#this has been sitting in my folder for a bit but I’m also too lazy to put effort into meme drawings

[1driedpersimmon]

Meme

[tteokggukk]

summer heat → jjk

–pairing: twin!jungkook x reader

–genre: fluff, mature (? but no smut), drabble, a minor attempt at humor, best friend’s twin brother type of thing

–words: 2.9k

–warnings: explicit language, sexual tension, tiny bit of humiliation, a hint of jungkook and reader having some sort of “history” if u squint hard enough

–summary: in an attempt to calm you down and prevent your mood from swinging due to the blazing heat, your best friend decides to go out and buy you some ice cream. you’re shocked, however, when he quickly returns and looks different, making you see him in an entirely new light and leaving you trying to resist the urge to give in to your raging hormones and just jump on him.

–a/n: i was thinking of this scenario in the shower but didn’t have the brain power to turn it into a full length story so i might just add this to a pile of drabbles that i may or may not develop heh + ive been in my jungkook feels too lately sigh + also this is unedited 

permanent taglist: @100percent-dum-dum  @mochisjoon​ @boraength @rageyoudamnednerd​ 

It was a scorching hot summer’s day. Sweat was beginning to trickle down your temples and your shirt was getting stuck to your skin, causing an irking feeling of discomfort. Looking around, you quickly grabbed an empty long folder from your best friend’s messy desk and began fanning yourself to cool down. The two of you were just there, sitting in his room in a not-so-comfortable silence.

You were currently plopped down onto a chair with your legs resting on the desk in front of you, too lazy to come up with ideas to kill your boredom.

It was a tradition for your family to travel every summer and visit a new country you hadn’t been to, but this year you had to pass the plane tickets and sight-seeing due to your best friend, Junghan, asking begging you to help him out with a month-long film project. You didn’t have the heart to decline, so you told your parents you’d stay behind and help him out which resulted in you having to stay over at Junghan’s place for the rest of the summer.

You had to admit though, a small part of you felt disinclined to stay because the project sounded like it would’ve been a tedious workload, but working with your best friend was so much more fun than you’d imagined and even the project itself turned out to be enjoyable. So far, your summer break has been spent filming and hanging out with Junghan—though hanging out usually meant staying in his room and watching romcoms all day while crying over fictional characters, ranting about how you two would never meet such perfect men in real life. It was great.

Until the air conditioner broke down.

You glanced over at Junghan, who seemed to be just as spiritless as you were while he sat in front of a fan, eyes looking empty and distant.

“I told you the air conditioner needed to be fixed,” You sighed and looked up at the ceiling, completely missing the harsh glare he sent you.

“I said I was gonna get it fixed,” He replies and turns back to the fan, his voice quieting down a little, “But the number for repair wouldn’t answer.”

“Right,” You muttered absent-mindedly, eyes staring at the ceiling while your mind was too busy trying to come up with suggestions to beat the heat, “We could go to the pool?”

“Closed,” Junghan grunts, “The mall?”

“As if we’d both drive in this state,” You rolled your eyes as you tried to get your shirt to stop sticking to your skin. Junghan glances over at you when he hears you grumbling, one of the many cues that you were beginning to feel peevish. Deciding that it was pointless to keep tugging on your shirt, you opt to take it off instead.

“You don’t mind do you?” You asked before completely removing your shirt, only leaving you in your bralette. Though you knew he never did because of the countless times he’s helped you change and pick out different outfits, you always asked out of politeness. Additionally, his zero interest in women made you feel much safer and comfortable enough to undress around him.

“I really don’t care,” He says and stands up. You hear him rumbling for a moment while you were neatly folding your shirt, and seconds later you recognize the jingling sound of keys.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“The nearby grocery. You’re about to get grumpy and I am not going to listen to a rambling bitch for the rest of the day,” He says, rubbing his temples as he makes his way to the door.

“So you’re just gonna leave me here?” You asked, too exhausted to even glance at him. He probably wasn’t, you only asked for the dramatic effect.

“No, dumbass. I’m just gonna go and buy ice cream. See you in a bit.”

And with that Junghan leaves and closes the door shut. Only a few minutes later after the sound of the engine had gone did you decide to exert a little effort and move over to his previous spot to sit in front of the fan, the air immediately cooling your skin. You sighed in relief and grabbed a few tissues to wipe your temples dry before grabbing your phone and texting Junghan to buy some lemonade, followed by a second text telling him you’d pay him back once he returned.

You were surprised to hear, not even ten minutes later, that the car was already back and pulling up in the driveway. It couldn’t have been Junghan’s parents as they were out working, and it was only you and Junghan around—not like you two had many friends who would come and visit. Instead of rationalizing with yourself on how Junghan came back home in supersonic speed, you decide to drop it and wait for him to come up back to his room.

Someone knocks on the door, causing your brows to furrow in confusion. Since when did Junghan knock?

“Come... in?” You answer, though it came out more as a question. Your head turns at the sound of the door opening, and your eyes widen at seeing Junghan standing by the doorframe.

Looking oddly different.

“Dude,” You stood up from your place and stared him up and down, “Is that what you were really wearing when you went out?”

His eyebrows raise in shock and you catch his eyes taking a quick glimpse from your chest before quickly looking back at the perplexed look on your face, a small smirk forming on lips. You decide to ignore it.

“What a warm ‘welcome home’,” he chuckles.

“You didn’t answer me,” you replied, still oblivious to the difference in his tone.

He was wearing an all-black ensemble—a black cap, a black leather jacket, black pants that outlined his toned thighs (how have you never noticed?), and some chunky black boots—a huge contrast to his normally colorful and baggy clothing. You were genuinely curious because you hadn’t noticed what he looked like before he left the house as you were too tired and lazy to even look up and say goodbye.

“Uh, yeah. This is what I was wearing?” He narrows one of his eyes, looking confused, “Why?”

“I don’t know… since when did you wear all black?”

“Since way back then? I don’t know,” He replies, and you now noticed how his voice was unusually low. Junghan steps inside and averts his eyes from you, looking around in his room before scrimmaging through drawers as if in search for something.

“What are you looking for?” You asked, folding your arms and following him around.

“A charger,” He replies, and a chill runs down your spine at the sound of his voice. You thought maybe you’d detect how he was just trying to change his manner of speaking, but it was effortlessly low; like he wasn’t faking it or anything. It was weird because Junghan normally sounded a little more high pitched. 

“What charger?”

“A laptop charger, mine broke,” He continues searching and not once does he meet your eyes.

“Oh okay, let me help you then,” You begin to look around and help him search, “Though I don’t know what it looks like, I’ll let you know if I see a charger.”

He looks up at you and smiles, but you don’t catch him watching you as you were already busy searching, “Thanks.”

