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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

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Mr. Obnoxious and Mr. Bossy

Dialogue Prompt No.2- " Try not to die " request by @everlydream | Sorry for taking too long| Fluff ( sort of )

“So i got a new mission report “ harry fake grinned in success as he entered his shared office room

“ oh is that so, what’s it about this time, missing cat?”draco raised an eyebrow at Harry in a returned sarcasm

“ oh no, no, that is your department, if i end up taking your work you’d be unemployed “harry tilted his head to the side with narrowed eyes and a fake smile

“ Well at least I don't steal credit, “ Draco rolled his eyes. Harry immediately reduced the distance between them, snapping his hand over the desk “ i did not steal the credit, he just happened to credit me for it “

“ And you didn’t deny, that is stealing the credit “ Draco taunted.

“ whatever you want to believe, i know the truth “ harry flatly replied

“ Yeah, like you stole my credit, “ Draco taunted again. Harry sneered at him, blabbering gibberish in the childlike argument. Draco chuckled as soon as Harry left the room with his case report file,mumbling to himself as an old lady.

They were enemies, of course, the one’s that had unknowingly been pining each other over for years and were obviously unaware of any said feelings and pretended every time that their hearts didn’t race whenever other entred the room, but every single one of their friends knew and had even tried teasing them about it but had always stayed in a state of denial. But then at the end, they weren’t enemies at all, they were just two oblivious people attracted to their so called nemesis.

As the days went on harry’s case report became more dense and called more for his attention, his time, resulting in him hardly spending time in his office and as much Draco enjoyed having the shared office room to himself, he kind of waited for harry to walk into the office and have the tiniest of arguments but that didn’t happen; Draco pretended he was fine with everything and proudly told everyone how much he enjoyed not having harry being a pain in the ass. Pity what the actual truth was. He could almost get used to not having Harry around once he gets the promotion he was bound to have but he found himself slightly displeased with the inevitable fact, it was almost as if he enjoyed having Harry around and rolling his eyes at him if he was ever clumsy and tease him for being the chosen one, he enjoyed the little quips every once in a while even when he didn't mention it to Harry. It was almost like he came to the office everyday just so he could pull Harry’s leg but ever since the case report, he had entered to a very lonesome office and he found himself staring into space a lot and more frequently at harry’s unused desk. He wondered if that’s what’d it be like once Harry actually gets promoted, whether he’d visit him casually or would he just be situated in the other wing of the office that he’d only pass by Draco’s wing if he ever needed a junior to talk to or get to the shitty canteen and if he’d ever come to tease Draco or not. It was sort of empty in the office since his report and he had not so subtly asked some colleague about harry’s whereabouts and learnt that he stayed more in the field and would disperse home as soon as his work was done. It sort of made Draco furious and he didn’t understand why, even if the answer was right there inside of him but was dodging off the truth because he was either too scared of it or he felt that it was unethical. He also learnt that harry started remaining in the other side of the office building because of the library a lot and old case reports office because he needed old files and Draco only wished to see Harry again, even if it was an eye roll, to him it’d be a relief to know that his unknown ritual of rivalry wasn’t all broken even when it recently felt forgotten. Draco was upset about it even if he didn’t admit it to anyone or even to himself but he most definitely was.

Upset and frustrated, he found himself not so subtly lurking around the library for 3 days just so he’d see harry even if he internally hated himself for it, he just reminded himself over and over again that he wanted to see that stupid round glasses idiotic prat, just once and so with not so much success he finally ran into harry.

What he didn’t expect though was harry to just offer a smile and pass by him swiftly into another section of the library. Draco was planted with shock as he watched harry busying himself in the other section, it was almost too frustrating that without having a trail of any thoughts, he stomped behind Harry into the aisle he was in.

“ Already sucking up people’s ass for promotion ?” Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest watching harry’s face turn into an amused reaction.

“um, excuse me but what i’m doing is called working so i can actually take credit for my own work, also, yeah i talked with Jenna, she’s gonna credit you for the Simmon’s case “ harry genuinely smiled at Draco then again dug into his works.

Draco huffed annoyingly as he took a few steps closer to harry.

“ Since you’re still standing I’m assuming you need something from me ?” harry raised his eyebrows at him.

“Well- if you had to be stuck with being a two goody shoes, you could’ve cleaned up your desk, its an absolute mess and its driving me crazy and i wouldn’t do it for you and you know that “ Draco rolled his eyes accusing him with pointed finger.

Harry smiled amused before he nodded “ i’d stop by the office after hours and clean it up if its such a mess “

Draco chewed the inside of his cheeks “ that’s be great “

“Okay “ Harry replied and went back to reading again whilst Draco almost turned around to go back when he shut his eyes and turned around with a whip.

“ And i also want don’t want your favor in getting the credit. I can get credit for my own self, i don’t need your help”

Harry frowned “ Okay then “

Draco watched as Harry again went back to reading and he wanted to go back but his feet were as if fixated to the place and he didn’t feel as if he was quite done just yet, so he spoke again “ and one of my file is missing, so you better check in your pile of mess and return it back to me”

Harry frowned again, sighing this time “ i said i’ll clean, alright. What’s the name of the file ?”

Draco froze trying to think of how to reply to his made up lie that would seem true enough so Harry wouldn’t figure out the actual reason he was here.

“ It’s uh- the file with- Amrontentia side effects “

“ You really need it? It’s a pretty old file, don’t you think?” Harry countered

“Yes- but I need it to sort my files in alphabetical order “ Draco stuttered.

Harry nodded " fine, If I find it, I'll give it to you "

And Harry was almost back into his reading when Draco interrupted him yet again that Harry shut his book and arrogantly looked at Draco " you done or is there more to your life I've somehow messed up ?"

Draco frowned almost wanting to tell him another lie but instead what came out was "you've stopped coming to the office "

Harry blinked his eyes shut before he reopened them again " and that is a problem because ?"

" be-because of the- because it's occupying a space for someone who might actually use it" Draco lied

" Fine, I'll change my office then, that's what you want ?" Harry sighed

" no " Draco immediately denied

" Then what is it that you want because you're clearly just standing here making up a bunch of bullshit " Harry frowned at Draco holding an expression of inability to gather Draco's intentions.

"I- " Draco swallowed " it bothers me that you stopped coming to the office, it's just empty"

" it's not Empty Draco, there's you-"

" yes, but there isn't you " Draco slumped down a little bit in exaggeration.

Harry frowned at Draco until his confusion turned into a soft laugh " And you have a problem with me not being there, thought you Always wanted me out "

" Well, yes but- I don't know. I just- it's empty and I sort of hate it being Empty because then I have no one to taunt to about the mess because you're not damning there " Draco sighed frustratingly

"Wow, I did not know it bothered you so much, guess I'll try to come and stop by then,whenever you're in the office then " Harry smiled amusingly at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes " yeah, sure that's what I want. I don't know even know why I tried "

He had turned around to walk away when he pulled by the back of his shirt, almost collapsing into Harry's chest.

" You miss me then " Harry teased now facing Draco.

" I don't miss you, I just dislike that your obnoxious ass isn't in the office room anymore " Draco rolled his eyes to hide the faint blush of embarrassment hitting him.

" isn't that just a fancy sentence to say you missed me ?" Harry teased,again, this time stepping closer to Draco but enough to maintain the distance.

" I didn't miss you "

" you're blushing Draco, of course you missed me " Harry chuckled

" I'm not blushing " but he so was.

" come on, you lurked around here for 3 days so you could find me. Admit it Draco you missed me " harry laughed.

Draco swallowed the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from forming a smile and posing an eye roll again to lie " I did not lurk so I could find you, I just happened to be here- because I needed a book. So Harry James Potter, I did not miss you "

" You just used my entire name, you only do that when you're lying-"

" I do not " Draco narrowed his eyes

" Yes you do. You do that when you're lying to me " Harry grinned

"Fine, whatever you want to believe " Draco shrugged, his back hitting the shelf behind him as he crossed his arms in front.

" Oh yes, I do believe you missed me, you just don't want to admit it that you missed me " Harry pointed

" I did not- Merlin, I did not miss you-"

" it's okay Draco-"

" but I did not miss you " Draco snapped lightly

" then why are you here ?" Harry asked raising his eyebrows knowing Draco was lying

" because of all the reasons I told you before " Draco emphasised.

Harry looked at Draco for a couple of moments before he stepped back, his hand defensively raised in the air as he shrugged "Alright then, I'll sort those things out "

" yes, you do that and we're sorted " Draco agreed. Harry nodded in head in agreement and placed the book back in the shelf leaving Draco alone to walk away or just silently be there watching harry.

In his humongous ego, he had almost walked off but he wanted to say one last time " just for the record I didn't miss you"

" alright, I know that now " harry shrugged.

" good " draco bobbed his head in confusion of how easily he dropped off the topic and decided to walk when something didn't feel right and he Walked back to harry.

" I really didn't miss you " Draco furrowed his eyebrows at harry as he was scanning the shelf for another book.

" yeah, I know that " Harry nodded.

" yes, I didn't-"

" Draco if you keep telling me the same thing over and over again, I'm pretty sure I'll assume you want to kiss me " Harry smirked.

Draco's mouth dropped open in exasperation as he said " I do not " but the blush that rose up in his cheeks was very much evident.

" alright " harry smirked, nodding at him and this time turning to face Draco " kiss me then and prove me that you don't want to "

" what? That's just- absurd- I don't want to kiss you " Draco replied in mocked shock not being able to believe that Harry had said something like that.

"Seems otherwise " Harry shrugged.

" what- no- you know what, I will prove you then that I so did not very much wanted to kiss you " Draco replied with each step taking closer to him and stood just before him, grabbed his collar and kissed him over the lips.

" there, I proved you, I didn't want to kiss you" Draco breathlessly replied after the kiss.

" seems like you wanted to otherwise you would not have kissed me " Harry smirked

" You just-nmph-" but the words were forgotten as this time harry leaned in and kissed Draco like he had always imagined it to be like. It wasn't chaste or soft or hard or rough, it was perfect as it was, appropriate and comforting. It was what it had to be and what they'd always imagined it'd be like yet it left them utterly breathless as minute by minute it grew more rushed and harder with Harry's hand against Draco's back pulling him closer and Draco's still loosely rested on his collar.

In erratic breathing when they separated, Draco immediately pressed his head against harry's neck, blushing furiously and faint smile pressed upon his lips.

" Seemed otherwise didn't it " harry mumbled with a smile.

" yo- you're still obnoxious " Draco replied putting his head from Harry's neck and looking at him with a smile.

" you're still bossy " Harry countered.

Draco rolled his eye but for once it didn't matter. It Didn't matter what quip it was or how sarcastic it was, the only thing that mattered was he finally kissed Harry.

" my case ends in a couple days, you can stop missing me then and I have field work tomorrow " Harry teased, his hand still around Draco's waist.

Draco rolled his eyes " Try not to die "

Harry chuckled a little too loudly in the silent library that Draco had to put his hand over his lips to shut him up.

" and you wonder why I hate you " Draco whispered rolling his eyes playfully.

" you don't hate me, you just kissed me " Harry whispered back grinning.

" if you're gonna boast about it, then we definitely shouldn't do this " Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry.

" please, I just kissed Draco Lucius Malfoy, I am gonna wear a sign saying that "

This time Draco chuckled " you're an idiot "

" an idiot you Just kissed " Harry teased again.

Draco shook his head with a smile " an idiot I just kissed "

Harry stared at Draco a little too fondly for a few moments making Draco blush harder for being stared at " stop staring "

" Let's go on a date " Harry blurted.

Draco should not had been surprised by such a sudden ask but he was " Okay "

" you choose the place, I'll pick you up " Harry added.

" okay " Draco smiled at harry.

And harry smiled at Draco " okay "

" we're gonna date then, you and me "Draco smiled

"yeah, you and me " Harry replied

" it's gonna be a disaster " Draco chuckled softly.

" eh, we always were a disaster anyway. It was about time " Harry casually frowned. Draco looked at him a minute too long before he erupted in little laughter, harry soon joining.

Yes, they were thrown out of the library for the context, but they did end up kissing, so they had their happy end.

300 followers appreciation dialogue Prompt requests open

Angst prompts request open

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jobean12-blog · 4 years

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Top Shelf: Chapter 17- Muffin But Books

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Bookshop/bartender/baking AU)

Word Count: 2,050

Summary: You go out to celebrate the reopening of the bookshop and have maybe a bit too much fun...and before you know it’s the day :)

Author’s Note: So I hope you guys can get the feel of what the bookshop looks like now, I used some pics in the moodboard that give you an idea :) I also could not resist some sexy fun with Bucky because I never can. The bar they are at called The Park (pic is in the center of the moodboard) is unfortunately closed now but here is an article about it so at least you can see the space and know the story. Thank you all for continuing on this journey with me and a day early today! 😁 I love you and I’m sending you all my love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: soft fluff, fun with friends, smut, teasing, flirting, all the emotions (the good ones :) 18 + only please ;)

Top Shelf Masterlist

You and Bucky are tucked into a booth at The Park, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. It’s the Saturday night before the reopening of the bookshop and Sam suggested everyone take the night off to celebrate. The two of you arrived early on purpose, enjoying some alone time while sipping your drinks and talking quietly together in the corner booth.

“Do you wanna sleep over at the bookshop tomorrow night? Or will it be too much to get up, go home and shower and then come back?” Bucky takes a sip of his drink while he watches you consider his question. “Let’s stay over. It will be our last night before it officially becomes “The Bookshop Bakery!” He agrees with a smile, leaning in for a kiss that he quickly deepens when your hand runs up his thigh under the table.

“Starting the party without us I see.” Sam’s loud voice breaks the two of you apart. “You have the worst timing Wilson,” Bucky groans before standing and pulling him in for a hug. Everyone finds a seat and orders some food and drinks. The next few hours are light and worry free. You talk about the excitement over the reopening, Peggy and Steve’s upcoming wedding and everything in between.

You’re halfway through your third drink when you hand starts inching up Bucky’s thigh again. He grabs your wrist, stilling your movements and whispering in your ear, “what are you up to, baby?” Striking up a conversation with Nat you ignore his question and wiggle from his grasp. He let’s your hand continue its path until it’s hovering over the growing bulge in his jeans.

He nearly spits out his drink when you start to gently rub him through the thick fabric. It’s hard to stop when you can feel him throb beneath your fingers, but you can tell it’s really getting to him. “Hey Buck, you ok. You look like a deer in headlights.” Steve’s question makes you bite your lip to stop from giggling. “I’m good. Yea, fine, thanks.” Steve raises a brow but doesn’t push it, turning his attention to Peggy.

“Doll face. What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing?” This time it’s more of a growl than a whisper and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Just having a little fun is all.” With one more firm squeeze you remove your hand and slip into the conversation between Sam and Nat. Before you know it Bucky’s hand lands on your bare thigh and his fingers dance along your soft skin.

“Hey Nat, Peg, bathroom break?” You eye the two girls and they both nod, squeezing around the guys to get out. You give Bucky a wink and saunter off toward the back. “Fucking hell.” Sam smirks. “What was that Barnes.” Sliding out his middle finger, Bucky doesn’t answer, just takes another sip of his drink. Sam tries Steve. “So, how’s the beard working out for you?” Bucky can’t hold back his snickers and he dips his head, “we are never gonna let you live it down.”

When the three of you return the boys are still smiling and Steve’s face is red. “Oh god,” Peggy complains, throwing her hands up. You all laugh and slip back into your seats. This time you decide that Bucky’s lap is better than the booth. He definitely doesn’t mind and now you can continue your little game. Shifting back and forth you do your best to push your ass back and grind over him. His hands are digging into your hips and his breath is hot in your ear.

“What time is it?” he grits out. “Almost 1 am,” is your sultry answer. He reaches back to grab his wallet. “Ok gang, we’re out. We have some stuff to finish at the shop tomorrow and dinner with Grandma.” The boys boo but Nat and Peggy give you a sly smile. “See you all at the opening!” With that Bucky slides out from under you and grabs your hand.

The bar is only a few short blocks from your apartment and you both keep your cool until you’re in the elevator. The second the doors shut Bucky has you pressed against the wall, his hands slipping under your dress. “You’re a fucking tease, you know that.” Your sassy response dies on your lips the moment his fingers ghost over the wet patch on your underwear. He hums into your mouth, pushing the satin aside and gliding his fingers through your folds.

The elevator dings and he pulls away, letting your dress fall down and pulling you out and down the hall. You try to find your keys but it’s taking too long. Bucky turns you around and kisses you against the door. Breaking away he takes his fingers and traces them over your lips before pushing them past. You both moan as you suck them clean, tasting yourself.

“Fucking keys,” you breathe out, finally finding them at the bottom of your bag. The door flies open with your combined body weight and Bucky quickly slams it shut. You’ve barely dropped your bag to the floor, and he’s got your dress up above your hips. Trailing soft kisses along your neck his fingers hook into your underwear and pull them down your legs.

Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, eventually working them down his thick thighs. His boxers are next, and you wrap your hand around his hard cock, slowly pumping the length of him. He parts your legs with his knee, removing your hand and running his cock through your arousal. “Is this what you want?”

He pushes into you every so slightly before pulling back out, loving the whine that leaves your parted lips. “Yes. I want you to fuck me.” He teases you one more time before slowly filling you up. He lifts one of your legs and goes deeper, causing your head to roll back against the door. His lips are on your neck as he thrusts into you hard enough to shake the door on its frame. His hand reaches between your bodies and it isn’t long before you’re clenching around him, chanting his name with your release.

Once you both catch your breath, he carries you to bed, covering you before he gets in and holds you to his chest. You can feel your eyelids grow heavy with sleep, the steady beat of his heart matching your own. Kissing his chest and snuggling closer you whisper, “I love you,” barely hearing his same words as you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

Sunday is a flurry of last-minute preparations and dinner at Grandmas. She’s practically humming with excitement and makes you promise not to give too much away about tomorrow. “I want to be surprised and I have full faith in you all.” You help her clean up and sit and talk for a little longer before heading back to the bookshop.

You and Bucky stand by the door and look out and the new space. “Wow. I can’t believe we did it.” Bucky hums his agreement, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his head atop yours. “We did it.” You take a deep breath, loving how it smells like pumpkin and spice and coffee beans with the light scent of old books somehow weaving its way through in a perfect balance.

The books have been neatly shelved on the beautiful new dark wood bookcases, all the mismatched piles gone and free of dust. You wrote all the aisle and shelf labels by hand and encased them in brass adornments that match the new lighting fixtures. The front of the store was cleared out and now houses a completely new display case for the baked goods as well as some tables, chairs and a couch with soft cushions.

Behind the counter there are shelves for coffee mugs, teacups and plates, all of which you and Bucky picked out at antique stores, estate sales and consignment shops. The labels for the desserts are hand-printed on antique looking paper, framed by more brass and the new countertop is a dark oak wood with lighter grains running through it.

The lighting is soft with hanging lamps and candle holders that line the walls while the accents are bright and colorful without being overpowering. You got rid of the old blinds that covered the windows and went with light and flowing curtains that are pulled back with antique hooks. It has a charming and soft look that’s both comforting and classic.

You and Bucky head toward the back staircase, which is now closed off with an iron gate to prevent people from going up to the attic library. Once you’re upstairs you plop yourself down on the fluffy blankets, watching Bucky as he scans the bookshelves. “What are you looking for handsome?” He smiles but doesn’t answer as he stops in front of one and grabs a book. “Remember this?” He turns it around to reveal the cover. Your eyes land on the Auryn garnishing the cover. “Of course, I do. You read some to me the first day we met.”

He props up some pillows and leans back, opening his legs so you can sit between them. You lean your back against him and he cuddles you close, placing the book in your lap. “Ok, I still have the bookmark from that day.” He starts to read, and you feel yourself relaxing, his soft voice lulling you to sleep. When he realizes you’re out he sets the book down and shifts so you’re both laying down, kissing your shoulder before resting his head on the pillow.

Bucky wakes before the alarm, moving carefully and sitting up. “Hey baby, pssst.” Gently running his hands over your hair, he tucks it away from your face. “Sleepy head, hey, come on, time to get up.” You mumble something incoherent and roll over, smacking at the air. You took the week off from work using your vacation days so you could help Bucky with the launch as much as possible and getting up early just doesn’t sound appealing right now.

“Today’s the day!” he chuckles, “gotta get up.” His hands reach down and squeeze your butt and he watches a smile creep over your face. “I know you’re awake now. I’ll resort to tickles if you don’t start moving.” Trying to smack his hands away you curl into a ball, hiding in the pillows. “Ok, I’m up! I’m up!”

The two of you change and head back to his apartment to shower and get ready. You only have to grab a few things before heading back to the store and checking it all over for the last time. You have a couple of hours before the doors open, so you head to the back to throw some things in the oven, hoping to have them as fresh as possible.

“Hey, baby?” You hear Bucky’s voice from outside the door and immediately panic at his tone. “Bucky.” You quickly head out and around the counter staring at him first before following his line of sight. The line of people outside has you muttering, “holy shit,” under your breath, grasping for Bucky’s hand before you turn to him.

His smile hits you like a ray of sunshine and before you know it, you’re kissing and hugging him and jumping up and down in his arms. “There must be 25 people out there already Buck!” He keeps smoothing his hands down your hair and rests his forehead to yours, “thank you. Thank you for everything.” Tracing his lips with your finger you kiss them softly, “Bucky, I love you. Now hurry, we gotta get the muffins and cookies out of the oven!”

Once everything is out and properly displayed you straighten a few cups hanging along the wall and attempt to check your hair in your phone. “Are we ready?” Bucky gives your hand one last squeeze before you make your way to the door. You can already see Steve, Peggy, Nat and Sam and right beside them is Grandma Betty. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and when they land on you and Bucky you know you won’t be able to hold back your own.

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curiousconch · 4 years

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No Clear Skies Ahead

Chapter 1 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU). Read the prologue here.

Chapter Synopsis: An investigation is launched after a threat was sent to the DA's office. In an attempt to protect Heather, Rafael zooms in on the case but stumbles upon an inner struggle which leads to dire consequences.

Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x MC (Dr. Heather Song)

Words: 3k+ | Genre: Crime, Mystery, Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / sex, mental health issues

Author’s Notes: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song. There are also small references to canon, so spoiler alert for those who haven’t played OH 2 yet. This specific chapter was inspired by Bruno Mars' It Will Rain (Live version - X Factor).

Rafael dropped his bag on the apartment floor, an exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he waded his way to the kitchen.

On a normal day, Rafael wouldn't be this ill-tempered. But today wasn't normal, normalcy went out the window since they received that threat.

Two weeks has passed since, and both of their lives are imploding. He shook his head as he recalled their conversation that night, while trying to have a peaceful dinner for once.

"I need to go, Raf. This is groundbreaking cancer research that may help some of our patients," she explained while she unwrapped her bibimbap.

