean neither her mother nor I have anything unusual, genetically—“

“No one knows what’s causing the sudden explosion in powered humans, Senator, but we do know that it’s some type of mutation.  90% of Proximas have parents who were Sapien.  And the number is that low only because some of us have started having kids.  If your daughter was a Proxima with two fully Sapien parents, she’d be in the same boat as most Proximas. Including me.  So you really need to think about it.”

“Well, I – I certainly wouldn’t treat Mindy any differently if she were – but if she were, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t check for it.  But I could, yes.”

“Well, if she turned out to be, you could just fix it, right?  As part of the treatment?”

I stared at him as if I’d just found him on my shoe.  “Of course I could. And if she was black, I could make her white and blonde and blue-eyed. And I could change her into a boy if you decided you really wanted a son.  Have you any idea how offensive what you just said is?”

“I – I didn’t mean to give offense.  I just want Mindy to have a normal life.”

“Most Proximas do. I don't look like this all the time, Senator.  When I'm not treating hopeless cases, I live in a nice little townhouse, with two cats and a cockatiel.  I go dancing with men friends on weekends, I buy groceries, I do my laundry.  I choose to look like this when I'm treating people like your daughter, because I have no desire to be kidnapped and pressed into the service of crime lords or the government."

"Why would the government kidnap you?  Proximas have rights.  If you’ve served your time for your previous crimes, and committed no new ones--"

"--I would still have the power to make old men young, cure impotence and infertility, heal disease and scarring, change people's appearances... come on now, Senator, don't be naive.  If you had a way to make me heal your daughter without paying my price, you'd do it.  And I think you're basically a good man, who’s concerned for the child he loves.  Can you say none of your colleagues would want me to heal them?  To restore lost youth, or whatever they had lost?"  I thought of the white room then, the snipers with guns outside ready to blow my head off if the important old men screaming under my hands didn’t get up and walk free completely healed when I was done. Never again.  

"I... suppose power corrupts.  There are some bad elements in any system, but that doesn't mean the system is evil."

"I didn’t say the system was evil.  I said it’s not designed to protect people like me.  And if you and your fellows have their way, it’ll be even harder for me to live a normal, safe life.”  I shook my head.  "We're sidetracking.  If Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, she could still have an entirely normal and happy life, so long as you didn't reject her for it and the government didn't kill her for it."

"I would never reject Mindy.  No matter what.  If-- if she was a parahuman--"

"Then your opinions on appropriate treatment of Proximas would be rather different, wouldn't they?"

He sighed.  “Look, I have a constituency, Doctor Mystery.  They elected me into office to protect them and serve them, and they have ideas as to what constitutes doing that.  If I do something that they don’t approve of, I won’t have the power they’ve given me for very long.”

I flopped down on his couch again.  “Oh, baloney.  You mean that if you can’t fearmonger about hidden Proximas living among us and the draconian measures the Daddy State will take under your watch to protect the poor scared soccer moms and NASCAR dads, you can’t get elected.”  I sat up and leaned forward.  “It’s all bullshit. The tide of history always favors greater human rights, greater freedoms, greater protections for minorities vs. mobs.  And it always works out better in the end that way.  I understand that you have to protect yourself from lunatics who shoot death rays out of their elbows, but you know, you also have to protect yourself from lunatics who break into the McDonalds’ with a gun and start shooting people, and somehow it was your party who decided it was an unacceptable infringement on your freedom to hunt, shoot intruders, and generally feel like manly men to make people undergo background checks to get assault weapons.”

“The Constitution guarantees the right to bear arms.”

“The Constitution wouldn’t say that if you passed an amendment redefining a ‘well-regulated militia’ as the National Guard.  Which I’m not saying you should.  I’m in favor of your right to protect yourself with a gun. I’m in favor of your right to shoot animals for fun if you feel like it; I’m a Darwinist and you’re a predator.  It’s in your genes.  Go shoot deer if you want.  But the Constitution currently states that I am a human being, because it doesn’t say that I’m not, and I was born in the United States to two human beings, share 99.9% of my DNA with you, speak your language, look like you, and have sex with you.  Well, not you personally, but Sapiens men.  So if it’s so vitally important to preserve the right to bear arms, because it’s in the Constitution, that it’s okay to let sociopaths get guns and shoot up college campuses, then it is vastly more important to make sure that every child born in this country to human parents is defined as human.  

“If you pass this Definition of Humanity amendment in order to protect your constituency, and Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, then she can be raped and her rapist could be charged with bestiality at best, because she wouldn’t be legally a child who can be molested, she’d be legally an animal. She could be killed, and the most her killer could be charged with is animal cruelty. No school would have to take her, no hospital would have to treat her diseases, no restaurant would have to let her in to eat with you.  You would have to fight a battle to get her treated in a way that you humans take for granted, every time.  Want her to die in a car accident because the paramedics didn’t want to treat a Proxima?  Want her to die in a fire because the firefighters didn’t want to risk themselves going into a burning building for someone who isn’t even human?  There are better ways to defend Sapiens than making it legally open season on us.”

“But you’re against those too. The Parahuman Registry would allow us to track dangerous people without having to deprive any of you of basic civil rights.”

“Except I’ve never heard of a version of it suggesting that only parahuman criminals be added to the registry.”

“Well, dangerous parahumans haven’t necessarily committed crimes yet.  But for instance, if your next door neighbor turns up dead of a heart attack and everyone knows you were fighting with him, isn’t it important that the police know you have the power to stop people’s hearts by touching them?”

“If your next door neighbor has a gun, isn’t it important that you know about it so you can keep your daughter from playing in his yard?”

“Most gun owners are law abiding citizens, and if someone is killed with a gun we already have laws on the books to help the police track down the killer.  If someone is killed with a superpower, we wouldn’t even necessarily know to look for a superpower.”

“So educate the cops better on superpowers.  Most Proximas are law abiding citizens.  If you kill your neighbor by hitting him over the head with a frying pan, does that mean you needed to be on some sort of registry of frying pan owners?”  I started pacing again.  “It’s irrelevant in any case.  I don’t care what your personal beliefs are.  I care that you love your daughter and want her to be healthy.”

“So you’re blackmailing me.”

“Blackmail?  I’m demanding payment.  When your campaign contributors give you money for re-election, they’re not blackmailing you to expect that you’re going to show them some quid pro quo. I’m offering you something far, far more valuable than a few dollars in your re-election coffers; I’m offering you your daughter’s life and health.  I think expecting a little quid pro quo is not unreasonable.”

“And what if I refused?  Would you let her die?”

At one point that would have been a tough one; in this line of work you have to appear to be compassionate, but you also have to be tough or the patients will walk all over you.  I had had plenty of experience dealing with this particular conundrum, though.  “Do you know what I did for Mindy today?  Do you understand her disease at all?”

“I don’t know what you did, no. You keep saying you made her better but you didn’t cure her.  But I do know something about her disease.  The doctors tell me that she’s making too many white blood cells, and it’s crowding out and killing the rest of her blood.”

“Close.  They’re immature, cancerous blood cells, so they don’t work to protect her from disease the way mature white blood cells would.  This lowers her general immunity, and yes, it clogs up her bloodstream and takes resource away from working cells.  What I did today was to kill all the immature cells and regenerate some of the mature ones.  She still has leukemia; she’s still making too many immature cells.  Without a full treatment that will never stop.  What I’ve done is to ease her symptoms.  Until she builds up too many immature cells again, she’ll feel better.”  I leaned on the wall, arms folded.  “I’m perfectly capable of doing this every six months and never actually curing her.  She’ll feel better, and she’ll have a happy, normal life, as long as she gets her treatments on time.  The one time she misses a treatment, though – maybe because the government kidnapped me, arrested me, killed me or took my powers away – she’ll have full-blown leukemia again, and within a year or two she’ll die.”  I pushed off the wall.  “So you can support me up front because it’s the right thing to do for the person who gave you back your daughter’s life, or you can hedge and haw and refuse to get with my program, and if so your daughter will be well for exactly as long as I am able to continue treating her.  The very laws you want to pass that will harm me, will block my ability to heal her sooner or later, and then she’ll die, and it’ll be your fault.”

“And how do I know that if I promise to do as you ask, you really will heal Mindy and you won’t just do what you just said?”

“How do I know that if I really heal Mindy, you won’t go back on your word and start pushing for the Human Definition Amendment again?  It’s a matter of trust, Senator.  You trust me, I trust you.  Or you don’t trust me, I don’t trust you.  Tit for tat.  What’s it going to be?”

He took a deep breath.  “I’m not going to just rubber stamp your suggestions.  Even if that was the right thing to do for my constituency, and it’s not.  I’m going to study the situation and try to do the best thing to protect my people and yours.  You can accept that or not.”

“All right, I’ll accept that, with one caveat.  The Human Definition Amendment is totally off-limits.  You can switch your support to the Inclusive Humanity Amendment, or just drop your support of Human Definition, but if you don’t publicly do one or the other within the month Mindy does not get fully cured.  The other stuff, do the studies you want to do, but I think you’ll find that when you look at Proximas as if we are people and not weird animal things with superpowers, you’ll find it a lot easier to come up with ways to help protect your kind without harming mine.”

Lightman nodded.  “All right, Doctor.  Then we have a deal.  When do you want to perform the first treatment?”

“If you’ve got $8,000 lying around in a checking account, we can do it today.”

“I do.  Who do I make the check out to?  I don’t imagine you can cash a check made out to Doctor Mystery.”

“Make it out to Miracle of Life, LLC.”  I had about twenty-seven of these shell companies I used to funnel my various payments through, since even Senators typically had a hard time coming up with $8,000 in small unmarked bills on short notice, and a girl’s gotta eat.  Playing politics is all well and good, but I needed to cover the mortgage and the gas money for my various trips to clients, plus the funds for my various Activities of Mad Science.  Just because you can manipulate any organic tissue with a touch, doesn’t mean you get your beakers and retorts and Petri dishes for free.  “Let’s go upstairs.  I’m sure Mindy is eager to begin freeing herself from this disease.”

“Of course.”

At the top of the stairs, I reached out for his hand.  Too afraid of giving offense to refuse me, he took it, and I shook with him.  “Pleasure doing business with you, Senator.  Go call your daughter in, give me a check and we’ll do this thing.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mystery.  I may not entirely approve of your politics, but thank you for giving my daughter back her life.”

He wouldn’t be thanking me so much if he had known I’d just planted a tiny clump of slow-growing cancerous cells deep in his brain.  It’d be a year from now before he started feeling any symptoms, and that would land in the middle of his re-election campaign.  If he did what I wanted after I finished healing his daughter and we were on good terms, I’d find some excuse to come by and heal him or prune it down again.  If not… there was a reason I was a feared supervillain even though most people knew me, if they knew me at all, as some kind of uber-doctor.  You didn’t double-cross Dr. Mystery and survive it.  Ever.

Well, unless you were Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar.  Then you got any number of free passes.

***

The truth was, I was being something of a hypocrite.

I was offended at Lightman’s suggestion that I make his daughter a Sapiens if she turned out to be a Proxima, but not for the reason I told him.  The difference between a Proxima becoming a Sapien and a Sapien becoming Proxima isn’t the difference between black changing to white or male changing to female.  The difference was described by Plato as a man raised in the darkness leaving the cave to see the light of the sun, vs. a man raised in the sunlight doomed to spend the rest of his life in a cave.  Making a Proxima a Sapiens is like giving someone a lobotomy, or a clitoridectomy, or binding her feet until she can’t walk.  It’s an obscenity, a Harrison Bergeron nightmare of breaking the best down to the level of the mediocre, taking away a birthright one was born with.  

Making a Sapien a Proxima is, on the other hand, one of my great callings in life.

Mindy Lightman wasn’t a Proxima before I touched her.  But she would be, before I was done.  I did a preliminary assessment of her DNA while I was performing the first treatment, and I stored a small amount of her cellular matter in a pocket under the skin of my hand, to study at length later. I’d determine how much energy her mitochondria could supply her and which latent powers-complex genes she had, and which powers they were likely to ignite into.  If she had something distressing, like death touch or world-shattering TK or the gene for turning blue, I’d edit the complex over the next two sessions into something more palatable for the child of a public figure, something frilly and unthreatening.  Maybe the ability to make pretty light shows, or fly.  Most flyers loved it, and it didn’t seem to frighten Sapiens as much as some other powers did.

When I left the Lightmans’, now back in my middle-aged lady persona, I headed first to the bank to deposit the check.  Senators whose daughter’s lives are on the line don’t give me checks that bounce, but they do take time to clear, so the sooner I got it in, the better.  And then I dumped the rental car at the airport, changed form in the bathroom, and got on the Metro to head back home.

****

Science fact: There is only one gene that determines the difference between a Sapiens and a Proxima.

To most people this seems insane.  Proximas come in an entire extra range of colors besides the human norm, have powers ordinary humans can only dream of, and get energy to fuel these powers from a source that is frankly incomprehensible.  We just have to be a separate species, in most people’s minds.  When Proximas were first discovered, there was a huge push to label us a fully separate species – Homo superior (thankfully, that one got shot down real fast) or Homo proximus, “the man who comes next.”  Scientists – not me at the time, since I was too young, but reputable geneticists and biologists – had to constantly point out that the definition of a species is that they cannot viably interbreed.  The children of superpowered and ordinary humans were themselves perfectly fertile. Ergo, we cannot be a separate species.

But we hadn’t mapped the genome then, and we didn’t know exactly why Proximas had powers.  So scientists made, in my opinion, a mistake.  They agreed to classify us as a separate sub-species.

You’ve grown up being told that you are Homo sapiens.  What you might not know is that technically, if you’re not a parahuman, you are actually Homo sapiens sapiens.  There were several other subspecies of humans, all extinct, such as Homo sapiens idaltu (elderly wise man).  It is still scientific nonsense to call us a subspecies, when we’re only different by one gene – to put this in perspective, parents and children differ by many, many more than one gene – and in fact the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature keeps debating changing it to Homo sapiens sapiens proximus or dropping the designate proximus entirely. But the scientific evidence that we aren’t even a separate subspecies gets even less play in the media than studies that show that men and women are alike, if such a thing is possible.  And at least the Homo sapiens proximus nomenclature reinforces that we are of the human species.

The trouble is, most people don’t know that the true name of Homo sapiens is actually Homo sapiens sapiens.  So when they hear the short designators – Sapiens vs. Proxima – they assume that our species is Homo proximus.  We’re widely believed to be an entirely separate species, and it doesn’t help that high-profile supervillains like Caesar Primus (who is 2,000 years old and knows as much as any Roman gladiator about science, which is to say, diddly jack), or Professor Octohedron (a brilliant physicist and inventor, but he knows about as much biology as I know about fixing my car, and let me put it this way, the last time I ended up dead on the side of the road I needed a friendly dude passing by to tell me I’d run out of oil) are constantly spouting off about how we are a new, superior species.  Informed laypeople and doctors usually know better, but the truth – that we are different by only one gene – is so appallingly counterintuitive that you almost need to be a geneticist or an evolutionary biologist to get it.

But here’s the truth.

The human genome is packed with genes that don’t do anything.  Most come from our evolutionary history. You may have heard that we are less than 1% genetically different from chimpanzees.  That 1% consists mostly of control genes, which govern when, how and if the other genes turn on.

It turns out that some of those genes generate superpowers, under the right conditions.  One of them turns melanin, the brown pigment of humans, blue in the presence of a hormone called catalysine.  Others use catalysine to activate superhuman abilities.  All humans carry some of these genes.  But only a very, very tiny number – about 1 in 10,000 – have the gene that codes for the creation of catalysine.

Like testosterone, catalysine has two surges in a person’s life cycle.  One is pre-natally.  The amount generated is small and doesn’t pass the placental barrier, so no, pregnant women do not manifest superpowers when carrying a Proxima baby.  That’s an urban myth.  The surge pre-natally does little, usually, except to prepare the brain to control superpowers someday, creating a brain nucleus and appropriate wiring.  In cases where the child has two Proxima genes – for example, the child of two Proxima parents-- the amount of catalysine created pre-natally might be enough to distort the child’s appearance, begin converting melanin into azurin, or awaken a low level of superpower.

When the child hits puberty, the same genes that turn on sex hormones turn on catalysine production.  The superpowers appear, and wire up to the brain structures created in utero.  If the child has the gene for azurin conversion, their pigment changes from brown to blue – so pale red-haired and blonde white children suddenly develop purple, green or blue hair, while brown-skinned children turn blue all over.  (Azurin is also rare.  Only about 5% of all people carry the gene for azurin production, and only Proximas ever display it.  Non-Proximas with the azurin mutation never express it, and end up creating perfectly normal melanin, because they are never exposed to catalysine.)

The “power mitochondria” are another pan-human phenomenon that only expresses itself in Proximas.  All living cells on Earth contain tiny organelles called mitochondria – practically separate living things, with their own DNA, they use oxygen and sugar to generate the chemical that powers all life, ATP.  Power mitochondria vastly overproduce ATP, and no one knows where they get the energy to do it – it’s like they suck potential energy out of the universe and convert it to life force.  But they do this only when activated by catalysine within the cell.  About 1/3rd of humans have power mitochondria.  In the presence of the Proxima gene, these people generate energy above and beyond what they take in from food and air, which is then consumed by their superpowers.  Without power mitochondria, a Proxima must draw from their own life force to fuel their superpower, which makes their powers pretty weak.  The exact same genes for telekinesis can code for a person that can lift 70 lbs with their mind with effort vs. a person who can lift an aircraft carrier out of the water and break it in half, depending on the presence and output of the power mitochondria.  Since mitochondria are passed by the mother, Proximas who inherit their power from a powerful mother will always be very powerful themselves, whereas Proximas who inherit from a powerful Proxima father depend entirely on the hidden status of their mother for their own strength.  

(Funny fact, here: when Proximas were first discovered, male Proximas freely dated, married and fathered children on human women, because our entire society says it’s okay for men to have wives who are weaker than they are. Proxima women, on the other hand, mostly stuck to their own kind.  In the seven years since we discovered the role of the power mitochondria, we have seen a dramatic reversal in which powerful Proxima men will not marry or get serious with human women unless they consider themselves “childfree” or have had the human woman’s mitochondria analyzed for power status, and more and more Proxima women are dating Sapiens men.)

So most of what goes into making a Proxima is actually in a vast percentage of the human population – 30% have power mitochondria, pretty much all of them have powers-complex.  It’s the presence of the single gene that codes for catalysine production that makes a person Proxima as opposed to Sapiens.  My belief was that Proximas would not be safe from the fear and envy of Sapiens unless we were normalized.  The more Proximas there were, the more the law would adapt to and accommodate us and our needs and the less we’d need to fear the mob of Sapiens out to kill or control us.  So my primary work, since I became Dr. Mystery, had been to increase the number of Proximas by giving as many Sapiens the Proxima gene as I can.

In my early experiments, when I used uncontrolled methods like retroviruses to mutate people, there were high casualty rates.  Sapiens adults whose brains have not been exposed to catalysine in utero can’t control whatever superpowers they develop if they suddenly start making catalysine.  So I started working primarily with children, usually terminally or chronically ill children that I could get direct access to.  My power can create new brain pathways, and in a child or teen, with a developing brain, I can do it transparently, with no one noticing.  Adults cannot experience sudden brain growth and change without noticing that something’s wrong – memories suddenly becoming lost, well-developed skills becoming weaker, mood swings, etc—so I only alter adults into Proximas if they request it.  I often modify women of child-bearing age so that all their eggs carry the Proxima gene, ensuring that they’ll give birth to Proximas if they ever have kids.  It’s harder with men, because men are generating new sperm all the time – I’d have to alter the spermatogonia, and since they’re part of the body, the body’s immune system might notice that they are genetically different from the other cells and attack them, making the man infertile.  So I only make men into Proxima-fathers if I have plenty of time to work with them and tweak their immune systems, if necessary – and if they’re likely to have kids.  Gay men coming to me to save them from AIDS and 70-year-olds who don’t want to get Alzheimer’s are usually not worth modifying reproductively.  

The Peace Force were aware of my work, and opposed it.  They believed it was wrong of me to change people’s genes without their consent.  Technically, maybe they were right, but come on, what sane person would object to having superpowers?  The only reason anyone would not want to be a Proxima is the prejudice against us, and I was working on that too.  So I had to maintain a low profile because every so often the Peace Force would take it into their heads to try to capture me.  I’m pretty sure this wasn’t fully legal – I was pardoned for my activities as Megamorph by Bill Clinton (did you know that Hillary Clinton once had breast cancer? No?  Well, neither does anyone else), and nothing illegal I’d done as Dr. Mystery could be proven in a court of law.  But the law hadn’t caught up with Proxima abilities, so the Peace Force never overly concerned themselves with whether they could prove wrongdoing or not.  Their mentor and leader, Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar, aka Doctor Sun, was a telepath, and if she said, “Bad guy! Go fetch!” they would jump like puppydogs after a thrown stick.

So I lived in Baltimore, in a townhome in the Woodberry neighborhood, on Television Hill, because living directly under the broadcast tower generated enough interference that Suri couldn’t find me telepathically.  I’d have preferred Little Italy, or better yet, a real city like New York or Philly (and I’d come way down in the world, admitting that Philly is a real city), but New York was far too close to Suri, whose base of operations was in Manhattan, and a lot of my work was done with politicians, making Baltimore or DC more convenient than Philly.  And DC had the Special Service, human police in power suits who patrolled to protect the Capitol from parahuman attack.  I never felt safe in DC.  My Woodberry home had civilians living on both sides and a children’s day care across the street, ensuring that the Peace Force couldn’t attack me in force – they’d know the threat to civilians from a power battle would be too great to risk it politically for my sake (and to be fair, most of them are goody-two-shoes hero types who wouldn’t risk civilians, especially preschool children, even if they had perfect political cover for the operation.)  So I figured that if Suri ever found me, she’d still think twice about siccing her dogs on me.

Also, the Light Rail, Baltimore’s sad and pathetic substitute for a subway, had a stop near my home.  I didn’t learn to drive until I was 28, and I still hated it with a passion.  I was a Brooklyn girl – give me a city with buses and subways and railways, so I wouldn’t have to dodge hurtling chunks of death metal just to get where I was going.  From DC’s Metro, after I dropped my rental car at the airport, I changed at Union Station to the Camden line, took it to the baseball stadium in Baltimore, and changed there for the Light Rail.  This took far longer than a car would have, but didn’t involve me being isolated in a tiny box with no source of living organic matter other than my own flesh and facing careening metal boxes coming right for me.  It also didn’t involve traffic jams, which are brutal on the DC Beltway.  A short walk from my stop later, and I was home.

As I unlocked my front door, Brian the cockatiel chirped at me wildly, flapping his wings in his cage.  I’m really proud of Brian – in some ways he’s my greatest work.  He used to be a man, or the head of a man, who attempted to rape me once.  The truly pathetic thing was that Brian had been a good-looking guy, wiry and blond, the way I like them, and if he’d been willing to wait half an hour I would happily have had sex with him.  But he hadn’t wanted sex, he’d wanted rape – the only reason he dated women and went back to their houses with them, rather than jumping out of the bushes with a knife, was that he was a lawyer and knew that a handsome man with money who date rapes a woman will basically never, ever be convicted.  People think rapists have to be hard up for sex, or have to somehow look evil – the idea that a handsome, charming guy who could get any woman he wanted would actually prefer to hold screaming women down and force them when he could get consensual sex with the exact same woman instead breaks people’s brains.  They assume the woman must be lying, because what man who could get mutual fun would prefer to commit rape?  No one wants to admit how common misogynistic sadists actually are or how normal they look.

I found out from Brian that he’d date-raped ten women before me, that only two had tried to press charges, and the cops had refused to take the charges in one case and upset the other one so badly with their disbelief that she’d dropped the charges.  I found this out while I had him paralyzed but still able to feel sensation, his voice made too hoarse to do more than whisper no matter how much he suffered, on a cot in the basement.  Over the course of the two weeks that I used him in experiments, he told me his entire life story, amidst lots of self-justifications, begging, pleading and promising to change his ways.  Then I started turning his body parts into animals, bit by bit.  The rats and mice I made of his arms and legs didn’t come out right, and they died.  The cockroaches who used to be his testicles were actually very robust, but after the cat knocked over the terrarium I was keeping them in, I had to get an exterminator to kill them because who wants cockroaches in their house?  I was actually quite sad when the puppy I made out of his guts wouldn’t wake up and live – sometimes they just won’t come alive no matter what I do.  Living things are very complex, and it’s more an art than a science to do things like make life into different life.  

Since at that point, Brian had no way to digest food or ingest water, and he was therefore only a day or two away from death, I finally put him out of his misery by turning his head into a cockatiel and his torso into an iguana, a gecko, and a handful of tropical fish.  Nothing lived longer than a week except the cockatiel, which so far had lasted three years.  I often wondered, since I’d used some of the original brain tissue in making Brian’s new cockatiel brain, if he had any dim sense that he used to be human.

I fed Brian a cracker, re-absorbed my shoes into my flesh, and took back my original human form before plopping down on the couch to relax and await my cats.  My actual body was permanently frozen at about age 22 or so; I changed it so often, I’d never really had the opportunity to let it naturally age.  I could have forced it up to 36, where I really was, if I had to, but why bother?  No one was going to see me and think less of me for looking too childish.  My natural form is about 5’4” and built like a gymnast – tiny breasts, thickly muscled legs and arms, a rounded and balanced body with a low center of gravity and nothing sticking way out of line with the rest of it.  For gymnastics – my childhood passion – and for combat, it was a fantastic body, and I used it for years as Megamorph before it occurred to me that maybe I should hide my true face if I was going to be a criminal.  For instantly commanding respect, making men drool and women envy, or sending the signal “I AM A SERIOUS CRIMINAL MASTERMIND”, it wasn’t so good.  It was short, the face looked too young and soft (and too much like a young, soft Gillian Anderson – people in med school actually used to call me “Scully”), and a body perfectly proportioned for gymnastics or martial arts isn’t all that attractive by the psycho standards of our culture.  But it was my body, and in my home, with the shades drawn and the security system on, I went back to it because it was me.  

As I wiggled my toes on my shag carpet and then propped my feet up on my coffee table, I wondered where my cats were.  They were well-fed cats, but their heightened metabolisms made them constantly hungry, and they knew I was a sucker for giving them treats when I’d first come home.  Normally, they’d be leaping on me minutes after my arrival.  This worried me.  If I had accidentally shut them in the bedroom, Angelkitty would probably pee on my ceiling to express her displeasure and Pikachu might have destroyed my furniture with a few good lightning blasts by now.  

My cats were also experiments.  I’d been curious to see if the genetic structures I’d observed in other mammals that seemed related to the human powers-complex were in fact superpowers, so I got myself a pair of abandoned newborn kittens and in between the droppers of kitten formula (I really drew the line at making cat milk in my own breasts; those little things have teeth very early), I modified them to generate catalysine.  The female promptly grew bird wings (which didn’t attach to the right spot on her back and were too small; she’d never have flown if I hadn’t heavily modified them for her), and the male developed the ability to shoot lightning out of his paws, so I named them Angelkitty and Pikachu.  (Technically, if you have seen the Pokemon cartoon, which I admit I have, Pikachu is a mouse that shoots electricity, or something rodentlike anyway, but come on, there aren’t exactly any mythological figures of cats that shoot electricity.)  Angelkitty’s a Siamese and Pikachu is mostly white with some orange. They don’t have power mitochondria – that does appear to be a human thing – so they eat like pigs.  I could feed six ordinary cats off what my two eat, but they remain extraordinarily svelte, almost feral in their slimness.  And so if they weren’t here to pester me for fish treats, something was wrong.

I got up and went out to the kitchen.  To my relief, my cats were still noshing on their tuna fish, which amazingly it looked like they had barely touched before I came home.  (I always fed them human food.  Why not?  I had the money to keep them in canned tuna rather than cat food, and they loved the stuff.)  Pikachu looked up at me, gave me a meow that I interpreted as “Oh, you’re home, good,” and then went back to his meal.

Wait a minute.  There was more food in the bowl than there had been when I said good-bye to them this morning.  And it was beyond the realm of possibility that they’d left so much food untouched for so long, anyway.  And the tuna looked fresh out of the can.  So how—

“I was wondering when you were going to get home,” a woman’s voice said behind me.  I was already spinning to face her, preparing to leap at her, but as soon as I saw her I realized it was hopeless.  “Don’t you ever feed these cats?  They look like they’re starving.”

Ciana Kim, aka Sapphire, my once-classmate and current dire nemesis, was standing – well, floating—above my stairs in her traditional blue bubble, her features slightly obscured by the blue distortion and concealed behind her mask.  The combat leader of the Peace Force was in my house.

I backed up.  I couldn’t take Sapphire directly.  Her power was to generate spherical or toroid magnetic fields, which glowed blue due to the way they bent light, hence her name.  I needed organic channels to send my power through—behind her force field, Sapphire was totally safe from me, because I couldn’t touch her.  I wasn’t safe from her, though.  She could generate a force field around me, trapping me, any time she wanted.  

There was a switch by the door to my basement, labeled “FURNACE – DO NOT TOUCH,” that would actually activate an EMP.  All the computer and electronic equipment I had in my house outside the Faraday cage of the basement would fry, but Sapphire’s power would fail as well, and I could leap on her before she could reset her power.  Or, if I didn’t really want to replace my MP3 player, phones, and the laptop in the bedroom, perhaps I could grab Pikachu and throw him at her.  He’d be startled enough to discharge a bolt, and the electrical surge should pop her field like a soap bubble.  I knew I had a faster reaction time than Sapphire – after years of modifying and tuning up my nervous system, I’m faster than anyone who doesn’t have super-speed as a specific power – so I should be able to grab her and neutralize her power or knock her out before she could get a force field back up again.  I was reluctant to do that because Pikachu was my kitty and throwing him at superheroes seemed kind of mean, even though I knew he wouldn’t be hurt, but the EMP generator could theoretically blow out TV Hill, and then I’d have to dodge swarms of reporters trying to find out why they suddenly couldn’t get on the air anymore.  

I stalled for time.  “They’ve got very fast metabolisms.  I feed them all the time, but they’ll pester anyone they meet for more.”

Sapphire rolled her eyes.  “Oh, stand down, Meg. If I was here to capture you or beat you up, I’d have done it before you knew I was here.”

She had a point. Sapphire wasn’t stupid, and she had completely gotten the drop on me, to the point that I was actually really embarrassed about it.  “So what do you want?  Cooking advice?  I always prefer to replace the generic vegetable oil with olive or canola, it’s easier on the heart.”  The last time I’d been in the same household as her, Ciana Kim had refused to learn to cook, for very similar reasons to her refusal to learn hand-to-hand combat.  

She ignored my jab. “Doctor Sun sent me.  She needs your help and she asked me to ask you.”

I blinked.  Doctor Sun wanted my help?  Cold day in hell.  But it’d have to get a lot colder before I’d say yes.  “She wants my help?  And she actually thinks I might agree?  Excuse me, but the last time I interacted with any of you people you wrecked my lab, ruined four years of work and set me back half a million dollars.”

“You were infecting children’s vaccines with a retrovirus.  Did you seriously think we’d let you just get away with it?”