The two of you continue searching in silence, though occasionally you’d look up and glance at Junghan. What exactly was he doing? Was this for his film? Is he supposed to be in character? This new look and manner of talking that he somehow adopted after a quick trip to the grocery store did things to you. Every time he grunted in annoyance after a failed search, something in your stomach would twist and you found yourself suddenly feeling drawn, or maybe even more than drawn, to your best friend. Your gay best friend.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts.

Only a few minutes later did you find something that looked like a charger hiding underneath a pile of unfolded clothes before presenting it to Junghan, “Is it this?”

“Yes! Exactly that,” He jumps up from crouching over one of the drawers at the bedside and walks over to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know why you took such a long time searching for something in your room, though,” You rolled your eyes.

“My room?” He smiles, voice a little deeper but with a hint of amusement.

God, you could just jump on him right now.

“Yeah?” You knit your brows, “And stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he was looking up at you. He leans back a bit a folds his arms, a smile still tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Maybe it was the summer heat doing things to your head and making you think about all these things that you never thought you’d ever want to do with your gay best friend, but he seemed so in character it was actually beginning to bother you. What store did he go to exactly? And where the hell is the ice cream?

“That! What’s up with your voice? And your outfit? You look so different, it’s weird,” You folded your arms as if to mirror him.

“Weird, huh?” He asks and looks at his clothing before looking back at you.

“Not in a bad way. It looks good, it’s just not you,” You squirmed slightly before shaking your head to snap out of it, “I don’t know what store you went to that made you look like this—and congrats I guess, if you’re trying to switch up your fashion, but you completely missed the ice cream, so good luck trying to handle this rambling bitch.”

He laughs at the words “rambling bitch” and oh god that is not what his laughter sounded like before. When did the sound of his laugh sound so deep and sultry? You subconsciously sucked on and bit your lip at the sound of his laughter, trying your best not to visibly drool in front of him. He catches your subtle action and his brow raises at the sight.

“Despite all the things you said, you think this looks good?” A playful smile rests on his face and your heart beats erratically at his expression.

“Y-yeah, I don’t know,” You mumbled. He shifts on the edge of the bed to move closer to you.

“And because there’s no ice cream, you’re going to turn into some rambling…” He reaches his hand out, the back of his fingers feeling the skin on your exposed waist before resting his hand on your back to pull you in closer.

“…person?” he continues, brows raised and eyes staring intently at yours, not using the vulgar word you had just used to describe yourself (or the word he had just called you before he left to go to the store).

“I...um, we’ll see,” you replied, and he only chuckles deeply. Your voice had transformed into a murmuring mess and it annoyed you, but you couldn’t really do anything about it, right now he reminded you so much of—

“I think you look good too, you know. Maybe I did miss you a lot more than I thought I did,” he whispers, pulling you in even more so you were now standing between his thighs.

Missed you? After an eight minute trip to the grocery store?

You didn’t question it. Your mind was blanking out, malfunctioning, even. Here was your best friend, your gay best friend (as you had to keep reminding yourself), placing his hands on your bare skin in a way that you knew wasn’t going to turn out to be so innocent. Right now you were extremely attracted and possibly even turned on by whatever the fuck he was doing, all you could do to save yourself was blame it on the heat. Was this absolutely weird? Hell yes. Did you want to stop him? Fuck no.

Were you now completely devoid of all reason and logic?

Definitely.

Softly, he tugs on your arm and pulls you into him so you were now sitting on his lap with your hand resting on his chest. One of his hands was still attached to your waist, the other was resting itself on the bed, gripping on a blanket.

Chills run down your spine for the second time now as his mouth moves closer to your ear, “Lucky for you I know the perfect way to handle rambling bitches.”

Your breath hitches for a moment and Junghan moves back to face you, his lips grazing your cheeks a little before you meet each other’s gaze. The summer heat was definitely nothing compared to this, but you didn’t mind. Your faces were only mere centimeters apart now and you could’ve sworn he was beginning to lean in by the look in his eyes, which were now fixated on your lips.

Seriously, you could just grab him by the collar right now and speed things up. He’s the one who pulled you in first, anyway, you just wanted to get things going. Though you haven’t exactly a clue as to where this would end, you wished he would hurry up a little to find out.

But for some strange reason, your senses were enveloped with the distinct smell of a signature fragrance that you knew did not belong to Junghan and it snapped you out of your thoughts. The scent was strong enough to flash some memories back in your mind, making you frown. Did he use this perfume on purpose? Or was your mind just playing tricks on you? In a flash, you could suddenly think straight and you couldn’t help it, the moral side of your brain had turned far stronger than your currently raging hormones (thank goodness). Something was definitely off.

“But, Junghan… aren’t you… gay?” You asked, your voice trailing off a little.

His eyes widen and he pulls back from you. He stares at you for a few seconds before it hits him, and he starts erupting in laughter. You narrowed your eyes at him and got off his lap, moving over to the side and sitting beside him instead.

“Junghan?” He stresses on the name. You’re staring at him blankly now, like you knew he was just messing with you. His laughter eventually dies down and he places a hand on your thigh, though it seemed much more innocent now, “I’m so sorry, ____, you’ve got the wrong person.”

With one hand, he quickly grabs the blanket off the bed. The back of his other free hand endearingly caresses your jaw, and you notice how he lingers for a while as he moves a bit lower down to your neck—before wrapping the fabric around you and covering your whole torso with it. Your face immediately turns pink as you clutched onto the blanket to further cover yourself, feeling slightly humiliated, though you were still confused.

“Wrong person? What do you mean?”

“I was wondering why you had no shirt on, I thought that was just a regular thing for you now. But it’s probably cause you’re more comfortable around my brother, huh?”

“Your brother…?”

“Has it really been that long?” He chuckles, and instantly your mind began connecting the pieces together. Could it actually be him? You haven’t seen him in years, and no one even bothered telling you he was coming back today. No way, surely this was Junghan playing a joke on you.

“I’m not Junghan. I’m his twin brother, Jungkook. Remember?”

You hastily stood up in defense, still clutching the blanket close to your chest, “Shut the fuck up, Junghan. No one said anything about Jungkook coming back today!”

Junghan Jungkook only laughs and stands up, the melodious sound filling the room, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the wide open bedroom door. 

“What a shame, but it was a surprise. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home today,” He folds his arms, “And if I am Junghan, then who is that?” He points at the doorframe and true enough, Junghan was standing there holding grocery bags in his arms wearing his usual oversized colorful jacket and khaki colored pants.

You and Junghan both looked at each other with mouths dropped down to the floor before you looked back at Jungkook, who had the same smirk tugged on his lips, clearly amused at the whole situation.

Jungkook bends forward and leans in to your face, his voice in a lower tone but still audible enough for his brother to hear, “Probably shouldn’t take your top off so leisurely around the house anymore, huh?” He grins and winks at you, causing you wince and force an awkward smile, internally cursing yourself at everything that just happened.