"How long will you be at Johns Hopkins then?" he asked, while he himself took a bite from his beef patties.

"The initial plan would be at least a week. I'll fly out to Maryland on Monday, so I won't be back until Saturday morning. We want to be able to lend a hand to the planning of the clinical trials. Edenbrook wants to participate," her voice sounded excited.

"I don't think it's a great idea right now, Heather," he shook his head gently, a genuine look of concern in his face.

Heather wasn't entirely enthused by his response.

"What, I can't live my life now because of that stupid note?" she said in a vicious tone. "If I let this thing hang over my head for the rest of my life, there's no use of all of this fuss."

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Heath," he replied, not wanting to spend this rare quality time arguing.

She got awfully quiet, as she averted her gaze. She was stubborn, but her behavior told him she was on edge.

Resigned, he just nodded and expressed his agreement. He reminded her to come back as soon as possible, and made plans to pick her up at the airport.

He spent the rest of the night sucking up his frustration. They individually came up with an excuse and parted early, even the idea of sex was off the table.

He grabbed a beer from his fridge and padded his way to the living room, switching on the TV to watch some late night news.

A special report was playing, covering much of the recent developments in the case. It briefly mentioned Heather, making him frown.

They only knew a few things about the note, including the fact that it was emailed directly to Bryce Lahela, the same prosecutor who executed Travis Perry in court. He suspected that It was meant to hit two birds in one stone - to threaten the DA and the doctor who reported the ruse. The mastermind is informed who was involved.

The IT team were able to trace where the email was sent - it was from a terminal in a nearby public library. This was expected, and Rafael wasn't wrong to ignore his gut that told him this was just the start.

A week after, a second note came. This time, faxed to Senator Ed Farrugia's office. But unlike the first message, it was wordless.

Instead, it contained two images - two shots of the politician meeting with associates at a nearby hotel. The office of the senator confirmed it to be taken the same day the fax was sent.

The whole Boston field office was on full gear, with the Senate presurring the agency to reopen the case. The stakes were slowly becoming higher.

This wasn't a childish prank, he concluded. It's the beginning of a well-planned attack.

He waited for another move from the faceless sender. His training told him that this is going to be a slow burn. If the perpetrator waited months to put this into action, they wouldn't hesitate to wait for the perfect time. Raf's whole team were still clueless to the most important matter at hand - the when and the how.

He wished hard for it to be nothing but empty threats, but he knew better. He struggled to stop himself from taking this too personally, convincing himself that he had a job to do. But he can't help himself. So he spent the past two weeks leaving no stone unturned.

Meanwhile, Heather drowned herself with work.

Rafael knew it was an effort of her taking control. In the few months that they were dating, he learned how she had to hide anything that was wrong. She was a doctor, and she was required to smile at her patients every single day. That's also how she coped - pretending that there's nothing wrong and pushing everyone away.

His own attempts to comfort her proved futile as most of his time was also occupied by the investigation.

It's not over, Dr. Song. Every single word in that short sentence cast a long shadow over his every move, beckoning a hidden resentment he never knew existed.

The rising anxiety within him got amplified as their shifts ended in irregular hours. For two weeks, they barely saw each other. He would call her at the end of his day, but he felt that she involuntarily withdrew from him more over time. He knew it was her defense, Rafael himself a stark reminder of the threat that just overturned her life.

Her shielded independence irked him greatly. He wanted her to rely on him, now, more than ever. He wanted to share this with her, and his concerns only grew every single day.

He never thought that there would ever be a distance between them. He hated the thought of Heather wanting to tend to herself.

Did she not trust him enough? Didn't she want to rely on him? Can't she just lean on him, especially during this time? What else is this relationship for then?

He knew she grew up independently, she was forced to rely on no one but herself for most of her teenage and adult years. She was strong and not fragile. But he desired so much to protect her, to save her, just like the same way he did the year before. But he knew she wasn't that kind of girl.

And when Heather shut him down another time tonight, he felt cornered. She'll be out, indefinitely. Will she even miss me? His head hurt just thinking about it. He had a hard time sleeping that night, feeling an emptiness he didn't feel ever since he met her.

It wasn't long when the void that he felt over her abrupt absence got filled by someone else.

The week Heather flew to Johns Hopkins, a childhood friend came back to Boston. An ex, in fact. Sora, his high school sweetheart. It all began with a seemingly innocent chat, an invitation to catch up.

But it soon escalated to him being more involved with her, volunteering his spare time to help her reacquainted to their neighborhood. With Heather dismissing him in every turn, he diverted his energies to spending time with Sora. For a few days, he didn't know why he kept her company, but as time went on, he understood.

It was Sora's consistent need of him, asking small favors from him every chance she gets. It was the total opposite of what Heather was doing.

She was familiar with Rafael, so she it was easy for her to feed his uncontrollable need to be someone's savior. Superman needed his own fix.

It's partially the reason why he ended up being an FBI agent himself. It was his innate need to save someone from practically anything. He lived and breathed to be someone's hero.

With no desire to spend another night at Donahues, he asked his high school friends to come over to his place on Friday after work for some movies and beer, a mini reunion, for Sora. He persuaded himself that it was nothing else but an effort to help a friend out.

That night became full of nostalgia, as friends who showed up exchanged stories of their adventures from their childhood and teenage years. Over the next few hours, their friends left one by one, eventually leaving him and Sora alone. They each had a few more beers than they usually drank, and their chat unsurprisingly catapulted towards the end of their high school love affair. They talked about what attracted them to one another, eventually venturing to the regrets Sora had when they broke up.

"I think I never got over you, you know," Sora casually teased him, chugging down another bottle of beer. "Our breakup felt forced, and I hadn't been able to feel the same way with someone else..." her voice trailed off, her hand gently hovering over his thigh.

He didn't push her away. Although he wanted to, but he melted in the attention she was giving him.

He just nodded in reply, drinking from his own bottle, his mind racing, his heart beating uncontrollably in his chest. He knew he had to stop this, but he lacked the willpower to do so.

With Rafael's pent up frustrations and Sora's voluntary prodding, they ended up kissing. Their hands roaming each other as they tried to rediscover their past, their clothes carelessly discarded one after another on his living room. Rafael's head screamed opposition, but his body cannot resist the contact. Shutting down the shouting disagreement in his mind, he let his hands take over him.

He let his hands roam, feeling electrified by someone familiar, who knew his flaws, his body. He sensed that Sora felt exactly the same. In the heat of their bodies, they didn't hear the keys jingling and a door creaking open.

A sound of glass breaking made them look up.

"What the hell?"

There, standing in his dim entryway, was a flushed faced Heather. She held a suitcase, staring daggers at him and Sora as they were sprawled half-naked on the living room couch.

Shit.

Sora followed his gaze, and a mortified look of shame filled her eyes. Heather instantly fled, slamming the door closed behind her. Rafael rose from the couch, cursing under his breathe as he retrieved his clothes and covered his body.

He shot Sora a look of apology, and she understood. Grabbing his jacket and his keys, he followed Heather, running like he was being chased by death. A bitter taste formed at the back of his tongue as his mind raced with the number of possibilities how this night would end. He shook himself out of his thoughts, surprised as rain fell over him the moment he stepped out his apartment building. November is Boston's wettest month.

Despite the lack of visibility, his eyes shot in different directions, trying to find a trace of Heather. He saw her black suitcase just as it disappeared in the nearest street corner.

His shoes dug heavily on the wet sidewalk as he followed her sprinting shadow for two full blocks. He called out to her, unfazed by the fact that the pouring rain could mute him.

At last Heather stopped. He saw as the lights of the stream of traffic shining at her small figure.

He called her once more. But panic instantly filled him as he saw her advance the street in front of a fast-approaching car.

He rushed towards her, pulling her back in time.

"What the hell, Heather?" he looked down at her with fury and concern. He was surprised with her strength as she pushed him back, freeing herself from his grip.

"I asked you first," she gave him an accusing look, poison in her words. He instantly remembered why he chased her.

His stance immediately got defensive. Without thinking, he dragged Heather, ignoring her protests. He found an alley with some sort of roof, saving them from the downpour momentarily.

"Meu amor," his raspy voice breaking as he struggled to make Heather look at him. He reached out to her, touching her shoulders. Her face filled with pain crushed his soul.

"I don't have any words except I'm sorry." His whole body shook, his strong arms wrapping around her as he began to sob. "Heather, I... I made a mistake. I was weak," his hands gently cupped her face, his voice lowering to nothing but a faint whisper. "I just missed you so much, but I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen."

Rafael felt stupid at the lame excuse he could muster, knowing full well how horribly he fucked up.

Being soaked through the bones did not numb the pain he was feeling. Her silence became more unbearable by the minute. He attempted to kiss her, but failed the moment she avoided it.

"If you wanted to give up, you didn't have to pretend." she hissed, with tear-stained cheeks and a gaze haunting back at him, speaking volumes. "If you didn't want me around anymore, you should have just told me." he saw her bite her lip, her voice filled with contempt.

His chest constricted, realizing the damage he had done. "I want you, I still want you. I want no one else but you," he pleaded, wishing that there was a way to reverse what he had done. "Forgive me, meu amor, give me the chance to make this right, please," his voice shook as he begged her, his lungs about to give out, heavy of guilt.

Her silence stung more than any word. Her rigid body, motionless against his shivering chest. When he couldn't take her refusal to speak anymore, he took one last attempt to pound down the walls she was beginning to build. Fueled by nothing but desperation, he took her hands in his and knelt in front of her, waiting eagerly for an answer.

But as he gazed up at her, the small glimmer of hope in him dissipated. The eyes that once shined like the whole universe was in it, turned empty, dark and desolate.

She retrieved her hands from his grip, Rafael's face twisted in horror as he felt her slip away. He knew right then that he just lost her. "I can't, Rafael. I just can't right now."

In those few words, his world tumbled over. He watched her turn around and walk away, helpless. Once that he can no longer see any trace of her, his knuckles pounded the ground until it bled.

The rain outside crept its way inside him. It will be a long time before it stopped.

#open heart #open heart 2 #open heart fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #choices fanfiction #rafael aveiro #rafael aveiro x mc #rafael x mc

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spaceskam · 5 years

Text

too late to turn back

wheel of crack wednesday on a saturday because days of the week are social constructs

ao3

“Max, he is dangerous.”

“He’s not that dangerous.”

“Dangerous enough!”

Max rolled his eyes at Isobel’s scolding. There were a lot of things that came to mind whenever he thought about Alex Manes. Dangerous wasn’t one of them.

“I’m honestly kinda proud,” Michael said, grinning as he stabbed a fry into an obscene pile of mayonnaise, “Max Evans, doing something wrong.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong! I’m doing something right,” Max insisted, shifting in his seat as his eyes flickered up to see Alex Manes sitting five tables over. He was sitting alone and completely lost in the book on quantum mechanics. “He has nowhere to go.”

“So you think, wow, let’s hide him in the basement Mom and Isobel won’t find out?” Isobel said, mocking his voice and then scoffing. Max rolled his eyes all over again.

“Please, don’t tell Mom,” Max said. Isobel scoffed.

“Oh, I’m not. Because if I tell her, she’s going to think I’m the one hiding the boy and just blaming it on you,” Isobel said. Max grinned.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.”

Max watched from the stairs as Alex made himself comfortable. He was sitting on the tiny, back-breaking couch that Max’s dad had bitched about until they got a new one. Alex didn’t seem to mind. His backpack was shoved beneath it for both easy access and easy hiding, and he was simply wearing two jackets and two pairs of pants instead of using a blanket. Too much evidence, he said.

“You’d tell me if you needed anything, right?” Max asked, slowly making his way closer. Alex smirked and looked at him, the strands of hair that had fallen from his haphazard bun making him look all the more daring.

“You know I wouldn’t.”

Max huffed a laugh, “You’re staying in my house, you should know you’re free to ask for anything.”

“I’m staying in your house and you’re feeding me–that’s exactly why I ask for nothing,” Alex pointed out. Max sucked in a slow breath.

Alex had such a way of speaking that was impossible not to listen and absorb each word. He was straight up intoxicating and it had Max confused about a lot of things in life. He recognized the feeling of infatuation, the borderline obsession, the terrifying need to protect. Isobel said it was super strange that he mothered everyone he liked. Was he mothering Alex?

“I brought you some socks,” Max said suddenly when he remembered the pair he’d shoved in his pocket. Alex laughed sweetly and accepted them with painted fingertips.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. Max sat and stared and tried to think of something else to say. He didn’t quite want to leave, but he didn’t know why he wanted to stay.

“So, uh…” Max said dumbly, looking to Alex and his long dark hair and his pretty eyelashes that brushed his high cheekbones every time he blinked. He was gorgeous. “Goodnight, I guess.”

Alex smiled and nodded. “Goodnight.”

Max climbed back up the stairs and made it all the way until he got into his room before he slammed his head into the wall.

“Okay, house is empty.”

Alex appeared from the basement door with a grin. His hair was down and stretching just past his shoulders, messy from sleep. Max tried not to stare too long. This was a problem. He couldn’t have a thing for Alex Manes. Of course, he already knew he did and he already put himself in a position where he had to be around him all the time. Oh, how easy it’d be if he didn’t put himself through hell.

“Here’s a towel,” Max said, stiffly handing out a clean towel to Alex. He took it sleepily and nodded.

“Thanks, man.”

Max stood like an actual creep outside the bathroom door. Well, in his defense, it was right off the side of the kitchen. He had limited places to stand. But, still, he stood only a few feet away and listened to the shower turn on and tried to come up with something to say.

Alex Manes was dangerous. Or, so he’d been told. Alex had been something of a local myth since elementary school. He got into his first fight in third grade, far before most testosterone-filled violence began. He’d slammed another boy’s head into the wall and got suspended for a week. No one really talked to him after that.

Middle school and high school were also filled with fights, progressively more as they got older. Every time someone mentioned a fight, the response would be “who did Alex beat up this time?”. Parents even started a petition to get him completely kicked out of the school. But the problem was he never got suspended enough to warrant expulsion, he never did enough damage either. Well, at least not in school.

The night before their first day of freshman year, Alex Manes got arrested for allegedly attacking his father.

The story went that his dad was simply driving and Alex lost it in a rage, grabbing his hair from where he was in the backseat and using it as leverage to repeatedly punch his dad in the face. Apparently, the charges were dropped because Mr. Manes forgave him. The more Max got to know Alex, the more he questioned what actually happened that night. What actually happened during all those fights Alex got into? Because the Alex Max had gotten to know was sweet and thankful. He had manners and was soft and wore Max’s socks even though their feet were different sizes and the toe area flopped around when he walked from the extra space.

That Alex was cute. That Alex was what caught Max’s eye in the first place. He didn’t like danger. He liked the way Alex would lean over to share his math book in class chew on his black-stained nails quieter than should be humanly possible. He liked the way Alex tucked his hair behind his ears and ignored every authority figure that told him to cut his hair.

Max disliked the handprint-shaped bruises he saw on Alex’s arms. He disliked the fact that he found a bag of extra clothes tucked in the back of the library with Alex’s favorite pen inside. He disliked how defensive Alex got whenever he asked if he was sleeping at school. He disliked the confusion on his face whenever he offered him a safe place to rest his head.

And now Max had spent five minutes staring at a bathroom door and wistfully thinking about the boy on the other side, easily another addition on the ‘maybe I’m not heterosexual list’ that he’d been compiling since junior year. How was he supposed to know who he was jealous of whenever he saw Kyle Valenti and Liz Ortecho kiss in the hall?

“Max, honey, are you in the shower?”

Max’s eyes went wide as his long thought process was broken by the sound of his mother’s heels against the floor as she came back inside. Without a second thought, he dove inside the bathroom and closed the door softly behind him.

“Yeah!” he called back.

“Is my phone in there?” she asked. Max’s eyes managed to get even wider whenever he spotted the phone on the charger beside Isobel’s straightener. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Uh,” he said, “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna come in real quick, I’m gonna be so late for work,” she rambled with a laugh. Max panicked and his world seemed to slow down as the doorknob began to turn.

And suddenly he was in the shower, ruining his shoes and staring at a naked Alex Manes.

Alex gave a shocked look as Max clamped his hand over his mouth, but his eyebrows soon came down in realization once he heard the sound of Max’s mother on the other side of the shower curtain.

“I don’t know how I even made it out the door without it,” his mother laughed. Max closed his eyes and prayed she would leave. He only reopened them because he felt Alex smirk against his palm and he got a few of a very wet, very hot male with his head cocked to the side and a raised eyebrow.

Maybe I’m Not Heterosexual Reason #54: THAT.

“I-I don’t know, Mom, aren’t you gonna be late?” he called. Alex wiggled his eyebrows and Max folded his lips in, trying to keep in any type of reaction. He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to look.

“Oh, I know you don’t want your mom in the bathroom while you’re taking a shower, I get it, you’re all grown now,” she said wistfully and Max wanted to scream. Was this really the time for a childhood story? “It seems like just yesterday that you wanted me to wash your hair every night so you could play with your little rubber duckies.”

“Mom!” he said, feeling his face flush. Alex smiled wildly against his palm.

“Alright, alright! I’ll see you and Izzy at dinner. Be safe, I love you!”

“Love you too.”

He waited until the door closed to drop his hand from Alex’s mouth.

“Sorry,” Max said. Alex huffed a breath through his nose, shrugging his shoulders.

“Shit happens,” he answered. Alex turned around to face the stream and Max couldn’t help himself. He stared at the thick, wet hair and watched as it dripped water down his spine and down to the curve of his ass. God, help him.

And then Alex turned back around with a bottle of body wash in his hands and Max had to snap his eyes up to his face once again to pretend like he didn’t see too much.

“Is this your way of telling me to wash your hair?” Alex asked. Max forced an annoyed face to cover his embarrassment and climbed out of the shower, ignoring the squishy noises his shoes made. His face was burning and his mind was racing and he needed to get away from the really hot, really wet man in his shower before he tried something stupid. Alex’s laughter didn’t help.

“Just shower.”

“Wait, the duckies!”

Yes. Alex Manes was dangerous.

It was very, very difficult to reconcile how the man who had been laughing and teasing him on the drive to school that morning about rubber ducks was now being dragged out of the bathroom for slamming someone’s head into the sink hard enough to break it. The guy being dragged out behind him was bleeding, but upright and cursing up a storm. Alex was stoic as always.

“Dangerous!” Isobel hissed in his ear. Max shrugged her off and watched as Alex got hauled away.

The whole thing bothered him for the rest of the day. And here he thought he was going to be plagued with images of his tan skin all day. Instead, it was Alex’s ‘I don’t give a fuck’ face and his bloody fists.

Still, Max waited in his car for him after school ended. He stayed until all the other cars that didn’t belong to either football players or cheerleaders who were staying after school for practice were gone. Alex never showed his face. When Max tried to text him, he didn’t get a response. He thought about going home to see if he’d shown up there, but he knew better. He knew he didn’t.

Instead, Max checked the library. Then he checked the bathrooms. He checked the janitor’s closets. He checked everywhere until the only place left was behind the bleachers on the football field. Sure enough, Alex was brooding behind them with his stuff he must’ve broken into Max’s house to retrieve.

“What are you doing?” Max asked softly. Alex just tilted his head in his direction, face cold and hard like it was when he got dragged out of the bathroom. Max longed for the sweet version of him and tried really hard to think of a way to get it back. “I waited for you and you never showed. I got worried.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair,” Alex said, a tight smile on his face as he lifted his bag. Max frowned and furrowed his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Look, I know you don’t want me in your house, so I’m leaving so you don’t have to let your pity force you to let me stay,” he said. Max shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked the grass. What was he supposed to say? How did he properly word how much he enjoyed his presence without sounding super fucking creepy?

“I… I don’t want you to stay because I pity you. I don’t pity you,” Max said carefully, licking his lips, “I want you to stay because I like you.” Alex stayed silent. “Listen, I don’t know what happened today and I don’t know what happened with your dad or why you don’t have a place to go to, but I want to give you a place. I don’t want anything from you and I’m not doing it to make myself feel better, I just… I don’t know, you’re my friend. Friends help each other out.”

“You consider me your friend?” Alex asked. Max looked at him sheepishly and shrugged.

“I dunno, yeah,” he fumbled. Alex huffed a laugh and shook his head. Max slowly went to sit down. “I’m not scared of you like everyone else is.”

“You probably should be,” Alex said cryptically. Max picked at the grass.

“Well, I’m not.”

They stayed silent for a while. A long while. Long enough that football practice ended and the coach was probably questioning why his car was still parked outside. And if he wasn’t, then Isobel sure as hell was. But he had no intention of leaving unless Alex left with him.

Eventually, Alex spoke.

“He called me a fag,” he admitted. Max looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows. “And he, like, did a stupid walk that I’m assuming was supposed to be gay and waved his arm around and shit. I told him to fuck off, but he shoved me and told me that I couldn’t talk to him like that. So I smashed his head into the sink.” Alex finished the story with a noncommittal shrug, frowning at the grass as he ripped it up like it personally wronged him.

“Seriously?” Max asked dumbly. Alex huffed and looked up at him.

“What are you surprised about?” he wondered. Max blinked and tried to decide what exactly he wanted to answer with. This one little detail about this one fight seemed to make the previous ones make sense. The first fight started whenever the boys in their class decided gay was the funniest insult. They got worse the more feminine Alex portrayed himself. Or, whatever it was called. Max never thought of the long hair or the painted nails or the jewelry Alex wore as feminine‒he simply saw them as Alex.

“He seriously fucked with you after you have a reputation of beating the shit out of people like him?” Max decided. It was the right answer; Alex smiled.

“Bigots don’t learn their lessons from other people very well,” he said. Max grunted in response, shaking his head.

“Dumbasses. Maybe they all just think they’re stronger than the last one and so they fight you on purpose to see if they can be the winner this time. Alas, you are the strongest padawan,” Max said. Alex’s smile got wider and he laughed, big and genuine, and threw some grass at Max. “I’m just saying!”

“I don’t know, man, I don’t know why they do it. And I know I shouldn’t feed into it by fighting, but I just get so pissed, you know?” Alex said. Max hummed and nodded. He understood sort of. He wasn’t a fighter, but, from what he knew that Alex didn’t tell him, he probably only knew how to be violent whenever his feelings got hurt. Part of Max, the mothering part, wanted to teach him a different way.

“I’m sorry they say that stuff about you,” Max said, “Are you suspended?”

Alex shrugged one shoulder. “Just one day. I told Mr. Johnson that Joel hit me first and I simply pushed him off and he slipped into the sink. Joel went with it.”

“Why’d he go with it?” Max asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Alex smirked something sinister.

“I don’t know,” he laughed, “But he did.”

They sat there in the grass for a little while longer, talking about nothing. It was easier than the nights he snuck down to the basement. Max didn’t find himself fumbling for words. It was just him and this boy he really, really liked.