“All it would have done was make them into Proximas.  What do you think I am?”

“Someone who mutates people against their will.  And how do you know that’s all it would have done?  Retroviruses mutate. Besides, it’s still wrong to change people without their consent.  How do you know those kids would even have wanted superpowers?”

“Oh, be real.  Who wouldn’t want superpowers?”

“If I wasn’t a Proxima, I might have been an Olympic gold medalist.”

She was telling the truth.  One of the things that annoyed me so much about Ciana was how close her life had been to mine, minus the dysfunctional family.  I, too, had had Olympic dreams once, and my coach had told me when I was 11 that I might seriously make it as a contender.  But no matter how good I’d been, I’d never really had a chance; if my parents hadn’t died when I was 13, some other aspect of my family’s screwed-up-ness would have ruined it for me.

Ciana Kim, however, had had a good and loving family who’d pushed her hard in the belief that she could achieve anything.  She was a third-generation Korean American from California and her parents were doctors or something like that, and they’d stood behind her every step of the way.  Even after everything had fallen apart in my life and I’d basically become a thug for hire, I had followed the Olympic gymnastic news, so I’d known all about this as it was happening.  

Ciana was originally to be the USA’s representative to the Olympics in Seoul for women’s artistic gymnastics.  Much was made in the media of a Korean American going to Seoul to represent America, but Ciana had been very photogenic and full of great soundbites about how she was as American as apple pie and she was honored to represent our great country and she was so looking forward to bringing a medal home for the US and she was following in Mary Lou Retton’s footsteps and blah blah blah.  And then, a week before the Olympics, it had come out that she was a Proxima.  They’d finally figured out that doing a blood test for catalysine would find any Proxima with an active power.

The truth is that even now, twenty years later, as an experienced superhero who uses her powers all the time, Ciana still can’t use her powers invisibly.  There’s always a shiny blue blob there. And she had no training with her powers when she was 16, so it would have been even more implausible that she could have somehow used her powers to secretly cheat.  I would be disqualified from a Sapiens competition in gymnastics in any sane world because of what my powers actually are, but Ciana was disqualified solely from anti-Proxima prejudice (and, to be fair, probably some anti-Asian prejudice from the Americans whose job it would have been to advocate for her).  The Americans paid for their prejudices when Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union took home all the women’s gymnastics medals (I don’t like Ciana, but I’m pretty sure she would have won at least a silver in something, if not a gold.) Ciana was recruited by Dr. Chandrasekhar to learn how to use her powers and eventually join the Peace Force, Dr. Chandrasekhar’s UN-supported superhero team.

So it wasn’t that I had no respect for Ciana’s loss, but it irritated me that she saw the problem as being that she was a Proxima rather than that the Olympic committee was scared of Proximas.  And also, that being an Olympic medalist was better than being a superhero.  “Yeah yeah, you could have had your moment of glory, and nowadays you’d be selling sneakers and breakfast cereal to pay the bills, assuming anyone even remembered you at all.  What’s Mary Lou Retton doing with her life?”

“She’s been an Olympics commentator, and she’s a motivational speaker who supports physical fitness.”

Trust Ciana to actually know this.  “And that’s better than being a superhero how?  You save lives, you have an action figure, millions of little girls look up to you—“

“—I wear a mask when I save lives because otherwise supervillains or stalkers might hunt me down, no one knows my real name, my family aren’t allowed to tell anyone what I do for a living, I’ll probably never have a normal life with a husband and kids—“

“--You could marry some guy and quit the superhero business any time you wanted to, it’s just your overblown sense of responsibility that says you can’t quit your job to have babies until your powers give out on you, because you think the world needs you, and if that’s the case where would they have been if you hadn’t been a Proxima?”

“Someone else would have taken my place if I hadn’t been a Proxima.  And all of this is besides the point; no matter how great you or even I might think it is to have superpowers, the fact is that you were planning to infect helpless babies with a retrovirus that would have mutated them.  Some of them might have died of it.  Some might have been killed by their families for being Proximas once they manifested.  You don’t have the right to play God that way.”

“Nobody would have died of my virus,” I retorted.  “I tested it thoroughly ahead of time.  But you also notice, I haven’t done it again.”

“Because you know we’ll stop you.”

“Because I listened to your arguments that retroviruses are unstable and highly prone to mutation, and I decided that maybe you have a point.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“You didn’t even try to just persuade me.  You just blew up my lab!  Do you know how many vials of vaccine I hadn’t modified yet you destroyed?”

“All of this is pointless,” Sapphire snapped.  “I’m wasting time arguing with you when Doctor Sun is dying.  Are you coming or not?”

Wait, what?  Dying?  

I had been a half-crazed killer with no self-esteem, no sense of myself being able to be or do anything good, no belief that anyone could ever care about me – at least not without dying for it – after David died.  Dr. Chandrasekhar had taken me in and taught me that I could have a better destiny than being a tool for monsters to use to kill each other with; that I didn’t have to be a monster myself.  I could use my powers for good.  I could help people.  I could be a decent person.

Viewed from her perspective, I suppose, it didn’t last – I freely admit I am a supervillain and I do highly unethical things, up to and including killing people.  But I do it for a cause I believe in.  I do it to save my people from the bio-engineered diseases I was forced to participate in creating at Sonnebend.  I do it so girls with superpowers who are going to medical school to learn how to save lives will not be kidnapped, stripped of their powers except when convenient for their captors, raped, tortured and forced to use their powers to heal enemies and kill their own kind, by agents of their own government.  I do it so my people can enjoy the same rights and privileges as every other human on this planet.  And the fact that I can fight for a cause, that I can see myself as a person with a noble goal of my own… I owe that entirely to Doctor Sun.

No matter what she does to me, no matter what she orders her Peace Force to do, I can’t ever get away from that.

“Dying of what?”

“She was kidnapped and raped by Caesar Primus.  When she escaped, she was two months’ pregnant, but the doctors say it seems more like six months.  The child is growing too rapidly for her to handle it, and it’ll kill her.”

Oh, God.  

My heart started pounding, my throat went dry.  I could feel the adrenaline surging, my sympathetic nervous system revving up for a totally inappropriate fight-or-flight response.  I couldn’t stop imagining the reality behind Sapphire’s words.  It didn’t help that I’d once had sex with Primus myself – consensual, sort of, but I could entirely too easily imagine what it’d be like to be raped by him, without powers to protect you.  And Primus was immune to telepathy, so effectively Suri would have been helpless.  God, no.  I didn’t want to think about that.  

So I was flippant, and cold.  “Doctor Sun’s a woman of the world.  You’re telling me she’s never heard of an abortion?”

“She doesn’t want an abortion.  She says she won’t compound Primus’ act by taking an innocent life.”

“When did Doctor Sun turn into a pro-lifer?”

“She says the baby has a mind and she won’t kill it.”  Sapphire floated herself down onto my dining room floor, still surrounded by a protective bubble but no longer on my stairs.  “Are you going to help, or not?”

“I’m a feminist Darwinist.  I’m morally opposed to letting a fetus conceived in rape live.  It lets dangerous genes persist in the population.  Suri knows that.”

Sapphire sighed explosively.  “Fine.  I knew you weren’t going to be any help, but Doctor Sun believed in you.  I’ll just go tell her I was right and she was wrong.”

“What is this supposed to be, reverse psychology?”

“Nothing reverse about it. I knew before I got here that I would be wasting my time.  You’re a killer with no conscience; why Doctor Sun ever thought you might help, I have no idea.”

“Because she knows me better than you.”  I stepped forward.  “If this is reverse psychology bullshit, it isn’t necessary. I’ve known I was going to agree to help you since you told me she was dying.  And if you really believe what you’re saying, then nyaah nyaah nyaah.  I’m a doctor; everything I do, I do to save lives.  And at least I have to try to persuade Doctor Sun to abort the thing.  Besides, if she was raped by Primus she might have injuries she could need my help with.”  Primus had hammered at me like he was trying to break my pelvis, and without my powers he might actually have done so.  And I’d voluntarily gone to bed with him.  What he’d do to a woman he was raping, I really really didn’t want to imagine.

I didn’t mention to Sapphire that this was partly my fault anyway.  When I’d met her, Suri (Dr. Suri to me in those days, but I feel I have the right to call her by her first name now) had been dying slowly of multiple sclerosis.  She had met me on a good day; she’d only needed crutches and braces to move.  On bad days she’d been confined to a wheelchair, and on really bad days she’d had to stay in bed.  I’d healed her, and in the process I’d turned her from a forty-something woman approaching menopause back to a woman in her prime, young and healthy, physically in her 20’s.  It had been almost 20 years since I’d done that; Suri would be approaching menopause again, but obviously wasn’t there yet.  By now she’d be well past childbearing if I hadn’t de-aged her when I’d healed her disease.

I didn’t know whether Primus had raped her to torture her, to express domination over her, to really make the Peace Force mad at him, or to impregnate her, but I knew he had enough control over his body that if he hadn’t wanted to impregnate her, it wouldn’t have happened.  It was entirely possible that the goal of the whole thing had been to force her to carry his child; Suri was an enormously powerful Proxima with high output power mitochondria, and most women with such energy-full mitochondria would have had a power they could use to fight back against Primus.  Blocking a Proxima woman’s powers while she was pregnant carried high risk to the fetus if it too was a Proxima; it could prevent the fetus from developing the ability to control its powers as an adult.  Suri was rare in that she was incredibly powerful but only telepathic, with no telekinetic abilities, and with Primus’ immunity to telepathy, she’d have had no way to fight back against him even at her full power.  If Primus had wanted a powerful woman to pass her mitochondria to his child, and he hadn’t cared about her consent, there were few Proximas who’d make a better target for him.  And if that was the case, then the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t made her younger, sixteen years ago.

Sapphire blinked.  “Wait.  You are coming?”

“I just said so.  But we have to bring my cats.  They need to eat more than the average cat – they’d starve if I left them without food for three or four days, and obviously I can’t ask the neighbors to come feed them.”

“Fine.  Sedate them; I don’t need a cat flying all over my car, or meowing and moaning in his carrier the whole time.  We’ll put them in one of the suites and make sure they get fed.”

I took my cell phone – it had all of my appointments and contacts in it, and I’d have to call them all to reschedule once I knew how long this was going to take.  If I could talk Suri into aborting the fetus, this could probably go very quickly, but I knew how stubborn she was.  If I had to save the baby too, I could possibly have to take a few weeks.

Damn Suri.  Why the hell was I taking time off my work and spending four hours in a car with one of the people who most annoyed me in the entire world to go save my greatest opponent anyway?  From a problem she could just fix herself if she wasn’t so damn stubborn?

But I already knew.  I couldn’t let Suryabati Chandrasekhar die; not under any circumstances, and most especially not if she’d asked for me specifically.  Our differences were ideological; what she’d done for me went beyond ideology.  I would fight her and her people when I had to, but if she was dying and she needed me, I had to go.

[beerecordings]

Just a quick sweet one-shot about fae Jameson comforting Henrik. I got to thinking about JJ’s dog forms after that ask and how they’d probably need like a fake service dog harness to get him into places when he doesn’t want to be human, and then I was like “well it’s not really that inaccurate, because he would protect and keep them steady like that through panic attacks or anything like that” and then I typed this up real quick. it’s got all the myth boys in it but it’s mostly about Henrik and Jamie looking out for each other.

Trigger warnings for mentions of imprisonment, stalking, blood, and animal attacks.

The long nails of his black paws clack cold on the linoleum floor of the doctor’s clinic.

“It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming!”

He lifts his small snout in the air, but he knows every scent already – bubblegum shampoo and a well-worn red sweatshirt that smells like nothing else, the salty ocean sting that never stops clinging to Chase’s skin, the clean heat burn of the star spirit in love with humanity.

Nothing is coming.

“It’s going to drag me away!” screams the human healer on the wall behind him. “No, no, no!”

The human can howl like a wolf left to die. The black dog bears fangs and holds still as hot fleshy human hands dig deep into the thick curls of his fur.

How long, he wonders, was the human pursued, chased across mountains and rivers and country lines, away from his family and all that he knew? Jameson can see him now, thin and pale on the seat of one of those speeding metal slugs that run along railed teeth, stinking of oil.

Train, his brain offers, something Marvin taught him in his frank, self-satisfied way, happy with himself for remembering a human thing, happier now to pass the knowledge along to Jameson. When he said it, Jameson realized he had known the word already, but the excitement of watching the humans build and build and build, faster and bigger and blacker every day, has long since left him.

The plastic rims of the human’s glasses shove into his side. Still he does not move.

Wet salt and broken hiccuping sobs pant against his fur. Soft hands stroke down his spine, tugging at him, scraping at him, dragging tears across his body.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” wails Henrik. “I’m sorry, don’t leave me alone.”

He bows his small dark head, motionless. Tonight he does not move. Tonight the man can touch him. In the whole world, only two men are allowed to do so, two men and a star and a sealboy.

After all, Henrik would do the same for him. Henrik was the one what stitched him up on the night he was dying and didn’t want to live anyway. He bit and snapped at his hands and trembled like a wild animal, and the human must have seen the memory of his old hunter flickering on the surface of Jameson’s body, but still he did not turn him away, just took deep breaths and held him down and stitched him back together, his hands slicked in fae blood, saving his life in silence but for the sound of his hand brushing along Jameson’s heaving flank.

He turns slightly, so his body guards Henrik where he huddles in the corner, grasping at his fur.

Nothing is coming.

Henrik presses his face to his fur, crying.

Nothing is coming.

“You don’t know how big it was… how it would stare at me… great golden eyes, the heady horrible face of the bull… or the wolf’s teeth pricking at my throat, draining out blood I never asked for. I never asked to be lucky. Never asked to be hunted just because I have six big brothers and six big uncles and more vision in my eyes than I know what to do with.”

Nothing is coming.

He puts his paw on Henrik’s knee.

The human breathes, shaking, snotty and crimson-faced, his glasses askew on his nose and his shirt stained with sweat. Jameson doesn’t care. When he was very small he didn’t understand why humans cry, but he does now. He has now. It’s okay. Nothing is coming. Henrik scratches his chest. He is a curly black sheepdog. Sturdy and small. If anything ever came after him he would tear its ankles to shreds and then turn into a bear.

Nothing will harm him.

For hours they’ve been curled up on the floor of the clinic, hiding from the others. Henrik doesn’t like for anyone to see him like this. All he had to do was step into the mudroom where Jameson sometimes chooses to stay, the fake service dog harness they bought illegally clutched in his shaking hands, and Jameson got up and lead him to the safety of his secluded little clinic.

Everything’s okay. Nothing is coming.

“I’m sorry I’m such a coward,” Henrik whispers, listing against his side. “I’m sorry I – I’m sorry I… I’m so tired of being scared all the time, for nothing, for nothing. It’s gone, and still, it never stops haunting me…”

Jameson stares dead ahead, still beneath Henrik’s hands. He remembers the cold iron bars of an abandoned, unrusting cage, the tiny onyx body of a kitten shaking against the sting of it, feeling his essence turn molten, eaten alive for a hundred years, until at last the golden hands of the star and the heavy red gloves of the man came for his emancipation. And yet he feels himself constantly surrounded by the cold white wrath of the cage that bound him.

Tonight, though, there are no bars. There are just the human’s hands, hot and grasping, brushing slowly down his back, and the steadying sound of his quiet breath.

Henrik leans heavier on him. That’s okay. He makes himself grow. A bigger sheepdog now. Henrik slumps against his back. He makes himself a big black husky. Henrik is asleep. It’s okay. He can be a bear-hunting dog. Big and black, with a human laid across his back, exhausted. He can be anything Henrik needs him to be. It’s a good thing he took the harness off already.

The little rectangle of metal in Henrik’s coat begins vibrating. Jameson stares at it, his dark eyes blinking, his soft dog’s chin laid out on his paws and Henrik laid out on his strong ribs and spine. The voicemail tone sounds and Jameson closes his eyes, listening to the familiar voice of the sealboy frizzling through the speakers.

“Uh, hey, Schneep, just calling to check in. I was going to see if you wanted to watch something, but you’re, uh, not in your room. Hope everything’s okay? You know if you need anything you can call me, okay? I – ”

“Amata!” Marvin’s voice is eager and bright. Always. Jameson’s ear twitches warmly. “Is that my doctor? Henrik! I love you! Where is he, let’s play a game! No, wait, let's watch a show!”

“Marv, he didn’t pick up. I’m just leaving – ”

“Didn’t pick up!” A third voice, immediately worried. “Why didn’t he pick up?”

“Come on, Jackie, I’m sure he’s just – ”

“Schneep, when I said nobody was allowed to disappear without telling me why after what you pulled last month, I wasn’t joking. Where are my sneakers, Chaser? We're going to the clinic.”

“Yay! Jackie, carry me!”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t you think you’re being just a little overprotective?”

There’s an indignant spluttering just loud enough to be comical and then the beep of the voicemail ending. Jameson sighs, low and warm, and turns just enough that he can lick the back of his human’s hand, making Henrik shift just a little, rubbing his face into his fur.

Nothing is coming. Nothing is coming. Nothing holds him. Nothing will steal them away. They’re free. They’re free. Nothing is coming.

Except, of course, one worried superhero, one exasperated shapeshifter, and one very cheerful star spirit in the shape of a happy white cat, curled up in Jackie’s arms, excited to be going for a late night walk to his favorite doctor’s clinic.

“Schneep!” Jackie’s voice is a ringing bell twenty minutes later and Henrik jolts anxiously, a gasp shuddering on his mouth, only to calm again when he feels his fingers curling around Jamie’s fur.

“Hm, what?” he calls, pushing his glasses back into place. “Who?”

“Schneep, you nerd, didn’t you hear? Missing movie night is no longer an option in our household! Mister Mother Hen here can’t let you out of his sight for ten minutes without throwing a fit, now, can you, Jackie?”

A cat yowls a delighted greeting and Chase goes “yowch!” as Jackie’s fist connects with his shoulder, sending him into whining protest and Jackie into big, chest-shaking laughter, their footsteps moving towards the back of the secret little clinic where they have been saved and healed a hundred times.

Henrik sits up straight, trying to put himself together, relieved to find that he can, for the first time in hours, breathe deeply when he tries. He remembers what Jameson is with a sudden clarity and pulls his hands away, hoping he hasn’t offended him, but Jameson only turns and looks at his open hand, setting his chin down inside the curve of his scarred white palm. Henrik chuckles wearily and reaches down to scratch between his ears, his heartbeat settling. The stomping of feet down the stairs sends one burn of anxiety rising through his chest, but Jameson does not bark or growl, and he knows that he is safe.

“What are you doing down here, bud?” asks Jackie, worried, appearing before him, big and safe and holding a warm friend, Chase smiling a reassurance before him.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” sighs Henrik, closing his eyes. “Just trying to avoid Marvin’s pick of movie.”

A mournful cat wail fills up the stairway, Marvin flopping dramatically back into Jackie’s arms as though struck dead, and rich free laughter like a wave of sunlit water warms the shining curly fur along the back of the great black dog.

-----------------------

Taken from my Mythology AU - Chase is a Selkie, Marvin’s a star spirit, Jameson’s fae but likes to look like a little black dog, Henrik’s the seventh son of a seventh son, and Jackie is Jackie! While I do not have current plans to continue this AU and work on it as the inspiration takes me, you can send prompts or specific scenes in this universe the next time I open requests.

[three-self-shippers]

𝒜𝓈𝓈𝑜𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 // 𝒜𝒾𝓏𝒶𝒩𝑜𝓍

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Aizawa x Nox / Daqat

Trigger Warnings: Mention of religion, self deprecation, mention of depression, anxiety, bad irrational habits, process of burnout, mention of sleeping disorders, symptoms of borderline personality disorder, slow-burn, angst, and confrontation. (?)

**I’m invested in making this as realistic as I can, but uh, it’s not healthy, well, yeah--

⇐ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs - ɴᴇxᴛ  ⇒

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

A shiver went through me with how cold he was, he hates me now, doesn’t he? It weirded me out to the heart as I fixed up work that piled up on my desk to do later before fleeting out to the roof to catch up with him. As I skipped over each building to maintain my stealth, I thanked my ballet classes when I was a kid for teaching me how to maintain my balance and sort my weight as well as being flexible. 

It was dangerous indeed, hopping off tall buildings and hanging from pipelines, but Aizawa wanted me two blocks away and that’s what I was going to do: go there.

As I reached the less luminated part of the area I saw his bending figure, crouched atop a pole as his hair lifted due to his usage of Erasure. I felt my breathing get heavy as my legs began to give out, a replay of what happened earlier today and the musky yet fresh wooden scent somehow being reincarnated in my nostrils except it was as thick as honey. 

“Daqat..? Chaiai!” Aizawa’s distant yelling of my hero and last name was the last thing I noticed before giving out and falling off my footing. My body weight shifted to the left where the edge of the building was as I almost fell to my doom, if it weren’t for EraserHead saving me again. 

As I woke up meeting with a much more beaming white light blinding my eyes, I cried out in pain that I forgot to even use my eye gel for three days and cried for hours atop it all. 

A fork was being stabbed into my eye, it felt like it. I knew that the dehydration of my eyes would open that damn wound and I’d always refer the pain to being stabbed in the eye. I whimpered as I tried muffling my cries not knowing who’s talking to me or trying to soothe me out. 

“Chaiai-San, what’s wrong?!” A figure jolted yet I was too busy to even think who it was, knowing too well it’s none other than Eraserhead.

The feeling of not knowing whether I should blink or not was unbearable as my eyes kept tearing up, trying to wash out the pain without success. When I open my eyes it hurts, when I close them it hurts more, the pain was intolerable though I had a high pain tolerance. 

“Something’s in your eye I’m assuming? Don’t move, stay still. Shhhh..” His deep vibrations somehow overpowered the pain which was only growing more as the tears continued falling out especially from my left eye. I took my hand out of my eyes to show him how red they are, this isn’t the first time it happened to me.

“That’s it, stay still for me, alright? I’m going to put in them some hydrating droplets.” His tone was reassuring as I held onto the sheet of the bed I was laid on, my eyes hurting more than ever as I lowered down my painful whines. His flakey dry hands soon came into contact with the area under my left  eye as he softly tugged my lower lid down to drop in the solution. My eyes absorbed it as if it was nothing while he applied to the other eye before going back to the first one again. 

At this point I signed him to stop, the pain has reduced but is still there and I was not going to let him use all the solution in the bottle for me-- He needs it too. “E-EraserHead, why are you here?” I sniffled out while trying to sit up just to be laid down again by his hands on my shoulders to which I flinched out of his touch. 

“You passed out and were going to die from falling off the building, I caught you with the binding cloth. And of course I have to accompany you to your full recovery, you’re under me, after all. And I wouldn’t be a good hero or boss if I just went by as if nothing happened.” He furrowed his brows at me. 

“I don’t know--” “Of course you don’t, you don’t have a medical history of that, has it ever happened before?” He interrogated, cutting my sentence in half. 

“This is the first time I’d passed out. But the air becoming thick and my muscles feeling as if they were about to give out weren’t.” 

“Why do you have health insurance when you never use it?” “I do use it! Sometimes.” I tried countering him although he immediately followed up: “For your mental health, Chaiai. It’s clear what you just had was an anxiety attack--” “G-Get out.” I felt bad, very bad of that sort of confrontation. 

“I’m not going to go--” “There’s nothing wrong with my mental health! I don’t have any sort of illness that associates with the way I think or my ability to take responsibility!” I yelled at him as my brows twitched when they knitted towards each other. A sense of betrayal and disappointment in myself filled in. 

“Chaiai--” “Not another word, EraserHead, don’t say anything. I apologize that I’m being disrespectful right now but it’s for both your own and my good. You’re slurring a lot of words when you know nothing about me so please.. Get out of here. Because if you say another word I might just lose my admiration and respect for you.” I gritted at him, tears filling my irritated red eyes as I saw the curtain of guilt that fell upon him before he left me in the room. 

The doctors came in asking me all sorts of questions to fill up my medical history, I asked them for the lubricator eye gel I use for my eyes and they gave me a little forum to answer. It consisted of questions that determined my mental state and I took these kinds of fill-ins to know how they look like. I answered all the questions as If I was living an average life. 

Sleeping consistently, doing sports and hobbies, socializing, everything that I barely ever do if ever. I never sleep unless my body betrays me, I am a lazy sluggish person who only ever trains the necessary combat fighting and flexibility workouts and literally does nothing else, hobbies only as in the ones that seem to cheer me up for a brief minute before I remind myself how they’re the reason of disappointment that my parents felt towards me, and socializing which is something I’m awkward at except my very close friends if they reach out, though I do try to balance out my negative thoughts and my life out, it fails miserably every time. 

The doctor took a swift look at my answers then at me before she brought the same forum again. And laid it in front of me. “Answer honestly, Chaiai-San.” The stern tone made me gulp in place, hesitant to tell the truth. “W-What do you mean? I answered it--” I couldn’t finish before I got cut off by her again. “We can’t help unless you answer honest--” 

“I don’t need help!” I stood up to prove my point, not noticing I had a dripper attached into my veins which almost ripped off my bloodstream if it weren’t for the doctor lending a hand in and sat me on the bed again. 

“I don’t know what kind of environment you came from, but bottling things up won’t do any good. Let’s just talk it out, yes?” The woman wearing a lab-coat asked with concern and empathy. 

“Fine.” 

.

.

.

While I got discharged, I looked at the little plastic bag in my hands. It contained various meds for depression, insomnia, anxiety and vitamins. Walking towards the hospital door, I felt nauseous as I didn’t like all the talking that happened, all the explaining. It’s been hours of just talking.

“Daqat, wait!” Aizawa’s voice called out as I turned around, he’s been waiting for me? I can’t do that with him. The fluorescent just made his face look more tired. My eyes looked at the shoes I wore, black, as most of my clothes were colorful I always ended up only wearing monotones. 

“I apologize, I came off rude and ignorant to you.” My eyes refused to look up at him and I could feel my chapped lips press into a line. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. As much as I’d like to give you time off the job, I suppose you wouldn’t take it.” 

“This sort of thing shouldn’t affect my productivity. I apologize for being disrespectful earlier, too. And I’ll be going to the agency now, since you have class in an hour.” I checked my support item-based watch, it’s heavy but it’s part of my costume and I got used to it. 

“Don’t overwork yourself. But at the same time do your best, plus ultra.” His sad-filled voice didn’t fit the motto of the school. He handed me the keys to the agency, as it dangled from his delicately long finger before I carefully took it. Though my efforts to not come to physical contact with him, our skin briefly brushed as the metal rings were held firmly in my hand. 

The simple electric zap lingered on my fingertips, he felt it too, I can tell by the way he was startled. It mayhaps also be just concerned with my unexplained wariness, either ways. 

“I’ll come by later with my intern, but just in case here’s the keys.” He spoke. 

With that being said, I waved him off with a bow and a tired smile before going to the agency. The sun was on it’s way up, it’s golden rays showed how much time I spent in the hospital. Moreover how much time I wasted when we could’ve made the streets safer. I blamed myself for it, but apparently I was questioned by a therapist and was told to take these pills. I didn’t though, they might affect my usual work times. 

I shoved the plastic bag into my over-sized purse before giving my face a quick wash and went out of the agency to fight villains. It felt good to let out my self-loathing at those lowly villains. To just blank out and focus on my next move. It was good that it was daytime, too, the warmth of the sun making my musk charm work better as I sweat more during arrests and combat. 

Contrary to EraserHead’s request, I did end up doing an unholy amount of work by myself while his other sidekicks did their normal amount too. After buying some packed sushi from a nearby store, going back to the agency to shower, I sat by and played some cheesy One Direction music in my earphones as I started on the reports. 

“Either ways, now that you’re in the hero course, it shouldn’t be something hard to grasp. You’re a fast learner and during this internship you will be finding ways to better the use of your quirk in battle.” 

Aizawa’s voice overlapped with my music as I took off my earphones. Lifting my head up as they knocked on my door and came in. He had his intern whom I met a couple times already. “Shinsou! Nice to have you around.” I beamed at the lavender-headed teenager in UA’s uniform before I drew my eyes to look at the man beside him. 

“Thanks, I’m blessed to be able to be here.” He replied. “You already met Daqat or Chaiai-San, my new sidekick. Either ways, are you free right now? I was thinking you sparring with Shinsou could make him more tolerable to your quirk and other quirks that are similar to yours.” Eraserhead chimed in as I stood up with the pile of papers that I finished. 

“Yes, just let me submit these reports--” “How many villains did you arrest?” The noirette was annoyed at my obvious overworking and sudden productivity. “Don’t worry, they were all thugs. Around thirty four?” I assumed as I carried the papers away. 

Aizawa looked at me while I hurried away with the pile, shaking his head. “That woman.. Let me show you where the changing room is so you can get into your costume.” Aizawa went to guide his intern. 

.

.

.

Round after round of sparring with Hitoshi, not replying to his quirk, constantly dodging the binding cloth and pinning him down without failure due to the difference in experience. I can see Aizawa signing me to stop as he woke up from sleeping, zipping down the sleeping bag, the same one he covered me in a day ago..

I stood up, lent a hand to help the younger hero-in-training up which he took. An evident redness laid across my own cheek of the workout but also because of how EraserHead was snuggled two minutes ago in his sleeping bag. 

“Of course, you’re going to get better with time, evaluate your performance with Daqat to fix your mistakes.” Aizawa’s voice was heavy with sleep. “Y-Yeah, there were quite a lot of loopholes you can cover up in your fighting.” I tried being helpful by pointing it out, explaining how he could not give out chances when close-combat fighting. 

“But don’t you think it’s a bit unfair?” Hitoshi asked, to which we both looked at him weirdly. “You can avoid my quirk. I can’t just-- Stop breathing or not try reading into your next move.” He explained. 

“It’s not true.” I objected to him, he looked at me questionably. “Your quirk is powerful, Shinsou. You just need a little training, but you’ve got the quirk to be independent. Haven’t you asked why some twenty-four year old is still a sidekick?” 

“Because my quirk aids other people, something that drains energy and boosts, it needs someone else to make use of it most of the time. Back in my place, I constantly trained my sparring since I couldn’t depend on my quirk alone like most people. Quirks often are an add up to daily life routines but in my cause I had to do extra hard to level things. Though I’ve already accepted that I probably won’t ever get enough votes to open my own agency so working for EraserHead is the best offer I’ve got.” I lectured in a rather depressed voice. 

“I’ll assign you to spar with someone else or go on a patrol, whatever’s on the schedule. Daqat, I need to talk to you.” Aizawa chimed in, changing the subject.

My whole body shivered at that last part. “I-- O-Okay--” I coughed, clearing my throat, nodding as I followed him to the office after he left Shinsou with another sidekick. The ground suddenly became the place where my eyes were stuck on as I occasionally glanced either at the back of his shoes or his back profile.

Once we were in his main office, he asked me to close the door and cornered me immediately, in his verbal sense: “Your culture doesn’t allow you to date, right?” 

My face became all shades of every color as I felt my stomach do flips, my throat felt as if someone made me drink a cup of sand. “It’s not something you should be ashamed of, your possible religion that is, I’m assuming.” 