“Anyways, I should probably rest up in my room. See you around,” Jungkook flashes you a smile before placing a chaste kiss on your (now dry, because your body had frozen up) forehead before walking away from you, taking the charger and dangling it in his other hand. He taps his confused looking brother on the shoulder before turning his head back to take one last look at you before walking out, leaving you and Junghan staring at each other in shock.

Junghan walks in slowly and sets the bags of grocery on the floor, shutting the door behind him.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asks you, eyes wide in anticipation.

Your mind replays everything that had happened between you two. Was Jungkook really just about to kiss you minutes before? Heart racing, you clutch on your chest from underneath the blanket he had covered you with. No way was Jungkook back. No way is he back and looking even more attractive than he did the last time you saw him. Not when you had just gotten over your small crush on him a couple of years ago.

The heat returns to your body, but it mainly pools on your cheeks. You look back at your best friend, but no words of explanation come up. 

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same thing.”

↣ all rights reserved © 2021 tteokggukk. please do not repost. translations/modifications are not allowed.

[moxfirefly]

Good afternoon, this has been in the works for a while now and I finally got around to finishing it and being pretty content of it (this is gonna go up on AO3 soon along with the others that aren’t request) but I wanted to post it here first. Enjoy!

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

“Wish you were here right now

All of the things I'd do”

Gaming was always an escape.

From childhood to adulthood. There was some gaming equipment in your hands, controls, handhelds, keyboards and so on. There was just something calming about entering a fantasy world and immersing yourself in scenery and stories that made you stray from bad days and long nights.

For Donatello it was the same.

On one of his many supply scavenges Splinter had found a dumpster near a toy store that was going out of business. It was a memorable haul for them. What they expected to be routine things mixed with some type of groceries had turned into literal Christmas in July. Stuffed animals, board games, action figures and even a few gaming consoles with some cartridges and cd’s. Noticeably they were considered damaged or improperly manufactured, but they didn’t care and for Donnie he had spent a good week and a half fixing up the Nintendo and Play Station 2 consoles back into working conditions.

That alone had been plenty for him but nevertheless Mikey being so excited about playing wanted him to join him. They had played for hours and each disc or cartridge they tried out held a new story, a new set of controls to learn, new visuals and such. He was immediately hooked.

When he had gotten the first parts to start building a PC from scratch he knew there would be another world of possibilities for games.

Now gaming is a leisure for Donnie. Something he does for enjoyment and an escape when his projects become too much. The world of online gaming allowed him to also explore the possibilities of chatting with others though, the humans they were not allowed to see or speak to (with the exception of their Hogosha) but needless to say it wasn’t like Donnie broadcasted his identity and whereabouts. More so these people only came to game and speak game.

Donnie absolutely does detest the unnecessary sexism that gaming brings. Many a time he had read on chats or heard on his head set such derogatory comments thrown at female players. Never the one to stand such misogynistic behavior (he was raised better and had heard enough horror stories from April) he always shot that shit down quickly. Given his status as being far above his gaming peers he had developed respect and none of them ever shot back at him.

That’s how he runs into you.

On the opposing team nonetheless.

Once your female voice ran through the ears of the group he had been stuck in, the comments began to rain down. Some colorful, some lazy and some downright disgusting. Donnie had had enough and with some of his more illegal methods, had managed to push out the players in his party and send the audio recording to the email of the developers.

On exceptionally petty days he did far worse.

You had been stunned, wondering why the gang of immature boys had suddenly disappeared. Only one of them remained with the gamer tag specifying ‘Don_DuzMachines’ you couldn’t help but giggle at it.

You had asked if the sudden disappearance had been a weird glitch and if Don (as you assumed you should call him) had anything to do about it.

“Let’s just say I’ve got my ways” His soft voice rang through your headset.

“Well it’s hardly the first time I’ve had a gang of prepubescent boys tell me to suck their dicks” You started to move away in the map but stopped abruptly.

“Hey do you wanna play something else?” You asked tentatively. “Figured the least I can do is thank you” Donnie sat back pensively, well there was no harm in that now was there?

And so it started innocently.

Co-op games even the occasional match against one another. Each game you two always spoke through your headsets. Mostly banter about strategy or directions for who to do what or the occasional friendly jabs. You hadn’t revealed much that wasn’t the nickname you used as your gamer tag, and well Don had basically done the same.

That is until you decide to poke a little into his life. “You go to college?” You had asked, fingers gliding over the keyboard as you both partook in a raid. Donnie hadn’t expected such a question and he didn’t necessarily want to divulge much, he opted for a more ambiguous response. “I do my own studying, sort of like home schooling if you will?” Well he wasn’t wrong, Splinter had been both father and teacher to them, Donnie had just excelled more quickly and soon enough he was teaching his brothers on the academic side.

“You broke too, huh? Trust me it’s not worth the insane debt you’ll develop in six years that’ll take forty years to pay off” You chuckled with a hint of bitterness, Donnie couldn’t help but laugh and snort.

“That’s cute” You said sincerely. Donnie smiled, heat creeping up his neck.

How innocent things had been at the start.

For six months the two of you divulged little to no information. You never asked to video chat and Donnie never asked for your socials. It had just been a mutual agreement to keep the mystery that just wasn’t verbalized. Maybe it was for the better, because surely what had began as a gaming buddies situation had escalated to, well Donnie couldn’t really explain.

The first instance the two of you had been stuck on a map solving intricate puzzles. It was one of the more relaxed games the two of your partook in together when you didn’t want to deal with other players in a lobby.

“Dating apps are a nightmare, they’re only worth it for getting dumb funny stories” You had been playing but also checking some of the matches you’ve gotten on a site. Donnie swallowed, why did that settle so oddly in his stomach?

“Well any funny ones you’d like to share?” Don asked curiously hoping he wasn’t over stepping any boundaries. “One guy wanted me to cover my feet in marmalade, I really almost hit fuck it and did it” You couldn’t help but smile when Don choked, coughed and bursted out laughing.

“What kink is that even related to? I mean I know people enjoy feet but marmalade?” He was bewildered. “Come on Don don’t kink shame the poor guy, who are you to police his eclectic culinary desires?” Now the two of you couldn’t help but burst into another fit of laughter. Both your avatars were idle standing, the game somewhat abandoned in favor for the conversation.

“Hey I’m not kink shaming, we all have our weird kinks” Donnie smiled sitting back on his swivel chair. You clicked out of the dating site, chin resting on your hand. “Are we finally having this conversation? Cause I love this shit, it’s my bread and butter” You sat back in your gaming chair, tucking your knees.