“Would it bother you… if they were making fun of me for the truth?” Alex asked well after the sun went down. Max’s phone had gone off multiple times, but he’d ignored it. He would take a week full of yelling if it meant taking this moment with Alex.

“No,” Max answered honestly, “Well, it would bother me that people are fucking with you for something you can’t help.”

Alex let out a long breath and laid back in the grass. Max smiled at him and nudged his thigh with his foot. When Alex's dark eyes flickered up to him, Max gulped and laid beside him. They stared at each other and looked away and looked back and looked away. Max searched his mind for the words to describe it. This feeling. This… not straightness.

He couldn’t find one.

“I like this,” Alex said, turning his head towards the sky that he could see through the bleachers.

“What?” Max asked. His chest was full of something he couldn’t name.

“I don’t know. This, us,” Alex breathed. It was the kind of honesty that Max would choke on. Alex offered it easily. It was mind-numbing.

So, instead of trying to make his mind work, he propped himself up on his elbow. Max looked down at Alex and tried to find his words again. What was this? What did one call this? This all-encompassing thing. Alex Manes and his long hair and his dark eyes and his nice lips and Max’s desire to touch.

And so he did.

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was primal, maybe Alex would kill him once he was done, but he reached out and touched his thumb to those lips anyways. Alex turned to him, eyes wide with a different type of shock than usual and then Max watched as it clicked.

Slowly, Alex lifted onto his elbow as well. Max held his breath as Alex’s tongue reached for his thumb. Then he wasn’t holding his breath. He just couldn’t fucking breathe.

Alex moved closer, eyes flickering from Max’s to his lips and then back. He was breathing. At least one of them was. So Max leaned in entirely and tried to remember what breathing felt like.

Kissing Alex Manes was not what he expected. He’d expected it to be rough, dangerous, quick. He didn’t expect it to be so slow. Alex dragged out each agonizing second, single-handedly putting Max’s heart in his throat with the sweet taste of his tongue.

Alex Manes kissed with purpose. It felt like he’d been planning this and had full intention to make it worth the wait. And it so, so fucking was.

“Wait,” Alex said after a few minutes of painfully slow kisses, gently pulling away. Max followed in a desperate attempt to make it last but settled for falling helplessly onto Alex’s chest as he laid back down.

Fuck.

Alex let out a breathy little laugh and patted his shoulder, gently rubbing his back which made it a million times harder for Max to get his mind straight. How was he ever supposed to think about anything ever again after that?

“Why’d you stop?” Max asked after he managed to keep his mind back down to earth just enough to question why the hell that stopped. He wanted that over and over and over. He didn’t want it all.

“You are one of the most painfully heterosexual people I’ve ever met in my life, Max Evans,” Alex told him, “I’m not sure why you just kissed me, but I have a feeling you’ll regret it once you’re in a better state of mind. I don’t want you regretting anything.”

Max furrowed his eyebrows and lifted his head to look up at Alex. He thought Max was straight. Granted, he didn’t have any outwardly gay or even bisexual things about him. Of all the billions of stereotypes they had for queer people, Max didn’t fit any of them.

He just fit the one box that was the only real requirement.

“I’m into you,” Max said, “I don’t… I don’t know what I am. I don’t know if I’m gay or bisexual or pansexual or… I don’t know, none of them feel right to me. All I know is that I’m into you and I’ve… been interested in other guys before. Just… no one real, I guess. I sound stupid.”

“No,” Alex said quickly, the softest, sweetest smile on his face that Max had ever seen. He felt blessed that it was for him. “No, you don’t sound stupid. You sound exactly right.”

Max swallowed harshly and kept staring until Alex moved in and kissed him again. Long fingers went into his hair and Max settled into Alex’s side. And they kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

“Let’s go home.”

”Fuck me.”

Max grinned helplessly as he looked up to Alex. He had pinched himself twice trying to wake up from this insane dream, but it never worked and he was still on his knees in front of Alex Manes. They had made it up to his bedroom where Alex was bracing himself against his dresser.

Technically, Max was grounded for not telling anyone where he disappeared to for hours and then ignoring everyone and then, when he finally did get home, refused to say where he was. He couldn’t exactly say he’d been making out with the delinquent that he was hiding in the basement, so he said nothing and took the disappointed look from his mother.

“You are way too good at that for a guy who claims to have no prior experience,” Alex breathed. Max smiled even wider and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood back on his feet and tried not to think too much about the way Alex looked up at him with his flushed cheeks.

“I don’t, but you’re a really good motivator to get good at it,” Max said and tried not to sound so fucking childish. He couldn’t help it. He’d never done anything with anyone of any gender past kissing until he’d gotten with Alex a week ago. He found it hard to control himself.

“Shut up,” Alex laughed, hand reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. Max took a deep breath as their lips pressed together. It was still too good. “Hey, can I ask a question?”

“Anything,” Max breathed. Alex snorted and scratched behind his ear like Max was a dog. And perhaps he was because he loved it.

“How much longer until I need to be out of the basement?” Alex asked. That very quickly sobered Max up and he pulled away with furrowed eyebrows.

“What do you mean? Why would you need to go?” he wondered. Alex gave him a smile that said he was naive.

“We both know the longer I stay, the more likely it is that we’re going to get caught. You know damn well that your mom won’t let us see each other if she finds out you’ve been sneaking me in,” Alex said. Max grunted unhappily and let his forehead fall onto Alex’s.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whined. Alex smiled softly and combed through his hair.

“I know, but we’re running on borrowed time.”

“Where would you go? If you stopped staying here, where are you gonna stay?” Max asked, fingers gripping at Alex’s sides. Alex shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out.”

“No, I am gonna worry about it. I don’t want you sleeping on a bench or some shit. I want you to be safe,” Max said. Alex didn’t answer. They stared at each other for a moment and then Max decided to ask something he knew he shouldn’t. “Could… Could you maybe go home?”

Alex took a whole step away and shook his head. “Not an option.”

“Why?” Max asked. He knew he was stepping into uncharted territory, but he didn’t want to lose Alex. He’d just gotten a taste of something good. “I mean, maybe you could talk it out with your dad or something. I’m sure he wants you back home.”

Alex was staring at him with that hardened face, the one that was never used on Max. It made him feel small. He looked down towards the floor.

“Not. An. Option.”

“I’m sorry,” Max murmured, “I just…”

They were silent for another beat until Alex moved back into his space and placed a hand on his cheek. They locked eyes and Max wanted even more for them to work it out somehow.

“My dad isn’t the type of guy to talk it out with, okay?” Alex said, “I’ll figure it out.”

Reluctantly, Max nodded.

“Okay.”

Isobel mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ over her mother’s shoulder. They were caught.

Anne Evans stood with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised, Alex’s extra back just dumped unceremoniously at her feet. Max looked over to Alex who had his hardened face on. Thankfully, they hadn’t been kissing whenever they came into the room. That would’ve added an extra layer of shit.

“Care to explain?” she said cooly. Max grimaced and closed his eyes.

Except then he realized that he couldn’t do that. He genuinely had explaining to do. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince his mom to let Alex stay.

“He has nowhere to go,” Max started, doing his best puppy eyes, “I was doing a good thing, giving him a place to stay, right? Like, you wouldn’t just let a seventeen-year-old be on the street.” Max looked over to Alex and tried to make sure that he wasn’t offending him. There wasn’t really a good, clean way to do this.

“And you didn’t think to ask me?” Anne demanded. Max bowed his head. He really hadn’t. He just assumed the answer was no. “Maybe if you would’ve asked we could’ve figured it out. But instead, you acted like there was something to hide, which makes me think that there is. This is unlike you. You’ve always asked me first, but now you’re being secretive and hiding people in my house without asking. I cannot begin to articulate the absolute disrespect you showed me, Max. I didn’t expect this from you.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans, this is my fault,” Alex jumped in, “I didn’t have to stay here, but I did. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Anne said. Max’s eyes widened and he instinctively looked to Alex.

“No!” Alex gave him a look that said 'not now’, but this wasn’t okay. “You have nowhere to stay, Alex!”

“It’s okay,” Alex said, turning to his mother once more, “I’m sorry.”

Alex left swiftly and then it was just Anne Evans and her two children. Isobel was looking awkward and out of place which was uncharacteristic and Max was glaring at his mother which was equally as uncharacteristic.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that. I know boys like him, don’t think I don’t. I don’t want that kind of person in my house,” Anne said. Max scoffed, rage boiling in him. She didn’t know anything.

“Alex isn’t like whatever you’re thinking. He’s nice and smart and he doesn’t do anything bad. He really just doesn’t have a place to go home to and it’s not fair that he’s being punished for it!” Max argued. Anne sighed slowly and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“If he was really nice and smart, he would’ve asked for permission to stay under my room.”

“He doesn’t know how to ask for things like that! He assumes the answer is no!” Max spat, shaking his head, “I thought you of all people would be more sympathetic to him.”

His mother gave him a look that looked like Isobel and it became that much more difficult to see that they weren’t actually related. But Max felt it more than ever.

“Why in the world would you think that I would let a boy with violent tendencies into my house?” Anne asked. Max scoffed.

“Because you took in me and Isobel whenever you had no idea what we were capable of,” Max said. That seemed to shut her up. “Guess I was wrong.”

Max stalked up to his room and was already typing a text to Alex.

It took three days before Max finally figured out what ended up happening to Alex. He’d been rudely left in the dark from all sides whenever his mom grounded him and no one had been answering his texts. He wasn’t sure if he was just being ignored or if his service had been turned off.

Turns out, people were just figuring out all the gritty details before telling him.

“So you’re staying with Michael?” Max asked, eyebrows furrowed as looked at Alex. He was allowed to come over, they just weren’t allowed upstairs or in the basement. He had a feeling his mother knew it was more than they were letting on and she just wasn’t going to force him to say it. She would just treat it like he already had. He couldn’t say it was the worst-case scenario.

“Yeah,” Alex said with a soft laugh, “Turns out two people from fucked up families get along well.”

“I don’t even understand,” Max said, rubbing his head that seemed to ache with his confusion. Alex smiled at him and gave a small laugh.

“Well, your mom basically tracked me down that night and told me to get in her car. I thought she was gonna kill me, not gonna lie,” Alex admitted, “But she brought me out to Foster’s Ranch. I can live with them as long as I work on the ranch. It’s not so bad; Michael’s a good teacher. Besides, I think it’ll be good for me to get some of my aggression out by doing manual labor.”

Max licked his lips and nodded slowly. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Michael and Alex spending so much alone time together on acres of land, but he couldn’t say anything. Alex had a safe place to stay. That was worth whatever the future might bring.

“And we can still see each other,” Max said. Alex nodded.

“And we can still see each other.”

They stared for a moment before Max looked around the room quickly and then leaned in for a kiss. Alex kept it short, but still accepted it willingly.

“Thank you,” Alex whispered, “For caring about me.”

Max didn’t know how to explain that Alex didn’t know the half of it. So, instead, he took his hand in his own and tried to think of the positives. Alex was going to be okay. He was going to be okay.

“No problem.”

#wheel of crack Wednesday #manevans #manevans fic #max evans #max evans fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #my fic

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newstfionline · 4 years

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Headlines

SpaceX capsule and NASA crew make 1st splashdown in 45 years (AP) Two NASA astronauts returned to Earth on Sunday in a dramatic, retro-style splashdown, their capsule parachuting into the Gulf of Mexico to close out an unprecedented test flight by Elon Musk’s SpaceX company. It was the first splashdown by U.S. astronauts in 45 years, with the first commercially built and operated spacecraft to carry people to and from orbit. The return clears the way for another SpaceX crew launch as early as next month and possible tourist flights next year. Test pilots Doug Hurley and Bob Behnken rode the SpaceX Dragon capsule back to Earth less than a day after departing the International Space Station and two months after blasting off from Florida. The capsule parachuted into the calm gulf waters about 40 miles off the coast of Pensacola, hundreds of miles from Tropical Storm Isaias pounding Florida’s Atlantic coast. “Welcome back to planet Earth and thanks for flying SpaceX,” said Mission Control from SpaceX headquarters. More than an hour after splashdown, the astronauts emerged from their capsule on the deck of a recovery ship, both signaling a thumbs-up as they headed for medical exams.

Students return to campus (AP) The first wave of college students returning to their dorms aren’t finding the typical mobs of students and parents. What they found Friday were strict safety protocols and some heightened anxiety amid a global pandemic where virus infections are growing in dozens of states. North Carolina State University staggered the return of its students over 10 days and welcomed the first 900 students to campus, where they were greeted Friday by socially distant volunteers donning masks and face shields. Elon University in North Carolina, mailed testing kits to all 7,000 students ahead of their arrival in a few weeks. Maine’s Colby College will be testing students before they arrive and then three times a week for the first two weeks on campus. They’ll be tested twice a week after that, until the semester ends. The University of Rhode Island is scaling back campus housing to abide by distancing requirements, causing a scramble for some students. “Just like the rest of the world, we have to figure out how to carry on,” said Betsy Flanagan, who was sending her freshman son, Arch, off to college. “This virus isn’t going away and it’s going to be with us for quite a while, so we all have to figure out how to safely exist and that includes continuing to educate our future.”

Face masks are thwarting even the best facial recognition algorithms, study finds (CNET) It turns out face masks aren’t just effective at preventing the spread of airborne diseases like COVID-19—they’re also successful at blocking facial recognition algorithms, researchers say. In a report published Monday, the US National Institute of Standards and Technology found that face masks were thwarting even the most advanced facial recognition algorithms. Error rates varied from 5% to 50%, depending on an algorithm’s capabilities.

How the pandemic and a broken unemployment system are upending people’s lives (Washington Post) He had five days to move out of the house in Brightwood Park, and now Daniel Vought stood looking at the plastic crates stacked in the living room holding his things. T-shirts. Power cords. Pokémon cards and stuffed animals. His beloved guitar—a Gibson Explorer electric—still hung on the wall. He figured it would be safer staying behind. A new housemate was coming, one who could actually pay $800 a month for the room Vought, 30, had lived in rent-free since the coronavirus pandemic shut down the Georgetown bar where he worked. For four months, his unemployment benefits application had been snared in red tape at the D.C. Department of Employment Services, a black hole of unanswered emails, phone holds and automated voice messages offering delays instead of answers. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people in the nation’s capital have been sucked down the same confusing abyss. Through July 29, the employment office has fielded more than 133,000 claims, nearly five times the number processed in all of 2019. In the meantime, the end of July meant the end of the initial round of federal emergency pandemic assistance. Republicans and Democrats in Congress are deadlocked over the scope of a second wave of federal help. No matter what that future assistance looks like, for people like Vought, still waiting for benefits from the spring and living without a financial cushion, the damage has been done. People pushed into poverty by the coronavirus pandemic could face years of increased dependence on government help, experts say, and greater housing insecurity and homelessness. A single mother with another baby due this summer found herself choosing between buying food or paying the rent. A former D.C. police officer spent months on a relative’s sofa, unable to find work or collect unemployment so he could find his own housing.

Coronavirus pandemic causes another health concern—closed public restrooms (Washington Post) When courier Brent Williams makes his daily deliveries around the city here, he runs into one persistent problem: There’s almost nowhere to use the restroom. Most public buildings are closed under the pandemic, and restaurants and coffee shops that have shifted to carryout service won’t let him use their facilities. “It’s hard to find any place where I can use the restroom,” said Williams, speaking outside a library in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood that has reopened its restrooms to the public. The library is one of five citywide to have opened their doors, and other parts of the city have almost no options for those who need to relieve themselves or wash their hands. The lack of restrooms has become an issue for delivery workers, taxi and ride-hailing drivers and others who make their living outside of a fixed office building. For the city’s homeless, it’s part of an ongoing problem that preceded covid-19. “It’s gone from bad to worse,” said Eric, who lives in an encampment near Interstate 5. (Eric asked to be identified by only his first name.) “It’s definitely much, much harder.”

A weakened Tropical Storm Isaias lashes virus-hit Florida (AP) Bands of heavy rain from Isaias lashed Florida’s east coast Sunday while officials dealing with surging cases of the coronavirus kept a close watch on the weakened tropical storm. Isaias was downgraded from a hurricane to a tropical storm Saturday afternoon, but was still threatening to bring heavy rain and flooding as it crawled just off Florida’s Atlantic coast. Upper-level winds took much of the strength out of Isaias, said Stacy Stewart, senior hurricane specialist at the National Hurricane Center in Miami. The storm also slowed down considerably.Authorities closed beaches, parks and virus testing sites, lashing signs to palm trees so they wouldn’t blow away. DeSantis said the state is anticipating power outages and asked residents to have a week’s supply of water, food and medicine on hand. Officials wrestled with how to prepare shelters where people can seek refuge from the storm if necessary, while also safely social distancing to prevent the spread of the virus.

Latin America coronavirus death toll surges past 200,000 (Reuters) The death toll in Latin America from the novel coronavirus passed 200,000 on Saturday night, a Reuters tally showed, underlining the region’s status as one of the global epicenters of the pandemic that is testing governments to the limit. Apart from the United States, Brazil and Mexico have racked up more fatalities from the virus than any other country, and together they account for around 70% of the regional death toll. Both have struggled to balance the need to curb the spread of the virus with restrictive safety measures while trying to reopen their economies, which have been battered by the crisis. Other countries in Latin America are also battling to hold the coronavirus at bay, and the region breached the 200,000 mark after Peru registered another 191 fatalities.

Indian police crackdown on illegal liquor suppliers after 86 die (Reuters) Indian police raided rural hamlets and made arrests to break up a bootlegging cartel on Sunday, after 86 people died from consuming illegally-produced alcohol this week in the northwestern state of Punjab, officials said.

Victoria state declares disaster, night curfew (AP) The premier of Australia’s hard-hit Victoria state has declared a disaster among sweeping new coronavirus restrictions across Melbourne and elsewhere from Sunday night. An evening curfew will be implemented across Melbourne from 8 p.m. to 5 a.m. Premier Daniel Andrews says the state of disaster proclamation gave police greater power. He says 671 new coronavirus cases had been detected since Saturday, including seven deaths. It comes among a steadily increasing toll in both deaths and infections over the past six weeks in Victoria. Melbourne residents will only be allowed to shop and exercise within 5 kilometers (3 miles) of their homes. All students across the state will return to home-based learning and child care centers will be closed.

Israel’s Netanyahu rails at media over protests against him (AP) Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu on Sunday railed at swelling protests against his rule, saying they were egged on by a biased media that distorts facts and cheers on the demonstrators. Netanyahu has faced a wave of protests in recent weeks, with demonstrators calling for the resignation of the long-serving leader, who is on trial for corruption charges. They’ve also panned his handling of the coronavirus crisis. Netanyahu has painted the protests as dens of “anarchists” and “leftists” out to topple “a strong right-wing leader.” The protests have largely been peaceful. In some cases they have ended with clashes between demonstrators and police. In others, small gangs of Netanyahu supporters and individuals affiliated with far-right groups have assaulted demonstrators.

#headlines #news

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timelordthirteen · 6 years

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The Don’t Fall in Love Job 3/?

Mr. Gold/Lacey French, Explicit overall

Summary: Con artist Lacey never planned on staying in Storybrooke, just long enough to let the heat cool off in Boston from her last job. She also never planned on falling in love with the town’s eccentric pawn broker, Mr. Gold, but here she is living a life built on nothing but lies. Well, almost nothing… This is what happens after it all falls apart.

Chapter Summary: After leaving Storybrooke, Lacey gets some unexpected, life changing news, and remembers the first time she met Mr. Gold.

Notes: You all knew this was coming. Please bear with me, I promise not all is what it seems. :) I may have to put together some timeline notes at some point, but I don't plan on making a habit of flashbacks in this story as it's primarily about where the characters are now, not where they have been. Unbeta’d and probably a mess.

Warnings: Pregnancy, Unplanned pregnancy

[AO3]

The bathroom was dim and dingy and smelled of bleach.

Lacey stretched her arm up and leaned against the wide mirror, her forehead resting at her elbow. The glass felt wonderfully cool and she sighed as above her head one of the light bulbs flickered and went out. Her other arm hung limp at her side, her fingertips barely holding the slim plastic handle as it dangled. She sniffled sharply and then sucked in a breath through her nose, her eyes watering as the acrid scent stung her sinuses.

After a long moment, she straightened and stared down at the double lines, taunting her with their happy pink color. It was such a simple thing. Two easy steps: pee on a stick, ruin your life! She dropped the test in the little trash bin, wincing as it clanged and landed on top of the other tests she’d taken over the last three days. They all had the same answer, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

Pregnant.

With another sigh, she shuffled out of the bathroom and collapsed on the narrow bed, the metal springs squeaking in protest as she shifted and rolled onto her back. If she had been strong enough to keep walking, none of this would be happening. She should have never left Boston. She should have never stopped in Storybrooke.

She should have never fallen in love.

8 months ago...

Lacey shivered as she stepped off the bus.

The light of a red neon sign cut through the hazy gray afternoon, and she headed towards it. An early March drizzle matted her hair as she walked down the street. The steady rain was slowly melting the dirty, gray piles of snow, leaving behind a layer of grit that washed into the streets. The remains of winter always seemed so morose and dreary, despite the increasing hours of daylight.

She stopped and looked up at the sign, Granny's Diner. It had the kind of ring to it that made you think of black coffee and cherry pie, and she started to smile. On the surface, Storybrooke seemed like a decent enough place to stop for now, at least until she figured out where to go next. It was small, and the nearest big box store or Walmart was an hour's drive away, but it was also the last stop the bus made before it crossed the border into Canada. She couldn't risk her fake passport failing a customs inspection.

A quick search on her phone told her Granny also ran a small inn, with free breakfast and basic cable. She could tell from the outside of the building that it had that odd, only in New England charm, the kind that somehow made the combination of gingham curtains and kitschy sailboats in bottles work.

Granny herself was exactly as expected, an older woman with curly gray hair and a pair of wireframe spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She gave Lacey a flat, unconcerned look over the rims of her glasses as the door shut, cutting off the chill from outside.

“Can I help you?”

Lacey put on her sweetest smile and walked up to the counter. “Hi, I'd like a room, please?”

Granny frowned and slipped her glasses off, letting them dangle from a beaded lanyard around her neck. “You're definitely not from around here.”

She smiled wider and shook her head. “What gave it away?”

Her accent was fairly unmistakable, of course, but she didn’t see the point in hiding it from anyone here. She’d done that for years in Boston, along with the occasional wig or colored contacts. No one would be looking for a Australian, much less in the middle of nowhere Maine.

Granny started to grin, and flipped open a wide ledger. “How long will you be staying, Miss...?”

“French,” Lacey said automatically, inwardly cringing at how easily she’d used the familiar alias.

Granny's eyebrows lifted.

“Belle,” she added quickly. “Belle French.”

Rule number one: keep the lie simple. The more complex the lies get, the harder it is to keep them straight in your head.