“Y-Y-Yes,” I stuttered, almost as a whisper as I fidgeted with my hand. “I’m muslim so it’s… Taboo.” I breathed out, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole, this wasn’t the type of situation that I’d be put in. 

“I figured. So, are you going to tell me how it works?” He deadpanned at me, to which I tilted my dead, being the dumb person I am. How did I deem so smart yet so stupid at the same time?

“How does it work if I-- Wanted to associate with you.” He explained questionably. My heart skipped a beat. “W-Well, y-you’d have to talk to my p-parents and it-- Uh, usually involves a deal of money of sorts? I’m s-sorry but--  Why?” 

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to… Associate with me?” I looked down to my fingers which were scratching themselves. My left thumb digging at my pinkie almost drawing blood. He deserves better, he’s so good and a hero atop it all. He can’t associate with such a fuck-up like me.

“Well, it’s my choice isn’t it? And I find you quite… Amusing.” 

“But we just met and you’re my bo--” 

“It’s fine. Not as if it was a scandal, you’re my sidekick and it shouldn’t be a problem. More importantly, is that a yes?” 

“No. You don’t-- You can’t mar-- Associate with me.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’m a mess, I’m weak, imperfect. You don’t want to commit to something like that it’s-- You deserve better.” I exclaimed, denying the built up feelings and the fact I write vanilla romance fan-fictions of him when I’m alone. 

“Chaiai-San, I don’t necessarily think those define you. More importantly, I never believed in love from first sight, but you’re quite something else--” “Don’t say that.” I cut him off. 

“Sorry, just.. I’m not sure about anything. It’s true, I’d love to have a life partner but still,” I inhaled before exhaling with my next line: “uncertainty of my parents’ reactions is scaring me.” I had goosebumps of the mere thought of it, all the worst-case scenarios that could happen. 

“Chaiai-San, Daqat, look at me.” He spoke in a softer tone as I lifted my gaze to him reluctantly. “Do you trust me in my choices?” I gulped as my breathing became heavier. “Calm down, breathe.” His soothing voice prevented me from guiding myself into a panic attack. 

“I-I-I t-trust you.” I managed to say. “You aren’t forced to associate with me, are you hesitant to be involved in a relationship with me?” He asked. 

“N-No! I’d actually-- Love to! You’re my idol-- It’s not-- It’s not like I don’t uh-- Feel the same…” I slurred up incoherent words. My gaze wouldn’t dare to look up to see his expression but I knew too well; it’d be one between a flustered smirk and a concerned thinking knitted brows. 

“It’s settled then. If you need anything, talk to me. Keep in mind I’d want to talk to your parents. You’re dismissed for the day. Get some rest, for me.” 

The last part made my head overload. I didn’t know what to say to it. “Th-Thanks, S-Sir. You too-- Uh, do your best-- I-- Sorry--” I excused myself with yet another trail of mushed-up words. 

When I reached my office to grab my things, I found out my phone was ringing. 

“Mom…”

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

@simpgameplays @stephiecarie @silentxraiin @thatfanfictionwriter 

[veridium]

stolen

Well, friends, what kicks off a weekend better than a College AU update? Titled after one of my favorite songs of all time, and definitely one of the best kinds of love songs to describe Cass and Liv, the dashboard confessional classic. :)

Fall Carnival fun pt. 2 commences now!

last chapter // fic masterpost

--

There’s walking on glass and eggshells, and then there’s the week Olivia has leading up to the fall carnival. Ellinor deserves a medal of service for dealing with her each and every day, hour by hour, every time something unsettles her anxiety. She had told her everything was fine when they were shoving sushi into their mouths and laughing about fish puns. If only she could hold onto the same kind of half-optimistic, half-resigned sensation she felt then. 

It’s not that Cassandra is mean, or even insensitive. Despite Olivia’s incessant ranting and brooding, she can’t really say it’s because of cruelty. 

The day after her and Ellinor’s sushi date, she texts to check in. Cassandra replies, answering her questions, and nothing more. Olivia once again restricts herself from prodding, and comes back to her dorm to complain to Ellinor. That night she receives texts from friends insisting that they meet up at the Carnival at some point to take a fall aesthetic selfie. The dread grows. 

Then it’s Thursday. To her surprise, Cassandra texts her first.

Cassandra: Hey, will you be around at 12? I have office hours, I thought we could have lunch. 

The cup runneth over -- too bad her request collides with a final project meeting, and by God, Liv  will not give her team more of an opportunity to disappoint. She was the one who scheduled it, set up the shared Google Doc, and delegated responsibilities. If she ducked out, the whole thing would come apart. So, as much as it makes her want to cut four of her fingers off, she tells Cassandra no. Of course, Cassandra isn’t one to give grief. 

Cassandra: No problem, just thought I would offer. Have a good meeting!

Later that night, Olivia takes some initiative. The Carnival is the next day and if Cassandra isn’t feeling it, she would rather go alone or not go at all than try to force it. Cute pictures would never be worth it, and Olivia has grown up experiencing enough cringey, orchestrated “outings” to last a lifetime. She paces the floor of her dorm after sending the text, expecting one of dozens of possible reasons. After all, who wants to endure a Carnival with an ankle boot on?

Apparently, Cassandra does. 

Cassandra: Yeah! Cullen and the team have been looking forward to it for weeks. I don’t see why not. 

Olivia stares perplexed at her screen. Okay. Okay? Okay. That’s it, then. They’ll go, and it’ll be great. Except it won’t be, because in that split second, she’s already charted in her head all of the awkward and potentially conflictive situations that could happen. What if Cassandra gets there and her mood changes? What if she wants to get on a ride, but can’t because of her injury? What if she loses at a Carnival game and it sets her off? What if someone makes fun of her? What if she trips and falls?

As if by divine providence, she gets a phone call during her spiral. And it’s none other than Theia, finally getting back to her after over a week of radio silence. Olivia doesn’t waste time asking what happened between her and Josie, but Theia doesn’t have much to offer:

“It’s a break. That’s all I can really say,” she says, voice going low while she’s on speaker phone. “It’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it tonight.” There’s a loopy sound, like the swig of a bottle.

Olivia, scrunching her face while she sits on her bed, figures she should change the subject. She tells Theia she needs to vent to someone else besides Ellinor about what is going on with her, and Theia is the only other person who’d understand. The only other person who would be able to provide any insight as to what is upsetting her so viscerally. 

When she gets to the bottom of it, Theia doesn’t speak immediately. The quiet pondering scares her, like the ominous stillwater before a gator attack on those Discovery channel shows. 

“Liv,” Theia finally says, reluctant like she’s a Doctor about to break some terminal news, “you’re gonna hate me for saying this.”

“What? No!” she disagrees. “Not at all, please, help me out here. I’ve been stewing all week.”

“Well…” she chuckles nervously, “you sound just like you did when I first met you.”

Theia doesn’t have to elaborate. The phrase is code for  “a couple years ago,” which comes with its own subtext, one everyone who’s gone through what she has can understand. The phrase has grown from “a few months,” to “last summer,” to “last year,” and now she’s here. Time sucks ass. At least in Theia’s use of it, it doesn’t come with the same feigned accepting grief that Olivia’s Mom has when they’re at “gatherings” with “loved ones” who Olivia hasn’t ever seen before. 

Her cheeks go hot and she tosses the phone onto the comforter and looks away, as if she’s eluding the discerning gaze of a close friend. Theia knows better.

“I know you hate me,” she says, vindicated. “But, you know. The fretting, and the worrying about things that haven’t even happened to her. You’re trying to figure out her needs before she even says them. That’s how you sounded every time I’d be on the phone with you during break. You’d just...completely turn everything on for him, then your Mom.”

Olivia criss-crosses her legs, and picks at the tufted fabric of her old pajama bottoms. “Yeah.”

“Hey, you good?” Theia is quick to check, her tone more concerned. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

“Warned me for what?” Olivia smirks and rubs her neck. “Trigger warning: your own damn life?”

“I mean...yeah. That’s kind of how it works.”

“Not always,” she replies, and picks up the phone. “It’s fine, Theia. I appreciate your honesty.”

Theia lets out a discomfited sound. “Maybe you should...I don’t know. Maybe it’d be best to tell her. Unless you think you can figure this out on your own. It’s up to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” Olivia nods, trying to convince herself simultaneously. All this time she’s been so worried about getting to the bottom of Cassandra’s issues, she’s scarcely thought about the consequences of her own. As if only one of them had baggage to bring around. No shit, Olivia owns her own baggage terminal. Silly for her to believe it would just go away if she just cared enough about someone else’s problems. No matter how many times she tried that trick, it never worked. 

Her and Theia manage to wrap up their talk on kinder, easier terms. Both of them acknowledge they aren’t in a place to be fully open. Agreeing to be patient with each other, they hang up, and Olivia collapses back on her bed to overthink things while staring off into the ceiling. 

This can be a really happy time, if you just let it. She thinks it, over and over, like a song lyric. Just let it. 

--

The next day, Ellinor’s glee and the prospects of fun lighten her up. She puts on one of her favorite dresses, a tea-length button-up dress with short sleeves and a ribbon around the waist. It has a print, blue and white small flowers, and flows at every little move she makes. When Ellinor sees it, she damn-near tips over. 

“You’re wearing that?” she asks, slipping her coat on. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Olivia smirks, and the back of her throat stings with nerves. She locks the door to her dorm and then drops them into her black denim jacket. Just a little touch of the normal aesthetic. 

“It’s the carnival!” she replies, “gotta dress to the occasion.”

“Hah, well, Cass will probably...hey,” Ellinor tries to say something funny, but seeing the immediate change on Liv’s face, she stops herself. “Everything okay?”

Olivia blinks. “Yeah! Yeah. Just distracted by something. Um,” she checks her phone. No messages. “Let’s hurry, parking will be a nightmare.”

--

Whatever Ellinor meant to say about Cassandra’s reaction, she was likely spot on: the minute they see each other in their kitchen, it’s like the world freezes. The first time she’s seen her all week, and Cassandra looks just as beautiful as she looks in Olivia’s memory. Black leggings and a knit, sangria-colored sweater with a dress shirt underneath, all neat and fresh looking. They stand facing each other silently while Cullen and Ellinor are off somewhere making various happy noises, giggling and joking. 

Olivia feels the strap of her string purse slipping and adjusts, her grip on it atop her shoulder turning deadly. The way Cassandra is acting confirms it: she knows its strange, too, that it’s been this long. But, as she always does, Olivia finds the words. 

“Y-ou ready?” she asks, offering a smile. 

Cassandra returns it. “Yeah! I just have to go and get my jacket.”

“Oh, you want me to--”

“No, no, don’t worry,” she says kindly, “I’ve got it.” She’s walking easier than she did the first day. Still an uneven sway, but she’s about as fast as she would be without it. She goes and comes back from her room, a fresh new team jacket over her arm. Shit, they must have got their team jackets?

She’s met in the living room with Cullen and Ellinor, who are also ready to take off. And so, with grins and happy laughs from all, they head out. 

--

The entire drive Olivia is trying to walk herself back off the mental ledge. Now that she’s aware of what she’s doing, or at least more aware, it’s almost worse. How can she tell her new girlfriend that she’s lapsing into something that’s taken her 3 years of on-and-off counselors for her to know is even real? When she’s not thinking about that, she’s thinking about how she should have been more honest with her, especially when Cass was raw about her own issues. Then she feels unreasonable for her expectations, and then…

In the middle of it, her gaze wanders to the center console, and then to the left, where Cassandra is seated. She’s sitting there, and then she feels Olivia’s gaze and looks over, and she smiles. She’s smiling, and she’s looking so happy in the sunlight shades changing so fast as the car goes fast downtown. 

Hands gathered against her waist like a kid on a school field trip, she grins back. 

Next thing she knows they’ve arrived, and Ellinor and Cullen are romping in the parking lot like spring yearlings, egging each other on for donuts or something. They’re so happy it almost rots her teeth. Ellinor tries to stick with the group, and before Olivia can ask her to stay, Cassandra surprises her and waves them off. That’s all the lovebirds need to fly off. 

Olivia takes a stiff breath and slips her aviators on. Who would have thought being alone with Cassandra after the week she’s had would be the exact opposite of what she wanted?

“Well, we better catch up, right?” Cassandra smiles again -- she’s smiling so much -- and slides her hands in her jacket pockets. 

Olivia looks over, nods, and goes forward. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Everything okay?” Cassandra asks as she starts walking. “You seem anxious.”

“I...I am, a bit.”

They’re near the entrance when Cassandra stops. Olivia jerks and turns around, immediately admonishing herself. “Am I going too fast? I’m sorry, shi--”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head. She’s reaching into her pocket. “My wallet is just stuck in the pocket. Give me a sec.”

Oh. That’s...that’s okay. Ok. Everything’s good. 

“You don’t have to worry about getting your wallet out,” Olivia says, grabbing her purse. “I got us!”

Cassandra furrows her brow and meets her gaze. “What? You sure? It’s not a big deal, I…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Olivia puts in the effort for a sweet smile. She already has her wallet out and ready by the time Cassandra gives up grabbing hers. 

“Oh, okay then.”

They get in through the ticket stand without trouble. Once they’re in, it’s a marathon for the senses: spices and sugary treats freshly made and slathered lace the air, groups of people in bright autumnal hues exchanging cotton candy and stuffed animals. Music plays low and abundantly on speakers staked throughout, echoing the party of the open dance floor and festival stage somewhere through the fray. Machines and games ring out their sirens, with all the bells and whistles. Far beyond the front is the ferris wheel towering over the rest of the park yard and its sea of striped spotted tent roofs. It’s paradise for a bunch of young hearts with sweet teeth and salty energy levels from a semester nearly concluded. 

Olivia and Cassandra walk at a glacial pace. Cassandra looks just as endeared, scanning slowly from side-to-side, a carefree expression on her face. She looks so much more content than the last time Olivia saw her in a celebratory crowd. She’s cooler than cool. They walk beside each other so closely their shoulders bump, and ever so often one glances over and the other smiles in reassurance.

Then, because of course, they are hollered at by familiar faces. 

“Cass! Liv!” 

Lysette is walking over -- no, sauntering -- complete with what looks to be a giant inflatable hammer under her arm, and an ember-colored soda bottle in the other. She looks like a fabulous lumberjack, flannel, belt, boots and all. And a smug face of victory. 

“High Striker champion strikes again?” Cassandra asks with a clever laugh. 

Behind Lysette, a man looking like Rylen...or, sounding like Rylen, the way he’s cussing, is taking his turn at the game. Surrounded by several other bros, all chuckling and gesturing towards him as if to give pointers. Pointers he’s definitely not taking. 

“Agh, what can I say,” Lysette shrugs, looking over her shoulder. “He’ll be the last to call himself a loser.”

“That’s for sure.” Cassandra tilts her head, brow raised. “He’s lucky I’ve retired.”

Olivia gapes a little at the tall machine. “You played that?” 

Lysette laughs and hits Cassandra playfully on the shoulder with her balloon trophy, which Cass brushes off while smirking. “Cass taught me the magic,” she corrects proudly and takes a swig, “it’s from her that I inherited this heavy crown.”

Olivia’s brows lift into outer space as she looks over at her girlfriend, thinking of course she would, and Cassandra looks modestly self-satisfied. 

“Eh, well--” Lysette is interrupted by Rylen’s roar. They all turn around and see him, huffing and puffing like the wolf from the three little pigs story, strike hammer in hand. 

“Lys, you get your ass ov--h-hey! Liv! Cass!”

Olivia waves a little sheepishly. Cass nods. Lysette takes another glug of her beer. Poor Rylen couldn’t be gesturing toward a more unimpressed crowd of women. But, never one to be discouraged, he struts over swinging the thing like a baseball bat. 

“Either of you wanna take me on for the Striker?” he asks it generally, but his eyes stay on Olivia. The petite dancer, of course. Easy target. 

“Almost didn’t recognize you in the dress, Liv. C’mon,” he says, holding it out to her. “Take a swing!”

Olivia lets out a cautious laugh, and gently pushes the hammer away. Before she can give an excuse, Cassandra inches closer to her, until their sides are up against each other. It sends an excited chill down her spine. 

“Don’t get her caught up in your losing streak, Rylen,” Cassandra defends her. 

“Yeah,” Lysette snickers, “no need to pull innocent lives down with you, dude.”

Rylen looks sincerely confused at this disrespect, spreading his arms out wide to puff out his chest. “Ya’ll just don’t want to mess with the hometown glory!”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Olivia giggles, taking the opportunity to slide an arm around Cassandra’s waist. Cassandra is steady and warm. Irresistable. 

“We’re going to walk around some more before getting looped into games,” Cassandra says to Lysette, who happily nods and side-steps toward Rylen. 

“Come on,” she says, nudging him, “I’m not done with my streak.”

Liberated, Cassandra and Olivia turn to the left and walk on, her arm staying around her and Cassandra sending hers over Olivia’s shoulder. It’s one of the first acts of public affection they’ve done in a place like this. Well, that is, as a definite couple. The milestone is not lost on Liv, who for the first time since waking up in the morning has started to let the anxious “what if’s” slide. Cassandra isn’t dodging her, nor is she ignoring her. She’s here, she’s cheerful, and they’re here, together. The way Olivia’s head fits against the crook of Cassandra’s neck is perfect. 

“He was right about one thing,” Cassandra says as they walk down an aisle of stands. “You in a bright blue dress feels like a rarity.”

Olivia smirks and folds some wisps of hair behind her ear. “I live to shock and amaze.”

“That you do. You hungry?”

“Actually, kinda. I was hoping we could go to--”

“--the funnel cake stand?”

Olivia freezes and pulls away just a bit, just to be able to look up at her with eyes wide and mouth open. Cassandra looks back at her, a bit surprised. 

“Yes…” Olivia says slowly, “but the only flavor that is valid is…” 

Cassandra, catching the hint, chuckles softly. “Strawberry.”

“Agh!” Olivia lays her head back and smiles, leaning into her some more like before. “See, babe, it’s the little things that get me.”

Cassandra’s chuckling continues to bubble as she wraps her arms around her. As she pulls her in, she mumbles a soft caution: “careful, easy on me.”

Olivia is eyes closed and latched onto her like a koala when she hears it, and immediately backs off like they’re suddenly magnet ends.  

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! Ugh, I forg--”

Cassandra tilts a bit in reaction to the sudden shift of weight, and takes hold of Olivia’s flailing hands before they make her airborne. “Hey! Easy!”

Hands secured and attention obtained, Olivia once again freezes in a state of stress. 

“Liv, I’m okay,” Cassandra comforts with confidence. “I’m not a piece of fine china.”

Olivia can feel the embarrassed blush as she relaxes her arms. They stay linked, Cassandra rubbing the back of her hands with her thumbs. 

“I...I know that, I so know that,” Olivia repeats, “I’m sorry. I’m s--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cassandra adds, further dispelling the worry. 

“No, yeah. Yeah,” Olivia shakes her head fast, almost dizzying herself if not for Cassandra’s close presence. “Um, listen. Uh, hm…”

Cassandra blinks. “You okay?”

She looks so open, so understanding. Liv could tell her, she could just say it. Or, she could have a bit more mercy for her and not unload all of this on what is supposed to be a good, lighthearted night out. But would it help the stone in her gut, or the noiseless but deafening sensation in her head, between her ears? Will it make the dull but deep sense of dread subside?

“Cass, I…” her voice shakes a bit. Now she’s starting to become overwhelmed by all of the sensory overload and busy energy around them. Her cheeks go from hot to cold. 

“Olivia,” Cass says softly, coming closer. There’s a new look in her eyes, one that is least lost and confused. “We should go over to the picnic tables, okay? Just hold onto my hand and follow me.”

Olivia follows the instructions to the letter. After all, it isn’t exactly an unthinkable task holding onto her and letting her take the lead. Cassandra leads them over to where a few picnic tables form a semi-circle facing the venue, all but one taken up by people. It’s as if the last empty one was reserved especially for her unpredictable episode should she need it. 

But this isn’t an episode, right? God, she hopes not. 

“Have a seat,” Cassandra requests. Olivia, ever the dissenting queer, sits on the edge of the picnic table rather than the bench seats on either side. Her hands clamp on the wood while Cassandra stands in front of her, taking off her prized new jacket. 

“W-what are you doing?” 

“The thing that happens in every teenage romance film pre-dating 2005,” Cassandra replies. She then loops the jacket up and around Olivia’s shoulders. It’s a size or two bigger than she would wear, which makes it perfect. Olivia’s spine goes straighter than she’s ever been in her life, and she clutches the ends of it against herself like a blanket. 

Cassandra rubs up and down Olivia’s arms, slow but vigorous. The athlete is showing. “There.”

Olivia, feeling so sheepish she could be cast as an extra for a Charlotte’s Web remake, stares and rolls her lips shut. She feels better, but if she doesn’t let herself breathe, it’ll all surely get worse. 

“Are you in a place to tell me what’s going on, or should I just distract you?” 

Olivia’s fast becoming enthralled in just how prepared Cassandra is. If only she could say marveling at her was distracting enough without sounding corny. Yet, she’s asked the million-dollar question: can she say it, or should she? Without thinking, her gaze flashes to either side of Cassandra’s shoulders toward the crowds. Cassandra notices and immediately hooks a finger under Olivia’s chin.

“Olivia, don’t worry about them,” she says and guides her attention back to her. Butterflies. 

Olivia parts her lips and lets herself sigh. “I can’t.” She takes hold of her hand and guides it to rest in both of hers in her lap. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Not here. We’re supposed to be having a good time.”

“What we are supposed to be doing doesn’t matter.”

“I know, but, I’m okay. I just need a second. I promise.” She says it honestly. She can enjoy this, if she just gives herself permission to without scolding at every turn for mistakes she had no intention of making. “Just a minute to cool down.”

“Okay.” Cassandra turns and slides onto the table right next to her, for which Olivia gladly scoots over. She lets go of her just so she can hold onto the jacket again. The sun is heading toward the mountains in the distance, but the evening is still far out. 

After a moment’s silence -- well, silent as one can get amid a fall carnival -- Olivia takes her first solid breath. The feeling in her throat is cooling down, and the tension in her chest is releasing. Her wandering eyes go across from the horizon to the next tallest thing: the ferris wheel, where it looks like a couple very similar to Ellinor and Cullen are in one of the carts. If only she could see past the obstruction of a giant stuffed animal. 

Knowing them, that probably confirms that it is, in fact, them. It makes her snort. 

Cassandra picks up on the reappearance of good humor. “Feeling better?”

In return Olivia looks over and gives her perhaps the first real and relaxed smile of the entire day. “Yes, a lot. Thank you.”

Many yards away, near a ring toss stand, two people begin to wave. Olivia zeroes in and sees that one has a beautifully-crafted side-braid of black hair and a fabulous ruffled coat. The other is a less-familiar face, but not a stranger’s.

“Oh, Josie!” Olivia says, and waves back. Josie is holding a smaller stuffed animal, bright pink, looking like a teddy bear. The other person says some words to her, looking like a question. 

She looks happy. That’s good. 

“Where’s Theia?” Cassandra asks, sticking a pin in the moment without even knowing. 

Taking another breath, Olivia leans her shoulder into hers and groans. 

“Am I missing something?” 

Olivia sighs. “You and me both. I’ll explain later.” Her phone dings from her bag. She looks up and sees Josie and her company gone, only to look down at her phone and have an answer: 

Josie: I hope we can link up before either of us leaves and take a pic! You both look adorable!

She hums in speculation, and replies: 

Olivia: Yes please!! 

With one click and toss, her phone is back in her back, and her sense is back in her head. Ariana Grande’s song “Tattooed Heart” has started to play on the Carnival DJ speakers. 

“I love this song,” she smiles, and sways a little to the beat. “How are you feeling?”

Cassandra rolls her shoulders as she leans back a little. “Great, I have no complaints.”

“Really?”

She takes one look at Olivia’s hopeful look and bites the side of her lip. “I mean, I still have my expectations. Firstly, the funnel cake. Secondly, I do want to see you take a swing at the High Striker. Third, I--”

“Oh, what!” Olivia scoffs playfully, “That hammer looks taller than me and about as heavy!”

Cassandra smirks. “With me coaching you, Love, you can’t lose.”

Butterflies, part two. “I...suppose you have a point. But if it’s gonna happen, I’ll need that funnel cake to help hold me down.”

“Deal.”

Love. I like that nickname. Hell, I’d change my name to it, why not?

She hops down with her spirit anew, and helps Cassandra back onto her feet. Just a little help, as a treat, since Cass is right: she isn’t fragile, and Olivia doesn’t have to worry. Watching the people she depends on for strength deal with physical limitations doesn’t always have to be a crisis. It might have been in the past, but the here and now is what matters. And she is allowed to believe that. 

They hold hands that gently swing as walk back into the crowds. It goes from feeling like a minefield to that scene in Rapunzel where she and Eugene are frolicking among the city folk. Friendly faces turn and offer smiles and “hello’s,” and they wave back. It’s easy. It’s effortless and thrilling at the same time. The popping and bell sounds are no longer menacing. The heat of the day is no longer suffocating. 

And, at last, they find their way to the main event: that beautiful funnel cake truck, with its beautiful plates bigger than her faze of fried dough, strawberries, and whip cream. After dousing it in powdered sugar because, of course you douse it in powdered sugar, she approaches Cassandra with a bit of purposeful mischief.

Smart to the look, Cassandra raises a brow, holding her fork in ready. “You pull anything, Sinclair, and it’s war.”

“Whaaat?” Olivia asks coyly, pinning her own fork between her teeth and smiling. She’s holding the plate in both hands like a holiday pie. 

“You know what. Don’t even think about it.”

“I just thought maybe you could do a little taste test a--AAH!” she can’t even get the tagline out before Cassandra strikes the first blow, scooping a dollop of cream onto her fingers and smearing it across Olivia’s nose and cheek. She squeaks in a pitch nearly at Ellinor-level, and stands there, shocked and holding the pie while her fork falls from her mouth onto the plate. Eyes wide, mouth agape, and face whipped. 

She can’t believe it. Cassandra, standing there, smug and unable to run. But it’s not like she would, anyway. The woman stands and is judged for her crimes just as she is for her wins. 

“I…” Olivia huffs, “Did you just seriously…?”

Cassandra, folding her arms with one hand going to her mouth as she only half-conceals her kind of playful grin, only plays dumb: “What? I have no idea what you are referring to!”

“Is this revenge for the ice cream?”

“I would prefer to call it a preventative measure.”

“Preventative...for what? I was only going to feed you the first bite!”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “Sure, Olivia, sure.”

“I was! Dammit, I was being a nice girlfriend! I swear!”

“I suppose we will never know, now,” Cassandra laughs and takes the napkins Olivia has in her hand, the ones she’s forgotten about during this heinous act of assassination. Carefully she unfolds it and hooks her finger under Olivia’s chin like before, only now she tilts it to the side so as to get the prime angle. 

“Hold still,” she’s still laughing a little as she wipes off most of the whip cream. Olivia’s eyes are adrift to the floor but she can’t resist glancing. Glancing turns to staring. A brief moment in time where everything is messy, but everything is wonderful. Cassandra looks so thoughtful, so kind. 

Such a pity, since she’s in for it. 

Striking just as quick, Olivia leans her cheek in and rubs it across Cassandra’s mouth and tip of her nose. Most of the mess is already off her face, but they can still share in the stickiness. 

“Ha!” She beams, bouncing back. “Rules of engagement are rules of engagement, Pentaghast!” She grabs her fork and points it at her like a defensive weapon. 

Cassandra chuckles and folds the napkin she had in half, looking down at the floor modestly like she knew it was coming. She isn’t mad, though. Far from it. And she definitely isn’t mad when Olivia offers to take the napkin from her and pay her due, cleaning off her face. 

“You know, sometimes,” Cassandra says more quietly, as Olivia finishes with one last brush along her chin for good measure, “I...I can be very bad at allowing someone else to take care of me.” The silliness has slipped from her tone. 

Olivia goes still, her hand full of scrunched, stained napkin still caressing Cassandra’s jaw. Their eyes meet, and in the hazel hue she can see it. She can see the recognition, the apology for the amount of little things that have become a pile of a bigger thing. She knows. She knew in the kitchen earlier that day, and she knows now. And for some reason Olivia, who has always been team “an apology means saying the words,” this feels like it means something deep. Something trusting and vulnerable. 

Something definitely forgivable. 

And so, tossing the napkin to the trash a couple feet from where they stand, Olivia grins wide and cuts into the plate of precious funnel cake until she skewers a perfect bite-sized piece of cake, cream, and berries. Then, holding it up for just a few seconds, she then stuffs it into her own mouth. She then holds the plate out to Cassandra, who grasps the plate edge with one hand. 

“Don’t worry,” Olivia says with a mouth half-full, “I suck sometimes at letting others care for themselves. Maybe we both need to learn when to just stuff our faces and let things happen.”

Cassandra, looking relieved and with fondness, begins to dig in with her own fork. “You might be onto something, there.”

Though she can never not overthink things, Olivia is happy to think ahead with this one: their edges and sharp points aren’t what they used to be. The intuition she had to just ride the wave and let things play out proved vindicated. It’s uncertainty that isn’t tragic. It’s hopeful. Is this what it feels like, then, to be falling in love?

Bring it on, Hammer Strike. 

[artificialqueens]

(I Can Still Recall) Our Last Summer - Chapter Seven (Group Fic) - pureCAMP

A/N - And here it is folks, the end of an era that no one cares about! The finale is upon us, and as always, I’d appreciate, you know, one nice ask *crying emoji*

Anyways, on with the 9.3k clusterfuck

Sharon had never felt more out of place in her life. The waiting room was mostly, for one, filled with elderly people, who kept to themselves until their name and number was called, when they would shuffle down the corridor and disappear into one of the many rooms. For the extreme opposite, the only young patients seemed to be children, coughing and spluttering and playing with the starkly coloured toys in the corner of the room. Sharon could tell from the decor that the clinic was expensive and high quality, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t bleak and grim at the best of times.

She tugged her coat around her body self consciously and shifted in her chair. Five minutes had been the expected wait time she had been given, and yet fifteen had passed with no mention of her name. Considering her increasingly-often need to dash to the bathroom for one reason or another, she wasn’t enjoying her time so far. And of course, on top of everything, she felt utterly exhausted.

In all honesty, she didn’t know what was about to happen. General knowledge told her she would be lying down and talking about what lay ahead of her, but she knew none of the specifics.

She really wished her friends could be with her.

Raja had wanted to come, and both her and Jinkx had begged for catch-up work so that they could miss their first two lectures to attend the appointment and then travel back, but they had been unsuccessful. Which meant - as Sharon had expected, but still foolishly hoped otherwise - she would be going in alone.

She knew her support base were thinking of her, but she really, really wished they were sat beside her. Raja would be boosting her self-esteem and Jinkx would be making her laugh, all while they rubbed her hands and soothed the churning anxiety in her mind.

Instead, she bounced her leg and hoped that would help to eradicate the nervousness.

“27, Mrs Abby Baker to see Dr Reed.” The automated voice called out.

Another white-haired woman struggled to her feet and shuffled, insanely slow, to her appointment. Sharon tried not to lose her mind and stared at the painting of a bunch of sunflowers in front of her.