Donnie felt so shy but the barrier of mistery the two of you had built urged him on. He was curious, like stupid curious what you looked like and while he had everything to figure out exactly where you were, it wasn’t morally correct for him. So why not just indulge in the conversation?

“Well it’s not feet, sorry to disappoint” He heard you laugh, an infectious sound he had grown to enjoy so much. “Feet are so passé anyways, what about bondage?” You spun slowly in your chair, the sounds of Don adjusting and clicking on the keyboard ringing in your ears.

“Bondage is a go, especially sensory deprivation” He was checking some documents April had forwarded to him in regards to a case they were dealing with, but he could multitask. You made an approving noise, nodding while taking a sip of your drink. “Into that D/s stuff?” You asked wanting to see what else he might like.

“Well yeah, but I do enjoy more um... Fem Dom stuff” He finished up the email he wrote out for April and hit send. “A man with taste, not something we get often” You chuckled but decided to add. “I wouldn’t mind having a guy submit to me” You bit the inside of your cheek a little shy suddenly.

Something about that statement made heat spread south for Donnie. The concept of being dominated? By a woman? He peaked a look behind him, pushing one side of his headset down to hear what his brothers might be up to but he heard only music and chatting voices.

“What’s your favorite thing?” He inquired almost too softly.

“Erotic ASMR” There was no trace of embarrassment in your voice and that somehow made Donnie hot.

“Maybe we frequent the same sites for that” Don boldly threw out. You made an approving face before sitting forward and typing on your keyboard. A beat or two later Donnie saw an email notification from you on one of his many burner emails. He opened it finding links to audios from various sites all catered to erotic audios. Donnie whistled, this was a gold mine and true to his predictions you did indeed have some of his favorite sites to peruse.

“It’s not just male audios by the way, there’s women too” You sat back once again, nervously playing with your hair. “Thanks... Well I do like hearing both” Donnie confessed, voice avoiding a stutter.

You grinned. Oh he was even more fun that you could’ve expected.

Curiously enough that had been the tamest experience into yours and Donnie’s sex talks. Because it hadn’t really stopped at that, they progressively escalated little by little. Fave kinks had turned to fave sites, fave sites had turned into fave videos. Donnie never pictured he’d share his hidden folder with a stranger no less.

You nor Donnie could really say how the two of you had ended up one late night, with yet another abandoned game, talking about weird but satisfying cyber sex experiences. Some of your stories had been on the more comical side but a few had riled Donnie up to the point that he couldn’t ignore it. There was a shift in your voice as well, an allure that enticed him.

“Can I be honest?” You licked your suddenly dry lips. Donnie tensed momentarily, not sure what to expect. “Of course, please” You squeezed your thighs together, ‘please’ shouldn’t sound so good coming out of his mouth. You trace lazy circles on your thighs, something pushed you. “I’m kinda turned on by this...by talking to you about all this stuff” Maybe this was overstepping it, surely there was nothing wrong between two adult friends discussing such matters.

There was no need to tell Don that you had yearned to put a face to the name. But his hesitance spoke of insecurities and you could understand that.

“I am too...” Donnie looked up at what he called a ceiling in his home, the darkness of the sewer system and concrete. He’d never have a chance with you, it was a deeply rooted desire for intimacy and if virtually he could obtain it then so be it.

For all your boldness you felt a wave of bashfulness hit, crashed around your self confidence. Then Donnie steps up and you feel your toes curl in excitement. “Do you want to have a better experience?” Donnie runs both hands down his face, who was he to provide better experiences, he’d never even physically had a partner. The slow sigh that escapes your throat is comforting static in his headset. “Yeah, yeah I really do actually” You feel a smile etch itself on your lips.

“You can call me Donnie” It’s the closest to his name, and truthfully he really wants to hear you say it.

“Y/N,” You say to which Donnie makes an approving noise, he finds your name to be pretty. He rolls it in his mouth, testing the syllables, he can envision moaning it, well he wants to moan it if he can be completely honest. He wants to put a face to that name but he quickly pushes the thought out. There’s a pregnant pause where neither of you engage or make the first attempt. Not wanting to let this mood flee, Donnie swallows and closes his eyes. The hum of the abandoned game grounding him.

“Say my name again” It’s not a forceful demand, all the contrary he wants to hear the pitch in your voice when you say it, he wants to picture how each tone would variate depending on what he would do or say. “Donnie...” You smile to yourself when you say it, a hint of desire nestled in it and Don notices that and wants more of it.

There’s a lengthy sigh from your behalf, hands wandering up your thighs towards your chest. “I’d like to be there right now, would like to say it against your lips” Your bold confessions makes Donnie’s pulse quicken. He runs a ghosting touch up his plastron, the vision of a delicate hand doing it. The imaginary weight of you on his lap grinding down on his hard member. Donnie grips himself through his shorts a soft groan escaping his parted lips.

“Want you to kiss me” He swallows dryly, the approving noise you make pushing him forward. “Feel your lips all over, feel your mouth around me...” He lifts his hips, hand cupping himself and the small hitch in your breath is a sound he wants permanently recorded in his brain.

“God are you big? I bet you are” You kneed your breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the sensitive nubs until they’re perked. Donnie smirks to himself, freeing his aching member and looking down at himself. Mutant genes aside he feels somewhat shamefully proud of his cock, he wonders if you would like it... deeply buried within you. “Yeah I am, I think you can take it something tells me” You catch that teasing tone and the urge to swallow him whole and make him see stars is too much.

Your hand finds its way into your underwear, the warm wetness making you moan as you tease your middle finger between the lips to find your sensitive nub there. You bite back another lengthy moan but recover enough to breathlessly say, “oh fuck, Donnie” and that very sound makes him shiver. Never did he think he’d hear something so temptingly good, said with such sincerity. God the things he would do to smell your arousal right now, to taste the wetness. “Push two fingers in slowly” Donnie almost pleas, his voice shakey, hand pumping his cock at a steady pace. You do as he wishes, your gutted moan making more precum gather at the tip of his member.

“God-shit- you sound so good, wish you were riding my big dick right now” He wants to chastise himself for saying something like that, but he can’t deny that statement shakes something in you. He can hear it, the sound of your fingers mixed with a continuously rising string of moans. “Ohmygod” Words tumble out strewn together by your pleasure. “Donnie please, please fuck me harder” That alone makes him sit up and push forwards, one hand on his desk as the other works himself up in upward twisting strokes.

Donnie can’t erase the idea of slamming into you right here on his desk, maybe bent over, maybe you’ll let him cum on your face...

He pushes the idea away, he can’t envision your face now, not right now, not when your moans have you sounding this deliciously in need. You’re plunging two fingers into your core as your free hand runs firm circles around your clit. “Christ Donnie you sound so good baby” You moan, perspiration covering your body and Donnie can only groan his approval.