The old woman seemed to be deep in thought for a long moment, then she clapped her hands together and grinned. “Oh! You're the new librarian!”

Rule number two: if the mark suggests or assumes something about you, go with it. People are less likely to question something they came up with.

“Yep!” Lacey answered brightly. “Yeah, that’s - that’s me!”

She’d probably spent a total of five hours in an actual library in her life, but what the hell. She pretended to be a ballerina once, and almost ended up the understudy to a Russian prima ballerina. Besides, she didn’t plan on staying long, so if she made a few bucks shelving some books, it certainly wouldn’t hurt her situation.

Granny nodded and made a note in her ledger, then turned to take a key off the rack on the wall behind her. “Well, then we’re very happy to have you stay with us. How many nights will you be staying?”

“Thank you. Um, just a week for now,” Lacey said absently as she scanned the short list of names in the ledger. “I’ll, uh, look for a permanent place once I get settled in my new job.”

The last entry in the book was five days old, and before that the most recent guests were from almost three months ago. They were probably staying in town for the holidays, or waiting out a snowstorm on there way to somewhere else. She wondered just how sleepy this little New England town was that a cozy inn like Granny’s, in a town along the coast, was used so infrequently.

She pulled out a credit card she was pretty sure still worked, just as the other woman turned and set the key on the counter.

“Just sign in here,” Granny instructed.

Then she picked up the credit card and swiped it as Lacey held her breath. The name on it was wrong. If Granny noticed she’d have to come up with some excuse, but within seconds the card was back in her hand and she was tucking it away in her purse.

Lacey looked up from signing her new alias. “Thank you, Ms...?”

“Lucas,” Granny replied, eyeing the signature before giving Lacey an appraising smile. “Martha Lucas, but everyone just calls me Granny. I put you in room number four. It has a nice view of the town square. Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square, but since you’re the reason the library is reopening, I'll waive it.”

“Thank you, Granny, I -”

“Well,” came a smooth, accented voice from behind her. “Who might this be?”

Lacey turned to find a man in a well-tailored, dark suit. He had brown hair to his shoulders, streaked with gray at his temples, and stood with his hands casually folded over a gold handled cane. There was something imposing about him despite his slim build, and a look in his eye that was a strange mix of cool indifference and curiosity.

“She’s the new librarian,” Granny said, gesturing towards her.

He started towards Lacey, the movements graceful even with his slight limp, and then stopped next to her. She glanced at Granny, and saw the woman’s entire demeanor, which had been pleasant thus far, shift to being very standoffish. She glared as she reached down under the counter, pulled up a metal lockbox, and took out a sizable roll of money, tied with a rubber band.

Lacey’s eyes went wide as she watched Granny feather the ends of the bills with her thumb before holding them out to the man.

“It’s all there,” she snapped as he reached out and took the money, plucking it from her grasp with two long fingers.

“Of course it is, dearie, thank you.” He turned to Lacey, and gave her a slow smile. “So, new librarian?”

Lacey nodded. “Yes, I’m -”

“Miss...Frank, if I remember?” he interrupted, touching a finger to his bottom lip. “From...Hartford?”

Her eyes were drawn to the digit as it rubbed back and forth, and she dug her nails into the palm of her hand. It was an old trick to help keep her focused when she was unsure about the next lie that came out of her mouth, the story she was about to build out of it. He seemed to be the type of person who knew things, who had a hand in everything, and wielded a quiet sort of power. The way he was looking at her was unnerving.

“French,” she corrected. “And I just got in from Boston.”

Rule number three: always make your story close enough to the truth that your reactions and memories are natural.

“Ah, yes.” He inclined his head slightly and held out his hand. “I’m Mr. Gold.”

Lacey held his gaze for a long moment, and then let it flick down to his hand before she took it in hers and gave it a firm shake. His fingers were warm and soft, except for a light callous on the pad of his thumb. It brushed her skin for a second, and she swallowed.

“I’m Belle,” she said, meeting his calculated smile with one of her own. “Belle French.”

He flashed his teeth and she caught the glint of gold, her eyes widening as she pulled her hand away.

“Belle,” he echoed softly. “What a lovely name.”

She watched as he moved to the door and opened it, letting a sharp sliver of sunlight in that made his eyes look deep and warm. The thumb of her right had moved absently over her fingers and palm. She could still feel the gentle grip of his hand on hers.

Gold met her eyes and gave her a small nod. “Enjoy your stay...Belle.”

Outside it started raining, the wind slapping water against the window in a steady, soothing rhythm.

Lacey’s hand had drifted down to her belly as she thought about those first minutes in Storybrooke. It came to rest over the waistband of her jeans for a moment, before she pulled it away. Whatever was happening was right there, right under the dark denim fabric and layers of skin and muscle. Something was taking root inside her without her permission.

The thought made her feel sick, and she rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up. Her eyes squeezed tight as she breathed in and out slowly, listening to the patter of the rain until it passed. She supposed there would be more of that in the next few weeks, along with a whole lot of other changes. There would be months of it in fact.

She shifted onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the cracks that spread out from the old plaster medallion in the center. It was sort of like her life now, all the cracks she’d created with her lies and schemes, all the people she’d pushed away. She couldn’t have a baby or be a mother. This was no kind of life for a child, or for her anymore, but it was the only thing she’d ever been good at.

Well, almost.

For a while she’d been pretty decent at running a library, but that wasn’t an option anymore. She couldn’t really put a job that should have never been hers, that she’d held under an assumed name, on a resume. She also couldn’t put model, pool shark, lawyer, county zoning clerk, or flautist on there either, no matter how well she’d pulled them off at the time.

Thunder rumbled and she shivered. It would have been easy to let herself remember more than just the first time she met Alexander Gold. Like the time she’d ducked into his shop to get out of the rain, the day the power went out on them in the library, or the weekend they’d spent in his cabin by the lake.

That weekend had been magical. It had also been the one and only time Gold said he loved her, before their last moments together in Storybrooke. She could still hear his voice gasping her name - Belle, Belle, Belle - over and over until they were both spent. And then the softest whisper, so faint that it could have happened a dream. I love you. The look in his eyes afterwards was undeniable, and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces even as she pulled him to her and kissed him.

If only it had been real. But Belle wasn’t real, she was just another lie, another mask worn on the outside for a while. It didn’t matter that it had been the hardest to remove, the hardest to walk away from, it wasn’t her. Gold’s love wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. It wasn’t for her.

Belle would have said it back, she thought. If she’d really been Belle, deep down, she would have said it back and that would have been it. The beginning of everything instead of the beginning of the end.

Belle would have stayed.

Belle would have wanted a baby.

Belle would have been brave.

Lacey sucked in a breath and sat up, running her hands through her hair roughly as she brushed it back from her face. She twisted it up and snatched a hair tie from her nightstand to wrap around it. Then she stood and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on as she headed out of her bedroom.

Rule number four: plans change, always have a backup.

There was a few hundred dollars in the bottom of a ceramic cookie jar on her kitchen counter, which she pulled out and rolled up in her hand. It was her emergency stash, leftover from the last paycheck the Storybrooke Public Library had paid her. Well, that it had paid to Belle French, who had immediately cashed it and stashed it.

She squeezed the money in her fist and shoved it in her pocket as she stepped out of the apartment building and into the rain. It felt everyone she passed was judging her, like they knew where she was going and what she was going to do.

The storefront the clinic was in used to be a salon. Some of the exam rooms still had the hair washing sinks in them, with the flexible hoses and the cutouts where you would lay your neck. Once upon a time, Lacey had wanted to be a hairstylist. And a makeup artist. And an actress. And a zookeeper.

None of that happened.

Her leg kept bouncing nervously as she sat on the hard plastic chair. It made the paper form flap against the clipboard. When she got to the line that said patient name, she paused and blinked. For a moment she wasn’t sure what to write and the ink from the pen bled into the page as she watched.

Who the fuck was she anymore?

She took a slow, deep breath and scribbled the only name her fingers could manage to write - Belle French - hoping that by doing so, she could borrow just a little of her alter ego’s courage.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #golden lace #golden lace fic #my rumbelle fic #the don't fall in love job #fic

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kdenbibi · 7 years

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Endless chapter 3 Damian Wayne x reader (x various)

Summary: Damian is upsetti.

Warnings: Mild cursing, Damian Wayne’s attitude.

Authors note: I love y’all -Admin A

Damian’s POV

The air was thick, the smell of sweat lingered with every heavy breath I took. I squinted at the clock on the gym wall, I came down here to train for an hour or so, but that was long ago and the sun now hung low in the sky. I unwrapped my hands, flexing my fingers once they were free of the protective bandages, the sore feeling that lingered in my fingertips brought a strange sense of comfort. It was familiar. I had just finished taking some of my anger out on one of our unlucky punching bags, father was still upset I didn’t tell him I was investigating that girl, he had yet to tell me of my punishment, it’s all that fat mouthed Grayson’s fault too. Of course he had to open his mouth, when we got home that night I awaited my punishment with a scowl, and a knot of stubborn anxiety locked in my stomach.All was going well before the Golden boy showed up- I had it under control. For the most part. I threw the bandages in my duffel bag, rolling my eyes at the memory. “Damian you gotta communicate with us, that’s the point of a team, to help each other.” Grayson tried to reason with me as we made our way into the cave, but I didn’t care, I stormed past him, throwing my mask on a nearby work table before sitting myself in my father’s work chair.I unclasped one of my gauntlets, the sound of it hitting the desk echoed throughout the cave. “I didn’t need your so called help Grayson, I was gathering information on a possible enhanced and you came along and ruined it.” I shoved the power button on the computer with a little more force than necessary. Dick pulled himself on top of a table, he opened a random compartment, pulling out two granola bars.“Oh yeah it sure seemed like things were going swell.” He said ripping one open and tossing the other in my direction, I caught it, not looking away from the computer, I opened a file, all the useless information I’d gathered on (y/n) sat almost mockingly. Nothing suspicious, no red flags, she was a born and raised gothamite with no track record, I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so irritated.My brows furrowed as I stared at the piles of information I gathered. “Woah you already have a file on the kid? What’s the situation is she a meta?” Grayson managed to find a chair and roll his way to my side.“She’s definitely enhanced, the range of her abilities and what she plans to do with them remains unknown."Dick tapped his chin in thought before shrugging. "I’m not entirely sure what she’s done to get under your radar but she seems like a sweet enough kid- look she works at a library, no evildoer works at a library.” I scoffed, closing the file. “I’m not saying she’s an ‘evildoer’ I’m simply doing my job.”“Okay- no need to get so defensive.” He rolled away, hands raised in surrender.“Tt” Grayson made a noise between a laugh and a sigh before running a hand through his hair.“You know we’re gonna have to tell Bruce about this right?”“Tell me about what?"Father’s brooding voice called from the caves elevator door. I hated how he could still surprise me. His voice was tired, he was dressed in his normal attire- scratch that. His normal attire was the suit, he was dressed as Bruce Wayne, the billionaire, which explains the exhausted look on his face.Grayson sucked his teeth, kicking his feet up on a nearby table."Junior over here decided to do some detective work on a possible new meta without telling anyone, the poor kid he was interrogating was very close to turning into a shish kabob.” Father raised a brow, casually walking down the ramp before leaning against a case displaying prototype weapons.“Is that so?”“I had a lead and followed it, there was no time to inform the team.” I crossed my arms in a defensive stance, “It was a simple recon mission, I couldn’t be bothered to bother you.” I inwardly smirked, after all my logic seemed bulletproof.Father nodded, his hands resting in the pockets of his pants. He made his way over to me, gently patting my shoulder.“No matter how big or small the mission, you always inform your team, what if this meta was too much? What if they overpowered you?” I couldn’t help the small “Unlikely” that left my mouth.Father scoffed, his casual attitude melting away to show the anger I was expecting.“Damian, I can understand your motives but you need to learn your lesson-"I shrugged his hand away, my anger quickly getting the best of me."So what father, you’re going to punish me for doing my job?”“No, I’m going to punish you for not doing your job.” His voice was always annoyingly calm, no matter the situation- I hated it. “Let me guess, you’ll take me off patrol for what- a week?” He stared at me, a few moments of silent contemplation passed before he spoke up.“No, you won’t learn your lesson if I do that."I stared at him, now more confused than angry."So what is it? Am I grounded?."He smirked, then turned to walk back up the elevator ramp."I’ll get back to you on that.” And just like that he was gone. I scoffed before turning to Grayson who managed to take my seat and reopen (y/n)’s file.“Snitch."He said nothing as he opened a new tab.I rolled my eyes impatiently."What are you doing?”“Helping you.”“I don’t need your help Dick, you’ve done enough.” A small snort left his mouth"Said no one ever.“I begrudgingly took the seat by his side as I watched him type away."Don’t bother, that file has everything, her mom, her brother, hell, even her grandmas in there.”“What about her dad?"I stayed silent, realizing I didn’t give much thought to the fact that there was nothing on him.Grayson finally turned away from the screen."Don’t you find it strange how there’s nothing on him, like he doesn’t exist.” I quickly kicked his chair in the other direction ignoring his startled 'Hey!’ and began furiously searching, the birth records, school records, doctor records, nothing. Absolutely nothing. I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality, that happened days ago and to my frustration I still couldn’t find a thing on the guy.I tried to chock it up to another dead beat dad but the fact that there was never any sign of him suggested someone edited these files. I huffed out a breath of aggravation, before flicking the lights to the gym off and heading upstairs.I pushed (Y/n) and her sketchy backstory out of my head as I took the long route to my father’s study. I knew the moment he called me up here what was coming, my punishment. It took him a few days to come up with something, which scared me more than anything. I tried to level out my nerves as I unfortunately neared his door. I swallowed the lump in my throat- I hated to admit any form of weakness, especially fear. Just thinking about the word left a bad taste in my mouth. I was the grandson of the demon for Christ sake, and as much as it demolished my pride to say so my father could be quite terrifying when he wanted to be. I quickly pushed open the door, not allowing myself another second of doubt.“Damian, I’m glad you could join me.”“Well you did just call me up here.” He smirked before rising, casually walking up to the window, his arms folded behind his back, much too relaxed for my liking.He stared out the window for a moment, taking in the view of the lush gardens in our backyard, the sun had just begun to set, painting a beautiful background.I stood, feet planted firmly as I awaited his anger, but it never came. When he spoke he was poised, like he knew something I didn’t.“When you took up the Robin mantle, you took on a plethora of responsibilitys.” I nodded even though he wasn’t looking at me.“As you know, there have been others before you, all promising sets of skill, all determined to be the best."I dug my nails into my palm in anticipation- 'he wasn’t taking Robin away from me was he? No he couldn’t be, not for a mistake so trivial.'Despite the reassuring voice in my head, my nails dug deeper into the calloused skin on my hand.He finally turned to look at me, eyes set in a serious gaze."They were very different from one another but what was the unquestionable quality they all shared? Leadership.”“What are you saying?”“I’m saying you’re a good Robin son, but I’m also saying despite all of your skills and talents you lack the conviction of a true leader.” My eyes bore into his, anger, determination, envy, all swirling in my head. I swallowed every curse I wanted to spew his way before responding. “What do I have to do?” He made it to my side in a few steps. Placing a hand on my shoulder he gave me a smirk. “I’m glad you asked.” Almost like magic, a knock on the door sounded before he could continue.“Right on time.” I stared at his retreating back as he walked to answer the door, the confusion evident on my face. Alfred appeared behind the door, a cheeky smile greeted my father.“Master Bruce your guest has arrived.”“Wonderful, where if he?”“Ah yes, Mr. Kent is settling in his room, shall I retrieve him?”“Yes please, send him to to parlor.” I tuned out the rest of the conversation.Kent? As in Clark Kent?Did my father bring Superman out here to teach me some tedious lesson on leadership?I quickly walked up to the duo.“Father I-"His hand pushed me in the direction of Alfred’s retreating form."Come on now.” He said interrupting me.I followed, my curiosity easily slipped into annoyance as we made our way down the long hallway and eventually into the parlor room.“This doesn’t make any sense, why is Superman here to teach me a lesson?”“He’s not.” And with that he gave me a shove, I stumbled slightly before catching myself, infront of me stood a young man, his back was to me as he admired the parlor, taking in the art and decor that covered the walls.He spun around so fast his hoodie strings hit him in the chest, his gaze met mine and instantly I knew this was the son of Superman.His hand shot out before I could process it.“Hi, Jon Kent nice to meet you.” I hesitated before shaking his outstretched limb. “Likewise.” I pulled back hiding my wince at his grip- damn Kryptonian’s. I looked back at my father’s who’s arms were crossed, his face held a smug expression.“Explain yourself.” He chuckled slightly, pushing himself off the wall and walking over to us.“This, is your way Damian. Prove your skills in the ultimate test.” I squinted trying to understand. If possible my face would be a question mark right about now.I opened my mouth to voice said confusion only to be interrupted by the boy.“Wait you don’t know?” I turned to look at him, arms folded.“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have asked."He laughed, uncomfortable but still smiling.Scratching the back of his head he continued."Oh right sorry- um well we’re gonna be teammates!” He looked at me, clearly nervous, instead of responding to him I turned to my father with the best glare I could muster.“Pardon me, did he just-”“Yes, and he’s exactly right, you two will be working together from now on."I scoffed looking up at my father,"In case you forgot, we have the 'dynamic duo’ thing covered already.” He stared back, expression unchanging from his stupid smirk.“Exactly why it won’t be just the two of you.”“If this is some kinda joke-”“It’s not."I scoffed in disbelief. My mind not accepting the sudden decision."So, we’re making a team?”“Correct, and you’ll be leading them.”“Like the Justice League but smaller!” Jon pipped in pinching his fingers together to emphasize his point.I rolled my eyes- this kid was officially annoying, before turning back to reason with my old man.“Father- reconsider. I understand my previous actions were childish but you’ve given me time to think and now I understand.” He sighed, clearly not buying my speech.“Look Damian, if you’re not up for the challenge, all you have to do is admit it and the whole thing will be called off."I frowned, his smug smile only got wider. 'oh he’d love for me to back away- it prove his point and I’d be on desk duty for the next year’ I growled under my breath, the room stood silent in anticipation. I could hear Jon nervously bouncing from foot to foot, and my father leaned back against the wall knowingly. Son of a bitch. "Fine- I’ll do it.” “I knew you would son.” I heard the Kent boy breathe out a breath of what I could only assume was relief.“I’m assuming you thought all this out-” I wrung the gym towel hanging from my neck in frustration.“-who are our other members?”“Oh that’s entirely up to you, I’ll take care of the base and different league members will assign you missions once you’ve gathered your team.”“You’ve got to be kidding me."He raised a brow, "Well, as the leader, it makes sense for you to pick the members doesn’t it?”“Fair point- would you at least recommend someone?”“I already have.” He said gesturing the the awkward boy, fumbling with an antique on the fireplace mantle. With that father left. I turned to my new teammate with an inaudible groan. He immediately stepped away from the priceless trinket he’d been poking at with a uneasy grin.“Heyyyy” I rolled my eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day before walking out of the room, and toward the cave. Just my luck I get the stupid kryptonain. In the following days I’d managed to avoid my new housemate, only briefly seeing him in the halls, he’d offer a friendly smile and I’d offer a nod. I’d been researching him all week, his full name was Jonathan Samuel Kent, surprisingly enough he was born in Gotham, but raised in Metropolis.Though what I um 'borrowed’ from the league database told me much more interesting things, he didn’t have a good grip on his powers, he could stop a speeding car sure but his strength came nowhere close to his father’s or even the first Superboy, Conner. His flight was unreliable, although he did appear somewhat faster than the man of Steel. I brought myself out of my thoughts, instead focusing on the day ahead of me, the break we received from school was finally up, and it was my job to show Jon around according to my father. I tightened the uniform tie before tossing on the freshly ironed black blazer. I looked over myself once more before I walked out my room, not before giving Titus a quick scratch behind the ear of course.As I made my way into the kitchen, I heard Alfred fussing over Jon.“It’s been so long since I’ve had to tie someone’s tie.” Jon sheepishly laughed “I don’t usually do ties, I’m more of a flannel and jacket kinda guy.” Smoothing out Jon’s uniform with a smile on his face Alfred sighed in satisfaction.“Well I must say, you clean up well master Kent."Jon grinned at the older man."Aw thanks Mr. Pennyworth.” Alfred gave a small chuckle, handing the boy his bag.“Here you are son, now remember if anyone asks, your staying with the Wayne’s because your parents are friends and wanted you to experience the opportunities Gotham had to offer."He nodded taking the bag and slipping it on his back.I cleared my throat before sitting down at the table."Master Damian, it’s a fine morning is it not?"I glared at the boy across the room."Could be better."Alfred sucked his teeth at me."Now, your father was very clear on his instructions, he is your guest and you’re supposed to make him feel welcome. Not as if he’s about to be banished.”“Tt.”“Oh don’t you 'Tt’ at me young man, I expect better of you. You are a Wayne master Damian, present yourself as such.” Alfred, after giving me one last disapproving look, turned away to put the leftovers in the fridge. “Oh let me help you with that.” Jon stood suddenly rolling up his sleeves.“Oh how sweet of you master Kent, but there’s no need.”“I insist after all I did make most of them.” Pennyworth smiled before shaking his head.“As much as I appreciate your offer, this is my job.”'oh please, if I see one more second of this shit I’ll barf.'I looked down at my watch eager to get out of this environment.“Look at the time, come along Kent, we don’t wanna be late now do we?”“But I thought school started in an hour-”“Ah so I take it you’d like to walk then.” With that Jon jumped up and sped walked in my direction. The car ride was silent, besides Jon’s never ending tapping that is.We arrived with thirty minutes before the first bell much to the Kryptonian’s confusion.“So why are we here so early- not that I don’t appreciate the ride or anything."I sighed cutting off his rambling."Do you want to know where you’re going or not?” “I do.”“Then doesn’t it make sense to get here before everyone else?” He said nothing, his mouth forming a small 'o’ shape before he nodded.I exited my car, already tired of the day when suddenly Jon cleared his throat.“Look I know things are kinda- um weird between us, I’m not an idiot, I can tell this whole thing doesn’t sit well with you but your feelings aren’t what’s important, we have the opportunity to better ourselves and help the world be a little less dark, isn’t that what matters?-” He interrupted himself with a huff, raking a hand through the dark waves on his head. “-All I’m saying is, if we’re gonna be stuck together, we should at least try to get along, don’t you think?” He looked at me, hopeful, expecting a response I was in no mood to give. I locked the car doors, satisfied with the loud beep, and began walking towards the entrance of the school.He quickly caught up to me, before grabbing my arm, stopping me much to my aggravation.“What’s got you so pissed at me? I’m trying to be nice here-"I shoved his hand off, a warning glare in my eyes."Listen, all I want is the peace and quiet of my morning back, not some unwanted lifetime speech. For the record, I’m not pissed at you, if I was pissed you wouldn’t be walking, I’m mildly irritated at best, and if you’d like to keep it that way, shut up and pay attention, alright? Let’s get this day over with.” He stared at me, for once without a dopey grin on his face, disappointed before scoffing and walking along side me. For a while all was well and good before suddenly Jon looked up from the floor then took off, thankfully at an non super powered pace, in the direction of someone too far away for me to see.'oh dear god it’s like dealing with a puppy- a very stupid puppy'I jogged after him, unwilling to put in any real effort this early in the day. Let alone for him. He had stopped anyway, after picking up the random person he got so excited for and spinning them around like someone in a soap opera. This stupid kid was gonna get me in trouble- hugging random students? How did my father expect this imbecile to be apart of a team- my team no less. I was already preparing my apology speech to the student when I had to stop in my tracks, when I got close enough to see who exactly he had latched himself onto. It was (Y/n). I cleared my throat interrupting their conversation.“Oh jeez-” Jon smacked his palm against his forehead, “So sorry I ran off like that- I was just excited to see my friend, I didn’t expect her to be here this early- hey what are you doing here anyway?” She shrugged, burying her face deeper in the festive scarf wrapped tightly around her neck.“I had to help leadership set some stuff up for the assembly later today, what are you doing here-” she paused finally noticing me.“-and with Damian Wayne no less?” Jon chuckled, his hands shoved deep in his blazer pockets.“It’s a long story-”“He’s staying with me while he attends here.” I said flawlessly.“-or not so long of a story after all.” He said with a nervous smile.“Oh that’s cool I guess.” She seemed to have more questions but appeared to shrug them off.“How do you two know each other.” I asked catching her off guard"He’s my secret lover.“ She responded with a deadpan expression.Jon choked on his own spit, his face going red as a cherry.I couldn’t fight the shock from showing on my face, she laughed playing with the ends of her scarf."I’m just kidding relax, we met a few days ago in Metropolis.”“What were you doing all the way out there?"She squinted at me "What’s with the third degree?”“Sorry-I was just curious.” She stared suspiciously for a moment longer before shrugging once more.“So what brings you two here so early anyway?”“Oh I have to show him around.” I replied tugging on a pair of leather gloves from my backpack.Sometimes I forgot how cold Gotham got.She looked between me and Jon, analyzing something unseen to the both of us before linking arms with the tall boy. “I can show him around if you want.” Jon proceeded to wrap his arm around her shoulders pulling her into another hug, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips, “Now you’re my hero.” They laughed, some kind of inside joke making the whole thing funnier than it was. Gently shoving him away she turned to me again, “See you around pretty boy."She turned and walked a few steps before looking over her shoulder "Unless you wanted to come along that is."I quickly shook my head no, her loud laugh echoed through the almost empty parking lot.I ignored the heat her teasing smile brought up my neck."Yeah I figured that.” She shook her head, really walking away this time, Jon turned to me before following her, that annoying smile never leaving his face.“There, now your mornings free. See you at lunch!"I rolled my eyes at the pair before walking in the opposite direction.As annoying as this kid was, now that he knew her, and they were friends no less? He just got very useful.