Her mind had been made up; admittedly, she had made her choice the second her mom kicked her out of the house and disowned her. Raja and Jinkx warned her to think on it, just in case it was a spur of the moment, hot-headed decision, but she was sure. She still took their advice, however, and the more she dwelled on it, the more she knew she was making the right choice for her.

One way or another, she was going to have a baby.

After all, the baby didn’t ask to get mixed up in the drama and confusion of her summer. A six-week long affair and two fortnight flings had resulted - somewhere along the line - in the creation of a life that had the potential to be the best thing in Sharon’s topsy-turvy world.

Even if it wasn’t the best thing, it was pretty much the only thing she had. Sharon didn’t have a home, a penny to her name or any belongings worth keeping besides her few treasured items. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was going to do her best to keep going.

Besides, in terms of her home life, it wasn’t like her decision mattered. Her mom would regard her as a sinner no matter what choice she made. She would still be alone, without a home or any money. 

So she was going to see if the baby was healthy. If it was, she would keep it. Then it would be off to the island to begin a new life. Sharon comforted herself with the knowledge that she would only have to go to the mainland for checkups at the doctors and some occasional shopping. Everything else she needed could be obtained from her own little paradise - the island she would finally get to call her official home.

“31, Miss Sharon Needles to see Dr Visage.”

At the sound of her own name, Sharon’s breath hitched. She took a moment to compose herself and headed down the corridor. As she walked, she prayed silently that she wouldn’t completely embarrass herself by throwing up on the doctor, or something similar.

If Dr Visage did a double take at the nervous seventeen year old walking into her room, she did it subtly enough that it put Sharon’s mind a little at ease. The doctor had a kindly face, with thick dark hair tied back and sparkling eyes that told of her good humour and warm nature. She greeted Sharon with a friendly handshake and invited her to sit and talk before beginning.

“Sorry for such a long wait,” Dr Visage apologised. “You can call me Michelle, since I’m guessing I’ll be seeing you a lot. You’re Sharon Needles, correct?”

Sharon nodded.

“And you’re seventeen years old?”

Slightly embarrassed, Sharon opened her mouth as if to defend herself, only to be cut off with a reassuring voice.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Michelle told her. “I’m not here to push any agendas or judge you. My job is to support you and keep you and your baby healthy, nothing more. Don’t worry.” She smiled. “Now, I’m just going to ask you a few questions before we get started.”

She did her best to answer honestly, and listened carefully as Michelle explained why she was asking each question and what her answers would determine. She was gently walking Sharon through the entire appointment, which she felt incredibly grateful for.

“Alright,” Michelle scanned the computer screen in front of her. “I would put you at about nine weeks pregnant. Does that seem about right to you?”

Sharon thought back to where she had been nine weeks ago. Against her will, her mind was flooded with sensations she had tried to forget - the feeling of being nestled in Justin’s arms, foolishly believing it made sense that he would protect and cherish her. She stiffened.

“Yeah. Makes sense.”

Michelle smiled sympathetically, launching into a spiel about how it was difficult to predict the exact conception and clarifying that her estimation may be out by a few weeks - which made Sharon’s stomach churn. “We can discuss when you’ll be due in a moment, but it should definitely be in April. Now, I’m just going to set this up…”

Sharon’s mind was spinning. April. In April, she was going to have a baby. All of a sudden, a random day in a random month of the year would become one of the most significant dates in her life, and yet she had no idea which it would be. That thought alone sent her reeling, and she tuned in to what Michelle was saying a few seconds too late.

“I’m sorry, it’s going to go where?”

“It feels a little weird, but it doesn’t hurt.” She was reassured, with a little laugh. “And then I’ll just use this on your stomach if you can lay down here for me…”

Simply going along with Michelle’s instructions, Sharon lay back where she was directed, trying not to squirm as her shirt was lifted and the ultrasound set up. Michelle was busying around her, plugging things in and rigging sets and adjusting screens and switches that Sharon didn’t care to look at. Everything was happening far too quickly and she couldn’t take any of it in.

All at once, the room was filled with a strange hum. A faint gurgling thump could be heard. Sharon assumed it was the machine working - although not unpleasant, it was quite loud and she couldn’t make out anything in the crackling.

“That’s the heartbeat.” Michelle told her. “Hear it?” She imitated the quiet thumping with her hand. It was needless, however, because as soon as Sharon realized, her ears had identified the beating and she was transfixed.

“It’s already got its own little heart…” She murmured. “It’s so strong already. How is it this strong already?”

Michelle smiled warmly. “Their heart and your heart are going to work together in these coming months, as you’ll discover. Would you like to take a look at your baby?”

Choked up, Sharon just nodded. A lump had risen in her throat, much different to the usual nausea she felt. It took all of her willpower to hold back her tears in order to gaze at the screen, waiting for the image to appear. Michelle seemed to be as filled with anticipation as Sharon was, fiddling with the buttons in an almost frantic manner to strengthen the resolution.

The screen flickered to life. Sharon’s willpower shattered.

It was so small, curled up like a tiny bean right in the middle. Sharon had been expected some kind of shapeless blob that would trigger nothing inside her, and she found herself confronted with otherwise. She could make out a tiny head, the shape of a body and one little arm, raised as though it was waving at her.

“Baby’s just working on getting a little prettier for you,” Michelle commented, wordlessly handing her a tissue. “Most limbs are formed and their little heart is going strong. They’re looking perfectly healthy and a very good size. For reference…”

She leaned to one side, and then presented two photographs - one of her ultrasound, swiftly printed, and one of a small, pink cherry. “This is the rough size of your baby right now.”

Sharon’s fingers closed around the pictures, the tears spilling over her cheeks. “How can I already love it so much?”

Her baby, no bigger than a cherry, was tucked up inside her at that very moment, heart beating like crazy, and Sharon knew in that moment she would protect it with her life.

“I know just how you feel.” Michelle told her. “I have two daughters of my own… it’s scary but it’s magical. Treasure it as much as you can.”

-

With the appointment out of the way, and the realization of the baby solidified in her mind, Sharon turned her attention to the next most pressing matter - money. Again, Raja had offered all kinds of loans and financial assistance to help her, but Sharon knew she couldn’t rely on her friends forever. She felt bad even taking a penny from them. She needed work.

Sometimes, when desperate, she had been able to score shifts at the taverna that Maria owned, before the band would perform. Working the bar was easy, and it was decently popular among both locals and tourists, but she wasn’t too keen on that idea. Being surrounded with alcohol and drunk people during late night shifts…

No, it didn’t really appeal. Briefly, she wondered what opportunities there were for work on the island. Most of the businesses were family-owned, family-run, passed down from generation to generation. They were lifelong trades taught by father to son and mother to daughter, long-forgotten but highly valued arts that she had no chance of learning. She could sew, yes, but that wasn’t really enough. She had no hope of breaking into any local industries.

Then it hit her.

“Nope. No way. No way, sweetheart! I can’t let you do that!”

“Please, Pat!” Sharon begged, standing her ground so the powerful little woman couldn’t push her away. “You need me, I need you. It just makes sense!”

Pat sank into her armchair, sighing defeatedly. Her fingers curled around the glass of bourbon - an offer that Sharon had politely refused - and she swirled the liquid inside, staring at Sharon through the glass rather than directly in the eyes.

“Honey, how can I let you throw away your life looking after some crazy old lady?” She asked, pursing her lips. “I know you care, bless your heart, but you have so many opportunities, just like your friends.”

Sharon shook her head. “I don’t, Pat. I wish I did. But I need this job, and you need me.”

“Sharon… why do you need this job so much?” Pat’s voice was heavy. She seemed to sense the almost solemn mood of the conversation, the gradual shift from a casual offer to a hint of desperation.

Lowering her head, Sharon swallowed and crossed one leg over the other, fidgeting uncomfortably. It felt strange to be sitting opposite the old woman without Willam slung over her lap, but that was part of her predicament in the first place. She would have to get used to it - because she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“I think you know why.” She mumbled, and cleared her throat. “If she hasn’t told everyone out of shame and disgust, then you’ve probably already noticed.”

Sharon didn’t miss Pat’s wince. It was unsurprisingly but still hurtful that her mom had outed her business to everybody in the church and wider community. She followed Pat’s gaze, watching as she eyed Sharon’s stomach and then, for the first time, looked into her eyes.

“I have to ask-”

“I don’t know.” Sharon predicted the question before it could leave her lips. “Would you still take me on if it wasn’t his?”

Pat smiled gently. “Sweetheart, you know I don’t care about that. I just don’t want you to be trapped to some old lady, whether or not there’s a relative of mine in there.”

“Pfft,” Sharon retorted. “You’re hilarious, and you barely look older than twenty five.” At that, Pat laughed. “And I need money, first of all. Babies… babies are expensive.”

“You’re damn right. Fuck it, shut that door and make yourself comfortable. You’re hired.”

That solved two issues that had been pressing on Sharon’s mind since the appointment. From then, she fell into a comfortable, if slightly busy, routine. Each morning she rose early - most often to be sick whilst Pat, unable to bend over, perched on the edge of the bath to rub her back - and then made breakfast. Pat would then indulge in whatever she wanted to do that day, often drinking or visiting the market or just going on a short walk to the beach and back again, Sharon assisting her along the way. After lunch, another meal cooked by Sharon as she honed her skill, Pat would have a little siesta. In that time, Sharon found herself cleaning, finding the repetitive process oddly cathartic in soothing her growing anxiety. The day would finish after a late evening meal, a long chat and collapsing into bed.

It was an easy, relaxing structure to follow. It gave Sharon time to think, to focus on what she wanted, and update her friends on every little change through letters.

Pat had been asking a question for a while that Sharon didn’t want to answer. It was far too grim, too morbid for her to dwell on without getting teary. She wasn’t crying at every tiny instance, as Jinkx’s letters had been convinced she would, but it never failed to cause her eyes to grow misty.

“You need to think about it, Sharon. This won’t last forever.”

Sharon blinked and shook her head, continuing to polish the mirror. “Pat, I won’t let you keep talking like this.”

“But really!” Pat exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. “I know we like to have a laugh, darling, but I’m ninety three years old and I’m… not in the best of health. This job isn’t a permanent fixture. Soon enough I’ll be in God’s kingdom, hopefully smiting your cow of a mother.”

Sharon giggled weakly, the joke doing little to alleviate the heavy topic. “I can’t think about that now. I have a job, an income and a baby to think about.”

Pat hummed. “I know, I know. But there must be more to life than this for you. You must have some kind of dream, some hope for something better. I’m a wealthy woman, sweetheart, I can help you, but not for much longer. Not with the way I drink, anyway.”

Shaking her head, Sharon opened her mouth to reply but was cut off. “As your boss, I demand you tell me no lies and indulge me in your biggest fantasy. If you could do anything, what would you want? Realistic or not.”

“I…” Sharon swallowed, dropping the rag and studying herself in the mirror. Her bump had grown. “I want to have my own hotel. I don’t know what I’d call it, but it would be peaceful. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re there. If you need somewhere safe to go, you’ve got your own little pocket of paradise to go to. There’s no angry parents, you can just dance and enjoy the food and the entertainment like you’re supposed to.” Inadvertently, she balled a fist. “No one judges you for being a single mom. Nobody stares and calls you names. You get treated like a real person there.”

Pat’s expression softened. “Sweetheart-”

“It’s a pipe dream.” Sharon said abruptly, picking up the rag from the floor and viciously scrubbing at the mirror. “I’m young and I’m pregnant and I’m poor. I didn’t graduate high school. What would I know about running a business?”

The old woman shook her head. “You’re thinking too much. Who says you can’t? If you had a bunch of buildings and some money to make it into a hotel, who says you won’t be able to make some magic out of it?”

Sharon sighed. “I don’t know.”

Slowly, carefully, the old woman rose from her seat, shuffling to slip on her shoes and then pressing a kiss to Sharon’s forehead. She beckoned Sharon outside, leading her down the front path and up some of the many steps around the island.

“Pat… where are we going?”

She shrugged. “I could tell you were getting upset, so I figured I’d cheer you up. I have a little gift for you. A thank you for everything you’re doing for me.”

Sharon shook her head as they walked. “Pat, you don’t have to thank me! I’m happy to be caring for you, and I…”

She trailed off. The walk had only been ten minutes at most, and now the two found themselves stood in front of a small cottage. It was wide and squat, tucked in the landscape like most of the tavernas, and the front door was wide open. Pat was smiling.

“Pat.”

“Check it out.”

“Pat.”

“Go on. Go inside.” Pat grinned, pleased with herself.

“Pat, you didn’t…”

Pat nodded. “Go look around!”

Somewhere inside her, Sharon knew she should’ve been feeling a little guilty. Pat had paid out of pocket for this little place, all for her. It was by no means big, but Sharon didn’t need acres of land and a house filled with splendour. She needed a home to raise a baby in, and this seemed to be perfect. Besides, she reasoned - Pat was far wealthier than her crass attitude and humble lifestyle let on. Sharon knew that the entire Belli family, Willam included, were fabulously rich. This was probably pocket change for her.

The kitchen was small but open plan, nestled in alongside a small living space with a worn red sofa and two armchairs in the middle. Although old and slightly creaking, the wooden stairs held strong as she ventured further into the house, noting a small bedroom with a double bed, a bathroom and one larger, empty room.

This could be the nursery, Sharon thought absent-mindedly.

She hurried downstairs again, where Pat had settled herself into an armchair. Her wrinkled fingers were clasped together, her entire demeanour one of pure satisfaction.

“It’s not perfect, but…” Her eyes gleamed. “It’s yours. You can’t be cooped up with me any longer. We’re running out of space, the size of us both.”

Sharon laughed, fighting back tears. “I love it. I love it. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” Pat pulled her into a tight hug. “I had some lovely young men come and carry your things here, so everything is either stowed where it should be or sitting in boxes around the place. I didn’t expect you to unpack alone, so help is on the way, but…”

She smiled. “I’m off to the taverna. I’ll see you later today.”

-

Loneliness became the next biggest challenge Sharon had to face.

Of course, she still saw Pat everyday. Their routine had been revised slightly, but she was nevertheless a full-time carer for the old lady. Pat had started to sleep more and go out less, so Sharon’s duties lessened over time. She cooked and cleaned and chatted, and then returned to her own space.

And, naturally, she was never entirely alone - her bump made sure she could never forget that. She would always have her baby with her, snuggled up tight.

But she missed everyone dearly. It had been difficult for Raja and Jinkx to coordinate visiting, and so far they hadn’t managed. They exchanged letters as often as possible, but Sharon could hardly bear the waiting. It took days for her letters to arrive and days to receive responses back. Her best friends were too far away for comfort.

Overall, she just felt alone.

The past few days, she had taken to wandering her home. It was looking better now that she’d put some love and care into it - a fresh coat of paint and some new second-hand furniture had worked wonders, all paid for with her monthly paychecks. Most of the time, her mind was occupied with thoughts of the future; her baby was going to grow up inside these walls, and create lifelong memories that didn’t exist yet. Good things lay ahead, but they weren’t close enough yet.

Sharon filtered through her wardrobe, wondering if she should give up the ghost and toss out some of her old clothes. It was abundantly clear that they didn’t fit anymore - nothing did, but sentimental attachments kept her from throwing some of the garments away. Even the damned blue sequin dress that had forced her to reveal it to her friends held memories she wasn’t sure she could let go of.

“What are you doing to me, baby?” Sharon murmured, gently cupping her bump. “I never used to be like this.”

Her fingers suddenly brushed against a familiar fabric, surprising her. She could pick out the exact fabric any day, and identify it from a line-up of thousands of similar ones, but it didn’t make sense. Why was it…?

She pulled at the hanger, allowing the shirt to slip off into her hands, and let out a quiet gasp. Sharon let herself rub the fabric against her palm, the memories imprinting themselves into her skin and forcing her to relive them.

“See, that looks way better on you than it ever did on me,” Justin commenting, shifting himself into an upright position. The covers were carelessly slung over his legs, leaving his naked chest exposed and glistening with sweat. Sharon longed to rip the covers off and run her fingers through her tousled hair, but she resisted the urge.

“Doesn’t it always?” She teased, twirling. His white shirt had been the first item discarded; she had been unable to keep her hands off of him as soon as they shut the door, and had ended up pinning him against it as she undid the buttons.

Now, in the glow of their post-coitus haze, she had wrapped it around herself, inhaling the scent of his cologne. It felt like she belonged to him, and she loved it.

“I’m wounded!” He gasped, clutching his heart. “Light… fading…”

Sharon burst into giggles. “What, because I look better than you?”

“Darkness… approaching…”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Shut up, drama queen. I’m never taking this off.”

“I need… the kiss… of life…” Justin rasped, pathetically reaching forwards as if he hadn’t just been confident and swaggering only moments ago.

“You do know the kiss of life isn’t a kiss, right?” Sharon checked, watching him through the mirror. Her own hair was a mess, her lipstick was smudged - undoubtedly peppered all along the muscles on his chest - yet there was a light in her eyes that had never been there before. Justin set her on fire and his flames were inescapable.

Justin dropped his act and laughed, leaning back to fix Sharon with a stare that sent lightning bolts zipping through her. It was all she could do to hold back a sigh.

“Of course I do. I need your kiss of life, not a kiss of life. A subtle but important difference.”

Sharon cocked an eyebrow, trying to act calmer than she felt. “And that difference is?”

“Get over here.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Every ounce of willpower dissipated from her body as she collapsed on top of him, kissing hard as he tore his shirt from her body. Both were desperate to feel skin on skin, refusing to let any barrier go between them. Sharon pressed herself against him and inhaled again, embracing the familiarity of the moment. She found herself smiling into the kiss.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Justin growled, pressing heated kisses along her jaw and down towards her breasts. “Keep the shirt, it’s yours as long as you agree to be mine.”

Sharon giggled, love-drunk with the exhilaration coursing through her veins. “I already am, silly.”

Oh, how things had changed since then.

She held the shirt in her fist, letting its scent walk her through the memories and finally, briefly, allowing herself to think about him. Had he been thinking about her? Would it ever cross his mind to come back, to find her and fall in love with her all over again?

Her mind raced with scenarios, seemingly desperate to play them all out in the short time she was allocating. Was it possible that he was married now, but desperately unhappy, wishing nothing more than to return to the island and live out his life with her? Did he ever suspect that perhaps their nights together had resulted in something more? Was he trapped in his normality, clinging onto their faded romance to keep him going through the dreary work day? Did he miss her more than life itself?

Or - the thoughts she tried to push aside, to not allow any real estate in her mind - was he happy now? Had he used her as a stress relief, and settled easily back into his picture perfect life? Had his white wedding gone ahead, surrounded by family and friends who lauded the faultless couple and their commitment to one another? Was Sharon nothing more than his dirty secret?

It did no good to dwell on such thoughts. Sharon knew that now. Justin had loved her, and then he had stopped loving here. There was little else to it, she knew.

At least, from his perspective.

As she went to hang the shirt up once again, a slight fluttering stopped her in her tracks. Slowly, she retracted away from the closet and held the shirt again.

Was that…?

Sharon shook her head. She was imagining things for certain. Still, in spite of her surety, she slipped her arms into the soft white fabric, feeling a slight sense of accomplishment at being able to wear it comfortably. Moments later, her stomach fluttered again.

The baby was kicking.

It was a strange sensation; sort of like a muscle contraction she couldn’t control, a tiny little thump. The baby was trying to make certain that she knew they were in there, fighting for mama’s attention. Battling through the heartache of her old memories and the outpour of affection towards her baby, Sharon placed a hand over the fluttering spot and smiled gently, letting out a sigh.

“Well, I guess we know who your daddy is, huh?” She swallowed heavily. “You definitely seem to know him.”

-

Dear Sharon,

I miss you so much, you bitch! Jinkx + I coming next week for birthday fun so we’ll see you soon I hope! Can’t believe you’re going to be eighteen. And that you’re pregnant too. Wild.

Dr Visage is an angel, isn’t she? Glad she’s taking care of you.

Drop in on my mom at some point this week. She has been knitting tiny socks for the baby because she’s a little eager.

Eric is being a cunt again. I think I might just have to fuck his brother Don to spite him. Thoughts?

Sent you some cash with this letter, and a little camera too, in case you wanna take pics of stuff. Memories for when you’re old.

See you Sunday!!

Your favourite whore,

Raja xx

–

Dear Sharon,

I hope you’ve been working on some melodies between cooking your baby and looking after Pat because I’m DYING to sing with my girls again. It’s been too long!

Don’t have much time to write because Amy is due to arrive any minute and you know how it is. Looking forwards to seeing you next week though! What’s the betting that Raja either has a rich boyfriend or convinced her dad to let her have that weird cosmetic procedure she keeps banging on about? Life in plastic might not be so fantastic.

Also, I read that sometimes pregnant women get wild cravings so if you start eating weird things I’m gonna laugh my ass off. If it’s normal things then that’s boring and you can do better. Mom says if you ever want some of her spicy bean casserole she’s happy to make it for you. Anyways, update me on your alien.

Amy’s here, gotta go. Miss you!!

Love Jinkx xx

–

Sharon stood on the dock and watched the tiny dot grow nearer and nearer to the island. She had to laugh - of course they had decided to wait for the mid-morning tourist ferry to get them to the island, rather than rowing themselves over. Then again, she reasoned, she had always been the best at rowing, and she was officially out of action. And she’d written to each of them just to make sure they knew that under no circumstances would she be meeting them on the mainland for convenience.

Her newly developed anxiety about going to the mainland alone was something she needed to deal with eventually, but not right now.

Eventually, growing tired from standing for so long, Sharon took off her shoes and sat at the end of the dock, letting her feet rest in the sea as she watched the boat beginning to approach. Only when it drew close enough to make out the shapes of the passengers did she stand again, not wanting to be caught sitting. It was odd, she thought to herself, that it felt so embarrassing to have to cave to her body’s needs. She was pregnant - there really was nothing wrong with sitting.

But whatever. She stood and watched, smiling as the passengers disembarked and went their separate ways. Predictably, her two goofy friends were the last to get off; they always wanted to make a grand entrance.

At once they were upon her, squeezing her tight and laughing joyously at the reunion. All four of Raja’s suitcases had somehow jammed into Sharon’s side, and Jinkx’s wide-brimmed sun hat was brushing against her face, but she grinned into the embrace nevertheless. It was the most physically uncomfortable yet emotionally fulfilling hug Sharon had ever experienced. Almost instantly, some of the stress she had been holding in a pent-up ball in her chest melted away.

“Oh my god, you’re huge.” Were Jinkx’s first words as she wriggled out of the hug, staring at Sharon’s bump.

She giggled as Raja hissed, “Jinkx! Bolster!”, then looked down and matched her friend’s wide-eyed, shocked expression.

“Shit. You are pretty big. Still gorgeous though!” She added, Jinkx nodding in agreement.

Sharon laughed and entwined her fingers into her friends. “Did you forget how long you’ve been gone? Things have changed since then.”

Jinkx paused, then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood to do maths.”

“Twenty weeks.” Raja rolled her eyes, stealing the hat from Jinkx’s head to model it on her own. “So that’s…”

“Halfway point.” Sharon nodded. “About four and a half months. But we’ll hear all this later, at the appointment. I thought you guys might wanna come along and see what it’s all about.”

Raja and Jinkx smiled warmly, and Sharon felt her heart expanding with gratefulness. “We’d love that.”

“Anyway,” Sharon grinned. “Wait until you see my place. It’s not much, but… I love it. It’s a home, and it’s not her home.”

In preparation for their visit, Sharon had bundled nearly every blanket and pillow she owned into makeshift beds, though she knew their first night would be spent squeezed into her bed together. Maria had kindly offered to house them for a while, but she’d politely declined; the older woman was already doing enough for her at this point.

It was disconcerting, sometimes, how much Sharon felt she’d matured. Only a few months ago she had been emotionally volatile, sullenly hiding from her good-for-nothing mom, trying to spend all of her time at her friends’ houses. Now she had her own place, and had been desperately cleaning and tidying and prepping for their arrival like some sort of crazed mother goose.

Maria greeted them at the taverna when they stopped for a break, panting in the early morning heat with the effort of hauling suitcases up the notoriously steep, rocky island. Although it was much cooler towards the start of the day, the girls still found themselves sweating and desperate for something to drink when they stopped off. Like an angel, Maria had ushered them to their usual table near the jukebox and busied herself with two cocktails and a glass of icy water whilst Raja tried to find a decent song to play.

“We should do a Supermodels reunion tonight!” Jinkx suggested, humming one of their old tunes. “Thoughts?”

“Hell yes!” Raja replied, at the same time as Sharon went, “Absolutely not.”

They both turned, surprised. “What? It’s a terrible idea! You want me to perform looking like this?”

Jinkx pursed her lips. “You look beautiful! And it’s not like we need to dance, we can just sing the words and rake in some extra pennies. We could do Kisses of Fire again, or something else just as fun.”

Sharon shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I can even reach those notes anymore.”

It was only a half-lie. She hadn’t tried to sing properly since she found out, having had no real reason to. Singing didn’t bring her the same joy that it once had - it wasn’t an expression of her freedom anymore, but a reminder of how limited she had become. No, the main problem was how often she had been thinking about the one person she swore she wouldn’t. Refreshing the memories of them in her head would only worsen the situation.

Really, she had tried to move on. Justin obviously had. But it wasn’t easy to erase the romance that changed her life for both better and worse. She couldn’t even pour her heart out onto paper anymore, let alone into music. She had tried, desperately tried, to send him a letter. Just to explain everything.

Dear Justin-

No.

Justin-

Far too formal. As if he was in trouble. She didn’t want to make him feel like that - even if she knew that she was in trouble.

To the one that got away-

No, no, no. Who did she even think she was?

Dear Justin,

I don’t want to write this letter. I don’t know how to write this letter. You’ll never read it, anyway, because I won’t send it. I know that you’re married now, and probably really happy. In a way, I’m glad I could help you decide if that perfect life laid out for you was the one you wanted or not.

I’m lying. It kills me that you chose her, it kills me that I was just a stepping stone. But I want you to be happy, and I can’t ruin your happiness.

What kind of person would I be if I ruined your bliss by telling you about my hell? Is it better or worse if I don’t tell you? There are so many outcomes that I don’t want to think about. Some good, some bad. I’m stalling telling you the truth in a letter that I won’t ever send, that’s how afraid I am.

I think part of me wants to accept that I am a good judge of character, and I know you to be a good person. If I told you… If I told you the truth, would you come back? It’s strange. I’ve lost all confidence, I don’t know if you would. But then if you would, is it out of guilt? I shouldn’t really dare to hope that any spark lingered. Your absence probably proves that the spark is gone, at least for you.

All I’m doing at this point is wasting ink and paper penning this useless letter to you. I don’t even know where in the world you are. Maybe you’re miserable like me. Maybe you’re the happiest you’ve ever been.

I truly don’t know if, if I saw you again, I would embrace you with open arms or cast you to the side. It’s one of those heart vs head decisions where I know my head is right, but I know my heart will betray me.

Perhaps it’s right that I won’t send this letter, and you’ll never know about me and the baby. It’s easier that way. I just have to stop thinking about you.

She remained subdued for most of their journey to the mainland, where Michelle was waiting for the three to arrive. It was all she could do to try and clear her mind before the appointment, not wanting to be hung up about her ex in one of the most significant moments of her life. Thankfully, as soon as she saw the grainy image of her baby on the screen before her, all of her outside stresses melted away.

Michelle examined everything carefully, searching for discrepancies Sharon had no idea the woman could spot. After a few tense moments, Jinkx and Raja holding her hand on either side, she broke into a huge smile.

“A little small, but nothing to worry about. Some women just have small babies! My two were huge, so you got lucky.” Michelle grinned.

Raja, ever impatient, rolled her eyes. “Michelle, that’s charming. Can we see the magic now?”

She chuckled. “Fine, fine.”

Sharon held her breath.

“She’s perfectly healthy, congratulations.”

The birds outside seemed to sing a little louder, the sun shining a little brighter than before. Flowers bloomed in fragrant bunches. A million wrongs were righted all at once. Little pockets of happiness seemed to burst into joyous laughter all over the planet. Collectively, the world let out a little relieved sigh.

“She! Jinkx, Raja, did you hear that?”

Jinkx squeezed her hand even tighter. “You’re having a girl!”

“Another Supermodel!” Raja joked, blinking away the tears in her eyes. “Oh my god, a little mini Sharon is on her way! Hi, angel!”

Sharon’s heart had never been so full. All of the loneliness, all of the stress and hardship that she had been through and knew still lay ahead of her, melted away into nothing. Though it had been far from easy and would only get harder as it progressed, none of that mattered. This little girl was going to heal her heart.

“I… I can’t believe this…” She murmured, welling up. “If only-”

She paused. If only Justin were here, she had thought about saying, but decided against it. There was still the possibility that Jaremi or Willam could be her little girl’s dad, though she doubted it. Of course, whilst she had no way of knowing, she was sure it had been Justin. Still, as Raja and Jinkx didn’t know about her other stupid rebound flings, there was no point in debating which one was the dad. All that mattered was that Sharon got to be her mom.

“What, darling?”

Sharon cleared her head and smiled. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I have you two and I have my girl. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Jinkx tackled her in a hug, Raja choosing the safer option of bringing her hand up to kiss it. Their eyes were gleaming, and Sharon took a moment to appreciate just how supportive they were. Despite everything, she was lucky to have them in her life when she needed them most.

“You know what this means, right? Other than a new Supermodel?” Raja asked, earning a giggle from each of them.

“Enlighten us, Oh Mighty Raja.” Jinkx laughed, seemingly on the same wavelength.

“We need to go shopping!”

-

Sharon wasn’t sure how they’d done it, but she had been convinced to try and sing with them. Maybe it had been their fierce protectiveness and mutual excitement for the new life - a little girl! - growing inside her, or their never-ending support. Regardless, somehow, they had softened her already weak heart into giving in.

They arrived back at Sharon’s in the mid-afternoon, laden with armfuls of tiny baby clothes and shoes that seemed too small to ever belong to a person. Sharon had insisted that they kept their money for themselves, that she could manage on their own, but Raja had simply rolled her eyes and Jinkx had told her in no uncertain terms that as aunties, this was their job.

Highlights of the day included watching her friends become utterly smitten with the tiny pink pastels they were filling their baskets with, and feeling similarly clucky as they browsed endless baby aisles. Sharon found herself more fascinated with the soft muslin than anything else; in just a few months time, her baby girl would be alive and squirming, safely wrapped in a blanket just like the ones she stroked between her fingers as they passed by. Although it was terrifying, she looked forward to finally meeting her.

Another highlight, surprisingly, came from a scoff and a judgemental comment from an older couple. Sharon hadn’t noticed their attentive gaze, too engrossed in the ridiculously tiny shoes, but Raja and Jinkx were already on high alert.

“The state of young girls these days. I mean, she can’t be more than eighteen, look at her.”

“I’ll bet she did it just to try and stop her boyfriend from breaking up with her. Wonder how that turned out.”

The couple snickered, their comments loud enough for Sharon to hear them. She took a deep breath in and focused on the shelves in front of her, determined to ignore it and continue shopping. The girls had other ideas.