There’s a few minutes where it’s just the two of you lost in your own pleasure together. The constant chants of ‘fuck’ and ‘god’ and ‘yes’ mixed between the two of you. “Say it... again” Donnie groans out, hand quickening, briefly gathering some saliva and letting it fall on his hard member for better traction. “Don-oh, Donnie cum in me!” You’re so far gone, not caring what comes out of your mouth. The wet sounds in your head set and a vibration you figured could be static mixed with his groans was all you heard.

Donnie’s hips twitch, feels that request swim inside of his brain and the image of burying himself as deeply as you could take is all he needs. Just as your moans rise in crescendo he feels the first twitch and relief of his orgasm overtake him. He’s never felt it hit him this hard it knocks the wind out of him, each rope shooting out onto his hand and floor. In his minds eye though, it’s your suffocating heat taking it, milking him until he’s a shivering mess. It plays perfectly like a movie, he swears he can even feel your lips at his neck and arms holding him tight.

Your sounds are enough to keep him stroking, the way your voice pitched up with the sound of his name entwined, forever recorded in his brain. Your entire body tensed to the point of uncomfortable but it was impossible to stop abruptly when he sounded so lost in you. Your leg shakes and stiffens and it takes every inch of control to not become liquid and slip away into comforting bliss.

Eventually the sounds of heavy breathing slowly but surely settling are the only things the two of you can hear in your ears. There’s a mess, for you and for him. The understanding of things transpired crossing each of you two’s brains. Should you speak first? Should he?

“Um, you with me?” You settle, skin sweaty and mouth dry. There’s movement on the other line, a quiet cuss here and there and you smile. “Yeah, sorry just... made a mess” His voice has that sheepish tone and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Great thing about being a girl, we can conceal the evidence better” You stretch your aching legs enjoying each joint pop. “The female anatomy never seizes to amaze me, trust me” Donnie leans back in his chair, napkin cleaning any other soiled spot.

The silence was somewhat comfortable, the buzzing of good chemicals slowly settling.

“Was this okay?” He asked, hesitant tone in your ears.

“More than okay if you ask me” You kept it light not wanting him to feel odd or even ashamed.

You ventured on slowly, forming the question in your brain and bouncing it back and forward with a swallow. “If, and I mean if you want to, we can maybe do this from time to time” You worried a thumbnail between your teeth. Donnie’s gaze watching the idle screen of the abandoned game, he thought hard but briefly.

“I... yeah I would” He smiles to himself, even if the nagging thought that this might not last clutches the back of his mind. Why ruin a good thing? This was good more than good and you suggested to continue.

He doesn’t want to preoccupy his brain with scenarios, or if that dreaded ‘let’s meet’ sentence decides to cross your lips. If this is the inch of intimacy he gets to have and it’s with you, who he has grown so fond of, then he’s selfishly taking that inch and guarding it with his life.

Mutely you both remain on the line, no words spoken from the agreement, just simply enjoying that the two of you were present.

Even if not physically.

[bevioletskies]

meet me halfway (across the sky)

summary: Video calls back home were a rare treat for Apollo, considering how busy his life in Khura’in could be. Catching up with Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix was one thing. Getting a sudden call from Klavier was another. And talking to Klavier every day for hours about everything they never knew about each other was possibly the most unexpected thing of all.

word count: 12k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day five of seven (prompt: "parallels"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

Mild spoiler warning for Spirit of Justice, along with implied spoilers for Dual Destinies. Fic title is from the song Meet Me Half Way by Kenny Loggins.

“Uh, Mr. Wright, you’re way too close to the screen. Can you sit back a little?”

“Oops - sorry, Apollo! Still not used to this kind of technology, heh.”

“Sheesh, Daddy, you make yourself sound ancient - ”

“Ah! Did you guys start already? Attendez-moi!”

Chuckling, Apollo leaned back in his seat and waited while the three of them rearranged themselves in front of their webcam. He’d missed this, this camaraderie that he didn’t quite have with his current companions in Khura’in. There was something immensely comforting about it, about every time he managed to schedule a video call with everyone back home. It didn’t happen as often as they would’ve liked, given how busy they all were, how tricky the time difference could be, but when it did, it was the best part of Apollo’s week.

“Hey, guys,” Apollo said, waving sleepily. “What’s been going on?” He leaned closer, peering at his screen. “...Athena, why do you have a banana sticker on your forehead?”

“Why don’t you have a banana sticker on your forehead?” Athena retorted, peeling hers off with a flourish. “Anyway, everything’s been sehr gut! We’ve had, hm...I think four clients since we last talked? All acquitted, of course!”

“Anything interesting?” Apollo asked. “I’ve had twelve clients, myself.”

Phoenix frowned. “I’m...not so sure that’s a good thing. Are you getting enough sleep? I can’t imagine you having that many cases and not mixing them up. Keeping track of evidence alone must be a nightmare!”

“It’s been...a process,” Apollo said diplomatically, trying not to think about the dozens of folders he had on both his desktop and his actual desk that needed to be sorted in a way that made some semblance of sense. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Wright, I-I’m fine!”

“Famous last words,” Trucy huffed. “Polly, you need rest! We want you back home in one piece, after all.”

“At least I’m not accepting odd jobs anymore,” Apollo chuckled. “I don’t mind helping someone set up their internet or move their couch every now and then, but I can’t do everything.” He startled suddenly at the sound of his phone going off. “Oh - sorry, one sec.” His brows knitted together when he read the call display: Klavier Gavin.

“Apollo? Is something wrong?” Athena asked, concerned.

“I - uh…” Apollo hesitated, unsure of what to do. “I’m gonna mute myself for a second, hang on.” He did just that, then answered his phone. “Gavin? Are you...wait. Did you call me by accident?”

There was a long, lingering silence. Then, “Ach, I only just realized what time it is where you are. I should’ve texted first, ja?”

“Yeah, probably,” Apollo said, laughing awkwardly. “Is this, uh, urgent? It’s just - I’m in the middle of a video call, so…”

“Nein, nein, not all!” Klavier’s voice was too loud, too sharp. Apollo didn’t need to see his face to know what that meant. “You know what? Forget I called, it’s nothing.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Apollo protested, frowning. “If you wanna talk for whatever reason, we can - ”

“I have somewhere I need to be, anyway, so, er - Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.” Klavier quickly hung up before Apollo could get a word in edgewise. He stared at his phone, perplexed, before unmuting himself. The others looked as confused as he was.

“What happened?” Phoenix asked.

“...Prosecutor Gavin called me?” Apollo shook himself a little. “I’ll get back to him later, so - anyway, what were we talking about?”

_____

Three days passed before Klavier responded to the inquiring text message Apollo had sent him after he’d finished talking to the others. He still didn’t seem ready to talk about it - whatever it was - but he did suggest they do a video call of their own, to which Apollo agreed. Something about Klavier’s behavior was bothering him, and he was more curious about it than he expected to be.