#dc #dc imagine #dc reader insert #poc reader insert #poc reader #poc imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #jon kent #jon kent imagine #jon kent x reader #super boy #batman #bruce wayne #nightwing #dick grayson #damian wayne #dc x reader #endless

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letstrysomefanfic · 7 years

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I Thought We Already Weren’t PART 3 (Peter Parker x Reader Angst)

Request: anonymous asked: Ooh I love angst!! Can you do something where the reader has a huge crush on peter but he likes Liz and he asks her out on date and he asks the reader for help with everything so she basically plans the whole thing for him and he keeps saying things like “wow ur such a good friend” and out of jealousy she asks Flash on a date and they start to go out and Peter says he’s not good enough for her and they get into a huge argument and deicde it’s better if they stop being friends…

Word Count: 1,772

Warnings: angst... lot’s of it

A/N: So wow i gotta admit this one’s gotta be the saddest i think out of all the parts haha sorry (not sorry) and hey, if you want, it hurts more if you listen to ‘Amnesia’ by 5SOS (just a thought, if you’re into feeling rly sad whilst reading this). But wow thanks so much to all those who’re enjoying this request-oneshot-turned-series! I’m soooooo glad you guys are loving it cuz i’m having such a ball writing it! ❤️❤️ So anyway I think I’m gonna be doing one last part after this, cuz i have such a great way of ending it, i think but more on that later ;} (also i didn’t edit or proofread this really so sorry for grammar lol)

again, anon, if you’re out there THANK YOU for this request ❤️❤️

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

“Helloooo? Earth to Peter…” Liz summoned Peter from his deep thoughts about what Flash could possibly try to do tonight to ‘wow you’. He jerked his head toward her, off his propped up forearm.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “What were you saying again?”

“I was just asking what you got for number four ‘cause my equation looks different from yours…” Liz looked at him with concern. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Hm? Yeah yeah, no yeah I’m good,” he squeaked. Crap he thought.

“Are you sure, Peter? Because you’ve been—”

“Liz, I’m fine,” he snapped. She withdrew a little, eyebrows still furrowed with worry. Peter immediately regretted speaking so sharply; he knew she was only worried and wasn’t trying to be annoying. But every time he was with her he felt guilty. He would spend the entire time in her company trying to force himself to not feel that way, or at least figure out why; but he just couldn’t.

“Okay, come on,” she grabbed ahold of Peter’s wrist firmly and led them away from their library table.

“What—where’re we going?”

Liz led them up the stairs, through the science wing, up the narrow fire escape stairway, until they finally hit open air. She leaned back on an AC unit, and even though her arms were crossed, her face was soft and expectant.

“Look, I know I’m not supposed to push and stuff if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on,” she began. “But, Peter, you gotta give me something! You have to talk to me.”

“W—What?” he stammered. “We are talking, what do you mean I don’t want to tell you what’s going on? Nothing’s going on…”

Liz cocked her head at him, “Nothing going on? Peter, you haven’t been yourself lately, and it’s making me kinda worried.”

Peter hung his head. The last time he had a conversation about him not being himself still stung potent in his mind. The last thing he wanted now was for this discussion to end up like the last one.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been myself lately,” he pleaded. “I just… honestly just… I… I don’t know what’s going on with me, like I’m trying to figure it out but I just can’t and—” Peter faltered when he saw Liz’s eyes. The worry was hidden behind a deep sadness that he didn’t even know could be seen through someone’s eyes. “What?” he shakily asked.

“I know what’s going on with you, Peter,” Liz whispered. “And I think you know it too, but you don’t want to admit it. God, this sucks,” she muttered. She glanced up, blinking rapidly, trying to put back the tears that were forming against her will. “But that’s what makes you all the more so… so… so good and this so fucking hard.”

Peter couldn’t even speak. He could feel his old friend, guilt, clawing up his stomach and latching onto his chest. He knew what was coming, and he knew why, but he didn’t want to believe it. Part of him wanted what was coming too, but not like this. No, this was going to hurt too much.

Liz took a shaky breath, “I know you haven’t been hanging around Ned and (Y/N) as much. I know you and (Y/N), had like this… this falling out kinda thing. I know you haven’t been the same since that. I know you see me differently now, even though you try so hard to fight against it and not show it, and for that, Peter, thank you. Because I know that that’s so hard to do.

“But I also know how you look at her—don’t feel guilty; you can’t help it. You know you can’t keep a secret to save your life. It’s also just one of those things no one can help or hide. I’ve seen the way you look at her, Peter. It’s okay,” she uncrossed her arms and gripped Peter’s shoulders. His eyes were welling up as well, no matter how hard he clenched his throat or bit his lip. “That way you look at her, Peter? You used to look at me just like that, when you thought I wouldn’t notice. Well, there was less sadness in your eyes then, but considering all things now…”

Peter regretted that what she was saying was true. It was every little thing that had gone through his mind these past couple weeks, but refused to truly believe. He wished it didn’t have to be like this. There had to have been some other way this could’ve played out where no one was crying, where no one was regretting anything.

The only thing he could muster out was a small, “I’m sorry…”

Liz pulled him into a hug. For the first time in weeks, this one didn’t feel empty. Peter didn’t feel distant or like he wanted it to be over so it wouldn’t feel awkward. This was a hug he didn’t want to step away from because it felt real.

“I know,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to be part of the reason you’re not happy.” They stood there, softly holding each other for what they knew was probably the last time. “I just regret not asking sooner. I can’t imagine what it must be like, carrying that around with you all this time…”

“You don’t deserve this,” Peter mumbled into her hair. He felt her exhale a chuckle.

“Yeah, but,” she pulled away, looking down, “life isn’t really about deserving, is it?”

Peter echoed her movements, anxiously twiddling his fingers as Liz began to walk back to the exit.

“Just promise me, you guys’ll both figure it out, okay?” she called back. Peter looked up at her, forcing himself to nod. Liz’s lips pursed into a bittersweet smile, and she turned and shut the door behind her, leaving a physically, mentally, and emotionally numb Peter.

Sightings of Spiderman had doubled within these last few weeks, and the crime rate dropping by nearly the same amount. Many were applauding his productivity, wondering how Queen’s local hero had become so efficient and driven lately.

But you and Ned knew why. It was his distraction. Like those Flash dates had been for you. At least Peter’s was more constant and fulfilling than just your two hours every week.

It wasn’t like the hot air balloon lunch upstate wasn’t completely distracting, or the early screening of some new movie Flash was into (seriously impressive, you had to admit). They worked, but just for a short while. And once you really thought about it, you found that you felt worse afterward than you did before. You were just reminded of how you were trying oh so hard to forget the main reason you were doing those dates in the first place. It was like how you try so hard to forget something that you end up having it come to mind more.

Once Peter and Liz ended things, it didn’t stop your pain. But it did make you realize what you were doing was pointless. So you ended it. Not like Flash cared much anyway. But why make Peter suffer anymore than he was already. He didn’t need the weight of seeing you with Flash, added on to his guilt and sadness from Liz, crushing him more.

“So what do you wanna watch now?” Ned asked, scrolling through the menu.

“I’m cool with anything really.”

As he selected ‘Ferris Buller’s Day Off’, he passed you the popcorn bowl. “So… have you talked to Peter yet?” he tried to ask lightly and casually.

You sighed, “You know I haven’t.”

Ned turned to you, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “I think it’s about time you guys face this head on, you know? Confront it. Confront him. Well maybe not confront him, but at least talk to him—”

“Honestly, Ned, I think I’m just gonna feel a whole lot shittier if I do that.”

“Well I can’t keep being the mediator between you two! Honestly I always feel like I have to evenly split my time between you two, running from one end of school to the other just to hang with my two best friends, who don’t even want to talk to each other!”

“You know you don’t have to do that, Ned.”

“I know but I do anyway. ‘Cause I love you guys and if I can do anything to help you guys be happy, I will! So, that’s why I’m saying you guys need to talk.”

“I don’t even know if he’s ready, you know? To talk? I mean it’s only been like what? Two weeks since, you know... That’s not that long—”

“Pretty sure he is now.”

“‘Pretty sure’?”

Ned glanced up from his phone. “Almost positive,” he assured.

You stared at the floor, contemplating whether it was worth it to or not to reopen that wound. You knew you both knew that you had hurt the other. What you didn’t know was whether you were ready to admit why. Why you were hurt in the first place, why you hurt him in return.

Suddenly the bed lurched as Ned leapt off of it, jerking you out of your head. “Sorry, I uh—,” he stumbled to shove his feet back in his shoes. “—I gotta go, I just remembered my mom set a new curfew, so… yeah.”

“What?” your brows furrowed. “Since when?”

“Since now, apparently?”

“What?”

“Sorry, (Y/N)! Enjoy Ferris Buller without me, I’ll see you Monday!” he sped out your door.

“Okay…? Bye?”

As your front door slammed shut with a loud BANG, you pulled out your phone and texted Ned to let you know when he got home. Reading the clock’s display of 10:41, you found it odd that Ned would suddenly barge out like that. You figured you could interrogate him on it back in school, so you laid back and started to scroll through your phone. As early as it was, you found yourself dozing off. Your eyes had just fluttered closed when—

*tap tap tap*

You bolted up, eyelids heavy, not sure if you had really heard it. Grabbing the remote, you shut the TV and listened again. Nothing. Beside you, your phone buzzed and you read Ned’s message.

You up still? it read.

Yeah why???? you replied.

No later had you hit the send button did you hear the window tapping again. You were sure it was real this time, and your body automatically responded faster than your mind did. Throwing the curtains back and raising the window, your heart beat up to your brain. You had no idea where this was going to take you. As you saw those fluffy brown curls amongst the scarlet and blue, your breath caught.

“Hey.”

Tags

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365daysofj2 · 7 years

Text

Reunited (Library AU, 27/?)

Jared spends the rest of the morning texting with his supervisor and emailing back and forth with HR about paperwork for FMLA leave for himself and Jensen. Luckily, both Samantha and Loretta from HR are amenable to Jared taking several weeks off to care for Jensen. Once Jensen gets released from medical leave, he can take administrative leave with pay until Kline gets back up and running.

In the meantime, Kline’s PSAs have the option to take any open positions they’re qualified for, and they’ll be given first preference for substitute shifts that come available. Unfortunately for the part-timers, they’re not eligible for administrative leave, so most of them will probably have to leave Kline. HR wasn’t terribly forthcoming on whether they’d be allowed to go back to Kline once it reopens. Mark, Jensen, and the full-time PSA, Lauren, will get administrative leave since there are no open positions for them to take.

Jared’s on the phone with Loretta when his lunch arrives. He puts the phone on speaker and looks at the time. Holy shit, he didn’t realize it was almost one o’clock. He’ll get to see Jensen in a little over an hour, which is good, because he has so much news. At least it’ll be something to take Jensen’s mind off his suffering. He hasn’t said much about how he’s feeling, but Jared still feels rundown and headachy and sore from the ordeal, so he figures Jensen must be feeling ten times worse, considering all he’s undergone in the past twenty-four hours.

The food is crap, which is pretty normal for hospital food, and Jared isn’t that hungry. His throat is still raw and sore from the smoke and nothing tastes quite right, so he eats half the turkey sandwich and the vanilla pudding and leaves the salad and apple slices on the tray. The cold milk feels good on his throat, though, and he wishes they’d given him two or three cartons instead of one.

It’s one-thirty by the time he finishes picking at his food, so he sends one last email and hooks his phone up to the charger. He needs a break. Trying to deal with his own workplace issues is hard enough, but dealing with both his and Jensen’s is exhausting.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until Alona gently shakes his shoulder. “Rise and shine. It’s time to go see your boy.”

Jared blinks awake and yawns. “Yeah, thanks for waking me up.” He stretches his arms and crawls into the wheelchair. He’s glad he doesn’t have to make it down to the ICU under his own power.

Jensen seems to be asleep as well, but his eyes fly open when the door closes behind Jared and Alona, so he must have been awake. His eyes are still quite red and watery, so he must have just been resting them. He grins when he sees Jared, but it’s not as bright this time.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” asks Jared in a low voice.

Jensen shrugs and picks up his pen. Like shit, but I’ve been told that’s “normal.”

“I’m sorry.” Jared wishes he could take the hand Jensen’s not writing with, but it’s still covered with a thick pad of gauze. “What happened to your hand, anyway?”

There was a piece of glass embedded in my stomach from the window frame. I didn’t realize, and I cut my hand open on it.

Jared winces. “Jesus Christ.” He rubs Jensen’s arm above the bandage. “Hey, I’ve got news.” He tells Jensen everything he learned from Loretta in HR.

Jensen’s face gradually clouds over with frustration and anger. He scribbles furiously on the pad. So not only did I lose half my building, I’m also losing more than half my staff. So I get to keep Lauren, who I don’t even fucking want, but I have to lose Osric, Felicia, and Briana? Putain de merde, je déteste tout ce moment.

Jared doesn’t know what the last sentence means, but he gets the idea. “Just try not to worry about it for now. There’s nothing you can do from in here. Stressing about it isn’t going to help you get better.”

Jensen doesn’t respond for a long moment. Finally, he writes, You’re right. But it’s so boring in here, there’s nothing else to think about.

“Think about Max,” replies Jared. “And me. Relive our greatest hits. Plan our imaginary wedding and honeymoon. I mean, I know this whole thing sucks, but there’s so much other stuff in your life that’s good. Focus on that. The rest will take care of itself.” He smiles softly and traces a heart on Jensen’s arm. “I love you. I know I can’t always be with you in body, but I can in spirit.”

Jensen’s face softens. His eyes crinkle up just the tiniest bit. When did you get your psychiatry degree? ‘Cause that’s pretty good advice.

“Ed psych 115 and 215 in college,” answers Jared with a grin.

“Time’s up, Jared,” says Alona from behind him.

Jared grimaces. “I gotta go. I’ll be back down at six, though.” He kisses his fingers and presses them to Jensen’s pale cheek. “Love you.”

Love you too, Jay, Jensen writes in big letters, then draws a heart around it. See you later.

Jared smiles. “Count on it, babe.”

* * *

Jared spends his afternoon texting Osric and Briana and FaceTiming Felicia and Max at the house. He can’t wait to get home and into his own bed and shower. Felicia says Max has been subdued, but is still eating and walking, so Jared figures it’s just because he misses them so much. Jared can’t blame him. Under the circumstances, he and Jensen have been pretty subdued as well.

It’s about five o’clock when Jared hears a noise in the hallway that he assumes is the food cart, but when he looks up, he sees Jensen in a wheelchair, tethered to an IV bag and a nasal cannula only.

“Jensen! Hey!” Jared beams as a male orderly wheels Jensen to the bed opposite Jared. The orderly gets Jensen settled and hands him his notebook and pen.

I’m free! Jensen writes in huge letters and flashes the page at Jared.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” says Jared, and his huge smile still hasn’t left his face.

You and me both, Jensen writes back.

“Although, it’s not quite the same without your voice,” Jared admits, his smile faltering. “When do you get to talk again?”

Jensen frowns. I’m on complete vocal rest for two weeks, and the doc’ll decide then if it has to continue.

“Oh, man,” blurts Jared. “That sucks.”

Don’t I know it. Jensen runs out of room on the page and flips it over to a new one. I need a dry-erase board or something, I guess.

“Well, I’m getting out of here tomorrow, so I can pick one up at Kmart on the way home,” says Jared.

Jensen sighs, but it turns into a coughing fit that sounds horribly rough and painful.

“Are you okay?” Jared asks when Jensen finally quiets.

Jensen shakes his head and writes on the page. I hate when that happens.

“Does it happen a lot?”

Too much.

Jared bites his lip. “Is it getting better?”

Not fast enough. Jensen drags his unbandaged wrist across his forehead, and for the first time Jared notices the light sheen of sweat on his face from the exertion. Jared’s throat tightens. He had no idea Jensen was in such bad shape. But he’s out of the ICU, which should mean he’s a lot better, right?

Jensen slumps back against his pillow and Jared is stunned to see just how much the coughing fit took out of him. “Get some rest, babe,” Jared says softly. “I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

Jensen gives him a weak thumbs-up. Seconds later, he’s asleep.

He doesn’t wake up until the orderly with the food cart delivers their evening meals. Jared’s is Salisbury steak, macaroni and cheese, and a fruit cup, none of which look terribly edible, but Jensen’s is completely different: a can of chocolate Ensure, applesauce, red jello, and the same vanilla pudding Jared had at lunchtime. It dawns on Jared that if Jensen’s throat is too damaged to talk, it must also be too damaged to handle solid food.

But why? Jensen was out of the smoke for longer than Jared was, so why was he so much worse off?

Jared chokes down as much of his meal as he can stand, and then watches as Jensen struggles through his own. It must be horribly painful to swallow, because Jensen is nearly in tears by the time he finishes the can of Ensure. He takes only one or two tiny bites of everything else, and finally he picks up his notebook and turns it toward Jared. You want the rest of this crap?

“Sure,” answers Jared, figuring that the hospital can’t screw up canned stuff too badly. He carefully climbs off the bed and leans as far as his IV line will allow to grab Jensen’s tray. Jared finishes the small servings in no time.

“How are you holding up?” asks Jared once he’s set both trays aside.

Jensen shrugs. I’m alive. Guess that’s all I can ask for.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you are,” Jared tells him, smiling softly. “I just wish you were feeling better, that’s all.”

Yeah, me too. :(

Jensen pauses and starts writing again. <i>Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again.</i>

“You will,” insists Jared. “It’ll take time—more time than you want, I’m sure—but it’ll happen.”

Jensen writes something, pauses, and then crosses it out. Unable to think of anything else, he sets the notebook aside, shrugs, and turns away.

#365daysofj2 #j2 fanfic #j2 au

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mediumsizedfountain · 7 years

Text

Peace I Leave With You Finale Part 1

Title: Peace I Leave With You, 29/30

Fandom: OUAT

Rating: T

Word Count: ~10,000 (these final two chapters are both crazy long. Sorry.)

Summary: When Emma needs a friend in Storybrooke, she finds one in the sinfully attractive priest Killian Jones. AU covering seasons 1 and 2.

Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who stuck with this story during the long hiatus and supported me through it's long evolution. We made it! I couldn't have done it without the ongoing support and encouragement of my readers. I know I suck at responding to comments, but you are all rock stars to me.

Today I am posting the penultimate chapter, and tomorrow is the grand finale. These last 2 chapters are basically a novella-length finale, and together they tell a sort of story-within-a-story to finish up this epic of mine. Enjoy!

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, Part 16, Part 17,Part 18, Part 19, Part 20,Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28

Or read on Ao3

After Killian finishes supervising the afternoon youth group at the church, he drives through town to head home for dinner and some down time before heading back for the evening Bible Study group. He slows to wave as he sees Belle locking up the library for the night. She waves back with a grin on her face. He's so glad the city found the funds to reopen the old library. It'll do the community so much good.

He was hesitant when Belle first told him she'd started dating Mr. Gold. Killian doesn't much care for May-December romances. But when their relationship had flourished and she'd asked him to officiate at their wedding, he'd readily agreed. Gold's temperament has certainly improved since he started seeing Belle. It has occurred to Killian that perhaps the man had simply been lonely for so long he forgot how to be kind to people.

Belle is changing that, slowly but surely.

Killian oversaw their small wedding with only Belle's father, Regina, and three of Belle's friends in attendance. It had been a dramatically different wedding than the lavish outdoor ceremony and reception for the Nolans less than two months earlier, but equally as happy. He is glad to see Belle flourish in her news roles as both wife and town librarian.

On his way to his home he passes by the sheriff's station, and he slows his car when he sees a yellow Volkswagon Beetle parked in the lot. No one in Storybrooke drives that kind of car. It has to be Regina's cousin – Emma Swan.

Ever since Regina shared the news of Swan's coming, Killian has been inexplicably curious about the mayor's cousin with her rough upbringing, unconventional career path, and single motherhood. He expects that she won't be much like her pampered local cousin, in spite of Regina's assertion that the two are good friends.