“Well shit, I sure hope you two aren’t parents. I bet your kids are the fucking bullies of the school, the way you talk.” Raja spat, spinning on her heel to face the suddenly affronted couple.

Jinkx nodded. “Accidents happen, doesn’t mean they can’t be happy miracles. Unlike you, she’ll be a great parent to her baby, because she cares about people and doesn’t judge others like an asshole.”

Eyeing each other, the couple each raised an eyebrow. “Typical irresponsible kids.”

Sharon saw Raja tense, and knew that any moment, she would launch forward and start a scrap with the couple. Needing to diffuse the situation, she grabbed Raja’s hand and pulled her back, smiling gently as she did.

“Ignore them,” She said softly. “Look, you don’t have to defe-”

“Get your nasty ass away from my fucking friend, you piece of unholy shit!” Raja struggled to get free, straining and pulling until the couple eventually took the hint and decided to get out of their way. When they were gone, she apologised and brushed herself down, her chest heaving with anger.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Sharon shook her head, unable to stop the grin from sliding onto her face. “No. You’re both awesome, I love you so much. You really don’t need to do that for me.”

“But we want to, baby. We want to.” Jinkx told her.

“I know. That’s why I love you so much.”

Encounters like that were one of the many reasons Sharon was so filled with anxiety about going to the mainland. It was comforting to have her friends so fiercely sticking up for her, but she still didn’t feel completely at ease until the island began to climb into view from the sailboat. It had truly become a safe haven to her in a way that transcended the little paradise that had once been her escape from her mother. Now, it was a home for her new baby, ready and waiting and protected.

-

That morning, Pat was sitting in her chair, fiddling idly with the knitting needles she seldom used. A small project hung from one of them, pink and white, and she looked uncharacteristically nervous. Sharon was on guard immediately, setting down her bag and sitting opposite her.

“Everything okay? Is there anything I can get for you?”

Pat shook her head. Sharon only continued. “Maybe that pouffe if your arthritis is acting up? I could run upstairs-”

Again, she shook her head, this time clasping Sharon’s hand in hers to silence her. Her eyes were kind and filled with a desolate sadness that Sharon didn’t understand, but wanted to fix. It was the least she could do.

“Honey, you’re in no condition be running up any stairs.” Pat reminded her, smiling gently as she blushed a little in embarrassment. “I need to talk to you about something, something important. I just want to come out with it first and explain later, save the build up. I don’t want to cause you unnecessary stress.”

Sharon held her breath, but whatever she expected, this wasn’t it.

“I’m going into a retirement home.”

A million questions scorched the tip of her tongue, practically falling over one another in a hurried attempt to get out, but not a single one made it past her lips. All she could do was examine Pat with the intensity of a terrified child, desperately wondering why she had made that decision. It made sense, given her age, but it now meant that Sharon was out of a job and at such a crucial time when money was so tight, she needed that employment more than ever before.

“My needs are getting more and more complex, I’m not getting any younger and we both know that. My family have agreed I could use the help and, sweetheart…” She squeezed Sharon’s hand. “I don’t want to rely on you when you have so much else going on. You have been an absolute angel to me, and you have a knack for looking after people like I’ve never seen. But in just a few more months you’ll be busy with a baby and I can’t take priority over that.”

At some point, Sharon had teared up. She wasn’t sure when.

“You’re going to be a fantastic mom, I know it. You’ve selflessly dedicated your time to me and I know you will do the same for that beautiful daughter of yours. I can’t wait to meet her. But I need to get out of your hair so you can focus on what truly matters. However-” The sad sparkle in Pat’s eyes made way for an almost mischievous, proud glint. “You didn’t think I’d leave you without a few gifts, right?”

Sharon sighed. “Oh, Pat, you know you shouldn’t-”

“Nonsense!” The old lady replied. “It’s my wealth and I’ll lavish it on whoever I choose. These are for you.”

She handed over three items - a piece of paper, an envelope, and the knitted thing - a tiny dress, perfect for a newborn. Sharon took the paper and read it, unsure of what to expect from the gift, after stroking the soft fabric of the dress and imagining it on the daughter she had yet to meet.

Pat had outdone herself.

“This… this is the deed to those old buildings on the top of the island…” Sharon murmured, before her gaze shot upwards. “Pat.”

She grinned. “I already said, caring for people is something you’ve proved you’re amazing at. I’ve called some renovation and repair teams… you’re building that goddamn hotel. Take care of your guests like you did with me and I guarantee you’ll be a success.”

The envelope, Sharon found moments later, was wadded with money.

“Even when I’m six feet under, I won’t have you going hungry on my watch. To help with bills, just in case you’re in this situation because of our Bill.” God, that woman was wicked. Sharon wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, and settled for a weepy mixture of the two. She was downright speechless, a quality that few had the ability to render her into.

In a matter of weeks, everything changed. Pat was gone, Sharon was at home, and the waiting game of labour seemed to be the only thing on her horizon. Most days, she went out to check on the construction and talk planning with the team, who seemed equally shocked and impressed that their boss was eighteen and heavily pregnant. 

Raja and Jinkx would be arriving soon, giving them plenty of time to support her before the baby came. They would have a nice, calm few weeks together, and then her daughter would finally be here and everything would begin to fall into place.

-

Raja and Jinkx arrived on the eve of forty weeks, perfectly on time, and were down at the dock.

Maria, the bartender and owner of the taverna, was washing glasses in the sink.

Maria’s son Jose was collecting new shipments of ale from the loading bay.

Sharon was out on a walk along one of the shallow cliffs, where Justin used to take her.

Not long now.

Raja and Jinkx stood chatting, excitedly wondering how long they would be staying before the baby came. Raja was complaining a little about having to lug her own many, many suitcases up the notoriously uphill island, and Jinkx was reminding her through her laughter that given their friend was nine months pregnant, she had to cut her losses.

Maria thought about Sharon, who had picked up a few extra shifts since Pat had entered the home, and wondered how her part-time employee and long-time performer was doing that day. It was about noon, so no doubt she was enjoying some lunch and preparing for the arrival in a few days time, her workload reduced to nothing.

Jose spotted the two girls on the beach and wondered which one of them was hotter, and which one was more likely to respond flirtatiously if he offered to help them. He fixated on the tall, dark haired one and offered to help both carry their suitcases up the island.

Sharon winced a little bit, let out a sigh, and then winced much harder. It hurt.

Raja, in her element, allowed the young man to take her bags and gave him a wink, hoping to convey everything she was willing to do. Jinkx, rolling her eyes, followed her friend and shook her head as they made their way towards the taverna, where Sharon was going to meet them.

Maria decided, on a whim, to see how Sharon was doing. She liked taking a walk around this time, and was most likely on her usual route. It was only a short journey from her small taverna to where she would probably be.

Jose began regretting offering to help. These girls were carrying bags laden with wet cement, clearly.

Sharon swallowed hard and tried to stand up. The pain had subsided but then it had come back, worse.

Raja and Jinkx chatted idly about how Sharon was late. Typical, really. They laughed and switched on the old jukebox.

Maria’s eyes landed on Sharon, registered the situation and bolted, promising to come back with help.

Jose sat down and thanked the lord his mother was gone, so he could pour himself a nice cold beer and let his poor arms rest.

Sharon waited. It was all she could do.

Raja and Jinkx gasped as a panicked Maria burst through the doors, alerting them that Sharon needed their help. 

Maria grabbed her son and yanked the beer away from him, yelling at him to run ahead and help the poor girl to her feet, possibly even to carry her if she became too weak to walk.

Jose thought of his poor tired arms and silently prayed as he made his way to help.

Sharon got to her feet without Jose’s help and took his arm. It would be fine once she got to her house. That was what she told herself.

-

She was so tiny.

She had been cleaned and swaddled in soft yellow muslin as she started to cry, and Sharon’s arms reached out instinctively to cradle her. Her cries soon quieted as she relaxed into the safety of her mama’s arms, wrapped up warm and tight into a small bundle. Her little nose peeked out from the blanket, and her rosebud lips were parted slightly in an awed reaction to being alive.

Sharon’s chest heaved with the effort but she clung on to her newborn, needing the reassurance of her warm weight as much as the baby needed her heartbeat. Maria was removing towels and Jose was running to send a message on the next ferry to Pat and Raja and Jinkx were cooing, but Sharon had only eyes and ears for her daughter.

The name had been an easy choice. An homage to the woman who had given her a home, a job and a career to build, proving that life didn’t have to disintegrate into nothing during a bad situation. Patricia may have been an old name, mostly unsuited to a small baby, but the name Sharon had chosen fitted perfectly.

“I bet that asshole Justin will kick himself when he finds out what a beautiful daughter he’s missing out on.” Raja cursed, before going starry-eyed once again and cooing at the baby. “God, she’s just stunning, isn’t she?”

Sharon sighed gently. “Don’t say his name. Please. Not in front of Trixie.”

Of course she couldn’t send any letter to him, or let him know. There was an entire, living breathing baby in her arms, and that was no small feat to try and care for. It was cruel of her to expect Justin to be able to cope with it, and even crueler for her to inflict an unwilling parent onto an innocent child. Things were better this way.

“So she’s never going to know about him?” Jinkx asked, using one finger to lightly rub against Trixie’s impossibly soft cheek.

“Never.” Sharon said firmly. “Look, she’s so small. She’s all mine.”

“She has the most tiny perfect little features…”

“She’s the image of you, Sharon. You to a T.”

The compliments kept coming, but Sharon didn’t really hear them. Her mind had drifted, trying and failing to imagine her own mother feeling the same compassion for herself as a baby. In that moment, she knew that she would endure any hardship, sacrifice anything, if it meant Trixie would be safe. She would never allow her precious daughter to come to any harm, or feel that she couldn’t go to her mama in times of need.

No, Sharon would do it differently. She would be better than her own mother, and Trixie would be better than them all. Sharon would guide her.

“Don’t make the same mistakes I did, baby girl. Do it right, unlike your mama.”

[almaasi]

reaction post typed while watching SPN 14x17 “Game Night”

this was not 45 minutes of Dean playing Twister with Cas :/

04:22pm

if this isn’t 45 minutes of team free will 2.0 having a happy time in the bunker with all their alive hunter friends and family, playing board games, everyone whistling and whooping when cas takes off his coat to play twister with dean, i will be sorely disappointed

HOWEVER

/checks

it’s meredith glynn

so maybe it won’t be the pure, fun, gay plotless fantasy that i have in mind, but it’ll probably be well-written and emotional, which is aaaalmost as good

-

04:30

DEAN’S PLAYING MOUSETRAP 

OKAY 

OKAY

OKAY

-

04:31

[distant “soN OF A BITCH”]

yeah mousetrap is like that

we have one exactly the same, it’s from the 60s or something, it sometimes functions but mostly doesn’t

when the ball hops into the bucket and rolls down the slope, that’s my favourite part

-

04:37

WHY ARE THEY HAVING GAME NIGHT and drama WITHOUT CAS

WHERE IS CAS

WHERE IS CAS

THIS IS TOO MUCH

-

04:38

ahhh thank you ms glynn for immediately answering my question

she knew!!! she knew the only question everyone would be asking at that exact moment when nobody mentioned cas is WHERE IS CAS

and then she’s like “here have some cas”

thank

-

04:39

i want a gag reel of danneel and misha trying to do this scene

we don’t have anywhere near enough content of them together, interacting

-

04:41

cas getting earrings for anael/sister jo is so intriguing to me and i really like it for some reason

“lightly cursed”

jsdfd

-

04:43

paused and screenshotted because in this exact moment she looks uncannily like my doctor

-

04:45

jo: the winchesters don’t know you’re here, do they?

cas: “why do you say that?”

jo: “i don’t know, just a general reek of ill-conceived lone wolf desperation”

i love this script, danneel’s delivery, and also describing cas as a lone wolf, i find that both attractive and accurate... kinda makes me feel better about the fact he disappears for weeks at a time, i guess it’s just a personality trait of his that he likes being alone after socialising a lot

-

04:50

mary: “i can be... closed off... hard”

dean: “yeah? :) that’s where i get it from”

aw yeah cuties talking about their feelings

-

04:51

while dean and mary talk, i think the music is that soft piano theme they use when dean and sam are having emotions, and i’m not 100% on that because i haven’t heard it in AGES, like maybe two seasons, unless i just missed it

either way it just makes me think of all the times they DIDN’T use that music with dean and cas

at least not since season 4 or 5 (sic), this music definitely reminds me more of that era than the recent eras

-

04:57

cas in that big silver pickup truck

i wonder what dean thinks of all his car choices

-

05:00

YEEEAH SAMMY SMUSH HIS STUPID FACE

-

05:03

mary telling sam she’s proud of him eyyyyyyyyyyy <3

edit: IN HINDSIGHT THESE “LAST WORDS” INTERACTIONS WITH SAM AND DEAN HURT WAY MORE. now i’m really worried about her gdi ;A;

-

05:04

the doll cas blows dust off reminds me of that weird lil doll danneel keeps in her and jensen’s house

-

05:08

laughing because how is nick even close to being jack’s father

jack is biologically the president and the presidential aide’s/first lady?’s son

and team free will are his nurturing dads, who did the actual job of parenting

lucifer is his angel father since he was possessing the president

but like

nick is the body lucifer wore, was nowhere near the president, wasn’t a vessel at the time, hasn’t physically been allowed to be near jack in all the time jack’s existed, has had almost no interaction with him, and is also a douchebag murderer

family don’t end with blood and all, sure

but like

no

-

05:18

jo/anael: “look, i just stepped in a rat, so”

oh god that reminds me of--

*trigger warning: very gross, animal death*

reminds me of that time my cat brought in a mouse and ate half and then because it was dark i stepped on it in a bare foot and skinned it with my foot and it was cold and horrible

also that time i stepped on a spider, also in bare feet, and it crunched

and that time i stepped on a lizard but it was fine and it was SQUISHY

-

05:21

i went back a bit and anael throws the doll, first it says “ma-ma~?” and then it hits the pile and goes “mhmhj!!” and that’s both cute and upsetting

-

05:24

OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE THE SAMULET BUT DIFFERENT

cute lil horned skull, i want one. seriously it’s adorable, i don’t think it’s meant to be adorable but it is

-

05:34

rock hit sammy’s face and i cringed

-

05:37

of all the wounds to the head

finally one actually did some damage

feels weird but right that dean called an ambulance like real people

edit: what did he tell the EMTs though, now sam is all healed up

-

05:40

beautiful and terrifying

-

05:41

nick: “make me strong again, make me you”

he’s gonna die isn’t he

-

05:43

dean: “count with me”

sam” “you always put me first”

noo sam !!!!

-

and then the cut from sam, dead, to nick, dead

oh gdjfgdjg help dhfgdf

-

05:47

mary: “you need help, we’ll help you”

oh now i’m worried about mary

jack you better not hurt her

-

05:48

black screen

jack’s whisper “mary”

oh no

-

05:48

THIS WAS SO MUCH

AND IT WAS GREAT BUT IT WAS SO MUCH

I KNOW I SAID TWISTER BUT THIS WAS NOT THE KIND OF TWISTER I ENVISIONED

I MEANT PHYSICAL NOT EMOTIONAL THANK YOU VERY MUCH

i have no thoughts

i can’t think, i’m just

........maryy..........

i freaking loved anael, and i loved how cas interacted with her, he’s comfortable and knows her well and is just aware of her strengths and fears and likes and needs, and anael knows him just as well, well enough that she knew his real motivations for trying to contact god

i love that this was all about jack, but i also hate it because oh no our sweet baby nougat boy is a chocolate cake now

i love how much love the winchesters have for him, how they’re not even questioning whether he belongs there or not, even when lucifer and nick are trying to claim kinship. team free will are his three dads and everyone knows it

i adored seeing mary again, it feels like it’s been ages. and i hope dearly she’s okay at the end of this, we’ve all had enough of fridging and she doesn’t deserve that to happen to her again, none of us want that

meredith glynn writes good female characters with relatable positive and negative traits and i am so pleased to see that!! i do kind of think anael was the best part of this episode, and she was written so much better here than in the previous season. that stuff she and cas talked about, her doing everything for money vs. her trying to fix suffering, but also clearly enjoying the money along the way, that was my favourite part of the episode

i think my least favourite part was the fact it was basically two stories, cas doing stuff for jack, and then dean and sam and mary doing stuff for jack. i know it’ll match up later, but i disliked the lack of contact there. at least on screen, cas wasn’t informed about all the drama the others were going through, and like anael said, they didn’t know where cas was or what he was doing.

and also given this all happened apparently around the same time, and the episodes’ air dates (maybe) coincides with when they’re set, where WAS cas two weeks ago when he left dean and the bunker and dean said he left early in the morning? i assume he was going to meet anael, but how much time passed between then and this? idk

i loved that cas picked up earrings for anael though. and knew enough about them to know they were valuable. either he’s an jewellery expert or a geologist, or dean or sam are, and all of those possibilities thrill me

didn’t like sam getting hurt but the wORST PART was jack’s downfall here

oh no

dean’s relief after sam was healed, where he had to step back and turn around, that was... something. no matter how many times he almost loses the people he loves, it never gets easier for him, and it never will

damn that rock from the middle of the road that probably shouldn’t have been there

but also. how much of lucifer’s personality was just nick? because he’s basically the same person without lucifer. i’m really curious who lucifer is, because we don’t really know, do we? i mean, actions aside, the quirks of his speech and personality were seemingly all nick’s. (i think when sam was in the white suit, that was non-nick lucifer, except that was in an alternate timeline so who even knows.)

one more thing. a tip for the non-anxiety-ridden, non-autistic people out there. when a person is stumbling away from you with their hands over their ears/eyes/head, muttering about wanting the conversation to stop or the noise to stop or for you to go away, please, under no circumstances, go after them and yell at them and grab them

not saying jack should’ve done whatever he did, but mary definitely reacted in the worst possible way to a panic/anxiety attack, especially when jack is clearly dangerous to other people, not just himself

anyway. 06:21pm.

10/10, but would not recommend unless someone really wanted their heart ripped out

would have preferred dean playing mousetrap for 45 minutes and cas coming home early to find everyone had the correct amount of soul, and then letting dean teach him how to play twister, actual twister, not this twisted goddamn fuckery directed at my stupid emotions like this actually turned out to be

[yoonqified]

The Joker - Part 1

Word Count: 10k

Rated: 18+

Warnings: smut, mentions of drug abuse 

 Summary: During your check up with your regular patient, your interrupted by your co-worker Kim Namjoon as he hands you your new patient’s folder.

"Name."

"Hah, you know who I am."

"NAME!"

Jimin chuckled lightly at the officer sitting in front of him as he looked down at his cuffed hands that were lazily resting on his lap.

"Park. Jimin." he responded with a smile.

"Age."

"23."

"23 years old and you're already being put into prison. Wow Park Jimin, you should have learned to be a better psychopath while you were out there." The police officer commented laughing at his own insult.

Jimin leaned back in his metal chair and chuckled lightly. "I'm a great psychopath." he stated through slightly gritted teeth.

"I'm sure you are!" The officer continued to laugh and leaned his forehead onto the steel table. His laughter echoed throughout the room and rang into Jimin's ears. His eyes twitched as he gripped onto his knees tightly. He looked up at the camera that was placed in the corner of the room's ceiling and smirked. With a swift move, he reached over to the still laughing officer and grabbed him by the neck - handcuffs still strongly attached around his wrists. He pushed the officer's left cheek onto the cold table and leaned down to his ear. 

"Are you doubting me?" He whispered softly. The officer only shook his head rapidly, too shocked and scared to open his mouth. The alarms suddenly started to go off indicating the S.W.A.T. team to get to the room as soon as possible. Jimin looked up at the red blinking light and furrowed his eyebrows. God did he hate the cops. He looked down at the vulnerable officer and the grip that was tightly around his neck before leaning down once again and softly kissed the officer's cheek. 

"I don't believe you." He whispered into his ear.

The officer's face was suddenly slammed into the steel table multiple times splattering blood everywhere. Jimin only laughed menacingly at his actions as blood stained his porcelain skin and black v-neck shirt and continued the gruesome act until he got tired. He let go of his tight grip around the dead corpse's neck and let it fall to the ground. He slowly walked to the door and stood there fixing the handcuffs around his wrists, waiting for the officers to tackle him down. The door burst opened and four men in bulletproof jackets and masks entered and grasped Jimin by his arms as the chief walked in. He walked around the criminal and swiftly pulled his hand over his gaping mouth as he looked at bloody scene in front of him.

"Dear God." He whispered in despair.

Jimin chuckled at the chief's comment and continued to look forward. The chief finally walked over to Jimin after inspecting the mess that he had made and stood in front of him, looking at him in the eyes with horror. 

"W-what are you?" The chief whispered out in shock, mouth still gaping open.

"Me?" Jimin smirked. "I'm Park Jimin."

***

You rushed your way down the hospital's hallway knowing that if you didn't get there on time, your patient would start to get an anxiety attack. I know what you must be thinking, what is an innocent schizophrenic doing in a criminal asylum? Well, Kim Taehyung isn't so innocent. He actually murdered his parents 4 years ago because if his schizophrenia. The police think he's a crazy murderer, but you just think he's sick.

"I'm here Taehyung, you don't need to worry anymore." you said as you swung the door open and rushed into the room. Taehyung was sitting on his bed like always staring up at the clock before he shot his gaze towards you once you stepped inside and the look of concern was wiped off his face. There were small beads of sweat on the side of his temple and you cursed at yourself for making him wait. Taehyung always got anxious when you were late because he would think that you had traded his folder with another doctor because you couldn’t handle him anymore, or just because you were tired of him in general. 

"I'm sorry Ms. Y/N, but I thought you were going to be late again." He said clawing onto the edge of the bed. 

You pulled up a chair in front of him and sat down with your clipboard on your lap, and opened his folder that was clung onto the clipboard and grabbed a pen from the pocket of your lab coat. "So, Taehyung, how are you feeling today?" You watched him as he continued to claw at his bed and wrote it down on his file. He never learns. "I promise I'll stop!" You look up from the paper and faced Taehyung. "I promise I'll stop if you don't write it down,” he pleaded, “Or not the men are going to come in here again and put me in that thing that wraps my arms around my body! It hurts!" he said breathing a little more heavier. You sighed and looked back down at his hands. His nails were so short and you could see the dry blood on them. "Ok Tae, I won't." You lied. You knew that he was going to be mad at you when he realizes you did, but he'll get over it. You weren’t trying to be cruel. You knew the other workers scared him, but he needed help. It's your job to help people. People like him. Like Taehyung. 

"Have you been seeing Meemo?" You asked, deciding to change the subject. If you didn’t, he’d continue to blabber on about what you had written down and sometimes he can get out of hand. He starts to panic and yell and it takes a while for him to calm down. You remember the last time he had one of his episodes he lunged himself at you because you had asked him a question that had seemed to trigger him. You weren’t allowed to be alone in a room with him for a couple of months after that.

"No, he's stopped visiting,” Taehyung said with a pout, “I've looked everywhere for him but I haven't found him. I'm sure he'll visit soon though!" he said smiling to himself. Meemo was his imaginary friend that he started seeing once he arrived to the asylum. He was picked on by the other patients because he would sit in a chair in the corner of the day room and talk to himself, well, to Meemo. Although he felt some what offended after you told him that he shouldn’t be talking to Meemo in front of the others because they can’t see him and should just keep it to himself, he agreed and has only reported to you when he sees his friend running down the hall. 

You sighed in relief when he told you that he hadn’t been seeing him - the pills are working. "Well Tae, what are you going to do if he doesn't come back?"

"But he will!" he retorted.

"And you're sure of that?" You asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course I am. Friends don't abandon each other, do they?"

You smiled and nodded your head softly. "They don't."

The door suddenly opened and Dr. Kim walked in. 

"Doctor, we have a new patient for you." He said handing you a clean file and you looked down at it confused.

"They never told me about getting a new patient?"

"He just came in today... I wish you luck Y/N." He said rubbing the back of his head. He then drew his attention to Taehyung.

"Kim Taehyung! How has my favorite friend been!" He said grabbing him by his hands. Taehyung smiled brightly and leaned his forehead onto Dr. Kim's. You smiled at the sight before looking down at the file in your hand. As you opened it and scanned the new patient’s profile, your eyes widened when they stopped at the name written in black ink at the top of the page.

"Namjoon, you can't be serious?!" He stopped playing with Taehyung and stood straight up not letting go of the patient's hands. "I'm sorry Y/N, but I don't make the rules." He said with an apologetic look on his face. You sighed in frustration and threw your head back. This has to be a joke.

"When do I start?"

"Now, actually."

"W-well what about Tae?" You said trying to find an excuse. There was no way in hell you were going to take this patient under your care.

"I'm fine taking care of him for a while." Namjoon said, like if he was talking about a five year old. You groaned and hung your head low. This can’t be happening!

You got up from the chair and walked towards Taehyung, "I'll see you later, ok?" He nodded smiling softly and waved as you walked out the door. You looked back down at the file - Patient 306 was written in bold in the corner and you took the elevator to the 300 rooms. You had never been up there once, but have heard stories of that floor. Stories that made you scared just looking at the number three every time you took the elevator. You could feel your heart pumping, ready to shoot out your chest. Not only were you scared, but you were angry as well. You've heard of this person before - this monster - and what he's done. He's killed innocent people. Women even!

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. "Good morning, Ms. Y/N." The only receptionist on the floor greeted you with a smile and you greeted her back with a small bow and gave her the file in your hands. She looked through the file before looking up at you with an apologetic look as she handed it back to you along with a key. "He's right down the hall. Last door on the left." She pointed towards the direction and you could have sworn that she was shaking in fear. You bowed your head once again thanking her and made your way to the room. Your heels hitting the tiled floor echoed throughout the white walled hallway and every room you passed, you received a cat call from the men being caged in their room for being too aggressive to be around the others. The 300 rooms weren’t just any kind of rooms. They were built for the most dangerous patients in the asylum, and most of them haven’t seen the broad of daylight in years. If any of them would be released with the others, it was be a messy and bloody scene, so keeping them here was the only option you guys had. When you got to the door, you swallowed the lump in your throat and fixed your lab coat. Sticking the key in the door knob and twisting it open, you entered the room knowing very well he was in there. You made no eye contact with the figure, but lord did you feel those menacing eyes on your body. You dragged a chair in front of his bed and sat down clearing your throat and opened his file while you pulled out a pen. You finally built up all the courage to look up at him only to make intense eye contact. He had a small smirk on his face, and his eyes scanned your body from head to toe. 

Fuck, he's hot.

You cleared your throat once again, "Good morning," you chirped out as you straightened out your back. You were going to do this as quickly as possible so that you can run out that room and hopefully never look back.

"Are you being polite because you want to be, or are you being polite because you're scared?" He chuckled out. His hands were chained to the side of the bed before you came into the room, and you could see the intense redness formed around them knowing he probably struggled through them.

"Park Jimin. 23 years old. Murder. Kidnapping. Drug dealing..." You ignored his stupid comment and began to read his file to him. 

He only snickered, reminiscing all the horrible actions he had committed. "You're really pretty, you know." He commented with the same cocky smile spread across his face. You rolled your eyes and looked up from the paper and made eye contact with him once again. He threw his head back and started laughing hysterically. 

God you hate your job sometimes.

“Are you going to take this seriously or can I go now?” You barked out. You hated when you were given cocky and childish patients. You would never get anything done and then your boss would give you shit because they always needed a daily report on the patients. So for Jimin to sit there and ignore everything that you’re saying just so that he could compliment you was making your blood boil. You didn’t have time for this. You still had to go back and finish your session with Taehyung and even had more patients to see. 

“Oh c’mon,” Jimin said tilting his head to the side, “can’t you just take the compliment?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “I don’t take compliments from people like you.”

“And what type of person am I?”

“I don’t even think I should be considering you as a person to be honest with you.” You responded back with a sly smirk. If he wanted to play his little game then you had no problem playing along if it meant you could tell him his truths. 

“Ouch, aren’t you suppose to be helping me instead of making me feel like shit?” Jimin said as he crossed his legs together on the bed.

“To tell you the truth I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help you.”

“There’s actually one thing you can help me out with, love.” he said with a mischievous grin.

“And what’s that?” You responded back with a fake concerned tone.

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my cock sucked and maybe you can take up on my offer? I’ll make it worth your while.” You were ready to launch yourself towards him and choke his ass. You couldn’t believe that he just told you that with such a straight face and expected you to just brush it off like it was nothing. Was he good looking? Yes - but he’s... he’s Park Jimin. Now if he was another person and had a completely different past, you wouldn’t mind getting down on your knees for him. You were a doctor yes, and everyone saw you as a professional woman, but you had needs and wants that you just need to satisfy once in a while. And by the looks of it, Jimin could definitely give you what you need. Not only did his face look perfect in the dimly lit room, but the sleeves of his hospital attire were tight around his biceps and you could see the outlive of his thigh’s muscles through his pants. You could already feel yourself getting wet from just the thought of riding them until you come undone but you immediately shook the idea out of your head and tried focusing on the important things like work.

You sighed and stood up from the chair and Jimin watched you with curious eyes, “Wait, you’re actually going to do it?” he laughed out with pure happiness. You snapped the manila folder shut that even Jimin jumped in surprise, "Ok, we're done here. When you're ready to act like an adult, just let the guards know when they come check up on you in about 3 hours." You said as you look down at your watch that was wrapped around your wrist. The guards usually do a check up round every three hours or so just to see if anyone has gone mad(der) or hung themselves by their bed sheets from how stressed they are from being locked up. Of course you had no agreement of keeping them locked up 24/7 and thought that it was completely inhumane, but they were dangerous people. Some of them are more calmer than others, but you’ve heard that every doctor that comes up here to have a session has to have at least 2 body guards with them in the room. No one came with you this time because apparently Jimin isn’t as "crazy" as the others - what ever that means.

"Will I be seeing you later, then?" Jimin said as he showed you his pearly whites and hid his brown orbs with the thin lines of his eyelids. 

"Sadly," you responded as you opened the door and walked out. The receptionist took the key back and looked a bit surprised to see you still alive but you ignored her stare and made your way downstairs to get back to Taehyung.

***

"Oh, you're back!" Taehyung rejoiced as he shot his attention to you as you walked through his door which you responded with a smile and nod. Taehyung had the personality of a child but the mentality of the 22 year old he was. He wasn't mentally ill in a way that made him act differently or make him seem like he wasn't smart enough, but he acted a certain way to be kind to others. Other doctors say that he's just autistic, but you knew better. You actually didn't blame him for acting the way that he did - who wouldn't try to be kind in a place that's filled with psychotic murderers.

"How'd it go?" Dr. Kim asked as he stood up from kneeling in front of Taehyung. You groaned and rolled your eyes in frustration, "Horrible," you mumbled. Namjoon only smiled apologetically and patted you on the back. "It'll get better." He reassured you. You only shrugged and bit the inside of your cheek.