“Forehead? You’re staring, achtung. I know I’m handsome, but you should really keep those eyes of yours under control. They’re going to get you in trouble someday, I’m sure of it.”

“I - ” Apollo’s eyes narrowed. “Really, Gavin? That’s how we’re starting this?”

“It was you who started it,” Klavier said petulantly, his tone not unlike a five-year-old’s. But really, Apollo couldn’t stop staring - not because of Klavier’s looks; he’d long made peace with how attractive he thought Klavier was and how much he didn’t want Klavier to know, but because of how tired Klavier seemed. Apollo had expected him to be in his usual “uniform”, his silver jewelry and perfect makeup and impeccably styled hair. Instead, Klavier was wearing an oversized sweater, his hair up in a loose topknot, his face completely bare. He still had that lazy, slightly flirtatious smile on his face, but he was slouching quite a bit, his arms loosely wrapped around his propped-up knee. With his cracked lips, acne scars, and hunched shoulders, he looked more human than Apollo had ever thought possible.

“How’ve you been?” Apollo asked, ignoring him. “I’m surprised you called. I haven’t heard from you in, like. Three months? Four? I swear, I’m losing all sense of time here.”

“Well, it’s not like we had a habit of talking in the first place, ja?” Klavier pointed out. “But...to borrow a phrase, I’m fine, though the courts have been so boring without you here. I almost miss the ringing ears I got after every single one of our trials.”

“Har, har,” Apollo drawled. “Congratulations, you and everyone else have broken me down into exactly two personality traits: sarcastic and loud. Are you proud of yourself?”

“You forgot ‘oblivious’,” Klavier supplied helpfully.

Apollo blinked. “...to what?” He blinked again. “Wait - ”

“Too late,” Klavier interrupted gleefully, beaming. “You’ve proven my point beautifully.” Apollo glared; not five minutes in, and he was already prepared to hang up. “Anyway, I’ve been sehr gut, for the most part. Work has been keeping me busy. You?”

“I’m pretty settled here by now,” Apollo said, shrugging. “It’s rough, y’know, trying to rebuild an entire legal system as the only defense attorney in the country, but, uh...at least I’m not completely alone. And as nerdy as it sounds, I’m actually really liking the work. Not the stress - that, I could do without - but the fact that I get to be a part of this big...thing. It’s exciting, I guess.”

“It’s not that nerdy,” Klavier reasoned. “Nerdy is reading law textbooks at night, under the covers. As a child.”

“...is it weird that I actually did that?” Apollo asked, wincing.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to blink, stunned. “Wait, really? I was talking about me.”

“Oh.” Apollo shifted in his seat, surprised. “Never would’ve guessed. I mean, obviously, I know you became a prosecutor at seventeen, but I just assumed you were a musical child prodigy and...I dunno, switched career paths at some point.”

Klavier let out a soft laugh. “Again, you flatter me, Herr Forehead, but I’m not a prodigy of any kind. Just some good old-fashioned hard work, you know?” He then frowned very slightly. “Though...I’ll admit, I’m not sure how much of my standing at the prosecutor’s office also came down to good old-fashioned nepotism. After all, Kristoph…” He trailed off, unwilling to say more.

Apollo shuddered. Even after all this time, he couldn’t get his former boss’s maniacal laughter out of his head. “Right, um...oh, have you had any interesting cases lately? Athena was telling me she had a literal gravedigger as a client - no prizes for guessing where the victim’s body was discovered…”

The next hour seemed to fly by surprisingly quickly, with the two of them exchanging light-hearted anecdotes about work. As it turned out, they’d both had many interesting cases since the last time they spoke. It wasn’t until Apollo could barely keep his eyes open that he realized what time it was.

“Ach, don’t let me keep you,” Klavier said when Apollo yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row. “You have work in the morning, I’m sure.”

“Wait, but - ” Apollo yawned yet again “ - but we never got around to...whatever it was you were calling about the first time. Your so-called ‘nothing’.”

Klavier’s expression sobered instantly, his mouth pulling back into a hard line. “I’m not going to bother lying to you, Apollo. But I’m not interested in telling you, either. So let’s leave it at that, ja?”

“I...oh.” Apollo nodded, feeling somewhat chastised. “Fine. Fine, we don’t have to - but if you wanna, y’know, catch up again sometime, let me know, okay? I’ve got time to talk. Er, I think.”

Klavier laughed, surprised, though his eyes were still wary. “Do you actually...miss me, Forehead?”

“You really know how to ruin a moment, Gavin,” Apollo sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, talk to you later...maybe. Haven’t decided on whether I actually want to anymore, jerk.”

Klavier continued to grin. “Auf Wiedersehen, baby.” Apollo tried not to think about how the last word had made him shiver.

Weeks went by before Apollo heard from Klavier again, a few days after he’d had a two-hour long call with Trucy. Apollo’s voice was a bit hoarse from all the talking he’d done - not to mention how angry he’d gotten in court just yesterday after a particularly smug witness tried to take over the entire trial - but nevertheless, he was surprised at how happy he was to see Klavier, a feeling he was mostly unfamiliar with.

“Do you have a cold?” Klavier asked. “Your voice sounds a bit strained and raspy.”

“My brain feels strained and raspy,” Apollo groaned. He then paused; for some reason, the exchange sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. “It’s nothing, I just got pissed and yelled at someone in court yesterday. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.”

“But isn’t yelling your default?” Klavier smirked. He looked more relaxed than last time, the tension in his face less noticeable. “I hope the rest of the trial went well, at least.”

“Oh, it didn’t,” Apollo said, snorting. “But...past’s in the past. I have too many cases to deal with to bother worrying about one crappy witness. My client was acquitted, I got the real culprit, you know the deal. It’s all starting to blur together, to be honest.”

“It sounds like you need to get out more,” Klavier suggested, not unkindly. “Is there any sort of...nightlife in Khura’in? Recreational activities, maybe? Don’t make me bother Fräulein Detective and get her to drag you to a bar every now and then.”

“We go out to eat or drink sometimes,” Apollo replied, shrugging. “But...I dunno. I don’t really have the time to take up a new hobby or whatever. My free time is for eating, sleeping, and catching up with people back home.”

“Fair enough, though you really should lighten your workload,” Klavier said sagely. “It’s not like you took cases every day when you were here, ja? I know Khura’in needs your help, but what good are you to them if you’re burnt out?”

Apollo’s eyes widened slightly, stupefied. Then, he tried - and failed - to stifle a laugh. “Okay, Dad. Sheesh, you sound like Mr. Wright trying to give me a pep talk.” He sat back in his seat, loosely running his fingers through his hair. “Fine, then, question for you - when’s the last time you took a day off?”