Unable to help himself, he pulls into the station parking lot. He wants to meet this mysterious newcomer, and this is as good a way as any to secure an introduction.

He strides into the office with a smile on his face. “Good evening, David,” he says, and then stops short at the sight of a woman with long blonde hair, her back turned to him. “I see you have company.”

David sees him and smiles. “Killian! I'm glad you dropped by. Come and meet Storybrooke's potential deputy sheriff, Emma Swan.”

She turns to face him, and he finds himself dumbstruck. She's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Her eyes meet his, and he sees a flurry of emotions cross her face – for a moment she seems almost afraid? Or is it simply anxious? – before her expression settles into polite friendliness.

He clears his throat to regain his power of speech. He hasn't been so struck by the sight of a woman in years, but now is hardly the place to make a fool of himself over a pretty girl. He steps toward her, extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Swan. Killian Jones.”

That look flashes in her eyes again – definitely anxiety, but this tight there also seems to be some sort of unspoken sorrow behind them. Perhaps he's just imagining things, having read one two many over dramatic novels.

She takes his hand and they shake. “Good to meet you, Killian. Or is it more appropriate to call you Father?” Her voice quavers just a bit, the sorrow growing even more evident in her eyes. What has happened to this woman to fill her with such pain? He only hopes that her move to Storybrooke will help her find the solace that she clearly needs.

“Killian is fine,” he says, dropping her hand, though his palm continues to tingle with warmth.

David steps up beside her. “Killian is a good friend of mine. He's the priest of the town church.”

“Episcopal – not Catholic,” Killian adds hastily, and immediately chides himself internally. She might not even know that Episcopal priests take no vow of chastity. And why in heaven's name is he even thinking of that? He didn't come here to flirt. He came here to support his friend.

“Oh,” she says softly, “that's good to know.” A small smile curves up the corners of her lips, her eyes lighting up for the first time since he walked in. He doesn't know what inspired her sudden happiness, but he's pleased to see it.

“Yes, Emma was just introducing herself. We've set up a formal interview for tomorrow morning.” Regina speaks up. Killian hadn't even noticed she was there.

“Well, very good news for us all. David here has been desperate for help so he can lavish more attention on his lovely new wife,” Killian says. His tongue feels awkward in his mouth, and he hopes his words don't sound as stilted as they feel.

“Oh, congratulations,” Emma says, her smiling eyes dancing between David and Regina. Regina meets her gaze with a smug expression. What is that all about?

“Thank you, but we actually got married close to a year ago.” David's cheeks flush.

“Well, I'd still call you newly-weds if it's less than a year,” Emma replies, all of her earlier sadness wiped away by the warm smile on her face.

“I'll have to introduce you to my wife, Mary Margaret. She's a teacher at the elementary school – she can show you around. Let you know the kind of quality education your son will be getting.” David doesn't seem to recognize that he's getting ahead of himself – he hasn't even offered her the job, yet.

“If I get the job,” Emma interjects, as if reading Killian's mind.

“Of course.” David chuckles.

They chat for a few more minutes, sharing more tidbits about the town with her. Killian finds he can hardly take his eyes off of her. When he was accepted into the priesthood just over four years ago, he'd vowed that he'd wait at least five years before thinking about dating. Priests have to be very particular about their romantic interactions, and he knows that when he finally takes that step, it has to be because he's seeking a partner in marriage – not just a temporary fling.

Emma, however, is making him question his resolve. He hasn't been so taken by someone so quickly since Milah...

When the comparison pops into his mind he quickly drops his eyes and looks away. Milah will always be in his heart, but with the passing of time he can see how many mistakes he made. How foolish he'd been. He was young and impetuous and reckless, and his failure to help Milah face up to her struggles and overcome them had led to her death.

He won't rush into a relationship ever again. He'll be careful. He'll use his head, and make sure every step is taken only after sufficient consideration.

Besides, Emma might not even be interested in him.

After reining in his thoughts, he raises his eyes to find Emma staring at him as intently as he'd been staring at her a few moments ago. When he meets her eyes her smile broadens before she turns to respond to some comment from David that Killian has completely missed.

His heart is racing.

After a few more minutes he excuses himself. He says he needs to get to his duties at the church, though that's only partially true. Mainly he needs some fresh air to clear his head.

He can't let himself tumble headfirst into a desperate infatuation after a mere twenty minute conversation. He's better than that.

Still, when he catches a glimpse of what looks like disappointment in her eyes after he says goodbye, the look sticks with him. He can't get it out of his head for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~

Emma clenches the steering wheel, her stomach churning, while Regina slides into the passenger seat beside her.

“See?” says Regina. “That wasn't so bad, was it? And you had yourself all wound up into a panic. But it went perfectly. Hook is clearly smitten with you. You should have no trouble whatsoever getting him to love you again.”

Emma only feels sicker. “Yeah. Sure.”

She turns on her car and pulls away from the station.

The blankness in their eyes when they first saw her – like they were complete strangers. She knew this would be hard, but she hadn't realized just how hard. It took all her strength not to turn tail and run when Killian introduced himself and began his awkward flirting.

This wasn't how it went, last time. It was slow and tentative. They were friends first – that's why her feelings blossomed into something more so quickly. Because they already had that solid foundation.

Nothing about this feels solid. None of it feels real.

Even if he develops feelings for her soon, they can't possibly be true. Not when Regina has made everything so – so artificially perfect.

But Emma bites her tongue and keeps her doubts to herself until she's safely closed herself into the guest bathroom in Regina's house, with the shower running to hide the sound of her crying.

~ ~ ~

Killian tries not to think about Emma.

He isn't very successful.

He runs into her at Granny's while picking up his regular morning coffee to share with David, and jokes that soon he'll have to start buying a third cup.

He thinks about her answering smile for the rest of the day.

That evening he is entirely unsurprised when David admits to offering Emma a job right on the spot after her interview. In spite of his previous determination to prevent his friend from rushing into a hasty hire, Killian can't find it in him to protest.

“She told me she needs to think about it for a day or two,” David says ruefully, as they putter in the kitchen of his loft doing the washing up from dinner while Mary Margaret sits at the table polishing up her lesson plans for the next day.

Killian is briefly disappointed before coming to his senses. “That's the right thing for her to do, mate. She's been rushed into this whole business as much as you have, and coming from more populous area, she might be having second thoughts now that she's seen what small town life is really like.”

“I hope not!” Mary Margaret pipes up. “She sounds like an excellent candidate.”

Though Killian silently agrees with her, he doesn't say so out loud.

“Should I invite her to dinner?” Mary Margaret asks. “Or should I wait until she takes the job?”

“You should wait,” Killian says, trying to be the protective friend that he promised himself he would be. “It'll seem like you're trying to bribe her into accepting the job with your excellent cooking.”

“Well, I don't mind, if you think it'll work.” Her eyes twinkle at him.

He finishes wiping down the counter and rolls his eyes at her. “It probably will.”

She laughs, and David puts away the last of the clean dishes and turns to them with a pronouncement, “Okay. We'll do it. But I'm working the next two nights – hence the need for a deputy.”

David always worked Friday and Saturday nights. Storybrooke was a quiet town, but there were still usually a handful of tipsy carousers on the weekend nights.

“Sunday, then,” said Mary Margaret. “And of course you're invited, Killian. Unless you have other plans.”

As a matter of fact, his previous Sunday dinner invitation – from the family of one of his deacons – had just been postponed due to the lady of the house getting a nasty sprained ankle and wanting another week of recuperation before having to entertain. He tries not to think of that as a lucky turn.

He accepts the invitation.

~ ~ ~

Killian doesn't see Emma at all on Friday, and he's glad for the reprieve. His thoughts are trending toward lustiness, and he needs to regain control of himself with some prayer and meditation.

He thinks he's gotten his ridiculous crush out of his system. He can be himself again.

Then, on Saturday, while taking a slightly later run than usual, he stumbles upon her in a city park alongside a boy who must be her son.

At first he tries to jog past as if he didn't notice her, but her eyes lock onto him before he can look away. So he does the polite thing and slows to a stop.

“Miss Swan – it's a pleasure to see you again.”

“Just Emma – please,” she insists, with a hint of the sadness he'd noticed in her showing on her face. “Good to see you, too, Killian. This is my son, Henry. Henry, this is Father Killian Jones. He's in charge of the town church.”

“Good to meet you, young man,” Killian says, extending his hand.

The boy has a pleasant smile, and he quickly accepts Killian's hand and shakes it with a show of mature confidence. “Good to meet you, too, Killian. I like your hand.” The boy stares unabashedly at the prosthetic hook Killian wears in place of his left hand. “Can you grab things with it?”

“Henry!” Emma says, sounding embarrassed. “I'm sorry, really...”

“It's quite alright,” Killian interrupts. “This hand is always a hit with kids. And yes, Henry, I can grab things. Allow me to demonstrate.” He moved his arm just so to open and close the hook pincers several times.

“Cool!” said Henry, beaming.

“Indeed it is. I see you're out exploring Storybrooke. How do you like it so far?” Killian tries to keep his gaze on Henry, but can't help the occasional glance at Emma. This isn't still a crush. Truly. He's merely trying to help them feel welcome.

“It's great,” replies Henry. “I love the woods. And everyone is super nice.”

“I'm glad they're making you feel welcome,” Killian replies, his eyes once more drifting up to Emma. He wishes he knew why she looks so sad, and even more he wonders if moving here might help erase that sadness.

“How did you lose it? Your hand, I mean,” Henry said, returning to subject of the prosthetic.

Emma shook her head. “Really, Henry.” She meets Killian's gaze. “I'm sorry – I swear I didn't raise him to be so nosy. You don't have to answer that.”

He smiles, amused by her embarrassment. “It's no bother, really. I'm not offended, Henry – but I do understand why your mother doesn't want you to be asking these sorts of questions. Some people with differences or disabilities are proud and happy to talk about them, but others might feel bothered or annoyed by these sorts of questions. So lets make a deal – I'll answer your question, and then from now on you'll wait to get to know a person who is different before asking if they mind talking about what makes them different. How does that sound?”

“It's a deal.” Henry nods.

“Well then,” Killian says, “Many years ago I was in the army. I came of age here in America, so it was the United States Army. But one day when I was moving equipment, there was an accident, and my hand got trapped under something very heavy. I very upset at first, but I've gotten so used to it that I never even think about what it was like before.”

Henry nods thoughtfully. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Killian glances up again to find Emma watching him. He wishes he could make out what she's thinking. “Well – I need to be getting on now. But I hope I see more of you soon.”

“Me too,” Henry replied.

He can still feel Emma's eyes on him as he jogs away.

~ ~ ~

Killian is a few minutes into his sermon on Sunday before he notices them in the congregation, sitting in the very back row – Emma and Henry.

His words falter for just a moment, but he drags his eyes away from them and gets right back on track (though his heart continues to race faster than it has since his first few months of preaching). He doesn't let himself look at them again until the Sermon is over.

They slip out of the church just after the service ends, and he doesn't have a chance to speak to them.

~ ~ ~

Regina is still scowling when Emma gets back from dropping Henry back off at the motel down the coast to spend the rest of the week with Neal.

“I still don't see why he had to leave so soon. He's only been here for a day and a half.”

Emma sighs and sinks onto the sofa. They've had this conversation a dozen times already. “This is his best chance to get to know his father without any magical shenanigans in the way. And Neal really needs the company right now.”

Regina shakes her head. “I still think you're just keeping him away from me as some sort of arbitrary punishment for not stopping this curse.”

Emma rubs her already aching head. She's only been in town for four days and she's already fed up. “You know what, maybe I am. Maybe I have the right to get in a little payback for all the ways you made my life and my parents' lives a living hell. Or maybe I'm just pissed at you for thinking that by setting things up just right to throw Killian at me over and over again you could have your perfect life back within a few days. These are our hearts you're playing with, Regina. Mine and Killian's. This isn't how it happened the first time. You can' t force it, now matter how much you convinced yourself that you can.”

Regina seems taken aback, but Emma doesn't really care right now.

“I don't understand. It's working, isn't? He's clearly smitten with you, isn't he?” She seems genuinely puzzled. Emma's not sure whether Regina's obliviousness is better than her being a willful puppet-master, or not.

“That's exactly the problem,” Emma explains. “You set things up so perfectly for him to fall for me that I have no idea if it's real, or if it's only happening because you built it into the curse without realizing it. And if you did, it won't matter how hard he falls for me – it won't be true. So the curse will never be broken.”

Regina's mouth hangs open for a moment. “I'm sorry. I never thought of it that way.”

“Clearly.” Emma squeezes her lips together and stands up. “I have to go change. I'm having dinner with my parents in an hour.”

Regina still looks troubled as Emma walks upstairs. Good. It's about time she starts facing the reality of the scenario she's created here.

Before changing, Emma picks up the leather insignia from her nightstand and rubs it absently. Regina's put her into an impossible situation. It tears at her heart every time she talks to Killian and all she sees is the fake personality that Regina built into him.

But she's been in impossible situations before, and overcome them. The insignia is a symbol of that.

She has to keep up hope. She has to have faith.

That's what Killian taught her, and she can't let him down.

~ ~ ~

Killian arrives too early for his dinner at the Nolans' loft. He's been on edge for the past few hours, debating whether or not to actually come. In just a few days he's become far too fixated on Emma. It's a distraction from his work.

But he already committed to coming. His friends would be disappointed if he didn't show.

He regrets coming almost immediately when Mary Margaret ushers him in and teases, “Regina tells me you seemed very taken with Emma. Do I feel a spark of romance coming on?”

Killian clenches his jaw. “Regina is mistaken. As I've told you dozens of times, I'm not interested in dating right now. Miss Swan's arrival has done nothing to change that.”

Mary Margaret gives him an arch look. “We'll see.”

He huffs and strides over to David to help set the table. “Your wife is playing matchmaker again.”

David chuckles and shakes his head. “She does it because she cares, you know.”

“I know. That doesn't mean I'm thrilled about it. Why doesn't she try playing matchmaker for someone else? Like Ruby, or Leroy.”

“Leroy? That would not be an easy task.”

“Exactly,” Killian says, arranging the napkins. “It'll keep her far too busy to meddle with my love life anymore.”

They finish setting the table and lounge on the bar stools for a few minutes until there is a knock at the door. Killian hangs back and waits while the hosts open the door and invite Emma inside. She is wearing black slacks that hug the curve of her legs, and a light gray cabled sweater that makes her face glow with warmth. She offers a bouquet of flowers to Mary Margaret who thanks her with a hug.

When she sees him, he smiles and nods. He's gotten so used to playing the third wheel for David and Mary Margaret that it only now hits him how this evening feels with Emma added to the mix – it feels like a double date.

Shit. This is the opposite of what he wanted. He hopes Emma doesn't think this is a set-up.

After David pours wine for Emma and his wife and offers Killian his usual iced tea, Emma smiles and says, “Well, to alleviate any awkward suspense, I think I should start out the night by telling you that yes, I want the job.”

They all share a round of relieved laughter. “That is excellent news,” replies Mary Margaret. “I was afraid I'd have to resort to bribery. David has been so overworked – we can't wait for you to start!”

Emma shrugs. “Yeah, I was pretty sure I wanted to stay when you made the offer, but I needed to give Henry a chance to weigh in. He really likes the town, so this is it.”

“I'm glad he likes it here,” Killian says. “I know how hard it is to be separated from family. Being able to settle so close to his father is great blessing.”

“It is. Close enough, but not too close,” Emma replies.

“Of course.”

With Emma's news out of the way, it's easier to relax into an enjoyable meal. Mary Margaret's roast chicken, potatoes and salad are delicious, and the conversation comes easily, in spite of the too-much-like-a-date atmosphere. They all give Emma tips on house-hunting and Mary Margaret tells her all about the school. Apparently Henry is finishing out the current year in a school near his father, but Emma plans on enrolling him in Storybrooke for the next school year.

“I can't wait,” says Mary Margaret. “He'll be a grade above what I teach by then, but I can help you make sure he ends up with the best teachers each year.” She gives Emma a wink.

From there the conversation flows so well that for a time Killian manages to forget the awkward set up of the evening. Until it's time for Emma to head back to Regina's for the night.

“Killian – you should walk with her. It's not right to send a lady home in the dark by herself,” says Mary Margaret as Emma is pulling on her jacket.

Emma raises her eyebrows. “Oh? I didn't think Storybrooke was known for being dangerous after dark.” Her voice is thick with sarcasm.

“It's not,” says Killian, subtly trying to give Mary Margaret whatever non-verbal signals he can that this line of conversation needs to be shut down immediately.

She doesn't take the hint.

“This is normally a perfectly safe town, but we have to uphold certain standards of old-fashioned charm. Which includes having men chivalrously offer to walk lone women home at night.”

David shrugs. “I think you might be stuck, Killian. Best to resign yourself to your fate now.”

With them teaming up on him he doesn't stand a chance. He sighs. “Well, Emma, it seems you and I are stuck with each other for a few more minutes, if you'll have me?”

She looks more amused than annoyed, much to his relief. “Yeah. Sure.”

They head out into the cool, clear night together. After a minute of awkward silence, Emma says, “Look – there's something I need to get off my chest.”

“Oh?” He's not quite sure what to expect, but what comes out of her mouth next is far from what he ever would have guessed.

She takes a deep breath. “I'm pretty sure that Regina and Mary Margaret have been conspiring together to set us up.”

Killian blinks rapidly and stops in his tracks. “What?” The mayor is the last person he could imagine taking an interest in his love-life. Though, he supposes, on her end at least she probably cares more about Emma's side of the equation.

Emma shakes her head, laughing. “Regina all but admitted it to me this afternoon. I know – silly, isn't it? I mean, we just met. I'm in the middle of moving to a new town. I haven't started my job. I don't have a place to live. The last thing I'm looking for right now is a boyfriend. No offense.”

“None taken,” he assures her, now silently fuming at his friends' meddling. Had David known about this?

She looks apologetic for a moment. “I mean – it's nothing personal.”

“No. No, I understand. You're going through a huge life change, right now. It's hardly the ideal moment to be seeking out a new romance. Ridiculous, really.” He tries to brush it all aside. To act like it's no big deal. He's been trying to quash his inappropriate attraction for days. This is a good thing. Isn't it?

“Good. I'm glad you understand,” she says, smiling. “I'll have a talk with Regina and make sure this doesn't happen again. We can both just... pretend like whole thing never happened.”

“I agree. It's for the best.” It is. Truly. So why does he feel disappointed?

“Perfect.” She nods, and they start walking again. After another moment of silence, she adds. “I do like you, Killian. As a friend. I think you're a very interesting person, and I'd like to get to know you better. If we can just put this awkwardness behind us?”

“Absolutely.” Killian smiled. Yes. This was good. Things would be better, now. “I remember what it was like moving here, not knowing a single soul. It can be lonely, at first. I'm glad to be your friend, Emma. Anything I can do to help your move go easier, I'll be happy to provide.”

Emma's answering smile is the most sincere she's looked all evening. “Good. I might take you up on that.”

Soon enough they reach Regina's front walk, where he bids her goodnight. Yes. Friendship is what she needs right now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, it's hard not to think about her smile for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~

“You did what?” Regina exclaims.

Emma sighs. She expected this reaction. “You heard me. I told him you and my mom were trying to set us up, and I shut it down. Told him I wasn't looking for a relationship – I just want to be friends.”

“But – but – now this could take months!” Regina stands in the middle of the living room, glaring down at Emma, who is slumped on the sofa.

Emma shrugs. She's no happier about it than Regina is. She misses her parents. She misses the real Killian. But having the fake Killian fawning over her was far worse. “This is the only way this is going to work. The first time around, Killian had no expectation of romance. He was my friend, and Henry's friend. It took a few months for that to evolve into something more. I can't leap into a fake relationship with him and expect the curse to break. And Henry won't be living with you until it does. So this is the only way. Deal with it.”

Regina throws her hands in the air. “Fine. Have it your way. Just don't expect me to be happy about it.” She storms out of the room.

“It's not about you, Regina,” Emma murmurs to herself. She grabs a throw pillow and hugs it to her chest. God, she misses him. She misses her family. She misses her life.

But if this is going to be real, taking her time is the only way.

Before she falls asleep, she grabs the insignia and clasps it in her hand, curled up against her heart.

~ ~ ~

Killian dreams of standing in a cemetery. He watches as a Bobcat fills a fresh grave. Snow drifts from the clouds above, dotting his black coat with white. Emma Swan stands beside him.

He doesn't know why they are there or who they are mourning, but he feels that they've both lost an important friend. Is this a premonition of some sort? It feels more like a memory, but that makes no sense. He met Emma less than a week ago.

Yet here they stand, mourning a mutual friend.

Silently they turn and walk toward the parking lot.

She needs a friend, now. The thought fills his mind. She came here alone and lost. I know how that feels. We can get through this together.

Killian wakes with the odd dream still running through his mind, and that final thought echoing – we can get through this together.

But get through what?

He sets the thought aside and gets up to start his day.

~ ~ ~

Now that his awkward attraction is behind him (well, mostly behind him), Killian is happy to have Emma become a part of his everyday life.

When he picks up coffee for his regular visit to David's office and knows Emma will be on duty as well, he adds a cup for her to his order. Within days he has her coffee preference memorized.

When she finds out that he does food distribution at the church food pantry every Thursday evening, she volunteers to help.

“I had to use food pantries off and on when I was younger,” she says with a shrug. “I think I'd like to pay it forward a little, now that I can.”

He ignores the way his gut tingles at her casual smile, and thanks her for the help. The first Thursday that she pitches in, she makes small-talk with his church administrator, Doris, and they seem to hit it off. She offers words of friendship and encouragement to everyone who stops by for a box of food, and he notices her repeating their names under her breath after they leave.

When he asks her why, she flushes and says, “These are the folks who need the most looking out for, in town. I just want to make sure I know who take care of when I'm out on my rounds.”

His heart swells at the thought. She's given plenty of hints about her rough childhood. For some, that kind of life would have made them hard and jaded. Somehow, hers has given her a bigger, more open heart.

He finds that he's coming to respect her more and more with every passing day (even in spite of the strange dreams that so often feature her, lately).

~ ~ ~

“Are you really sure about this slow and steady approach, Mom?” Henry asks before dipping his french fry in ketchup.

They sit across from each other in Granny's. This is Henry's third weekend visit since her return to Storybrooke. She's still not used to only seeing him for a few days a week, and she relishes every moment they spend together, greedily glad that Regina has no excuse to claim his time in this version of reality.

“I don't like it, but I don't think we have any choice. It has to be real, and taking our time is the only way.” It hurts her heart every time she has to face this truth, but she needs to be strong. Killian and her family are counting on her. She can't let them down.

Henry reaches out to take her hand. “I believe in you, Mom. If you think this is the right way, then I believe you'll make it work.”

“Thanks, kid.” She smiled.