 "Well! Mr. Taehyung, I will see you again soon, ok!" Namjoon said holding Taehyung's face in his hands. Taehyung only nodded and waved the doctor goodbye. You closed the door behind him and sat down in front of Taehyung again. "Is Park Jimin really your new patient?" Taehyung commented as he sat criss cross apple sauce on his white sheeted bed. You only nodded and sighed as you fiddled with the corner of Taehyung's manila folder in your hands. "Is he really hot like everyone else says he is?" You were taken aback from Taehyung's question and looked up at him in shock. "Taehyung, are you.. are you - you know... attracted to men?" He only shrugged, pouting as he made a face like if he was thinking really hard. "Well..hmm? I think you're beautiful, and that's ok. I think Park Jimin is handsome from what I've seen on the T.V. and I like his face, and I think that's ok too, right?" He said looking at you in the eyes. 

"So.. you're attracted to him?" You asked him trying to get more to the point.

"Mmm." Tae only nodded and shrugged. 

Interesting.

"Well Taehyung, if you find men attractive then that's ok." You smiled and wrote down in his file. It's not like it was a bad thing for Taehyung to be gay, or in his case be bisexual, but the higher doctors wanted this type of content. They thought that it would bring them closer to "curing" the patients or some bullshit like that. You didn't see how knowing their sexuality was going to justify anything, and actually thought that it was no one's fucking business, but work is work. 

"Am I in trouble again?" He asked as he looked down at what you were writing down, and you shook your head. "Of course not. Just a few information I need to update, that's all." 

"Ms. Y/N?"

"Yes?" you answered.

"Am I a bad person?"

You stopped writing and bit your lower lip. "Well.."

"I didn't mean to do it." He added as he continued to stare down at the paper, attentive at what you were jotting down. 

"Then.. why'd you do it, Taehyung?" It was a question you had always wanted to ask, but you felt like asking it would trigger him or something. Taehyung had always been a calm person and he never gave you any difficulty, but he was not completely all there, so you knew at least something had to trigger him, and just the memory of his last episode he had with you had you a bit traumatized as well. He stared at you for a while and pouted his lips.

"Well.. they made me do it - the voices.." He pointed at his head, "they told me that if I didn't do it myself, that they were going to do it, but worse, and I loved my parents. I didn't want them to die horribly, so I decided that the best way was for me to kill them, like the voices told me to, so I poisoned them. I tried explaining it to the cops, but they never listened. All they did was scream and scream at me, and I really didn't know what I did wrong at the time. Now that I'm older, I understand.." He paused and looked down at the concrete floor but you could still see his face perfectly. "The voices aren't real.. and I killed my parents because I'm crazy and I understand why they put me here. This is where all the crazy people are at." He then looked up at you and shrugged. You were so shocked at his response, let alone the way he explained it to you. He was so calm - like if he was explaining something so simple and normal, and you didn't know what or how to respond. You only nodded, indicating that you understood. 

"I know you can't give me a proper answer, and maybe I am a bad person and maybe my head isn't fully in place like yours Ms. Y/N, but as crazy as I am, I do feel regret, and I miss my mom and dad everyday. But I'm glad that I have you, Dr. Kim and Meemo to take care of me."

It's so weird. He knows that he's sick and acknowledges everything he's done wrong, but he still believes Meemo is real. As a doctor you felt like you were obligated to know the reason, but as much as you sat there and studied him, you just couldn't find the answer as to why Taehyung's head functioned the way it functioned. You reached out your hand and placed it on top of his because it was the only thing you could do. You truly didn't know how to respond to his confession. You wanted to comfort him and tell him that it wasn't his fault, but then again it's like you would be encouraging him for his wrong doing. You believed he understood what position you were in and he smiled at your silence. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, ok Taehyung?" You said as you stood up and fixed your pencil skirt. He nodded and walked over to his small closet to take his slippers out. It was lunch time for the patients, so you decided to walk him to the cafeteria. 

***

Jimin laid in his bed with a huge grin on his face at the thought of your reactions to everything he told you during your short session together. He loved how you were so blunt and aggressive towards him that just the thought of it made him hard. But apart from your soft looking legs in your short pencil skirt running through his head, he was also thinking about how he was going to keep his addiction under control. Jimin was what they call a drug abuser, and he loved to feel a bit of rush once in a while, but his rush was quickly dying out at the moment and he could already feel the side effects from it. His door suddenly swung open and the big hairy guy that cuffed his hands to the bed when he was brought in came in again. “He smelled funny,” Jimin thought.

"Lunch time." He simply said as he took out the keys to the cuffs. “For me or for you buddy?” Jimin said under his breath with a slight snicker. He made him slip on his fluffy slippers and pushed him out the door. “A simple please would be great don't you think? The nerve of some people.” Jimin groaned out as he looked up at the taller man standing in front of him as he cuffed his hands once again and walked him down the hallway.

"You asylum people are really into these handcuff things. Tell me, ever handcuffed a hot chick in these? That'd be pretty fucking hot." Jimin continued to blabber on trying to start a conversation with his now permanent guard because he thought that it would be nice to get along with each other from now on.

The man only pushed him harder to walk faster, completely ignoring his inappropriate question. Once they reached the cafeteria, the guard made Jimin stand at the entrance as he walked over to the serving table. Jimin looked around cringing. “These people are complete knuckleheads.” he thought, “I'm Park fucking Jimin, I belong with the big boys. I'm writing a letter. Where the hell is the main office, I have a complaint.” As he looked around he found you walking with another patient which had happened to be Taehyung. He smirked as his eyes fell to your behind and how it moved every time you stepped. God if only he could name all the dirty things he’d do to you by just looking at your body move under your clothes he’d probably be hung for jerking off in front of everyone. Sadly the guard interrupted his smutty thoughts and shoved a tray full of lord knows what in front of him. “It looks like something that guy over there with the saliva dripping down his chin would shit out. Complaint number too. Way to go asylum, you're going to get 3 golden stars from me.” He was so use to be treated like a King that he wasn’t having any of this bullshit. He wanted to go home and lay in his bed naked with his girls around him as they fed him grapes and what not. Not stand in the middle of a smelly cafeteria filled with lunatics.

"Are you going to uncuff me now, daddy?" Jimin asked with a girly voice as he batted his eyes at the guard. He didn't get a reaction from him and was only uncuffed with an annoyed sigh. “Geez these people are just no fun. Why aren't these other people handcuffed?! Aren't they criminals too?! Goddammit complaint number 3. Going down to 2 golden stars when I yelp this fucking place.” Jimin mumbled to himself as he walked to the nearest table with the some sort of normal looking people, only to have them pick up their trays and walk away quickly.

"They didn't let me shower, I'm sorry!" He said as he waved them off.

He rolled his eyes and shoved a spoonful of the blob in his mouth only to spit it back out. “This tastes like ass!” he grimaced as he grabbed a napkin from the napkin holder placed in the middle of the table and scrubbed his tongue with it. “I miss Jin hyung’s cooking,” he sighed out as he pushed the tray away from him. Jimin lived in a mansion along with his buddies Seokjin, Jungkook, Hoseok, and Yoongi. They've been in the mafia business for a while now, and the four boys had been working together for the longest time and got so close that they decided to live together and share their riches. Each boy had their own role in the group and Seokjin happened to be the leader. Although he was a man that no one in the mafia business would want to mess with, he had a kind heart towards his boys and whenever he had time away from 'work', he'd cook gourmet dinners for them. Seokjin was calmer compared to the other gangsters in the business and tried his best to not get involved in the bloody mess his friends liked to make. Yoongi was in charge of managing the money. He was the one who took calculations of the amounts of money they received daily from the drugs they handle to the few strip clubs they owned in Seoul. Hoseok was the one who took care of managing those strip clubs, and was usually the one who the girls came to when looking for a job. He had an interest in the whole business world and liked making a good bargain once in a while when selling or buying buildings for projects the boys had in mind. Some of those buildings were warehouses the boys used to store their bundles of cocaine and marijuana - and that's where Jungkook comes in.

 Jungkook worked in the warehouses with the narcs and made sure that the shipments that were being sent out to different gangsters were the right amount and one small slip up can lead to a bullet being triggered into his skull by Park Jimin himself - the hit man of the group. Jimin was never really given that title, he just gave it to himself through time. The boys knew something was off in that head of his, but never knew what it really was. He had no mercy against anyone, and although he cared for his pals, if any of them had one slip up or triggered him in any type of way he wouldn’t think twice about pulling the trigger. 

Jimin winced as he head pounded with pain from the withdrawal symptoms of not being able to ingest any type of drug for the last couple of hours and he banged his head on glossed wooden table. He couldn’t take this anymore! The voices of the people talking in the cafeteria echoed in his head and he felt like every mouth in the room was facing him and the voices were getting closer. He looked up and around the room and saw that no one was paying attention to him at all, and tsked in annoyance. 

Quickly, he stood up and tried walking out the door before the guard got in front of him and signaled him to pull his arms out. “Really?” Jimin said in an annoyed tone, “If you’re so fucking concerned how about we just hold hands, huh?” He didn’t want to wait for the guard to take his sweet ass time and cuff him then uncuff him. He just wanted to go straight up to his room and lay down and hope that this will pass by quickly. The guard ignored his words once again and did what he had to do only to receive a few curse words from the prisoner. 

The walk there was agonizing, but the guard was starting to see a change in Jimin and he finally spoke up once they finally reached Jimin’s designated room. “You don’t look so good, I’ll go call the doctor.” Jimin scoffed as he laid into his flat bed, “Huh, you do talk.”

“I’ll call Dr. Y/N.”

“No!” Jimin argued, “I don’t want anyone in this fucking room. I want everyone to just leave me the fuck alone!” He was so frustrated and hated how everyone was on his back and expected an answer from him. He was tired of talking to people and annoyed to the point where he was ready to cry. He didn’t want to be around anyone and just wanted to be in pure solitude. The guard sighed and closed the door as he walked out, making sure to lock it. As he went to the second floor, he made his way to your office and you looked up at him with curiosity before looking back to your computer screen. He never really came into your office, but when he did, he always had some complaint about the patients.

“I just put Park Jimin back in his room and he doesn’t look so good.” he said as he leaned on the door frame.

“What do you mean?” You said as you finally decided to give him your full attention and twisted your swivel chair so that your whole body was facing forward. 

“I don’t know, he’s all sweaty and shivery and seems really annoyed.”

You nodded as your furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to come up with some diagnosis that was causing his symptoms. “He said he doesn’t want anyone up there, though,” the guard said interrupting your analysis, “He does seem pretty annoyed.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” you said with a chuckle as you watched him push himself off the door frame and walk off only to be visited by an even more familiar face.

“What’s going on now?” Namjoon said as he stood at your doorway. You sighed as you shrugged your shoulders and rubbed your temples, “Apparently Mr. Park Jimin is showing symptoms of withdrawals.” you stated, finally coming to the conclusion to your analysis.

“How so?”

“Sweaty, annoyed, shivering..” you drifted off naming all the symptoms of withdrawals and Namjoon chuckled, “Ahh, well, good luck.”

“Can’t you just go check up on him?” you groaned out.

“No can do, I have plans.”

“Plans?”

“Yeah, I’m going home, and you should, too!” Namjoon sweetly commanded, “You have bags under your bags. Go home and get some rest, the other doctors can take it from here.”

You smiled at Namjoon’s kind heart and nodded lightly, “I will, I will. Let me just go check up on the poor kid before he starts having a panic attack. Literally.”

“Have fun!” Namjoon cooed and you rolled your eyes as you pushed yourself off your comfortable chair and made your way passed him towards the elevator. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He called out and you waved your hand, not turning your head as you entered the elevator. As it made its way up you felt more tired than nervous. The first time you came up here, you were shitting bricks wondering what you had in store for you, but once you sat in that room with him and realized he was more of a prick than a psychopath, your nerves were calmer than ever. 

The doors opened and you weren’t surprised when you didn’t see the receptionist there anymore. She was probably long gone at home resting for the next day while you were still here trying to handle a 23 year old like if he was 4 or something. You went to the back of the desk and pulled out Jimin’s room key and made your way down the hall, your heels echoing off the walls as always. You let out a long sigh as you outside his door before unlocking it and stepping inside.

You found Jimin laying in a fetal position with his back towards you. He was shaking and you could hear his small whimpers as he felt the throbbing pain grow even more in his head. “Jimin,” you called out, keeping your distance.

“I told him that I didn’t want anyone in here.” he said through gritted teeth.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit amused as you watched the almighty Park Jimin crumble right in front of you. He looked so vulnerable and well - weak. “You’re having withdrawals, aren’t you?” you said in a way too obvious amused tone.

“Get the fuck out of my room!” he commanded, but he still wouldn’t turn to you - afraid to show you how effected he was from not having the drugs in his system.

“You need to breathe.”

“I need some fucking drugs.”

“I know you do, but sadly you ain’t getting any of that in here.” you responded back, “so you need to breathe.”

“And you need to keep your mouth shut.”

“And you need to fucking breathe.” You weren’t scared of raising your voice. He wasn’t listening to what you were instructing when in reality he just had to breathe.

Jimin chuckled finally turning to face you. His face was a bit damp with sweat and his lips were red from how much he had been chewing on them. His hair was a mess and you couldn’t help but catch your breathe because god damn did he look so fucking good. “You got some nerve talking to me like that, Doc.”

"Do you want help or not? Because if not I will gladly get the hell out of here and leave you to suffer for the rest of the night!"

“Huh, and I’m the asshole,” he slowly sat up and threw his hands up in defeat, “fine, help me!”

You sighed and and made your way towards Jimin only to stop right in from of him. “You need to breathe,” you repeated for the umpteenth time and inhaled and exhaled to demonstrate how he should do it. “Place one hand on your chest, and the other on your stomach. Breathe into the hand placed on your chest, and breathe out of the hand placed on your stomach.” Jimin pursed his lips together and didn’t seem so pleased with getting told with what to do but he too was tired of feeling like shit so just sat there quietly and let you do all the talking. He did this for a good minute and you trailed up your hand on his neck to find his pulse right under his jaw.

You smiled to yourself as you felt it go down, “See, I told you.” you said in a low ‘matter of fact’ tone. You loved how you were right when it came to helping people out in any situation. You were a psychologist yes, but you were also taught anatomy just like any other doctor would. The only reason why you chose the medical field was because not only did you want to help those in pain, but learning about the brain and how it worked amazed you so much. It felt a bit awkward being the youngest doctor here because you entered college at a young age because of your academic success in high school, but it felt so empowering, especially as a woman. You finally turned to Jimin and stood frozen as you made eye contact with his beautiful brown orbs. He had a slight smirk and you could feel the lump in your throat start to grow. 

“You’re so pretty,” he said with a low almost sweet voice. His eyes scanned your face and he brought a hand up to push a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your breathing became shaky and as much as you wanted to move, you couldn’t. You were so lost in the way he was looking at you like if he had you in a trance and you could feel his hot breath getting closer to your cheek. 

This was wrong. It was so totally wrong - but the way his soft fingers trailed against your jawline just felt so fucking right. 

“Jimin..” you let out with a shaky breath as you dropped your hand on his shoulder. It felt so broad under your touch and you could feel him tense up by your action. “I don’t think-”

“Shhh,” you were cut off by Jimin’s soft shush as he wrapped his other hand around your waist and pulled you in and made you stand directly in between his legs as he still sat on the bed. The beds in the hospital were tall so that when a patient was ill and needed to be check on, the doctor could easily check up on them without having to bend down so low. So you were at complete face level with him and he cupped your cheeks as he leaned his forehead onto yours, “just one peck, hmm?” he cooed.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his proposition. You were amazed that he even had you in this position at the moment. Your center that was getting wetter by the minute with slick with just his soft touches and his needy cock that hadn’t been touched in so long were only mere inches away that if you just shifted a bit you’d be rubbing yourself against him. It was all going to your head because you too haven’t been touched in months. Your last hook up was with a guy named Jungkook, and the night you guys spent together was amazing. He made you come so many times in different ways you never knew you’d be comfortable trying in bed. He had so much stamina that the day after you guys laid in bed all day - and even before he left he gave you a good fuck as a goodbye. Of course a dicking this good couldn’t just be left with nothing, so you asked for his number and tried having him come over once in a while, but Jungkook wasn’t the type to just stick to one girl. Maybe after the third time you guys slept together he completely ignored your calls and texts and you just decided to give up after that. So you blamed you being extremely horny and dick deprived for making you let this type of man try to get his way with you. 

“I promise I’ll be a good boy, Doc.” Jimin said as he nudged your jaw with his nose trying to expose your neck to him. His voice was so soft and filled with honey when he spoke to you that you couldn’t help but gasp at his words. Jimin knew that he didn’t need a verbal response from you to know that you wanted him, because by the way your hand that was placed on his shoulder bunched up his shirt in anticipation as he dragged his soft plump lips across your neck was the only invitation he needed to continue. The soft whimper that had been caught in your throat for the past ten minutes was finally released when Jimin finally fully pressed against your neck and let his tongue spill out from his lips to lick a certain spot on your neck. You brought your other arm and wrapped it around his neck and pulled him closer as he continued to lick and suck the specific spot he found so delicious on your neck. You whimpers and gasps continued to spill out and Jimin tightened his grip on your hips as he pulled them forward to rub his now hardened cock against you.

He needed to feel some friction against himself or not he felt like he was going to lose it. He wanted you so badly and couldn’t wait to feel your warm pussy pulsate around him as he slammed himself into you from the back. Your mind continued to tell you to stop, that this was wrong and you could lose your job from doing this - but your body told you to continue, and let his strong hands touch every inch of it until he made you feel complete euphoria. As you continued to battle between the two, you finally got your answer when Jimin pulled your lab coat off and ran one of his hands towards your lower back and found the zipper to your skirt and slowly tugged it down and let your skirt pool at your feet. He wasted no time in letting his hands land on your cheeks with a loud smack making you moan loudly at the stinging feeling. Jimin chuckled and kneaded his fingers into your soft flesh and finally connected your lips together.

You hummed into the kiss. His lips felt so soft against yours and you couldn’t help yourself from sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and letting your tongue run against it before nipping at it softly. You ran your hands to the hem of his shirt and snuck them under to feel his warm toned skin burn with your touch. His breath was starting to get unsteady as you rubbed his abs with your thumbs and traced every beautiful crease he had on his tummy. You followed the thin trail of hair that lead to his crotch and rubbed your palm against his clothed cock only to receive a low grunt from him as he put more force into the kiss with more need. 

You broke the kiss and pushed him onto the bed and slipped your heels off and started to unbutton your shirt. You couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted him - no, you needed him. Fuck everything else and the voices telling you to stop. Your strength to stop yourself was long gone and you could feel your slick soak your thong and rub against your thighs. Jimin watched you with hunger in his eyes before shifting in the bed so that he was leaning against the head board and slipped his hospital shirt over his head. You mouth watered at the sight of the abs you were just rubbing and wasted no time in crawling onto the bed and onto his lap. 

“How about you take on my proposition?” Jimin finally spoke as he grabbed onto your hair as you placed your hands on his chest and started to trail kisses on his jaw. 

“And what proposition was that?” you answered, not disconnecting your lips from his skin. You began to circle your hips around his clothed member and couldn’t help but whimper as your clit rubbed against his tip once in a while.

“Ahh fuck.. wrapping that little mouths of your around my cock,” he threw his head back and gripped onto your hips, letting out a long hiss, “fuck just like that, baby.”

You smiled at the way he was loving your dominance over him and let you do what ever you pleased with his body. The way he let you suck on his neck and tease him made you clench around nothing knowing that Jimin didn’t care who was dominant in bed as long as his dick was feeling good.

“Will you be a good boy for me?” you teased, trying to test his ego. But it seemed like he didn’t give a damn because he let out the cutest whimper ever and nodded, “Yes,” he pleaded.

You pecked his lips one last time before crawling off his hips and settling yourself in between his legs. You trailed your lips down to his chest and nipped at one of his nipples making him hiss and lean up on his elbows to watch you with hooded eyes that were overflowing with lust. Your dragged them lower and lower until you were face to face with his clothed cock and you looked up at him to give him a small smirk. As much as Jimin wanted to smile back and give you that cocky smirk of his, his head was too clouded with lust and need the he couldn’t react in any shape or form but furrowed eyebrows and the noises that were being pulled from the back of his throat. 

You finally hooked your fingers on the waistband of his spandex and pulled them down slowly to let his member free and slap against his stomach. The tip was an angry red and the vein that ran on the underside was thick and blue with want. It was thick and a tad darker shade than his pale porcelain skin. Jimin let his head fall back and he let out a low guttural moan as you licked from the base to the tip and repeated the action just to tease him.

“Please baby, just suck on it,” he said, panting from how desperate he was. You could feel your wetness slip down your thighs and you wanted to slip your hand down your stomach and touch yourself but you were too focused on Jimin right now. You decided to finally give him what he wanted and wrapped your lips around his tip and softly penetrated his slit with the tip of your tongue. Jimin immediately arched his back and dug his nails into your scalp as he cried out in pleasure, loving the soft sting feeling of his slit being slightly stretched. You couldn’t help but moan at his reaction, sending vibrations down his entire cock. 

“Fuck.. you’re so good at this,” he heaved out, “your pretty mouth looks so good wrapped around my cock, baby.”

You hummed at his praise and lowered your head taking more of him in and hollowed your cheeks as you sucked. You could feel his precum drip out of him and onto your tongue and you continued to lap it marvel at the salty taste. Jimin didn’t know how to control himself as he watched your head bob up and down on him as you arched your back and perked your ass out - your red thong shining against the white walled room. His view was amazing and he wished he had his phone so that he could capture this moment and save it forever. 

His moans started to sound more desperate as you lowered yourself as much as you could, deep throating him and trying not to gag as his hips lifted slowly as he fucked your mouth. He kept petting your hair and telling you of how much of a good girl you were and your pussy was completely drenched from all the praise you were receiving from him. Never have you ever been with a man that was so vocal in bed before. Jimin had no shame in showing you how much he loved feeling you wrapped around him with the soft whimpers and moans that he kept spilling out along with the curse words that came with each thrust of his hips. 

“Keep going, I’m so close,” he whispered out, his mouth agape from all his panting.

You started to hum around him and started to pay more attention to the underside of his tip as one of your hands wrapped around him and started to pump him. The glide was easily lubricated with your spit and you looked up at Jimin to only catch him with his head thrown back and his abs clenching as he felt the knot in his stomach start to contort. His nose was scrunched up and his moans started to sound more like cries.

Once you reached down and started to massage his balls, you felt his cock stiffen in your mouth and Jimin arched his back off the bed as he shot his warm load into your mouth. It was thick and you felt it run down your throat as it continued to spurt out of him. He didn’t wait until he was done and pulled your mouth off of him letting his cum shoot against your chest and pulled you by the chin and smashed his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth and letting the come that you still had in your mouth spill into his own. You could feel your clit pulsate from just the thought of Jimin enjoying the way he tasted and you felt like you just found the man right for you. 

When he pulled away, his lips were glistening with his own juices and that cocky smirk of his was plastered on his lips, “Your turn.” he said in a deep, lustful voice before throwing you onto the bed making you yelp in surprise. He licked the left over come off your chest, and slipped his fingers under your back to unclasp your bra, but before he was able go any farther, your phone started ringing and you were suddenly pulled from your trance. You gasped as you sat up and let everything that just happened sink in. Jimin looked at you with confusion written all over his face as you pushed onto his naked chest and jumped off the bed. 

“Shit shit shit,” you said in a frantic voice as you grabbed onto your clothes that was scattered all over the floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jimin said as he got off the bed and stood there watching you quickly get dressed. Your phone continued to ring and as you reached for your lab coat, Jimin grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in. “Hey, look at me,”

You shushed him as you looked the caller id and saw that it was Namjoon. He sighed in frustration and studied your face as you placed the phone up to your ear and let out a nervous breath.

“H-hello?”

“Y/N! Where are you? I’ve been waiting for you to come out so that we could go get something to eat together.” Namjoon spoke on the other side with a somewhat worried tone.

“O-oh, umm, you see I had to stay back and finish some paper work on one of my patients. I might be a while so you should just go home, Joon. I’ll see you tomorrow, though.” You lied as you looked up at Jimin who was looking at you with a tilted head and a sly smirk. He leaned down and nibbled at your bottom lip before going back to the one spot he seemed to like and started to suck softly making you moan and slap a hand over your mouth.

“Hey, are you ok?” Namjoon asked, clearly hearing your moan.

“Mhmm, I’ll see you later, bye.” You quickly hung up the phone before sighing in frustration and pushing Jimin off of you and walking towards the door.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Jimin asked before you twisted the knob. You stopped in your tracks and shook your head at the question, “He’s just a co-worker.”

“Why is he inviting you to dinner then?”

“Because he - you know what, I shouldn’t even be explaining my love life to you.” you said in a frustrated tone.

“Well from the looks of it your love life hasn’t been so exciting. I can smell you from here, love.”

“Just... stay away from me.”

“Hmm,” Jimin humphed out with a smile, “speak for yourself, beautiful.”

You pursed your lips and stormed out of that room in seconds and headed out to your car and drove off. You could still feel the wetness in between your legs and you figured a good shower would cool you off and get your mind off of the smutty activity you just did. You went in there to check on him for withdrawals and you came out with the taste of his semen in your mouth and the feeling of his tongue and lips against your neck. 

You groaned as you drove off to your apart that you shared with your 3 year old chocolate lab Charlie.You were greeted by him once you walked through the door and you knelt down to give him all the pets and kisses he deserves before going into your kitchen and filling up his food and water bowl before entering your bathroom to take a long shower. 

Your apartment wasn’t small, but it also wasn’t something fancy to show off. You were still trying to pay off medical school and this place was the only acceptable place you could afford. It wasn’t much, but it was home, and as long as you had a roof over Charlie’s head was the only thing that mattered to you.

Once you were down with your shower, you made your way to bed and were quickly joined by Charlie as he curled up at your feet. You sat there, biting onto your lower lip as scenes from earlier continued to play through your head. How could you have let him pull you into doing something like this? What were thinking? Is anyone going to find out? Is Jimin going to tell anyone about it? Was Namjoon suspicious when he heard you moan? You groaned and let your head thud onto your headboard. Why did you continue to think of this man? Why were you obsessing over him when in reality you didn’t really know anything about him besides him being a murderer. You continued to tug on your bottom lip before sighing and grabbing onto your laptop that was charging right next to you.

You weren’t going to be able to sleep if you didn’t at least look him up, so you typed in his name into the search bar and in the matter of seconds, news reports, blogs, articles, and even fan pages were popping out like madness. You didn't know where to start.

"Notorious Park Jimin strikes again!"

"3 men killed; suspect, Park Jimin."

"Prostitutes Found and Arrested in Park Jimin's Mansion; Jimin not Found."

"Drug Cartel Rising due to Park Jimin's Amazing and Unsolvable Smuggling."

“Park Jimin; the Most Handsome Criminal Known to Man.”

"When Will the Crime End?"

You scanned through every article you could and the more you read, the more you were captivated. You then clicked the Wikipedia page on him, and felt like she had hit jackpot.

 Born in Busan.

23 years old.

Nutjob.

You bit your lip as you continued to read as you grabbed a hair tie and pulled your hair back so that you could read more comfortably. You couldn't stop. You couldn't stop scrolling through pictures. He was so interesting. So beautiful. You groaned and slammed your laptop shut and tossed it to the end of your bed. You really didn't understand why you were so interested - well obsessed - with him, but something about him just intrigued you so much. You couldn't get enough. Just the thought of him made you feel butterflies of excitement in your stomach, and the way he touched your body with so much care brought shivers down your spine.

 You cursed yourself for being such a girl, and falling for his looks, and not looking at the bigger picture. You were scared of going back to work tomorrow. You  was going to see him again, he was your patient. You had told him to stay away from you but how could that be possible when you had to evaluate him every single say. Was it going to be awkward? Is he going to try to pull one of his stunts, again? Are you going to fall for it, again? You looked down at Charlie who was long gone in dreamland and sighed. You had to do something about this situation. You had to give him to someone else. He couldn't be yout problem anymore. As a psychologist, you knew the way you felt and the thoughts you were thinking weren’t normal, and knew you had to act fast. You decided to ask Namjoon to trade one of his patients for Jimin, and prayed to God almighty that he agrees, because if he doesn’t, you don’t know how far you’re going to be willing to take this.

Author’s Note: Hope you guys enjoyed it :’)

© yoonqified, 2018. Do not copy or repost without permission.

masterlist

[rohobi]

Pulse 04 | (m)

Kim Taehyung | Medical AU |  Smut | Angst | Trauma | Patient death | Medical Jargon | Medical Inaccuracies | Mature Content | Multi-fandom Medical Team |  Warning: Mentions of anxiety, violence, trauma and blood, death, dying, cardiac arrests. Do not read this if you are triggered by those. Look after you. 

Wordcount: 9k; I got ahead of myself editing. Shout out to my eternal love @blushoseoks for being my beta and biggest supporter. I’ll do shout outs every chapter from now on :)  LISTEN ▶

CHAPTER SUMMARY: ❝ Save me, I need your love before I fall. Love at first emergency trauma.❞

↳ INDEX → CHAPTER 5

↣ Hour 1-2 | Post-Explosion

“This is your Emergency Department speaking. There has been a mass casualty event with a total number of expected casualties exceeding current support levels. We are requesting urgent assistance from the following departments: neurosurgery, thoracics, burns and plastics, renal and urology, paediatrics, vascular and orthopaedics, to accommodate the demand for critical care. The first 48 hours are critical, please present to ED immediately and assist, thank you.”

“Taehyung, we need to go!” Yoongi shouts, pulling Taehyung by the lapel of his coat and pushing him through the stairwell doors like a doll. “Get off your fucking phone!”

“They’re saying it’s a terrorist attack?” Taehyung stammers, letting Yoongi pull him into the stairwell. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

His voice echoes off the walls, as Yoongi shouts. “Shut the fuck up Taehyung, we don’t have time for this. Put your phone away and get your fucking stupid fucking head in the game.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Now’s not the time to think about anything else but our hospital, okay?”

“Fine.”

Taehyung takes a deep breath. Yoongi was right. It wasn’t the time to talk about this, they needed to move. He shoves his phone back into his pocket but the pictures of fire and smoke tattoo themselves on the back of his eyelids, regardless. And, he moves just that little bit quicker knowing that you might be downstairs right now.

“Have you had something to eat?” Yoongi asks, pulling him down the stairs. “You’re going to need your energy.”

He shakes his head. “I have thankfully, you?”

Yoongi hums his response as he rushes down the stairs. “I’m fine for now, I don’t think we’ll get much time to replenish ourselves so make sure you’re okay and look after yourself. I suspect patients are beginning to roll in downstairs.”

Taehyung nods, following behind Yoongi. “Let’s go.”

They both rush without speaking to each other. Which was easier for Yoongi, his mind was in a dizzying state of panic, he could barely think straight.  He was worried for you, knowing how heroic you try to be sometimes. He was worried for the patients, the ones you’ll no doubt be flooding his department and he was worried the most for Jimin, who had called him briefly in the back of an ambulance.

His phone had cut off mid sentence.

Yoongi’s heart had dropped and he was left screaming into the phone for a response and Sana, Taehyung’s Emergency Nurse nearby, had heard the broken sounds he made while she had packed her dressing table with bandages and saline. It was a moment of weakness for Yoongi, one he wasn't prepared to show anybody.