“I went to visit my parents last Saturday,” Klavier answered after taking a moment to think. “They needed help cleaning and packing away some of...some of his things.” He visibly swallowed, though he tried to hide it with a sharp cough. After some consideration, Apollo decided not to comment on it.

“That’s hardly a day off,” Apollo retorted instead. “I mean, it’s technically not work, but - wait. Do you usually work on weekends, too?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, confused. “Do you mean to say you don’t?”

“No, I - I work on weekends more than I should,” Apollo admitted. “But it’s kinda hypocritical of you to tell me to get out more when you don’t have much of a life, either, y’know. Also, are you seriously telling me you don’t have, like. Other things to do? People to see, places to be? Not that spending time with your parents is a bad thing, I-I mean, it’s cool that you do, it’s just...well.”

Klavier averted his eyes, reaching across his desk to pick up his mug of tea. He took his time with it, drinking at a leisurely pace, before finally speaking again. “Do you actually care to know, Forehead? Or are you just asking to ask?” he said evenly.

“I…” Apollo found himself caught off-guard by both the question and his own answer. “No, I actually wanna know. ‘Cos it’s just - it’s not what I imagined. I’ve seen all the headlines and photos and stuff, so…”

“Ah.” Klavier smiled ruefully. “From the early Gavinners days, I take it? Back when I had Daryan around to be my bad influence? Nein, that’s not exactly my style anymore. I already feel too old for that kind of scheisse. Now, I do these things out of obligation, you know? Work parties, family events...nothing too wild. Not when I’ve been involved in too many scandals. Better to lay low than to put myself out there again, ja?”

“I...I see.” Apollo went quiet for a moment, ruminating. He couldn’t help but notice Klavier had neatly avoided the word “friend”; he was starting to wonder how many he actually had. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had ever mentioned anyone outside of people that Apollo himself already knew.

“You’re staring again, Forehead.” Klavier leaned closer, resting his chin in his hands, a wicked grin plastered across his face. “There’s no one nearly as pretty as me in Khura’in, I take it? Don’t worry, I’d be surprised if there was.” Apollo said nothing, instead lifting a hand from his own mug of honey lemon tea to flip him off. Klavier merely laughed in response, delighted.

_____

After that, the gap between video calls went down from a few weeks to a few days. Neither of them knew why, but somehow, they’d come to a silent agreement that they were going to talk once or twice a week about nothing in particular. However, Apollo still hadn’t quite figured out why Klavier had called him the first time. Initially, he suspected it had something to do with Kristoph, given that the Gavins were finally starting to pack up his things. Maybe Klavier had visited him recently, or maybe he’d reminisced a little too long about their shared childhood, whatever that looked like. But when Apollo had asked, Klavier had simply shrugged it off.

“It’s no secret that even thinking about thinking about Kristoph puts me in a foul mood,” Klavier had replied. “But I haven’t seen him lately, nein. I’m done, I’m - I just want to move on with my life, without his shadow lurking in the darkness.”

Not all their conversations were so heavy, though; once they’d finally caught up on everything they’d missed out on over the last several months, their topics turned mundane, even silly. Apollo never expected to spend one of his precious free Saturday mornings arguing with Klavier, of all people, about breakfast, of all things, but here he was.

“Yes, I’ve had instant ramen for breakfast, what of it?!” Apollo had exclaimed defensively. “Add an egg, some bacon bits...what’s your problem?”

“My problem is your sodium intake,” Klavier had protested. “Bitte, tell me you eat actual fruits and vegetables from time to time. Tell me you have some semblance of a balanced diet and your stomach hasn’t just turned into a toxic wasteland.”

Apollo wasn’t sure why he was talking to Klavier so often, so suddenly, in all honesty. Part of him supposed it was because Klavier just happened to be there - after all, he seemed freer to talk than Phoenix, Trucy, or Athena, and he wasn’t bad company when he wasn’t not-so-stealthily insulting Apollo in court. But another part of him, the part he desperately wanted to ignore, felt oddly comforted by Klavier’s probably-fake accent and his too-wide smile. Klavier’s presence in his small, chilly Khura’inese bedroom almost made him feel like he was back home.

“Have you seen the others lately?” Apollo asked one evening, bundled up in the thickest blanket he could find. There was a draft coming in from somewhere that he had yet to take care of, and neither Datz nor Ahlbi were too interested in checking it out, either. “Or...I dunno. Watched any of Trucy’s shows?”

“I’ve only seen them around at crime scenes and the courthouse,” Klavier replied. Apollo couldn’t stop himself from sneaking a peek over Klavier’s shoulders at his surroundings in curiosity. For once, Klavier was sitting on his bed instead of at his desk or in what was presumably his home office. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to have a huge, ostentatious-looking bedroom that was probably bigger than Apollo’s office. “Things have been...busy at the Gavin estate. I don't have much time to socialize with colleagues.”

“Busy?” Apollo echoed, sitting up. “More cleaning, you mean?”

“My parents aren’t retired, but sometimes, they act like they are,” Klavier said wryly. “They want to remodel so many rooms - the kitchen, the conservatory, my old playroom...so I’ve been going home quite a bit these days, helping them with the little things. It was nostalgic, seeing all the toys I used to play with. Feels like a lifetime ago, achtung.”

“What was your thing?” Apollo asked. “Beanie Babies? Barbie Dreamhouses? Legos? Wait, let me guess - you had one of those Fisher-Price piano playmats, didn’t you? Don’t even lie to me.”

“I would never own something so tacky,” Klavier protested; he almost seemed offended. “Nein, Mama was all about wooden toys - blocks, cars, dollhouses, kitchen sets - it’s very aesthetically pleasing. With the occasional soft toy, ja, but we never had plastic.”

“Interesting,” Apollo said, humming. “Same here, no plastic for us. Only, uh - not for the same reasons. More out of...necessity.”

“Oh.” Klavier’s expression softened. “Ja, I suppose in your...situation, you wouldn’t be able to get new things easily.” He then smirked. “Now I’m trying to imagine you and Herr Sahdmadhi as children. I can’t picture either of you with dolls or teddy bears.”

“Try actual frogs and actual bunnies,” Apollo said, sinking down further into his chair. “We were outdoorsy kids, believe it or not. Scraped knees and sunburns and all. But now, uh, good luck dragging me away from air conditioning and indoor plumbing. You couldn’t pay me to abandon my weighted blanket.”

“Picky, picky,” Klavier teased, grinning. “I don’t blame you, though. I’m too comfortable with being comfortable to like change. Though...I suppose that’s not really up to us, is it? Changing?”

“How philosophical of you,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that deep, Gavin, I’m just saying I’m not interested in sleeping outdoors again anytime soon. One instance of me waking up with ants in places that you definitely don’t want ants was enough.” He then chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “And honestly, who does like change? It’s like when I get a new client, right, and every time, something changes on me. Evidence, circumstances, logic...hell, it’s your fault sometimes!”