As they are leaving Granny's, they run into Killian. He's happy to see them, and chats animatedly with them both.

“Do you like sailing ships, Henry?” he asks out of the blue.

Henry nods, smiling. “Yeah. I think they're cool.”

“Well, you'll have to see the one my church owns – The Jewel of the Realm. It was donated by a wealthy patron who kept it for pleasure cruises until he got too old to manage it. Right now I have a team of volunteers whipping it into ship-shape, and we're going to use it for youth adventure camps every summer, and run it as a museum to raise money for church programs the rest of the year. Would you like to visit it sometime?” His eyes are shining as he speaks, and Emma's heart skips a beat. He reminds her so much of the way he was right before they first started dating.

“Can I, Mom?” Henry implores.

“We're pretty booked for this weekend,” Emma says, not wanting to rush things. “But maybe next Saturday?”

“That sounds excellent,” Killian replies. “I could meet you at Regina's at three o'clock. We could spend the afternoon on the ship.”

“Sound like a plan,” Emma replies, taking a deep breath. This feels like progress. A real step toward the kind of relationship she is hoping to rebuild.

“Excellent,” he replies. Then his face shifts. “Strangest thing, Henry. I could swear I had a dream the other night about us building model ships together. Isn't that odd?”

Emma's breath catches in her throat. She can barely hear Henry's reply. Her own memories flood her thoughts, taking her back to the day she found Killian and Henry in the church rec room, books about model ships sitting on the table in front of them while they chatted and folded paper airplanes together. That was one of the first times she really considered the possibility of a romance with him.

Her hand twitches. The insignia. That has to be it. She hasn't been having any special dreams, but if Killian has... perhaps the insignia is letting her magic reach out to him in her sleep, jogging his old memories.

She'll have to make a point of holding it every night from now on, not just when she's feeling extra lonely.

After they say goodbye, she walks hand in hand with Henry feeling more hopeful than she has since her arrival.

~ ~ ~

“David would never admit as much, but his filing isn't a system so much as a vague concept,” Killian says, guiding Emma through one of the file drawers. It's David's day off, and when Killian dropped by to confirm their outing on Saturday, she asked for his help.

Her answering laugh triggers the most vivid memory. He could swear they've done this before. It must be from those blasted dreams. They were happening every night, lately.

He's begun to wonder if he should avoid Emma until the dreams go away. She's made it perfectly clear that she isn't looking for anything other than friendship right now, and while he's accepted that on a conscious level, his subconscious clearly hasn't caught on.

He shakes away the strange sense of deja vu and continues walking her through David's bizarre filing arrangement. He manages to relate some stories about Storybrooke's rather comical set of “repeat offenders,” none of whom would make it onto police radar in a bigger city.

He gets through the next hour of conversation without any more moments of discomfort brought on by his uncooperative subconscious. But when they go to put their last stacks of files away before he leaves, their hands brush against each other and he feels a rush of pure energy.

He freezes. Beside him, Emma takes a deep breath. Could it be possible that she feels equally rattled by the accidental touch.

Hesitantly, he raises his eyes to hers, and feels his heart skip a beat.

He's had a woman look at him with love in her eyes, before. He knows exactly what it looks like – exactly how it feels. It feels like this.

And then she looks away and pushes the cabinet drawer closed and the moment is broken. He's left wondering if it was all in his head.

They've known each other for three weeks – of course it's all in his head. For a moment before leaving he ponders calling off the outing with Emma and Henry on Saturday. He has plenty to do – coming up with a valid excuse will be no trouble. But when she smiles at him, he finds that he can't bring himself to do it.

Instead he heads home more confused than ever. It's become a perpetual state, ever since Emma's arrival. But how to solve this dilemma is something that continues to elude him.

~ ~ ~

Friday night, Killian dreams of Emma again.

They sit side by side on his sofa, and the air smells of cinnamon and chocolate.

She looks tired and stressed, but also perfectly at ease by his side.

“You are important to me, Emma. You and Henry both.” He feels as much as says it. Somehow he knows them, both of them, and cares about them more than he's cared about anyone in a long time.

Emma replies in a voice just above a whisper, her eyes never leaving his. “You're important to me, too.”

And then she leans toward him, and brushes her lips against his.

His mind explodes with light. Images swirl around him – a purple cloud billowing from the old wishing well in the woods – Emma standing in a rusty service elevator, a sword in her hand – Henry hugging him inside David's loft – Emma pulling him into the bathroom at Granny's and kissing him again and again...

He comes awake gasping and sweaty, aching with unwanted arousal.

He sits up and brushes the hair back from his face. These dreams are getting out of hand. If only they weren't so bloody realistic – like memories from another life.

He should have trusted his instincts and canceled the outing with the Swans when he had the chance. He needs some distance from her to get a handle on himself. But they're supposed to meet later that day. It will be rude to cancel now.

He takes a few more deep breaths and gets up to take a cool shower. He'll have to pull away from her, for the sake of both his sanity and her relationship boundaries. But not until after today.

~ ~ ~

Butterflies twitch in Emma's stomach as she waits for Killian to arrive. It's not a date – Henry is coming, after all. But there have been some moments over the last few days when she felt the same kind of electric attraction that she did during the first curse. And she's been sleeping with the insignia every night. That has be accomplishing something, though how much she can't say for certain.

“Calm down, Mom. Everything is going to be okay,” says Henry. He sits on the sofa watching her as she paces.

“Yeah.” She nods. “I hope so.” But she can't help but worry anyway.

Finally, the doorbell rings. She takes a deep breath and forces herself not to answer too quickly.

Killian greets her with a broad smile, and tells Henry he's glad to see him again. During the short drive to the docks, Killian keeps up a stream of advice to Henry regarding all the things a boy his age ought to know about the town for when he moves in full-time. Emma can't help but notice the way he fidgets as he speaks. He may sound confident and friendly, but she knows what Killian looks like when he's anxious, and this is definitely it.

Once they head up the gangplank of the ship he seems to relax. Even in this cursed persona, his ship is enough to make him feel more sure of himself. She smiles, her chest swelling with happiness, as he leads them around, describing all the parts of the ship with boyish enthusiasm.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm for the next hour as they tour the ship. Henry is full of questions – he wants to know everything about everything – and it keeps the conversation flowing well.

Every once in awhile, while Henry is busy playing with some ropes or rigging or one of the other bits of equipment, she turns her head to look at Killian, and finds him already looking at her. Most of the time he looks away quickly, but a couple of times he smiles first. It fills her whole body with a cozy, warm feeling.

This is finally starting to work. Maybe she'll have her real Killian back, soon. She'll have them all back.

~ ~ ~

The visit to the ship hasn't been nearly as awkward as Killian feared it would be. Henry's presence helps, of course, but it's not just that.

He's been so fixated on his overwhelming dreams that he'd forgotten they are nothing more than figments of his over-active subconscious. Spending time with the real Emma is completely different. Well – mostly different.

He can't deny that his attraction to her is still going strong. But he's also coming to enjoy her company as a friend. Which is something he'd like to continue to do if he can simply get these damn dreams to stop messing with his head.

After they've toured the ship from bottom to top, they lounge on the deck. Henry plays with the ship's wheel, and he and Emma lean side by side against one of the side railings and look out over the harbor.

“It's so gorgeous,” she says. “The sea near Boston was nice, too, but much busier. Here the fishing boats go out in the morning and come back at night, but in between there is just quiet and stillness. There's something magical about it.”

“I've often felt the same way, myself. Ever since the ship was donated, I've been so taken by it that Doris teases me by saying I must have been a sailor in another life,” he replies.

Emma studies him with a knowing smile that feels far more familiar than it should, given the extent of their relationship. “It suits you. I wouldn't be surprised if you manage to sail this thing all by yourself by the end of the summer.”

He chuckles at the thought. “I don't think I'm quite ready to tackle that particular challenge. I'd settle for successfully sailing it with a crew of ten. I doubt I could manage with much less.” His heart lifts at the thought of pulling away from the docks with the wind at their backs, pushing deep into the unknown sea. He'd love to have Emma there beside him, her hair blowing in the wind, laughter on her lips...

The sudden desire to kiss her nearly overwhelms him. He's already unconsciously leaning toward her before he realizes what he's doing.

He pulls back and stands up straight, edging away from her. What in heaven's name was he thinking? Henry is right there, a few meters away. Not to mention that Emma has made her lack of interest perfectly clear.

It's the influence of those bloody dreams, again. It has to be. He can't go on like this. It's not fair to Emma.

He thinks he glimpses a look of disappointment on her face just before he looks away from her. But he doubts he's reading her right. He hasn't known her long enough to understand all her expressions.

He coughs, clearing his throat. “I, uh, I'll go check on Henry.” He heads up the stairs to the ship's wheel.

He manages to get through the final half hour of their outing without further embarrassing himself, and walks them to Granny's where they've decided to have an early dinner. Emma invites him to join, but he manages to formulate an excuse about meeting one of his deacons for dinner, later.

He's ashamed of himself even as the lie comes out of his mouth. He's better than this. Isn't he?

Still, he can't help but feel relieved once they part ways.

He returns home and attempts to immerse himself in reviewing the sermon he's prepared for tomorrow, but after less than an hour he knows it's a hopeless cause.

Emma dominates his thoughts, popping back into the forefront of his mind every few minutes no matter what else he is trying to think of.

It's too much. Somehow he's fallen into an unhealthy obsession that will be good for neither him nor Emma. There's only one thing he can do – he needs to stay away from her until he can overcome this. She deserves a true friend, not an obsessive man with ulterior motives.

Until he can face her with an honest and open heart, he can't spend any more time with her. It's the only solution – no matter how much his heart cries out against it.

~ ~ ~

Emma attends Killian's Sunday service with Henry, again. They've made it a habit since this new curse began. She's still not sure if she's ready to believe in the same kind of God that Killian does, but listening to his sermons and the clear conviction behind them – and his conviction in the virtues of service, charity and forgiveness – helps her to appreciate his faith. She's beginning to understand why it means so much to him.

His eyes seem to graze over her a few times during the service, but he doesn't look at her directly. After the service he is quickly caught up in conversation with several parishioners, and never once looks her way.

She squeezes her lips together and tries not to let it bother her.

He seemed very – uncomfortable – when they parted ways yesterday. Things have been going so well. What did she do wrong?

After the service she hands Henry over to Regina for a few hours and goes on a walk to reflect on things.

Telling him she wasn't interested in dating felt like absolutely the right choice when she did it. And that choice made a huge difference for the past three weeks. Instead of looking at her like a lovesick puppy, Killian has become much more the man she knew during the first curse – the man she started falling in love with. But now that they've shared a few moments of romantic tension (She knows he felt it, too. She just knows it.) she wonders if her adamant statement of disinterest is starting to backfire.

Has she sent too many mixed signals? How can she come back from that line she drew without looking manipulative or flaky?

Not for the first time she finds herself seething with anger at Cora for doing this to her. For doing this to all of them.

She stands at the waterfront clenching her fists and feels tears rising in her eyes. This is ridiculous. She can't let herself sink into a spiral of doubt, like this. Killian had faith in her. She just needs to have faith in herself.

~ ~ ~

Killian fills his week with appointments and errands scheduled in the very hours that he normally runs into Emma. He wants genuine excuses so he doesn't feel compelled to lie, again.

He convinces himself that if he avoids her and focuses on more worthy and productive activities, the dreams will soon subside.

But they don't.

The dream on Sunday night is simple enough. He and Emma sitting in his house, talking and laughing. It feels so comfortable and natural. Like this is how his life is meant to be.

The next night the dream is more potent and vivid than any of the others before it.

It starts off with a few flashes of walking down main street with Emma and Henry. Then, without warning, he feels a blinding pain in his left shoulder. His shoulder throbs and his coat is slick with blood, but even now Emma and Henry are all that seem to matter. Emma is in front of him, tears in her eyes.

“The power is in you. You are the key, Emma. You can save him,” he says. Henry. Henry is in trouble, and it terrifies him. But Emma can do this. He believes in her more than he's ever believed in anything or anyone.

Her voices shakes when she answers. “Why do you believe in me so much?”

He feels the conviction in his heart when he answers. “I believe in you because you already saved me.”

More images flash before his eyes . His brother on board The Jewel of Realm, dying in his arms. A noisy, dark pub surrounded by carousing men and women, while he feels empty and alone in spite of his smile. Again on the ship, a scaly man thrusts his hand into Milah's chest and pulls out her heart, crushing it to dust before Killian can stop him. A sword in his hand, thrusting into one victim after another.

And then he sees Emma, again. This time he sits in a hospital bed, his hand swathed in bandages. In his heart he knows that it is damaged beyond repair. Emma steps forward, her hands outstretched over him. A brilliant white light flows out of her palms to surround his hand, and then his whole body. He feels his hand once more strong and whole, and his other wounds healed. But more than that, the heart that had withered for countless years now feels full of life and hope in his chest.

“You saved me,” he whispers again, as she smiles at him.

Killian wakes abruptly and looks around his room with a racing heart. For a moment his own bedroom feels foreign and artificial in comparison to the dream. But soon he reorients himself and begins to calm his breathing. He has no idea why his subconscious is suddenly spinning these vivid fantasies. But that's all they are. He needs to let them go.

That day he picks up some over the counter sleeping pills. Perhaps those will be enough to banish the dreams.

They aren't.

The next two nights, the dreams are simpler. More images of walking or eating or driving around with Emma beside him. Even so, they feel so real. More real than some of his memories.

Friday evening he finds himself staring at the liquor store. He hasn't taken a drink in eight years. He made a commitment to himself and to his God. But even so, he's tempted. Would a drink or three be enough to dull the dreams?

Why does she haunt him like this? She's just a woman, like any other. Is his mind becoming unbalanced?

Maybe it's a sign, a thought intrudes into his mind. Maybe a higher power is trying to tell me we're supposed to be together.

He huffs at himself and shakes his head, turning away from the liquor store. God doesn't work like that.

He pulls out his phone and dials Dr. Hopper. He sets an appointment for Saturday afternoon. Maybe the doctor will have some insight into the nature of his obsessive and unceasing dreams. He's already tried prayer and medicine to banish them. Something more is needed.

Or I could just give in. I could go to her. I could tell her I have feelings for her. I could ask her to dinner. Why shouldn't I? The worst she can do is reject me. Perhaps that will be enough to end these dreams.

No. He's a rational man. Emma bears no responsibility for his state of distress, and it would be wrong of him to draw her into it. He'll try the doctor first. The doctor will know a way to get rid of these dreams.

Do I really want them gone?

He's not sure he knows the answer to that question, and that thought scares him more than anything else.

~ ~ ~

Emma finishes her usual patrol of the main street area and pulls the patrol car to the side of the road. She should be doing her job, but she can't think. She can't focus.

A pain has been growing in her chest – swelling with every passing day.

She picks up her phone and dials. It rings several times before Neal picks up.

“Emma? Henry's already asleep. Is something wrong?” he asks.

“You don't need to wake Henry,” she says quickly. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“Really? What's up? You sound upset.”

A lump rises in her throat. She hadn't realized it would be so obvious. She barely chokes back a sob when she answers. “Yeah. I... things aren't going so good.”

“What is it?”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as if she can block out the pain. “I screwed up. I don't even know how I screwed up, but I did. Killian's been avoiding me all week. And it's not just a coincidence – we bump into each other all the time on his normal schedule. He had to completely re-arrange his whole schedule just to avoid running into me.” Her voice catches again. “I lost him. I screwed up and now I'll never get them back.”

Tears roll down her cheeks.

Every day this week she woke up telling herself that today she would see him. Today he'd drop by with coffee, again. Today, things would get back on track.

But it's been six days since they last spoke, and five days since they were even within eye-shot of each other.

She came here to get him to fall in love with her again, and instead she's managed to scare him away for good.

Deep down she always knew the whole Savior thing was a load of crap. And now she is being proved right.

“Emma – it can't be that bad,” Neal says.

“It is! You aren't here, you don't know,” she bites back.

“And you don't know why he's avoiding you. I mean, didn't you tell him a few weeks back that you weren't interested in dating?”

“Yes,” she admits. She's been down this train of thought before, and it never leads anywhere productive. “But we were becoming friends. And now he doesn't even seem to want that anymore.”

“Look, Emma, I don't know if this will help any, but if I was really into someone – like really into her – and she told me that she just wanted to be friends, I'd respect that. I'd try. Like he was trying. But maybe it was getting too hard, y'know? Maybe he needs a little space – maybe he doesn't like being too close to the forbidden fruit, because it hurts too much.”

Emma leans back in her seat and shakes her head. “Killian isn't like that. He wouldn't abandon me just because he couldn't be with me romantically. He'd stand by me anyway.”

“Your Killian wouldn't abandon you. But right now he's not completely your Killian. There's the curse in there messing with his mind, making him into someone he's not. You gotta remember that part.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “The last couple of weeks he's been so much like the real Killian. Maybe I was expecting too much too fast. I just...” She feels tears rising again. “I miss him. I miss him so much. And I miss being around my friends and parents with them actually remembering me and loving me. And I miss Henry. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

There it is. The cold, hard truth. She's running out of stamina. Every day hurts more than the one before. She feels like she's pushing herself through a fog of depression every time she wakes up and has to face a town full of people who have no idea who she really is.

Killian's abandonment is almost more than she can bear.

“Emma – if you need a break, I'm always here for you. Me and Henry. You can come spend the weekend with us, if you want.”

For a moment, she's tempted. A whole weekend to relax with Henry, without having to lie or pretend every time she talked to someone.

But the way Neal behaved right before the new curse – the way he tried to convince her to leave Killian and come back to him – is still enough to make her doubt his motives. He's still hurting from everything with Tamara. The time with Henry is helping, but she's worried that he'll try to talk her into giving up on breaking the curse. To give up on magic and fairy tales and to walk away from that life forever.

She wouldn't say yes, but she knows she'd be tempted, and even that leaves her ashamed of herself.

Killian never gave up on her – her parents never gave up on her – not once.

She can't give up on them. Not without a fight.

“No. I can't leave. Not right now.”

“Okay. I get it.” He sounds disappointed, and she's glad she held her ground.

“Look,” he says, “if he really is stepping back because he has feelings for you, the best thing you can do is tell him you have feelings for him, too. Give him a little hope. Maybe that'll get things back on track.”

As scary as his advice sounds, he might be right. “Okay. I'll try. Thanks for listening. I just needed to vent to someone other than Regina. She's getting a little difficult to deal with.”

“I can imagine. I'll always be here for you if you need me, Emma. You know that, right?” Neal says.

If he'd offered that statement when he first arrived in Storybrooke, she'd have rolled her eyes. But now she thinks she believes him. “I do. Thanks.”

After hanging up she cruises around town one last time, and slows the car almost to a standstill as she passes Killian's house. A light is shining in his bedroom. She almost pulls over, before thinking better of it and heading back to the station instead. Pounding on his door in the middle of the night isn't the right way to handle things.

But sometime this weekend, she'll find him, and she'll talk to him, and she'll admit that she was wrong when she said they shouldn't date. She's terrified, but if this is what it takes, she's ready.

It can't possibly be worse than facing a dragon.

TBC

#cs ff #cs au ff #captain swan #peace i leave with you fic #cs mc ff #my fanfiction #finale part 1

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Art F City: Displaced in Denver: A Discussion With the Artists Kicked-Out of Rhinoceropolis and Glob

This is the first discussion in our new series Tales From The Artist-Run, which will focus on stories from the artist-run fringe. As DIY spaces must contend with a shifting political and economic climate, we’re curious to see how they adapt to (and influence) the new world around them.

Warren Beddel (L) and John Golter (center) performing in Rhinoceropolis as Spellcaster’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Time Travel Committee in 2009. (All photos by Tom Murphy).

On December 8th of last year a dozen artists in Denver were forced from their homes unexpectedly. The warehouse building at 3551-3553 Brighton Boulevard had for over a decade illegally housed artists and musicians in two roughly 2,000-square-foot units that doubled as venues at the epicenter of Denver’s DIY scene: Rhinoceropolis and Glob. Just days before, 36 people had been killed by a fire at Ghost Ship, a warehouse live/work venue in Oakland, California. That tragedy has since inspired a series of raids on artist-run spaces nationwide—often leading to displacements.

For months, the landlord and tenants have been trying to get the spaces brought up to code and reopened. The outpouring of support from the art community has since inspired Denver City Council to draft legislation aimed at dealing with issues of illegal live/work spaces, and turned a local zoning violation into a national discussion. I sat down with Warren Bedell and John Golter, two of the displaced artists, to talk about the displacement, the process of reopening the venues, and the politics surrounding the current war on DIY spaces.

Warren: In 2005 myself and three other people got the lease for Rhinoceropolis and about four month later John started Glob, which was right next door to our warehouse. Since then we had continued doing art shows, music, and whatever else. There’s been a rotating cast of people living there. John and I had been there more or less for most of the time. At the point we were finally shut down I think we had twelve people total living between the two spaces.

John: And on top of the twelve people who lived there, we had anywhere from five to twenty volunteers helping with events between the two spaces. Then about five years ago Club Scum opened, which is the house that’s adjacent to the south of our building, and they also started doing shows. So really there were three venues, all with different programing, sharing this semi-enclosed space with a little fenced-in yard in the back. So on most nights you had three places with different shows and different crowds but everyone kind of ending up at the same space, which to me was what was really fun.

Warren: Likeminded people but different genres…

John: Right! We would kind of say “Rhinoceropolis is going to do this kind of stuff. Club Scum is going to do this kind of stuff. And Glob is going to do this kind of stuff.” It would be totally different programming—an art show or a punk show or a dance party—but the volunteers and promoters and bands were all friends. It’s a small enough city that anyone in the art scene is only a few degrees away from someone who might only go to metal shows.

The exterior of the building. Image by Tom Murphy for Westword, 2015.

Michael: How did you guys find the space?

Warren: For the Rhinoceropolis site we had been looking every time we had to renew our leases in more regular living situations– we really wanted a warehouse situation. We were literally just driving around calling the numbers on the sides of buildings. It was 2005, so we were even looking in the physical newspaper!

John: Did Craigslist exist?

Warren: It was definitely the MySpace era. But we stumbled upon it because we had good friends who’d had the space for about a year, and they left it about a year before we moved in. So we knew there was a friendly landlord. That landlord is definitely into helping artists.

John: I had a hundred-something-year-old house up in this neighborhood called The Highlands. At that point it wasn’t gentrified or uber-developed. I had lived there for five years and we were basically a punk house where we had a lot of bands play and a lot of bands practice. When the girl I was dating moved out I decided I wanted something bigger and easier to deal with—for recording, rehearsal, shows, and everything else. I had been booking shows at a place called The Zine Library down the street, and they were all kind of looking for a new location. It took me about a year and a half to find the right situation. I just happened to drive by, see a sign, and call up the landlord. After about a year and a half of looking for a space and getting rejected ALL THE TIME I was just really straightforward with the landlord: “Hey look, we’re gonna have a bunch of bands here. We’ll be having shows and rehearsals and recording.” And he just replied “I have the perfect space for you!” and it happened to be right next door to Warren, Betty, Harry, and Jeremiah.