One that Sana had a front row seat in.

Everybody loses someone and something during these types of ordeals but you’re all in this together, no one will be left alone.

Taehyung begins to run, faster than he’s ever run before. He pants wildly next to Yoongi as they fly down staircases together, pushing through the ground floor white stairwell doors. It’s a sinking feeling of panic and responsibility, one that feels like tar at the bottom of his stomach.  

Yoongi shoves his ID against the wall, they wait until the light turns green before barging through the staff only doors and down the glass walled corridor towards the Emergency Room.

They don’t speak.

They don’t even look at each other.

The pair run again panic running through their blood as it intoxicates and fuels their wildest imaginations. Scenarios flash through his mind, all full of death. He sees it, no matter how hard he tries not to, beneath the starlight, your body charred from fire, broken on impact-

-he clenches his eyes closed tightly, not wanting to think of it, not believing that could ever be  the case. It was impossible, things like that don’t happen in real life.

Not to him.

There were so many things he hadn’t said.

So many things he wanted to explain.  

But the unmistakable sound of an explosion tears through the night sky, and his blood runs cold sparked by the realisation that he might not get the opportunity to tell you them because things that shouldn’t happen in Seoul, are happening.

And fuck, was that a big explosion.

They come to a halt outside the windows as the unmistakable orange light in the distance boils up from the forest.

Another loud sound of the blast follows.

A shiver runs down Taehyung's body.

They stop where they are to look at each other. Eyes full of terror, unspoken panic and worry, both unsure of what to do next. Yoongi is trembling as he looks down at his phone, was Jimin safe? Please be safe.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung says watching his bottom lip quiver as Yoongi looks up at him, sad eyes glistening underneath the bright light. Have they both just lost someone they loved? because at this point in time as the city is pulled apart by fire and smoke, anything was possible.

“Are you okay Yoongi?”

“I’m fine. We’ll be fine. It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay,” Yoongi gulps, trying to convince himself, more-or-less him. Taehyung watches him take off his thin black tie before dumping it into his coat pocket. “I don’t ...I can’t talk about whatever the hell is going on right now. Let’s just follow protocol and try to survive the next 24 hours without hurting someone or worse, ourselves.”

Taehyung says nothing in return. Somehow he’s not so convinced that this will roll over smoothly and resolve within 24 hours, let alone the next 2 hours when patients start crashing into ED.

And he was right.

Everything had happened far too quickly for any ritualized plan to accommodate when the first wave of casualties poured into the emergency department lobby. Oxygen dependent patients were transported first, sent straight to the high dependency unit, rushed down hallways and straight into the General Med ward.

Intubated patients with severe wounds compatible with life were thrown straight into ICU. Orthopaedic patients with broken hips were sent straight up to Taehyung’s ward. It was an organised mess, an artform in itself until the very second it wasn’t.

Because the second wave came in with wounds related to the explosion.

And everything turned to shit.  

All they had to go by now as the ER flooded with injured people, were coloured ribbons triaging people on who were likely to live the most from the injuries they sustained and who clearly, would not.

Across the hall, a nurse screams desperately out for help. “Dr. Taehyung, we need you over here. Vitals are crashing, we need orders!”

And so, he begins to run.

Taehyung has worked long enough in this industry to realise that life is a series of choices. Left or right? Up or down? Should you do this or should you do that? Should I give up happiness for the health of another? Should I stay or should I go?

Life is a series of choices strung together or pulled apart by either good or bad intentions, but for a doctor it’s much more abstruse. Their lives are about making the choices that affect the life and death of others. And, no matter how hard he tries to be omniscient and resilient in emergencies like this, he is still human. And no amount of normalizing the trauma he’s looking at right now, will ever make it not traumatic.

Because for the first time in a long time, Kim Taehyung is so fucking scared and nervous that he doesn’t know what to do.

“Dr. Taehyung!”

“H-he’s unresponsive,” he wipes the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead with the back of his hand. “What's his BP?” he exhales, watching Mena connect another bag of fluids to the patient.  

The nurses rush around him.

“BPs 90/50. Heart rates 110, resps are 26,” she says, pointing down the patient’s body, “Chest has abnormal movement, he looks like a thoracic case.”

Taehyung can’t think straight for multiple reasons but he perseveres, even when he hears the scream from the same nurse earlier rattling his brain. “Dr. Taehyung we need you over here! Please! For God sake, we need your help!”

“Shit,” He nods at her, biting his bottom lip before letting it go. “Grab Dr. Han, he’s the doctor in your team right? because this is definitely a thoracic case and I need to attend to that orthopaedic emergency. Monitor him every 5 minutes, oxygen, pain relief and antibiotics please.”

Mena nods, running over to the nearest thoracic surgeon, Dr. Han. They both rush back over, Dr. Han pats Taehyung’s back. “Where's your team?” he asks and Taehyung shakes his head.

“Sana is suturing. Em’s in redzone. The others are with a hip fracture.”

Dr. Han smirks, “Well, stick to your team Taehyung. I can’t have you in my space all the damn time, I already get too much of it at Mina’s.”

“Convince her to divorce me then. And, I would stick to my own team, if you even tried to stick to yours,” There's a bitter taste swelling in his mouth as he looks at the surgeon in front of him. He was such a fucking jerk. “Look after your team so I don’t have to.”

Rolling his eyes, Taehyung walks away and down the hallway towards the red zone, where he should’ve been earlier and where he’s being called to now.

“Over here Tae!”

“I’m coming!” he shouts back, now running towards the agressively loud cardiac monitors as they alert to deterioration in status. “What's the issue-

“He’s arresting!” Nurse Em  shouts, immediately jumping on his bed and initiating chest compressions. “Starting CPR.”

Rolling up his sleeves, Taehyung kicks the CPR break at the bottom of the bed, pulling the bed out from the wall while delegating advanced cardiac support roles to each member of staff. “Adrenaline, 10 ml IV go. I’ll intubate, defib now please!”

Taehyung runs to the head of the bed, looking at the empty basket hanging off the wall by the oxygen as everyone rushes around him.

“Fuck,” he shouts, prompting the interest of one of his students, who had been following him. “Younggi, I need an endotracheal tube and a laryngoscope.”

She nods, running as fast as she can to the storage room. Arriving less than a minute later with the intubation equipment box. He smiles at her, as she puts the box on the bedside dresser. “Watch closely because you’ll be doing this for the next one, I am tilting the head back to extend the atlanto-occipital joint. This will align the axes of the mouth, pharynx and trachea.”

The bed dips as a nurse continues chest compressions.

“Alright,” She passes laryngoscope to his gloved hands but he shakes his head, lifting his hand as in to stop. “Suction, please.”

Reaching over to the wall, she turns the unit on, handing him the long suction catheter. “Patients can vomit during resuscitation,” Taehyung sweeps it into his mouth, sucking up vomit before giving it back to Younggi. “Be mindful of that.”

He grabs the laryngoscope, inserting the tip of it into the right side of his mouth before fixing it straight into the vallecula. “And it goes right between the base of his tongue and the epiglottis.”

Taehyung looks down into his mouth, elevating the mandible and visualising the cords. Was it in the right place? Opening his other hand to her, he says without looking at her. “Endotracheal tube, please.”

She passes it to him, slapping it in his open palm.

Taehyung inserts the tube down his throat, and to the right side of the oropharynx before pushing the cuff past his vocal cords. The staff around him, prepare the patient for defibrillation.

Removing the laryngoscope, he hands it back to Younggi. Taemin, another student, hands Taehyung the paddles of the defibrillator while nodding to everyone in the team. The nurse gets off the patient's bed, panting from the CPR she just did.

“Administering shock, everyone get back!” Taehyung shouts, prompting everyone to stand back from the bed. Putting the paddles onto his chest, he shouts out louder. “Shoot!”

They all look back to the cardiac monitor for a change in rhythm before Taehyung leans forward to shock the patient again, and again until his rhythm comes back. Taehyung doesn't know how he does it, he blacks out every time he needs to do CPR but here he is, clear minded. The time calls for it, he assumes.

“He’s back in rhythm doctor, blood pressure is increasing ...he’s responding!” Taemin shouts out happily.

Taehyung sags in relief when he does. “Stabilize him please, monitor vitals, insert an indwelling catheter and take him upstairs to the cath lab stat.”  

The students nod as do the other staff. “On it.”

Medical emergencies can happen at anytime and with little to no warning in the hospital but it’s the perfect place to have one. Taehyung hasn’t had many hands on experiences with cardiac arrests being in orthopaedics but he’s always loved the thrill of matters pertaining to the heart.

“Taehyung! I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU EVERYWHERE YOU BIG IDIOT! I’m really confused and I need you!” Sana shouts, pulling him to her bedside. “This patient came in without assistance, I literally know nothing about him. I think he might be one of the first patients from the second wave and I don't know what to do.”

“He’s unresponsive too?” he wipes the sweat dripping down his forehead with the back of his hand as he reaches over to look into his pupils. How many more pupils will he look at tonight? “What are his vitals looking like? ” he exhales, watching Sana connect another bag of fluids to the patient.

“Not too good at all doc. His haemoglobin is low, I questioned whether we should give him blood but then again ...I don't really know,” she says. Nodding, he grabs his stethoscope, looking over the patient. “You weren’t told anything about his history or anything but where’s he bleeding from then?” he says, looking at the blood seeping into the sheets.

“Here,” ripping open his shirt, bandages cover a hole in his chest. “His chest. I don’t think it’s an arterial bleed but I have a feeling it went straight through an organ.”

“Shit, why didn’t you tell me that first?” He laments, biting his bottom lip before letting it go.

Sana announces beside him as he turns up the volume on the cardiac monitor. “He’s dying, I’m putting a red ribbon on his bed.”  

“Good idea,” Taehyung says, holding his stethoscope over the patient's heart. “Jugular vein distention due to impaired venous return to the heart and I hear muffled heart sounds probably due to fluid buildup inside the pericardium.”

Shit.

Fuck.

Looking at the monitor, he shouts out for a surgical trauma team. “Dr. Yoongi, we have a surgical emergency over here.”

“What?” Yoongi runs over immediately, perspiration dripping down his face. “What is it Tae?”

“It’s pericardial tamponade,” he nods, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck again. “Build up of blood in the pericardium, he’s got all the signs. No other notes on him. We came in knowing nothing.”

“Fucking hell,” he snaps, waving his hand, a trauma team run over, immediately taking the patient out of the yellow zone and straight into theatre. “We’ve got it from here.”

Taehyung and Sana stand side-by-side watching them rush the patient away. It was as if the entire thing happened in less than 5 seconds. “Thanks for that Taehyung. I nearly cried when Dr. Minho left me alone, never leave me like that, you asshole.”

“Stop running away then, you’re my nursing person, how can I possibly save people without you,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Plus, he probably got pulled into theatre so don’t be rude.”

“Communication is key,” she rolls her eyes. “Don’t excuse abandoning your team.”

“You’re right, communication is key. I’ll have a word with him when I see him.”

He closes the cubicle curtains as he leaves. It’s hot, Taehyung feels like a roast potato and he’s sweating, really badly sweating through his scrubs and he feels disgusting. He’s about to head into Yoongi’s office to steal his other coat but the shrivelled sound of his name being shouted across the floor, stops him.  

“Dr. Taehyung, we need you!”

He groans, pouting as he reluctantly rushes over to the cubical. “What’s the problem now?” Looking at the patient, he swings straight into action.

Tears were beginning to sting his eyes as he moved from patient to patient. As he sutured, as he assessed as he touched abdomens and legs, assessed fractures and looked at x-rays. He was a machine, running on adrenaline and pure concern for your safety.

Where were you?

Why weren’t you here?

Were you hurt?

Are you alive?

And it all happens too quickly to process how one can simply walk back into ones life as if nothing had even happened at all.  It all happens so quickly that Taehyung is caught completely off guard, shocked at your sudden arrival back into his life. He’s struck by the memories as they flood into his pounding heart and every corner of his brain, and for a long moment of time, he forgets where he even is. 

But for you? the experience is vastly different. The wounds you sustained in your heart have scabbed over into a hard wall protecting you from peoples bullshit, you aren’t the same soft bitch you were back then. Taehyung lied to you and your brain had processed the dishonesty as a painful reminder that you were not worth the truth to him. It was an ugly thought that festered into your soul, gnawed it’s teeth into your memories and killed the sunflowers blooming in your heart.

But who really needs sunflowers anyway when you’ve already got the sun.

Lifting your bottom off the patients lap, you put all your weight onto your knees as you continue chest compressions while they pull you out of the back of the ambulance. Jungkook moves out of the way, holding his broken arm as Seokjin and a pair of medical students push the stretcher out of the bay and through the automatic emergency department doors.

It’s tense.

Every inch they move you, the buzzing in your ear gets painfully louder. As a result, your counting out loudly, practically shouting to your team as Jimin runs beside the stretcher. “14, 15, 16….” 

“To the right!” a student says, enabling Jin to push you down the right white hallways. “How many people will we need for this?” he asks.

“As many as you want,” you shout, sweat dripping down your face. “Anyone who will help, I feel faint so let’s do this quickly please.”

“We’re almost there,” he reassures you, pushing you a little quicker on the stretcher. Patients with green ribbons wrapped around their arms, sitting on each side of the hallway, look up, moving out of the way for you, whispering among themselves.

People hold up phones, filming your ascent into the hospital.

Others simply gasp, following your every movement.

You are not surprised.

Nurses look startled as you pass and you can’t blame them. Your face is covered in soot and blood, and you’re doing CPR on a man with an entourage of 9 in your wake. The lights get brighter as you reach the hub of the Emergency Department but you have no time to look at the scenery because he’s still coding and as the minutes go by and no other doctor approaches, so does his chances of survival.

You look around the room for anyone running to your aid, no one does, so you scream. “I NEED HELP OVER HERE!”

Taehyung looks up to the sound of your voice, panicked and strained as he trips over a dressing table while staring at you. It’s contents spill across the floor but he can’t keep his eyes off of you enough to care.

You’re alive and it’s so like you to make an incredibly dramatic entrance.            

“Taehyung,” Sana waves her hand in front of his face as she helps him up. “Are you on crack or something, why are you so out of it?”

“Where do we go?” you shout.  Doctors look up from their clipboards, nurses begin their hustle to run towards you.  The entire department watches you, patients suddenly transfixed by your entrance. “We need a bed!” you shout impossibly louder, a small brunette runs over, pointing to an empty cubicle.

Yoongi runs out from his office. “Over there, go, we have doctors waiting to assist. Are you hurt?” 

You don’t answer.

Sweat drips through the dirt on your face.  

“She is,” Jungkook offers from behind you. “We were too close for comfort back there, all of us have some kind of injury.”

Yoongi immediately looks over Jimin. “Thanks for letting me know, you should go and get treated Jungkook. Anyone with fucking eyes knows your dumbass did something noble again and got your arm broken. 

“What?” Jungkook says, you can feel an argument about to perspire between the two again. “What did you just say?”

“Knowing you, I know you did something so piss off and get your arm treated.”

“No, I’m going to help Y/N, she needs help-

“GUYS, THERE'S MORE PRESSING ISSUES RIGHT NOW! YOU CAN MAKE OUT LATER. GET ME IN THE CUBICAL.”

Seokjin pushes you towards the empty cubicle and sweaty strands of hair fall in front of your face as you focus on compressions. The bed halts against the wall, people buzz around you, quick to provide advanced cardiac support.

“What happened?” a young doctor asks, and Jimin speaks up, relaying off everything he knew as the bedside rails are taken down. Sana connects Jimin’s ambu bag with oxygen, before pulling the resus trolley to the end of the bed.

Taehyung stands beside you, in shock as he looks over your appearance. There's a fresh patch of blood on the back of your coat, your hair is in a tangled floppy mess as loose strands covered your face and your scrubs couldn’t possibly get any dirtier. He’s wide eyed as an unspoken terror rips through him. Were you stuck in the hospital?

“Where’s the defib, we need to shock him now!” you shout, looking in every direction but at Taehyung, having not noticed he was even there.  

His hands shake at his side as he watches everything play out as though he wasn’t even in the room. Your white coat is covered in blood and all of you look like a mess. What happened?

“Are you going to help?” Sana asks him, drawing up amiodarone and adrenaline beside him. He falters as she hangs up a bag of glucose and saline on the hook of the trolley, leaving the medication on the trolley. “Taehyung?” 

He stands there, unable to move as the shock of seeing you rolls over him like wave full of razor blades. “Y/N…” 

“What are you even saying? God, get your head in the game,” she stammers, rushing beside you to set up the defib pads on the patient. “Setting up the pads now, keep compressing doctor. The machine is going to analyse his heart rhythm.”

“Get down from there Y/N,” Yoongi instructs, voice quivering as he shoves Taehyung into the curtain. “Aja, get on compressions after shock delivery. Administrate the adrenaline Sana,” looking at Jimin at the foot of the bed, Yoongi smiles thankfully. “Baby, I’m glad your safe and all but stay at the head of the bed on those resps and you watch me.”

They all follow his orders quickly. 

Jimin nods at him. His eyes are glistening with tears as he stares at the two people who matter the most to him, both okay. “Sorry to worry you Yoongi, it was a close one back there.”  

Standing in front of Jimin, despite everything, Yoongi leans forward to kiss his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

Jimin smiles at him. “Me too.”

“I’m getting down now. That’s my daily exercise done,” you shout, lifting your hands off the patient and clambering off the bed. Whoever put the bedrails down, didn’t click it correctly into place so as you go to get off, your foot gets stuck in between the bars, causing you’re unstable descent to the floor. “Woah- 

Taehyung moves forward quick enough to catch you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you sag against his chest. It was the only thing he had been able to do since you arrived, let alone act like a normal person and think like a doctor. The feeling is so familiar to him that he wants to bathe in it, it’s so familiar it hurts.

You feel his pounding heart against your back and then, you ignore him, thinking it to be Irene as you stand up straight. “God, I nearly broke myself. Thank you for that.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything as he lets you go and stands back.

You don’t recognise him?

“Right, Yoongi, he has no allergies that we know of,” Leaning forward, you rip open the rest of the patients shirt. Jungkook stays at the foot of the bed. “His medical history is a bit complex….”

Yoongi stands beside you listening to Jungkook and Taehyung falls to the side of the curtain to watch. Grabbing the defib, you hold the paddles to the patients chest. “Everyone stand clear. Shoot!” you shock.

You all look back at the rhythm on the monitor.  

No result.  

The machine continues to analyse his heart rhythm as Aja jumps onto the bed on his knees to do chest compressions. The machine advises a secondary shock. You turn to the defib and turn up the voltage, holding the paddles, you shout. “Everyone move. Administering shock.”

 They all move again.  

 You shock him

Chest compressions start again.

Your vision goes hazy.

And then your knees buck.

Yoongi catches you as you fall to his side. 

You try to stand up again but your guts suddenly churn with lungs full of acid and a mouth full of saliva. Everything around you is moving too quickly with no narrative and the floor feels like it’s tilting. “I think I’m going to throw up, Yoongi can you please continue, I need to have a moment.”

Yoongi nods, grabbing the paddles. “I’m giving you more than a moment, I’ll have my team take over. Go and get treated, you too Irene and Jimin. Get out of my sight.” 

“I’ll stay,” Irene says, looking between you all. “I’m not hurt and I want to ...no, I need to see this through. He has to be okay after everything we’ve gone through tonight.” 

Yoongi nods. “Fine, but go get some rest after this. Go draw up some more adrenaline.” She smiles widely, nodding her head as she runs back to the foot of the bed.

As you walk away with Jimin, Dr. Xiumin wraps his arm around your waist, suddenly steering you towards the ambulance bay. There’s an urgency in his voice that feels like you two are being defibrillated because you throw thoughts of rest away in favour of the trembling favour on the tip of his tongue.

“I need your help,” he says, handing you a cool bottle of water. “Both of your help.”  

“With what?” You and Jimin look over at each other in confusion. “Sure…”

There were many secrets kept at Forest Lakes, that you knew well but what you didn’t know about was the nature of the explosions and that the secret Dr. Xiumin harboured could get you all killed.

“Patients a 64 year old male, hemodynamically unstable with orthopaedic deformity,” Dr. Xiumin announces, pushing the stretcher towards a discrete room in the short stay unit, adjacent to ED. He turns to you, once the bed has been pushed up against the wall. His eyes are serious, hands shaking by his side. “He’s also the congressman and we need utmost discretion with his care.”

You still your body, eyes rushing over to the face you recognise faintly from your past, back then, he was the senator. “The congressman you say?”

He nods.

Stepping close to you, he whispers into your ear. “He was being treated in the VIP ward with other members of congress, Dr. Hoff suspected something wasn’t right ...could barely get a pint of blood in before his vitals crashed and we had to resuscitate him.”

“After we stabilised him, Dr. Hoff had this crazy suspicion that something wasn’t right, people were behaving weirdly, people we had never seen before so he asked that I sedate him and discreetly take him down to ED short stay for further treatment. By the time I got there, I had wheeled him into a chaotic department on Code Black, I haven’t seen Dr. Hoff since.”

The atmosphere is rendered silent by this.

Shooting a concerned sidelong glance to Jimin who had followed you in, you watch him bow his head while clenching his eyes closed. He bites down on his bottom lip to stop the tears from forming in his eyes. Jimin and Dr. Hoff had been close; a relationship akin to father and son.

“You haven’t seen him since you left the ward?” Jimin asks. His voice is muffled and you hear a squall of tears tangled in his throat and when adds, “Do you think he made it out alive?”

Silence.

You look back at the patient.

Dr. Xiumin looks at you. “I don’t need to answer that, you already know Jimin.”

And maybe he does but maybe now’s not the time to believe it.

Holding up the patient's file, Dr. Xiumin paces the room explaining his condition. It becomes clear that he needs more input from specialised doctors. “John Doe is a 64 year old male. Admitted to Forest Lakes today at 19:39 following an apparent car crash on the way to the Blue House. The mechanism of injury is unknown, injuries sustained range from an open fracture of the left radius and closed fracture of the left ulnar, bilateral lung contusion and I think it’s worth exploring whether he has an intracranial bleed.”

Writing on your clipboard, you nod. “Medical history?”

“Has a known history of drug and alcohol abuse, diabetes mellitus type 2 controlled well by oral hypoglycemics, smokes a pack of cigarettes a day. He’s got hypertension too.”

Writing your notes, Jimin takes his vital signs, checking them religiously for a change in status. “Y/N, he’s breathing rapidly, his resps are in the thirties and his oxygen saturations are shot, 78%. I’m putting him on high flow oxygen 15L/min.”

“Please,” you say, doing a head to toe examination of the patient. “Dr. Xiumin, he has unequal chest rise bilaterally with paradoxical movement of the chest wall.”

Walking around the side of his bed, you hold up the white sheet maintaining his dignity as you look at his body. “Upper chest abrasions but from the look of them, no open wounds.”

Rolling the patient on the side with you, Dr. Xiumin smiles. “No posterior injury, thank goodness.”

“Yes but he has reduced air entry and he looks like shit.” you snort, putting the blanket back on the patient. “He has no active bleeding elsewhere from what I see.”

Taking out your pupil torch, you open his eye lids with your finger tips, shining your torch to check for equal reflection of light in his pupils. “His glascow coma scale is pretty shitty but his pupils are good, I’ll still order a CT scan of his brain though, just to be sure.”

He nods. “Good idea.”

“Jimin, can you please hook him up to a litre of IV fluids, just NS 0.9% for now, let’s see if we can lift his blood pressure. I feel uncomfortable with how low it is.” you say, clicking your pen and putting it back into your pocket.

“I’m so glad I found you guys when I did,” Dr. Xiumin says, shifting on his feet beside you. “So, what can I do?”

“Get a pelvic, radius and ulna x-ray, a CT brain and lateral C-spine please. If you’re concerned with the results find the orthopaedic on reg and get him on board, we’ll definitely need his help.”

“I’ll get a portable one,” He smiles at you. “I’ll do that now.”

“Jimin, where's Irene? I need her on this too.” you ask and he turns to you while connecting the bag of fluids to the patient's cannula, making sure not to trip over the line as he walks over to you.

“She’s with our MVA cardiac arrest patient,” he stammers, ripping off his gloves and throwing them in the bin. “He’s been defibbed 10 times now, I think she’s waiting for him to go up to the hospitals lab for catheterisation.”

“Well,” you sigh, opening the door. “She needs to be here, I’ll go grab her. For now, give him some IV morphine and the antibiotics written on his drug chart. Monitor his condition every 5 minutes and I’ll grab Irene to draw some bloods. We need coags, blood chemistry and haemoglobin levels.”  

“I can just do that for us?” Jimin nods, rushing straight into action. “I’ll be quick.”

“Yes, please. Let me know when you get the results.”

“Will do.”  He says, pouting up at you as he pulls out the medication. “Go get Irene though, Forest Lakes staff need to stick together, we’re in enemy's territory right now and all this white is making me uncomfortable.”

Closing the door behind you, you sag against it, taking a deep breath. The weight of responsibility never felt so heavy and your entire body felt like jelly. You knees were trembling and at this rate, if someone were to hand you a scalpel, you’d be the one being cut open, you shook, everywhere.

Walking across the floor, your patient’s stretcher is quickly rushed past you. “LETS GO TEAM!” Doctors run beside him. Their white coats look like clouds in comparison to the raggedy one you’re about to throw out. Faces are covered with white surgical masks as their feet push the patient towards surgery.

You felt like a storm drain with everything continuously pouring in since the explosion, seemingly never stopping. You close your eyes for a second but the bright light still hits the back of your eyelids, making patterns of spangled chaotic colours of red, blue and white dance inside your skull.

It was disorienting, completely and insanely dizzying.

Being a doctor, you were aware of these symptoms. You need to stop and take a break, you’ve just experienced a massive trauma. The anxiety you are feeling is normal, you’d expect it following such an event. You rub over your heart, feeling palpitations ripple through your chest and the telltale signs of an anxiety attack as it forces your eyes back open. You don’t get a good look at the doctors pushing him away because everything looks like you're mixing pink paint with water.

“RUSH HIM BEFORE HE CRASHES, WE NEED AN EKG STAT!” A doctor you don’t know screams. “RUSH HIM TO CARDIO, WE’RE PUTTING HIM UNDER-

The doors close behind them.

His screams turn into muffled hopes of recovery as they get further and further away.  

It is as though time stops for you, when Irene runs towards you, ponytail swishing behind her. Concern is drawn across her face as she rubs your shoulders, and somehow the simple action grounds you. She stares at you with big bright eyes.

You feel relieved.

Smiling at you, she says. “Hey, we brought him back, Dr. Taehyung went against his superiors orders and continued CPR, he didn’t die, we bought him back.”

“Wait, excuse me what did you just say? Who?” Your heart spikes as you look up in alarm. “Dr. Taehyung’s here?”

“He was, he went with the patient to the cath lab,” She smiles innocently, patting the dirt off her white nursing scrubs. “He was the good looking doctor who caught you when you fell getting off the patient. You lucky duck! Living my dream!” She smacks your arm playfully but the feeling of friendly banter doesn’t register as ice grows in your blood.

“Kim Taehyung?”

Blinking at you, she asks. “Why? Do you know him?”

You laugh nervously before shaking your head. “No, not anymore. He was someone I went to school with.”

“Oh.” She frowns, knowing not to press on the piece of personal information you’ve just offered. Irene hasn’t worked with you closely before this but everyone in the department knows about your personality and how closed off you are to your past.

It’s what made you a mystery but Irene knows better than that, you were a strong woman, dominating your field of medicine in a male dominated profession.  

Diluting your art with matters of the heart, would be down right stupid and it would prove all the bearded smirking consultants right. You were a professional who moved like the wind when the need rose with enough force to become a hurricane. Irene respected that.

You still think about it sometimes.

What happened.

You were young back then, you sincerely believed everything you did was disposable, temporary; never meant to stay. Taehyung was different but you drove your own speeding car away from that one, leaving him and memories of him far behind. It hurt and you didn’t want hurt anymore, not when you had the ability to take the pain away.

Somehow you had thought meeting him again would be more dramatic and your heart would be able to point him out in a crowd in an instant. You snort before laughing loudly at the now growing fact that you hadn’t even recognised him, to caught up with your patient.  

Go figure.

“I feel good.” you smile, and she shakes her shoulders cutely at you.

“Do you?”  

You nod. “I’m a good doctor.”

Laughing, she slaps her your shoulder playfully. “Of course you are, you’ve done well. You should seriously look after yourself though. Now that we’re kind of free, do you want to see if there are any doctors to patch us up?”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you that to,” you say, pointing at her cheek. “Your wound doesn’t look deep enough for stitches, maybe just some steri strips for now?”

“I was thinking the same,” looking down at her scrubs, she frowns. “Honestly Y/N, I’m going to kill you if this blood doesn’t come out of my uniform.”

You snort. “Is that what you care about right now?”

“Of course, looks matter too! How else am I supposed to find myself a husband in this hospital?”

Rolling your eyes, you flick her forehead hard. “With your personality and compassion and you don’t need a man!”

“Not yet.” she giggles.

Yoongi walks up to you two with a stern look on his face, immediately throwing his arms around you. He pulls you into his chest tight, tenderly holding you against his smelly sweaty shirt. “I’m so fucking happy to see you, come on, let’s get you treated.”

Pulling out of his embrace, he pulls you and Irene over towards the bed next to Jungkooks. He looks up at you, arm already dressed and hanging up in pillowcase hanging from an IV pole.

“Hey.” he whispers as you gently sit on the bed, embarrassment floods your body when Yoongi closes the curtain and you realise that he’ll have to dig shards of glass out of your ass.

“How you feeling?” you ask him, peeling your coat off and dropping it to the floor. “You good?”

Jungkook sighs, putting his other arm up behind his head. “They gave me pain relief and I definitely won’t be able to practice with my arm like this but that’s fine.”

He watches you gently move onto your side, grimacing at the pain shooting down your leg. “Where are you hurt?” Yoongi asks, sitting on a stool beside you. Irene sits on the stool in Jungkook’s cubicle as a junior doctor attends to her cheek. “There’s a lot of blood here…”

You sigh, gesturing for Jungkook to close the curtain between you. “I have shards of glass in my butt.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Well,” Jungkook laughs behind his curtain. “We all knew you had something up there.”

“Yah.” you shout at Jungkook, holding up your fist at him and Yoongi laughs loudly behind you.

“Hey, can you not encourage him?” You turn and slap Yoongi’s chest. “Shut up, and treat me.”

After her cheek is bandaged, Irene pops through the curtain, standing next to Yoongi as she helps to gently pull down your pants. It stings and you really wish you had done your laundry because the underwear you’re wearing is a $3 thong you bought 3 years ago and it’s ugly.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he whispers, looking at the shards embedded into your skin. “Irene, can you cannulate her and draw up some IV pain relief for her, this is going to be fucking painful.”

“No, don’t do that. Just pull them out,” You say, sinking into the blankets. “If you give me pain relief, I won’t be able to work.”

Yoongi sighs. “Fine, you’re the boss.”