Our very first night, September 1st 2005, there was nothing there. It was just totally stripped bare and we were running around really excited and gunfire erupted outside. There was a makeshift club that these guys were running around the corner, and I guess there was some kind of fight, and suddenly gunfire broke out busted out our front window. And busted out the front window on these guys’s space. It started ricocheting down the alley, and we ran out saying “Oh my God! What the hell did I just sign up for?” By the time the cops showed up all the people at the “club” had split, and one of the bullets that had gone through your [Warren’s] window lodge in a keyboard.

Warren: Yeah, it broke a toy keyboard.

Michael: Whoa. Do you still have it?

Warren: No… I think Jeremiah does?

John: Anyway it was pretty terrifying. I had just signed a three year lease and was thinking “this neighborhood is crazy!”

Michael: Was it a residential lease?

Warren: It was a commercial lease.

John: I think mine was a live/work lease.

Warren: It was definitely a commercial lease at Rhinoceropolis. The zoning was industrial, which is at the root of so many of the issues we’ve had—more surrounding that than issues of “our safety”.

John: The reason we were rolled out is because we didn’t have a residential certificate. We weren’t permitted to actually live there, and our landlord didn’t pull permits for any construction. When you walk around and looked at Glob, it looked like an apartment. You would never question it because it looked like someone’s home. Rhinoceropolis was a little bit different. It was more of an open shell of a space with apartments constructed in.

Michael: Did you guys have to do a lot of that construction yourselves?

John: Well, they [Rhinoceropolis] did. I didn’t really have to do anything. My space just looked like an apartment with a twelve-car garage attached to it.

Warren: Yeah, Rhinoceropolis was different—the rear of the building is a big empty box, and the front was like a showroom scenario. We would use that as the showspace and we built four bedrooms in the back. And later a loft was added above the bathroom space. They were built safely for the most part, just not with permits.

Michael: It sounds like you guys put a lot of your own money and sweat equity into the space. Did you have some kind of agreement with the landlord to have that reflected in your rent?

Warren: Oh no. It was all on us. At that point I was 21 and we were just stoked that someone was going to let us do whatever we wanted in there. So we definitely did all the building on our own. A few years later he did add a kitchen for us—until then we were a hotplate kinda house—but he helped us put in an actual stove.

Michael: It always sucks when you’re renting in warehouse spaces where you do all this work and then the landlord says “Oh, I could raise the rent here!” Did that happen with you guys?

Warren: He didn’t do that, not in any malicious sense. He did raise our rent though.

John: I think he only did that once though. Since the spaces were triple-Net [a lease agreement on a property where the tenant or lessee agrees to pay all real estate taxes, building insurance, and maintenance on the property] we paid certain things that were itemized. One of those was property taxes, so once the neighborhood started getting nicer the city did an assessment every three years or so. And the property taxes just kept going up and up and up. So the overall bill, I think, from when it started to what it is now was $450 more. They just kept reassessing and saying “Oh! This neighborhood is actually nice now. I guess your property taxes are going way up!” That’s the problem with triple-Net. But I think Larry only raised the rent once.

Michael: Speaking of property taxes, can you talk about the RiNo Arts District? Was that something that grew out of the scene in the area that had formed organically or was that something else?

Warren: We had nothing to do with it. I think it started a few years after we moved in?

John: Or before?

Michael: I just looked it up, it was formed in 2005, the same year as Rhinoceropolis.

John: But it wasn’t really anything when it started—just a few businesses.

Warren: It’s totally separate from what we were doing. We have never been members. It’s an “arts district” but its general goal is a business improvement district so they can get more money to add things like bike paths and have everybody pay for the same little corrugated signs with their logo on it.

Michael: I have to say, I haven’t seen a lot of arts-related things in the arts district in my admittedly short time here.

Warren: Yep. Many have moved away or been kicked out. It’s basically a brewery district now.

John: Yeah, as of two weeks ago another brewery opened up. Basically the one-mile area around the center of RiNo has become the most concentrated area of breweries in North America. So the RiNo district is being marketed as an “arts district” but really it’s just a place where people come to eat and drink craft beers.

Warren: Yeah, there’s a handful of people [in the arts] left but there really aren’t any galleries anymore.

Michael: Can you talk about what it was like the day you were told “you can’t live here anymore”?

Warren: It was bananas. I was at work when shit hit the fan. We had actually been planning a benefit show for Ghost Ship that was scheduled for two days after the raid ended up happening. Two days before that John and I had been going down and getting our fire extinguishers checked and refilled and had just bought another one. Texts started coming in while I was at work and I was just like, “Shit. I gotta dip out.”

John: Yeah, I think I texted you.

Warren: So I left work a little early and…. yeah. Our house was surrounded by news trucks. I was able to get in there and pull out maybe a suitcase or two of essentials and figure it out from there.

Michael: Do you want to talk about how the eviction came about?

Warren: Well, there was Ghost Ship of course…

John: Technically it wasn’t “an eviction” it was “a displacement”. Like a kicking-out. Eviction happens when your landlord wants you out, but that hasn’t happened. Is there a more accurate word than just saying we were “displaced”?

Warren: Yeah we were just told we weren’t allowed to live in the space.

Michael: By the Fire Marshall?

Warren: It was actually city zoning that still has the red tag on the door.

John: Paul Schaffer, the inspector from Denver Community Planning and Development. The fire division—of the planning department—came in and looked at both buildings and had a list of things we needed to fix and my landlord fixed those within four weeks. It was really minor and didn’t take that long. It cost him a little bit, but he upgraded everything and that’s been signed-off. Our electrical and fire code violations were signed-off in January. The problem is really getting everything permitted to live there in Glob and throw shows in Rhino. Basically you have to get an architect. And he has to go there with his codebook and say “we have to do this, this and this”. We had an architect working with us for two-and-a-half months who, for whatever reason, just decided he couldn’t do it any more so we had to start over. It took a couple weeks for me to find another architect who was sympathetic and willing to work with us. He’s been on the case now for about 3 months. We’re coming to an end here this week.

Michael: So at the end of this three-month process you guys can move back in?

John: That’s the idea. On my end I have to add a window that has to be large enough for egress—an exit window. And we had to build two walls.

Michael: Why would you have to build two walls?

John: To make a designated “bedroom”. So we’ll have one bedroom downstairs and another bedroom upstairs. So that will be where we’re legit allowed to live. That’s all it comes down to. Rhino is a little bit different. We have to change a few walls.

Warren: We need a separate “office”, we need wheelchair ramps, we need panic doors on the back gates.

John: Well, that’s federal. We don’t really have to do that, but Larry [our landlord] wants to because otherwise we’re at risk for a federal lawsuit on account of the ADA. And it’s just a good thing to do. Basically Rhino has to adjust, add a few walls, add another bathroom that’s ADA accessible, make the existing bathroom ADA accessible. So we’re going from one bathroom to two, making them bigger, getting rid of the kitchen, and moving some walls around. We’re talking a day’s worth of work at my place and maybe five day’s worth of work at Rhino but it’s taken seven-and-something months to do that.

Michael: That’s crazy. But it seems like all three groups of tenants have been working together to resolve this situation?

Warren: Yep!

Michael: So would you say you all are bearing the brunt of the responsibilities (financially, legally, etc…) or the landlord? Or sharing that responsibility?

John: The arrangement we have with our landlord is that we’ll pay rent and he’ll take care of the construction. There wasn’t anything legally—no fines assessed—but he wanted the leaseholders, myself and this other guy John, to be really involved in the process because, you know, he’s older. We tell him what needs to be done and he takes care of it.

I have had maybe four meetings with the city, I’ve gone to other arts organizations’ meetings around this issue, gone to town halls, I’ve had phone call after phone call after phone call. I can’t count how many things I have had to do around this. It’s nuts—especially the meetings with the city engineer, the fire department, the zoning department. Right off the bat we had two meetings with the fire and electrical inspectors and zoning people. We kept meeting with them and we kept passing inspections with the fire department. That was all in the first six weeks. After that, I’ve had maybe 20 meetings with this architect, measuring everything and seeing where things should go. I drafted my version of what I think should happen and he altered them to meet code. And he’s been going back-and-forth with the city. I’ve been included in those email chains and it’s just a different language. The international residential code books are like a foot thick. And the commercial code books are just as thick. We had to get a consultant to help. And we’ve had meetings with Meow Wolf. And we have a GoFundMe for this. But the way GoFundMe is set up, if you take the money directly, you’re immediately taxed a 1099 which takes 33% of the funds. But if you have a fiscal sponsor non-profit, they’ll take the money and dole it out for you without having to worry about taxes.

Warren: Like, our money is there, it’s just impossible to get to right now.

John: It’s really, really difficult.

Michael: It seems like you got a lot of support from the community though. Which nonprofits or other groups really helped you out?

John: Meow Wolf has been the big one. That was simple. The CEO, Vince, speaks our language. You know, he may be the CEO of a massively-monied nonprofit but he went through this. Well, not exactly this, but he was in the warehouse scene back in the day. He was probably the first person I met through dealing with this situation where I sighed “Oh, this guy knows what’s going on! Thank God!” He was amazing. He and his crew come up here a lot because they’re expanding into Denver and Austin out of Santa Fe.

Michael: Meow Wolf is the art space with the Game of Thrones money, right?

Warren: Yep!

John: Yeah, George R.R. Martin gave them a lot of money. And a philanthropist in Denver just gave them a ton of money so they’re expanding up here. They do have a vested interest in keeping us going, in keeping DIY culture going. This past year has been a big hit. All the crackdowns in Baltimore, in Denver, everywhere. This was huge for them, because they are still a part of that community.

Warren: We met them before Meow Wolf existed, when they would just come play shows at Rhino and they’re just my homies from our community who have been around a long time.

John: They just got some serious donations. And once you get that one big check, you can start getting others. What they do is amazing, and they were able to get a philanthropist to fund them bringing a semblance of what they do down in Santa Fe up here to Denver. They kinda needed people who were like-minded to still be here, because they needed a scene to keep it running. They can’t just take all the people from Santa Fe and move them here. They want Denver people, so they need us to keep the DIY scene going in the meantime. It’s going to be about 3 years before they expand into Denver. And Redline Contemporary Art Center was our other fiscal sponsor.

Warren: And most of the support has been through our GoFundMe. A friend of ours set it up right after the raid—for us to get the space started again. Another friend set one up for us personally, just so we could get security deposits or whatever related costs to suddenly having to relocate. And that happened pretty quickly. That was really nice. The Meow Wolf funds have also been super helpful.

John: And the alternative press, Westword, retroactively gave us a Mastermind Award, which was $2,000. And we had two or three shows that were benefit fundraisers. I didn’t want to take the money from those. I think I did from one? But all the money from the Westword award and other benefits I just wanted to go to the other guys and girls. All the Meow Wolf money is just going to paying the rent on the spaces until we can move back in. Same with the GoFundMe money.

Michael: But you’re still waiting to get access to that money through a fiscal sponsor?

John: Yeah, through sponsorship from Redline. That should work out. As of right now we’re trying to work out the details and figure that out. But the Meow Wolf funds have been so helpful. We just got that through PayPal and it was so easy. Without that, I would have abandoned this. There was just no way to do this, our arrangement with our landlord would’ve had to be totally different. I mean, he wants to help, he wants to do all of this, but he also has to make ends meet on our end too. We wouldn’t have been able to make Rhino a legit venue. He would’ve had to get other tenants like a yoga studio or whatever. It would’ve been the end. We already knew we had incredible support from the community who really wanted it, but Meow Wolf really came to the rescue. I honestly thought this process would take three months. But just this current attempt with this architect and consultant is taking over three months. Unfortunately we didn’t meet them in the beginning.

Warren: But I think that level of support has also been essential to making us all take what we do a little more seriously. Even with a lot of the talks we had with fire and zoning officials would end up with them being surprised by how things came through. Like largely attended meetings concerning affordable arts spaces in Denver—I don’t think they realize how many people were impacted by this. Just from losing the spot that they used to go to. And as frustrating as it has been, the city doing as the city does, they kind of have been holding our hands through this process. And I think that’s due to the support that’s surrounded us. It’s so important.

John: They [city officials] had no idea that they had tripped across something. They were going by the letter of their rules and codes, just like they always do, and if we didn’t have that support [from the community] I wouldn’t be granted meetings with each department head every time I go in there. They’re in suits and ties and watching everything they say. When they get a project in it usually takes months, but they’ve tried to cut that down to weeks or days in some instances. I walked in with the architects and they were like “What? I have never met any of these people. These are the department heads! I have never had a meeting like this it’s crazy!” When he first called in and left the message that he’d be the architect working with us, he got a call back the next day from the department head, on a Saturday, to set up a meeting on Monday and get the ball rolling right away because they mayor and city council were on his case. He just said “Who are you people? What is going on?” There were so many people calling in, writing in…that made a big difference. For an architect who does this professionally day in and day out on just regular projects he’s never seen anything like this [level of political attention].

Warren: Having people in the media who know who we are and are sympathetic has also been huge.

John: I mean, for two weeks we had live news trucks camped across the street! They were doing news broadcasts like “We’re live at Rhinocergobalopolis and following the unfolding situation… as you can see they’re moving stuff out” it was so weird to be moving out my personal possessions and just see cameramen cut to me across the street.

Warren: One time I was just rolling up on my bike and had to be like “no comment!” I felt real cool.

John: I was at work and they have TVs in the cafeteria, where I would just see live broadcasts from my house on the local news. My coworkers would be like, “That looks like your car, man!” That was so odd. I tried to keep my work life separated, but it didn’t take long.

Warren: The media was also funny because at first my parents and Lauren’s parents were both like, “I understand it was really unsafe in there…” and we had to be like, “no, no, it’s not a rave dungeon.” That was the initial TV media response until smarter independent media people started reporting more ….responsibly.

John: It lasted a lot longer than I thought. It was weeks and weeks and weeks of it.

Vampire Pussy performing at Rhinoceropolis in September, 2008. Photo by Tom Murphy.

Michael: This is sort of a loaded question, but have you noticed a change in the arts scene city-wide since the post-Ghost-Ship crackdown?

Warren: In a lot of ways, yeah. You definitely notice that for punk shows, for example, no one is putting addresses on flyers. If this crackdown is really about safety, that’s problematic. Half the time I don’t even know where to find shows now! Things have definitely slowed down. Culture has been pushed way farther underground. I have far fewer people contacting me to try to book shows or events in Denver. Everyone knows it’s hard right now. As far as the visual art scene goes, I don’t know that this round of raids is necessarily the biggest factor. Denver in general is just changing. Some of the longest-standing galleries are just picking up and moving on. At an alarming rate.

John: At a very, very alarming rate. But like you were saying, I don’t know if that’s because some of them were raided and shut down…

Warren: …or just priced-out.

John: Or if their landlord or whatever is just like “I sold the building to developers. You all have to leave.” I don’t know what the landscape will look like in five years. Like you said, it’s a loaded topic, and I can’t really be objective about it because we were always in the middle of the storm! To me it feels dead.

Warren: Yeah I really hate having to go outside of my house to see a show! It’s so difficult!

John: But it actually is. Having to search around. But I think it’s kinda cool what people have done with Facebook events now. They just say “ask a punk” for directions. So if you know the person organizing it you literally have to message them to get the address. I knew this was coming. All the organizers have been like “we cannot make this public anymore because the cops are going to figure it out.”

Warren: More than cops, it’s the trolls.

John: Trolls!

Warren: All the emboldened Trump fans who just want to mess with people.

Michael: Do you think it was an “alt-right” person who tipped off the city about your spot?

John: Who knows?

Warren: Well, we have the email.

John: Does it say who specifically did it?

Warren: It was a police marshall who emailed “hey we should go check out this space and this space too. Bring the police along.”

John: But we don’t know who tipped them off. It’s all anonymous. It could’ve been a phone call and they’re not going to record that. It’s the 311 system you can call if your neighbor is dumping trash or doing something stupid. Or safety concerns or whatever. The intentions of things like that are great, like if a business isn’t clearing a sidewalk or something, but it’s something else when someone can call and say “I think people are living in this building and they shouldn’t be.” That’s really what happens now.

Warren: Well I do have a screencap of a 4chan discussion about us, where they have this little slogan like “Save lives! Shut down these socialist hives!” or whatever.

John: The right-wing trolls have definitely have been doing it after this. I just don’t think they had it in their heads to do it before it happened to us. Because it was literally less than a week after the Ghost Ship fire that they came for us. I think we were the second or third of the major venues that were raided nationwide.

Michael: Denver’s Safe Occupancy Program sort of came out of this, right? Do you have any thoughts about that?

Warren: Some. It’s a bandaid. Their whole idea is that you can get two years to fix your building if you volunteer to have them inspect you. But the inspectors could still find something and say it’s completely life-threatening, in their eyes.

John: What they deem life-threatening. I wrote something for a journalist at Westword about this [law]. For some reason, this law—which is actually a law being passed by city council—managed to be inspired by us but has nothing to do with us. They managed to target “not us” and not help us or anyone like us. They are managing to push everything so far underground it’s counterproductive and more unsafe than ever.

Warren: And there are no standards for the city deems life-threatening. You can still get booted immediately. Otherwise you might get two years. And your landlord isn’t actually responsible for doing anything. You get two years, and theoretically help from the city, to bring things up to code for mixed-use purposes. You don’t have to slice too deep with Occam’s razor to realize that nobody is going to voluntarily do that. And if they did, your landlord could still just boot you for no reason after two years and move on to the next tenants. I’m struggling to see what this law addresses.

John: There are so many things that they could deem as “Serious life-threatening problems.” It could be too many extension cords plugged in or an outlet without a cover. That could be a life safety issue, you know? There’s a litany of things they could say were life-threatening if they wanted to. And that’s probably what’s going to happen. A lot of these artists don’t get press, they don’t have mountains of people who will call in on their behalf. They could just get booted, if there’s any motivated artists still left in this city. And there’s no new places left for them anyway. It’s so difficult! I’ve looked, Warren’s looked, we’ve all looked for another space. There’s nothing. All of this was our “Plan B”. Plan A was to take Meow Wolf’s money and just find another space and bring it up to code. But there’s nothing on the market right now. And what there is is extremely overpriced. The property we had was by far the best option. And any other artist group coming up like we did when we were 21, you know, doesn’t have those options. 12 years ago it was a lot easier to find something.

Warren: And that’s why, on some level, it’s nice to see legislation attempting to address this issue. But there’s a lot of things being discussed at the table and we’re not included in the discussion…about us.

John: Yeah, they made a law about us and didn’t ask for our input.

Warren: I’m more worried for the smaller spaces. The spaces where you have to tell someone to “ask a punk” where it is. They don’t have a Meow Wolf or GoFundMe to deal with this. And they’re just going to move away. It’s happening all over the country. There’s just not policy in place. Everyone’s trying to put these bandaid policies in place so they don’t look like they’re just booting poor artists, but that’s exactly what they’re doing.

John: And the part that gets me, apart from the grey area for the “life-threatening” issues, is that if you do not voluntarily offer up an inspection you’re not guaranteed those two years. If you get a report and a surprise inspection like they did with us, you don’t get that two-year option. You just are told “You have to go, now.” They give you 45 minutes to grab your stuff and leave. I still think people will say “fuck it. I’m not going to volunteer for this. I’m just going to play it cool. And hopefully they won’t be coming through my door.” People with money, with a nice space, who are in the process of getting permits anyway—I could see them doing this. This just gives them more time. So the intention is to have artists do that, but there’s no possible way they will.

Michael: I feel like all of the brick and concrete warehouses we all used to live in illegally are probably more safe than any of the shitty stick-built condos going up everywhere.

Warren: Yeah. A huge portion of their issues, which we fixed immediately, were things that were made from construction-grade wood but hadn’t been wrapped in drywall. But we’re sitting in a “nice” loft right now looking at a wooden stairway and we just passed inspections! It’s not wrapped in drywall. Wood wrapped in drywall is apparently better? It’s all so arbitrary.

Entrancer performing at Rhinoceropolis in June 2014. Photo by Tom Murphy.

Michael: I worry a lot about this crackdown on DIY spaces nationally, coupled with gentrification, coupled with the rise of alt-right trolling, deportations. What is the future of the type of art scenes we grew up in? I feel like urban America used to be this much more open place where you could just show up in a new city and always find friends-of-friends with a warehouse space where you could crash on the couch and do a show or something. We could do our own events and live in these sort of high-density places that still had space to experiment and actually do things. It feels like a whole part of our culture is disappearing.

John: Oh, overnight. This hasn’t been a long-term trend. It happened so fast.

Warren: Definitely in the past six months. I do agree it’s a different landscape, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. Some of the best art and culture to come out of this country was during the Nixon administration, which was no less ridicul…oh. Well, maybe nothing is as ridiculous as what we have right now. But artists still managed [to build communities] without the internet!

John: I don’t know that we can compare it.

Michael: But that was when gentrification was just a glimmer in the eyes of policymakers. Artists even had giant lofts in Manhattan!

Warren: Maybe Denver won’t be this rad hub for art anymore because all the poor people moved away. Economic structures are a huge reason that Baltimore has so much coming out of it. It’s not just from the schools. I know that Rhinoceropolis and Glob would not have happened if we couldn’t find a space that close enough to central Denver and cheap as fuck to live in.

John: That was the only reason I stuck around Denver. I mean, no offense to Denver, but if I’m going to be paying rents like people are paying now I’d be moving to LA or Brooklyn or SF. It was so attractive to me to stick around because the price point was so low. I could take risks.

Michael: What was your rent?

John: Around $1,500, split between four people. Plus bands would chip in… so it usually worked out to be less than $400 a month per person. In another building it was a 5 bedroom for $1,000. And I was touring all the time.

Warren: Yeah, when you don’t have to always worry about rent you can tour. You can build a network.

John: Or buy equipment. Now, rent is like triple the cost. No one even with a good paying job would take on an endeavor [like Rhinoceropolis or Glob] today.

Warren: The first three years of Rhino we were all paying $300 each and there were four of us. I think at the time of the raid we were nine people.

Michael: And this is something symptomatic of gentrification. Spaces like Ghost Ship became dangerously overcrowded because you can only afford to make ends meet if you’re living with twenty other people. It’s important for cities to realize that—keeping things affordable makes it easier for artists to live responsibly, and I know you have always tried to keep your spaces as safe as possible. Speaking of which, what does your timeline look like moving forward?

John: Anytime I give anyone an estimate it’s been wrong. When we started this process in December we were hoping anywhere from two weeks to two months. Seven months later we’re still filling out paperwork. It’s never ending. In theory, I should get another email this week saying “one more thing you need to fix” or “we’re done”. Maybe this week?

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