“Jungkook,” you say and he pulls open the curtain as Yoongi begins his extraction. “Talk to me, distract me. Tell me what's going through your mind.”

He glances at you, pink dusting his cheeks. “Thank you,” he whispers, the sincerity in his voice silences your automatic retort. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Did she save your life Jungkookie?” Yoongi asks from behind you. You bite into the pillow as he pours antiseptic all over your butt.

Irene pops out to grab you a pair of new scrub pants.

“She saved my life Yoongi,” Jungkook says, eyes glistening intensely at you. You look away, unable to handle the intense sincerity on his face. “I got locked in the drug room ...and everyone had left me in there and when the first blast went off, I thought I was a dead man. I honestly and earnestly thought, I was going to die.”

Yoongi stays silent.

“I had grabbed a vial of medication, ready to end it all. I didn’t want to die in pain, you know? I had drawn it up and everything and was going to stab myself with it.”

You nod.

“I just kept thinking that if I died, no one would remember me as a good doctor and my family would be so upset about it. I rammed that door so many times but it wouldn’t budge. I had been bolted in.”

Pulling out the first shard of glass, you whimper into the blankets. “I’m so sorry Jungkook,” you whimper. “No one should’ve ever gone through what you did.”

“I screamed so much that it felt like my throat had been ripped raw Y/N, I thought I was going to truly die in there but when you opened the door, it was like taking a breath of air after being in water for too long. In those seconds of seeing you and that door opening, the most indescribable relief I have ever felt washed over me.”

You giggle. “I have that effect on people.” you wink, but it goes straight over him.

“I can’t thank you enough Y/N, I owe you my life,” you watch tears fall down his face. “I promise you that I’ll be different after this, I’ll be a good doctor and you’ll be proud of me.”

Yoongi pulls out the rest of the shards and you wince loudly, gripping onto the sheets. Jungkook wants to lean over and hold your hand through it but you’ve never been the type of girl to need someone else to support you and he has a broken arm, so he doesn’t.

Despite your aching need to be consoled.

Gritting your teeth as he dresses the wounds, Irene walks back through the curtains with a a pair of new pants, a new coat and a tetanus injection for you. “Look, Jungkook. Don’t tell me what you’re going to do, show me. I know you have it in you, just show me.”

“I will,” He nods. “I definitely will.”

Irene stands in front of you, injecting the vaccine into your arm. “Do you feel like this was supposed to happen?” she asks. “I’ve been thinking about it since we got here, but doesn’t it feel like we were supposed to come here?”

Yoongi’s pager goes off as he slaps your butt, you wince, shooting him an aggressive facial expression. Looking down, he clicks through the little black box before checking his phone.

He sighs immediately. “More incoming casualties, they’re closing down the Children's Hospital and all pediatric patients are being sent here. Great, just fucking great.”

Sitting up, you tie your hair back up, pulling all the strands out from your face. “Do we have any paediatric doctors on standby?”

He nods. “We do and we have you too.”

“Lets go, the others probably need help.” you sigh, jumping off the bed to put the fresh new pair of pants on and grabbing a fresh white Seoul Hearts coat from Irene's hands. You pick up your mangled stethoscope from your own coat on the floor before chucking it into the bin.

“Hey,” Yoongi stops you from following him. “Wash your fucking face girl, you look like you’ve been rolling around in dirt.”

“You swear too much Yoongi,” Rolling your eyes, you push his smirking face away. “I do not miss your potty mouth.”

He smiles sincerely at you. “I’m sure that’s not true. I’ll see you in the hub when you’re done, best to get some food in you.”

You salute him before walking towards the staff bathroom. Pushing through its white gender neutral labelled doors, the cold air conditioning hits your face as you walk towards the sink. You don’t look into the mirror yet, in fear of what you might see. So, you sag against the counter, turn the tap on and shove your hands underneath the stream.

You aren’t sure if it’s the relief from the water that you feel rush through you or the systemic relief from being alive. Who knows?

Leaning forward, you scrub your face with the warm water and a dollop of hand wash from the dispenser in front of you. You watch colours of black, brown and red go down the drain as you scrub behind your ears.

It hurts, your body hurts, you feel anxious, your joints feel stiff and your ass is burning and you’re kind of terrified for the next 48 hours but at least you were alive, and unlike any other situation, feeling the aforementioned was a truly good sign.

It’s true what they say about trauma being undeniably agonizing but as you as finally look up and stare at your now clean face, save for the scratches and superficial wounds on your arms, you realise the beauty of it all.

You’re safe.

Turning the tap off, you pull down the sleeves of your coat. You stare at your reflection one last time before pushing off the counter and heading out the bathroom. The next hours are uncertain, anything could happen, especially with Taehyung but there is one thing you are certain about. You are profoundly aware of the extraordinary value of life, happiness and love now that you have faced the possibility of loss.

You wonder how that might come into play when this is all over. Will you still be the same? Or will you realise your own life, happiness and love are important? And that no matter how many times you scrunch up the past like a piece of paper and throw it into the nearest bin, people who are meant to be in your life will always come back and be in your life.

The bathroom door closes behind you as you walk towards the hub of the Emergency Department.

Taehyung stands a couple feet away, throwing his surgical mask and apron into the bin.

You stop, faltering at the sight of him as chaos erupts around you both. He looks up, hands twitching at his side. It’s like time has paused when you both stare at each other for the first time in a long time.

And Taehyung smiles softly at your now clean appearance. “Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk across the room to you. You watch him as he makes four long strides towards you, closing the gap between you two. “It’s been a long time.”

Your heart begins to pound in what you hoped to be muscle memory as you stare blankly at the man. Your lips move and your brain blunders, 

“T-taehyung.”

A/N: If I made you feel things, tell me here

[cherryplasmids]

☆ stars above, stars below ☆

pairing: leonard ‘bones’ mccoy x reader  fandom: star trek reboot — out of movie sequence prompt:  “i want to stare up at the stars with you one last time” notes: character death 

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

All he could think about was the stars.

He never cared for them because they never captured his attention enough for him to gain any sort of appreciation for them. Why care for a huge ball of gas held together by gravity? The only star that mattered was the sun — not any other incomparable remote fragment. It’s needed for survival on Earth while other stars were there to look pretty.

He simply hated space and everything in it, including all the objects that didn’t harm him or benefit him — like stars.

Somehow, though, in this moment they appeared brighter than usual. Scattering charmingly across the night sky, their colors contrasting against the dark background. Regardless of what commotion occurred on any planet, they were always there, shining brightly.

It reminded him of you.

And maybe that’s why he was thinking so highly of them right now. He was vulnerable, unsure of what fate has in store for him. Their remoteness triggered fond memories of you always being there by his side. Never once leaving even when his unlovable flaws appeared. Nothing could keep you away from the Southern doctor.

He wished to be with you. To hold you and kiss you like he did only several hours ago.

How could something go wrong so fast?

One minute he was working on a patient in an unknown planet’s clinic and then the next minute, the northwest wing exploded, sending him several yards away. There were an abundance of screams and crying from injured people. Yelling mixed in only a few moments after. Officers were trying to locate the wounded. Everything sounded fuzzy to him, voices going in and out. Silence one minute, loud yelling the next. They were all foreign and distant.

He tried calling out for attention, for help, but his voice was just above a whisper. If they didn’t find and aid him soon, he would surely die. The blood gushing from his head and chest would attest to that. However, no matter how bad it looked, he didn’t feel pain.

No, all he felt was longing. He wanted to see you again.

“Bones!” A feminine dismembered voice screamed out, the same voice that soothed him on a stressful day — the one that seduced him on cool nights. The utter frantic tone did not register in his head. Instead, he heard the tinkle of your beautiful voice, chiming prettily like church bells after a wedding. He imagined you in a white gown, despite the lack of virginity you have. It made him chuckle, he was much funnier when he was drowsy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“BONES!” You cried out, complete devastation lacing the word. “Goddammit Leonard, where are you?!” A strangled gurgle caught your attention, which caused you to have a moment of internal conflict. Leo could be severely hurt, dying as you helped someone else. Although you needed to find Leonard, you couldn’t ignore an injured victim. So you stopped running and yelling to find the hurt person. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

The strangled sound occurred again, giving you a hint of where the person might be. After a few minutes of searching, you fell to your knees at the sight, hands covering your mouth in complete shock. There was an abundance of blood, covering every portion of the injured upper body. Blood pooled around the head area, only increasing the overwhelming fright you already had. And oh fuck the smell induced a certain stomach-stinking effect — copper mixed with death. You crawled towards the blue-shirted body, fearing the absolute worse.

It was Leonard. Your Leonard.

You just about died right there.

Your hands automatically went to his face, noticing his eyes fluttering between being open and closing. Tapping his cheek, you attempted to get him to stay up. Despite the obvious large piece of shrapnel sticking from his chest, it wasn’t the worst wound. No, his head injury was much more grave. Panic rose within you. Nursing was not your occupation.You worked with Scotty in the engineering department, meaning anything dealing with the body was extremely out of your league.

“Leonard? Baby, can you hear me?”

Bones felt his nerves ease relatively fast. The voice that spoke to him, calmed him down. It was an angel no doubt. Perhaps it was the stars. If he had known they would speak such beautifully, his opinion of them would have dramatically changed years prior.

And then when he opened his eyes, the most exquisite star of them all was staring right back him, automatically bringing a smile to his face.

“Hey, sexy.” He whispered out, raising his hand to brush the hair away from your face. Well, he tried to. His limbs wouldn’t move on his command, but did that bother him? No, not when you were there.

“You’re bleeding, Leo. It doesn’t look so good. We need to get help, fix you up a bit. And then, you’ll be right as rain.” You tried smiling, but it came out as a grimace. Leonard taught you a while back that positivity in these moments was vital in keeping the patient calm. Any sort of hysterics would cause more damage. “You need to tell me what to do.”

“Haven’t kissed you since the morni’.”

Although this was a terrible circumstance, a light giggle slipped out of your lips. “Only you would think about that at a time like this.” Then a little lightbulb went off in your brain. Pressure was needed to stop the bleeding or at least, halt it until Leonard could get the proper medical care.

However, your hands trembled and your body stilled. There was so much fucking blood. It was all over you know as you tried saving your boyfriend. It made you want to throw up or pass out. The unsettling sight would haunt you for sure.

“The stars are stun’n’ ‘night.” Leonard’s words were slurred, which didn’t seem like a good thing.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you read me?” A sudden Scottish voice called out, sounding a bit frantic and out of breath. You sighed in relief, quickly grabbing your Communicator and spoke hastily into the object.

“Scotty!”

“I was worried about ya lass, where are ya?”

“Listen, Scotty, I’m with Leonard.” You said, pausing for a moment when Scotty cried out in happiness. “It doesn’t look so good. He’s bleeding, everywhere.” Your eyes teared up at every word you spoke. Even though there was hope pulsing through your veins, there was a tinge of fear gradually gaining control. “If we don’t get a doctor now, he’ll —”

“Dammit, I am a doctor.”

A choked laugh mixed with a sob emitted from your throat, as Scotty began talking and to be honest, you wished Scotty had never called. It would take more than a half hour for the crew to get your location due to an unsuspecting enemy attack. They assumed the same enemies trying to kill them was the people behind the explosion.

“Scotty, he doesn’t have 30 fucking minutes. If you don’t send anyone right now, he’ll die and that’ll be on your fucking conscious.” Slamming the Communicator shut and beside you, you gave your full attention to your bleeding doctor.

“Does it hurt? There’s a large piece of building shrapnel stuck in your chest.” You felt stupid for asking but you didn’t know what else to say. How do you comfort a man on the brink of death?

“It doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.” Was all he said, negating your question entirely. You have no idea what that meant since it was most likely a southern phrase, but you did stop asking him questions.

“Remem’ our firs’ da’e? The truck one?” You nodded, brushing his hair away from his face. “I said I hat’d stars.”

“Because they remind you of space. And you hate space.”

“Not anymore. If I didn’ go to spa’ the’ no meetin’ you.” He smiled his fine lines wrinkling at the movement. It made you smile too, despite the tears raining down your face. His eyes began fluttering shut, prompting you to tap his cheek. His eyes shot open, looking more energetic than before. Sleep disappeared and he coughed up a bit of blood. You dabbed it away, disregarding the amount of blood already spilled.

“I love the stars, but that could never compare to the love I have for you.” He whispered gently, no longer slurring. He was gazing at you with the most adoration you have experienced in your entire life.

But then it suddenly hit you — this was his goodbye.

An overwhelming amount of anxiety smacked you in the face, suddenly sucking all sorts of breath out of you. Shaking your head you peered down at your Southern hunk with an angered expression. “Listen to me, Leonard McCoy and listen good. You are not dying here. You’re gonna die when I say you can, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He cheekily smiled. A deep sob released from you, not one bit as happy as Bones seemed to be. “Baby?” You raised your head, meeting his hazel eyes. Laughter was no longer present, but complete serious emotion. “I have one wish to fulfill before I go.”

You nod, leaning up to him to hear his soft words. The snot and tears mingled with one another, making you look extremely disgusting. However, Bones found you beyond beautiful, the complete embodiment of elegance.

“I want to stare up at the stars with you one last time.”

Each syllable destroys every piece of your heart. That was his last wish, his last memory and he wanted to spend it with you. Who were you to deny such a thing?

Leonard grabs your hand, attempting to get you to lay down next to him. You comply, slowly laying down next to his body, despite the warm substance of blood coating your upper body and hair.

It was silent between the pair, completely focusing their attention on the brightly shining stars above them. Leonard couldn’t help but smile — after all he had his best girl and the stars. Nothing could stop his happiness. So he gently shut his eyes, the smile never wiping off his face as the light gradually disappeared.

Once his breathing stopped, you released a bloodcurdling sob, shaking as you tightly held his cold, still hands.  

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 1,720 published: jan 7, 2018 edited: n/a

[originaljediinjeans]

Kitten Therapy

As requested by @quaintandcuriouspuppet, this was a pleasure to write, thank you!

The pain medication they gave him after the surgery was so effective that he felt almost normal the day after. His nurse, Dia Luhmara, was pleased when he told her this.

Since coming out of cryo, Nurse Dia had been the charge nurse looking after him, checking his vitals at regular intervals, bringing him his medications and seeing to his comforts. She was a short, plump woman who wore a white lab coat over her scrubs and a pair of gold earrings.

“You need to test your new arm, now that you have it attached,” she said to him. “Doctor Nokomo thinks it is wise to begin your first therapy regimen today.”

She led him out of his quarters and down the hall of Wakanda’s Royal Medical Center.

“I thought I told him I wasn’t ready for therapy yet,” he said, catching up with her. Nurse Dia was a fast walker, and the pace she set down the corridor took him by surprise.

“Bucky, this is the most universal therapy treatment in the world,” she told him as she stopped in front of a door. “In Wakanda it is standard practice.” She pressed her finger on a scanner above the door handle, and the door unlocked with a click. Bucky followed her into another hallway with more doors on both sides. He was wearing a long sleeved shirt and loose pants, both colored gray. He only glanced at Dia long enough to see where she was going so he could follow. He was looking over his shoulders with every step. He was nervous. He was uncomfortable and alone. Everyone here was too nice to him. Except for Nurse Dia.

“Where’s Steve?” he asked her. It was the second time he had asked that day.

“I do not know where your friend is,” said Dia calmly.

He had to remind himself that it had been two years. Steve would not have waited around.

He wanted to ask Dia if the Wakandan Royal Medical staff had found a cure for his Winter Soldier programming yet. He wanted to ask someone. But he was too afraid to ask. It was like there was some unspoken rule against mentioning why he had been brought here. They had fitted him with a new metal arm without hesitation the day after waking him up.

But he remembered that the doctor he had spoken with had agreed to leave him on cryo until they had a cure. That was what he had said. But was there a formal agreement? He should have insisted on those terms being followed rigidly. Maybe put it in writing.

On the other had, it wasn’t like he was going to be triggered here. And if these people were as good as their word, then they had to be working on something.

Dia must have seen the anxiety on his face. She took him by the shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Bucky, you are in a safe place.” She then put her finger on another scanner set into another door. There was a click. “Now, Bucky, this is our animal treatment center. You can forget your human problems.”

Dia opened the door and let him inside. The were in a small, carpeted room with a few furnishings. Dia closed the door hastily. And then Bucky heard loud mewing at his feet. He looked down. Five kittens were rushing up to Nurse Dia’s feet--five little tails straight up in the air, five little faces with big eyes and whiskers. Two began climbing Dia’s scrubs.

“Oh no,” he said. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Dia laughed as she looked down at the kittens mobbing her. “Little ones, please, I need to move. I don’t have food.”

Bucky looked around the room--there had to be a food dish somewhere. There was a food and water dispenser set up in the corner, and both containers were full.

“I don’t think they want food.”

Nurse Dia laughed louder as she sat down on a padded chair. She plucked one of the climbing kittens from off of her pants and started petting it. “Then I think they want to get out. Heaven knows they are wanting more space to play in. Make yourself comfortable, Bucky.”

There was another chair in a corner beside Dia, but Bucky decided to sit on the floor. The carpet was soft and thick.

The four remaining kittens scattered across the room again to play. The kittens had tawny-colored coats covered with broken bands of dark stripes and spots.

“These are Wakandan savannah cats,” Nurse Dia explained to him from her chair. “This litter is six weeks old. We are breaking them in.”

“Breaking them in for what?”

“Working with humans as therapy animals.” Nurse Dia kept on petting the kitten in her lap, but it wouldn’t sit still. “Wakandan cats are bred to be good human companions and provide comfort for people with physical and emotional needs. Pets are integral to our physical and psychological therapy methods, here in Wakanda. And here at the Royal Medical center, we have a special staff of cats trained to work exclusively with our patients.”

“Cat therapy? Really?”

“Yes. It is incredible how slowly the rest of the world is catching up with using animals in therapy.”

“Well, um, I’m more of a dog person, really.” He watched one of the kittens play with a little toy mouse tied to a string.

“We have dogs, too. But puppies are much more physically aggressive. Doctor Nokomo wants you to start with gentle interaction.”

The kitten he was watching began to bite the toy mouse. Then one of its siblings pounced onto the kitten’s back from behind. The kittens rolled off of each other, and then the attacked kitten arched its back and hissed.

“Gentler. Okay.”

Bucky heard a high-pitched meow by his right elbow. One of the kittens was looking up at him and mewing. Its tiny eyes and face expressed confusion and maybe curiosity--perhaps this kitten had not seen many humans before. He moved his arm to grab the kitten. The kitten turned to flee. Bucky picked up the kitten by the scruff of its neck. The kitten wailed in protest. Bucky held up the kitten to his chest with his metal arm, and he stroked the kitten’s head with his good hand. The kitten tried to squirm away. “It’s okay,” he said to the kitten. “I won’t hurt you. I’m not supposed to hurt you, I think.” He looked up at Nurse Dia. “So you want me to test my new arm in here?”

“Yes,” said Dia. “See if you can just use it normally to play with the kittens.”

He set the kitten on his leg. The kitten seized its chance and jumped away. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You will be having more advanced tests later,” Dia informed him. The kitten on her lap finally jumped down from the chair.

“Okay.”

The other furniture in the room consisted of two side tables against the walls and a carpet-lined cat tree. The floor was scattered with cat toys of every variety: feathers, bells, balls, and strings of baubles, not too different from what one would find in the pet aisle at your typical American grocery store. The kittens were not very strong and did not have much coordination, but their claws were strong enough to pop the carpet and the lower levels of the cat tree as they attempted to climb. The kittens had a short attention span: they would be playing with a toy one moment, and the next they were play-fighting one of their siblings. It was all the same in their view, Bucky thought. He scooted across the floor closer to the cat tree. He wanted to hold one of the kittens or at least play with one, or else his time in here would be wasted. He wasn’t sure what other objective his doctors had for bringing him there. Nurse Dia simply watched him.

There was a ramp on the base of the cat tree, and the kittens could scamper up and down it with ease. Two of the kittens chased each other up to a small platform at the top of the ramp and wrestled each other. They did not pay much attention to the human leaning over to watch them. One of the kittens ran back down the ramp. The other kitten would have followed, but then it took notice of its tail and began to bat it with its paws.

Bucky leaned forward over the kitten. The kitten rolled onto its back and scooted in a circle as it tried to catch its tail. Bucky was leaning over the kitten with his long hair over his face, and soon enough the kitten noticed the human’s dark hair dangling over it. The kitten grabbed a bit of Bucky’s hair between its front paws and started to gnaw on it. Bucky instinctively jerked back, but this spurred the kitten’s attack. The kitten’s grip was surprisingly strong.

“Ow,” said Bucky, feeling the tug on his hair.

The kitten sat up on its hind paws and entangled itself in several strands of Bucky’s hair. Nurse Dia was watching, and she laughed.

“You let go,” said Bucky, finally sticking his hand out in front of the kitten and pulling his hair free. The kitten jumped onto Bucky’s knee and then down to the floor to attack a pink and blue ball with a little bell inside of it. One of the other kittens immediately fought the first for possession of the ball.

Bucky turned himself away from the cat tree. He saw a little rod on the floor with a string tied to it, and on the end of the string was a bright green fake feather and a little bell. Bucky took the pole by the end. One of the kittens was sitting on its own in the middle of the carpet, licking itself. Bucky dangled the feather over the kitten.

“Here kitty,” he said. “Here kitty.” He bounced the toy over the kitten, well out of its reach. The kitten watched the toy, moving its head back and forth as the toy was moved. Then Bucky lowered the toy. Just when the kitten was about to strike, he jumped the toy away from it. Then he brought the toy back to the kitten. This time the kitten was able to strike it before Bucky moved it away. He repeated the action several times. He got the kitten to roll on its back as he dangled the bait overhead, and the little bell chimed brightly. Then he allowed the kitten to ensnare the feather and bell and chew on them. With some difficulty he extracted the bait again.

Two of the other kittens had seen the toy in action. Bucky swung it over all of their heads and watched their little faces follow it. “Woo, woo!” he said, not sure if the sound effect made it more entertaining to them. One of the kittens jumped and intercepted the flying bait. Then another one jumped on the first by the tail. The first kitten turned its attention to the litter mate and they started to wrestle. The third kitten in the group had wandered off to play with a clear plastic box that had a small toy inside it.

There were five kittens total...there should be two more, he thought. He would find them.

One kitten had wandered under one of the side tables against the back wall of the room. It was play-hunting a little stuffed mouse. The kitten crouched and pounced onto the inanimate plush and grabbed it in its mouth on the first bite. The kitten chomped on the stuffed mouse with its little sharp teeth and then released it to tease it with its claws.

Bucky decided he would try something different. He shook the end of his cat-fishing pole about a foot away from where the kitten was playing. The kitten heard the bell and watched the feather dangle for a moment, but it went back to playing with its mouse.

“I should be trying this with my other hand, shouldn’t I?” Bucky commented over his shoulder to Nurse Dia.  He switched the fishing rod to his left hand, and he supported his weight on his right while he continued to dangle the string at the kitten. The kitten he had been trying to catch was oblivious to the feather and bell now, however, and wandered away in search of a new toy.

One of the other kittens had crossed the room and now attacked Bucky’s toy. Bucky bounced the feather up and down, and the kitten did a mad dance with its paws to try and catch it. The kitten lunged and took the bait, and then released it. Bucky let the feather fall to the floor, and he dragged it along the carpet. The kitten bounced and pounced after it. Bucky carried the lead off to the left, zigzagging the string as he went. He finally let the toy come to a rest a couple of feet away from the kitten hunting it. The kitten crouched, tensed its little legs, and then charged after the feather. But the kitten stumbled as it ran and tripped over the feather, then tripped to a halt several inches away from its target.

“Oh no, he overshot it,” Bucky commented. The kitten doubled back around to play with the feather and bell. Bucky allowed himself a laugh--probably his first real laugh since waking up from cryo. Maybe his first real laugh since...he didn’t want to let himself think of it.

He dropped the little rod and let the kitten play with the toy at its leisure. Bucky half-crawled on his knees to the cat tree. He found one of the kittens hiding in a nook at its base.

“Well, hello there. I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” said Bucky, “although, you do all look the same.”

He reached out to the kitten with his left hand. The kitten saw the shiny metal arm coming for him and suddenly took up a defensive crouch. The kitten hissed at it. Bucky faltered, and then he drew his hand away.

“This one doesn’t like me,” he said to Nurse Dia.

“If it doesn’t like you, give it time to get used to you,” said Dia. “Don’t startle it.”

Bucky sat up straight. He gave a sigh. “Grown-up cats aren’t that fond of me. Most dogs aren’t either.”

Nurse Dia nodded at him, but she gave a wary look.

“Hey, you said to forget about my human problems.”

“Is it all the same?”

Well, no, he thought, it wasn’t the same. Humans didn’t react to him the way animals did. Animals didn’t waste their time judging him.

“Where is the kittens’ mother?” he asked Dia.

“She is out hunting,” said Dia. “The hospital cats rotate going out to an enclosed area. And they have plenty of live prey.” Dia gave a warm smile at the thought.

Maybe that was more than he wanted to know. Bucky returned his attention to the kittens. One of the kittens had run under the empty chair. Bucky decided he would try to lure it out. He picked up a different toy rod, this one with a long plastic shape meant to resemble a snake. Carefully he reached under the chair towards the kitten with the lure, and he lowered the toy snake onto the ground. The kitten watched it timidly. He moved the snake back and forth. The kitten followed with its eyes. Bucky moved the snake away from the corner by just inches. The kitten crawled forward. Progress. He led the kitten out from under the chair with the snake, and by the time the kitten had emerged it was chewing on the end of the toy.

Bucky found a little bean bag ball on the ground that was not being played with. He saw a kitten resting in the middle of the floor by Dia’s feet, not doing anything. Bucky rolled the ball towards the unoccupied kitten. The kitten looked at it but did not change its position. Bucky gave the ball a tap to one side. The kitten watched but did not act.

“Aren’t they supposed to attack anything that moves?” Bucky asked Dia.

“Some kittens learn sooner than others that they do not have to,” said Dia.

Considering some adult cats Bucky had seen since leaving Hydra, it made sense. Bucky rolled the ball in front of the kitten with his right hand. The kitten stood up, but instead of the ball it started to attack the sleeve of Bucky’s shirt. Bucky froze, not wanting to startle the kitten away.

The kitten stretched up the side of Bucky’s sleeve, then it stuck its claws into the fabric. And then it began climbing slowly up the shirt sleeve.

“Hey--this--one’s--crawling--up--my--good--arm--ow--that--hurts--claws--claws--claws.” The kitten climbed all the way up to the top of his good shoulder. It reached Bucky’s collar and then meowed shrilly in his ear. Bucky couldn’t turn his head to see that the kitten had realized it had climbed too high. But then the kitten grabbed hold of Bucky’s shoulder-length hair and pulled itself up.

“I--can’t--move,” said Bucky.

“MEEEEW!” said the kitten.

Nurse Dia threw her head back and laughed.

Bucky gingerly reached over to his right shoulder and plucked off the kitten--not an easy task, considering how its front paws were tangled in his hair. Extracting the kitten was painful. Bucky wondered if this was a plot to induce him to consent to get his hair cut. Fat chance.

The kitten made a cry of complaint as Bucky held it in midair. He sat cross-legged on the floor and set the kitten down on his feet. He began to pet the kitten with his left hand. The kitten wanted nothing more than to climb out from under his hand, so he had to hold it with his right.

One of the other kittens came wandering by Bucky’s knee. Bucky left off petting the one kitten to grab the newcomer. This second kitten darted away from him. Bucky leaned over to one side to reach it.

“Hey, come back here, I want you too.” He let go of the kitten in his lap, meaning to grab the other kitten in just a moment. But his first kitten sprang away. “Hey!” He pinned the first kitten under his right hand. “You guys aren’t very social.”

He picked up the kitten by the scruff and placed it on the seat of the empty chair. Nurse Dia watched him curiously. Keeping the corner of his eye on the kitten in the chair, Bucky scooped up one of the other kittens and then carried it up to be with its sibling. This first kitten tried to wander up to the edge of the seat to jump off. “Oh no you don’t.” Bucky rather roughly pushed the kitten back. He then started to look for the other kittens.

“What are you doing?” Nurse Dia asked.

“I want to put them all in one spot, where I can see them,” said Bucky.

On the floor, one of the kittens was preparing to pounce on one of the others.

“Watch out!” Bucky called to the would-be victim. But the kitten was taken unawares by the sibling’s attack, and the two began to wrestle. “Too late,” Bucky muttered, and he picked up both of the fighters and placed them in the chair. One of the new kittens began to fight with the others already there.

The last remaining kitten was sitting over by the food dispenser, and it was curled up in a little ball, either sleeping or trying to sleep. Bucky almost felt bad to wake it, but he scooped up the kitten in his hands and carried it over to the chair with the other four.

“Here you are,” he said, “all five of you.” The kittens stopped their play-fighting and stared up at Bucky. Ten little eyes, ten little ears, five little noses. Whiskers on five little faces. All watching him. All intimidated by this strange human who had rounded them up. Bucky sat cross-legged in front of the chair and stared back.

He leaned his face forward so that his nose was touching the seat. The kitten sitting closest to him stretched its head and sniffed him with its tiny black nose. He slowly raised his right hand and petted the kitten, touching it as softly as possible. The kitten gave a soft, squeaky meow. He scratched the kitten a little behind the ears. The kitten didn’t start or run away. Bucky arranged himself to sit cross-legged again, and he picked up the kitten and set it in his lap. Then he reached for the other four and lowered them to the floor--one of them mustered the courage to jump on its own. Three of them wandered off, but one stayed behind and sniffed his slipper.

He resumed petting the first kitten slowly. He wasn’t sure if the kitten liked the attention or not, he couldn’t hear any purring. But he gave the kitten a scratch behind the ears with both of his hands, and it relaxed. It sat with its eyes closed as Bucky continued to pet it.

If playing with kittens was supposed to be a treatment for whatever he suffered, it was working. His human problems were far away in his mind from this feline playroom.

“I think I got this one to fall asleep,” Bucky reported to Nurse Dia.

She smiled. “That is progress.” She checked her watch. “You are doing well. Sadly, you don’t ahve all day to be here. We have other patients in this hospital, Bucky. Each case is only allotted an hour a day for playing with the kittens here. And you will be starting another treatment this afternoon.”

He gave a groan of disappointment.

“Are you having too much fun here, then?”

He gave his kitten a scratch under the chin. “Take off the years I was with Hydra, I’d still be around thirty. Isn’t that too old to be playing with kittens?”

Dia shook her head solemnly. “There is no age limit for this treatment, Bucky. More thirty-year-olds need to play with kittens! I have a thirty-year-old son who has mental health problems. Just because he lives in Wakanda does not mean he does what is wisest in taking care of himself.”

Nurse Dia didn’t share much personal information with Bucky, but he saw the point she was making. He hadn’t asked to be brought to this room, Bucky thought to himself. He was only here because someone else had led him, and that at the recommendation of the doctor in charge of his case. He made a note to ask to meet with Doctor Nokomo later and see what exactly the doctor was planning to do for him. But he would keep the kitten therapy. Bucky had no objections to that.