“When did this become about me?” Klavier chuckled, still smiling.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back. “It’s like you have this...this uncanny ability to turn any normal conversation into an opportunity for you to wax poetic, just so you can sound cool. If you ask me, it’s more dorky than anything else.”

Klavier’s mouth dropped open. “...Apollo Justice, are you calling me a dork?”

“Maybe I am, Klavier Gavin. What are we, Prosecutor von Karma?” Apollo snorted. “Sorry, Gavin, but between you and her, I think I know which one of you is actually German.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m very German,” Klavier protested, wagging an accusing finger at his screen. “Both of my parents grew up in Germany; they only came to the States so they could get their master’s. They had me learn German by watching Janoschs Traumstunde and Die Sendung mit der Maus, and Mama taught me how to make spätzle and schupfnudeln and reibekuchen - ah, and my favorite dessert? Bienenstich.”

Apollo held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. I just think your accent’s a little...questionable. You sound like someone who got too overconfident in their dedication to Duolingo.”

“Ach,” Klavier said, laughing. “Anyway, do you mean it? Am I really...dorky?”

“Wow, you’re even more hung up on that than I thought,” Apollo teased, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing as well. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Image is a big deal to you, after all. Yes, Gavin, you’re a huge dork. How can you not be when you say shit like - like ‘tell me you share my angst, Herr Forehead’ - ”

“And you think my accent is terrible,” Klavier mused, sighing. “So sue me, I like to embellish. I like a little romance in my language - it makes life more interesting, you know? Though I suppose you wouldn’t understand, being the kind of person that you are. You wouldn’t know romance if it asked you to dinner.”

“Ugh, that reminds me.” An involuntary shudder went through Apollo’s entire body. “I had a client ask me out a few weeks ago. Like, seconds after I got him acquitted. As if that was all he was thinking about while the judge declared him not guilty.”

Klavier went still. “...really? What happened? What did you say?”

“I said no, obviously!” Apollo exclaimed, loud enough that he briefly wondered if he’d accidentally woken up his neighbors. “He wasn’t a murderer, but he was still a shitty person. Besides, shitty or not, it’s kind of an unspoken thing to not date clients and co-workers, isn’t it?”

“Ja, of course,” Klavier said, waving a hand aimlessly. “I’m just...surprised.”

“That someone was interested in me? Thanks, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes.

“That someone thought it was a good idea,” Klavier corrected, mouth twisting into a slight frown. “You’re perfect...ly acceptable, Forehead. As a, ah, person to go on a date with, I mean.” He cleared his throat; it seemed to get stuck quite often these days. “Anyway - surely, he didn’t think you would agree!”

“I dunno what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all in the first place,” Apollo sighed, shivering once more. “At least Ema got a good laugh out of it.”

Klavier straightened up, his expression quickly returning to normal. “How is she, by the way? I can only imagine that Khura’in is completely covered in luminol by now.”

“She’s adjusted pretty well, though she’s used to living overseas,” Apollo shrugged. “Her Khura’inese needs some work, though. Er, not that mine’s much better, I’ve been gone for too long. It’s coming back to me...slowly. Very slowly.”

“Sometimes I forget that you speak another language, too,” Klavier remarked. “Considering your grasp of English…”

“My English is fine, thanks,” Apollo huffed; it seemed like he couldn’t go one conversation without wanting to stick his tongue out at Klavier like they were unruly children on a school playground. Or, alternatively, flipping him off like they were fighting over the last parking spot. “Just ‘cos I don’t get all fancy with it - ”

“Here we go again,” Klavier sighed, dropping his chin into his hands. “And you say I make everything about me, hm?”

“Two-way street, Gavin. Two-way street,” Apollo said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Besides, that’s...it’s kind of our thing, isn’t it? Poking at each other until someone gets legitimately pissed? Usually me, but still.”

“I didn’t know we had a ‘thing’,” Klavier said, cocking his head in curiosity. “Tell me more about this ‘thing’ of ours, bitte.”

“See? There you go again!” Now Apollo’s neighbors were definitely awake; he didn’t have to look out the window to know that their lights were coming back on. “You can’t go two seconds without being...smarmy about something. It’s like a bad habit of yours, and I know a thing or two about bad habits.”

“What’s yours?”

Apollo blinked. Klavier had asked so suddenly, so immediately, that he’d barely heard what he’d said. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your bad habit,” Klavier elaborated. “I know you were talking about spotting other people’s tells, but I’m more curious about yours. You’d think that, since I get on your nerves so easily, I’d be able to see it myself, but…” He shrugged, still smiling. It was one of those indiscernible expressions of his that frustrated Apollo so much, the kind of bland, indifferent smile that seemed to mean anything and nothing at the same time. The kind of smile Klavier had in court as he reviewed the facts of the case, or when he ran into Apollo at a crime scene, or even when he talked about not talking about his brother.

“I...I, uh, never really thought about it.” Apollo hummed, thinking it over. “Messing with my hair, I guess? I’ve definitely, literally pulled my hair out before whenever I’m, like. Nervous. Stressed. Worried. Or, y’know, all of the above. I even had a crooked hairline in high school ‘cos I used to do it all the time.”

Klavier lifted his head from his hands, looking at Apollo in awe. He was quiet for so long that Apollo almost asked him if his internet connection had cut out, only to watch Klavier fuss with his bangs, then push them back completely, exposing his hairline, near-identical to what Apollo’s used to look like. It was only then that Apollo realized he’d never seen Klavier with his hair completely up. Of course, he’d seen Klavier do ponytails, braids, even space buns if he was feeling particularly stylish, but his bangs were always swept over his left eye. Now, he could see why.

“...oh.” Apollo wasn’t sure what to say. “I...I see. Is that, uh, recent?”

Klavier nodded shortly, then briefly turned away to grab a hair tie from his bedside table. He held the hair tie between his teeth while he gathered up his hair and twisted it into a neat knot; Apollo tried not to stare at the fullness of Klavier’s bottom lip, sticking out in a perfect pout, as he did. “Can I tell you a secret, Herr Forehead?”

“Oh - er - okay, abrupt change of topic there,” Apollo muttered, more to himself than to Klavier. “I guess so. What’s up?”

“I...haven’t decided how I feel yet about my parents remodeling our family estate.” Klavier’s tone was casual, but Apollo knew by now that it meant nothing. “I know why they’re doing it, I just don’t know why they’re doing it now. Nothing has changed, you know? They’re still working, I’m still working...Kristoph is still in prison.”

“Well, I don’t...know your parents or anything,” Apollo said carefully. “But i-it could be, like, a healing process thing. Starting fresh and all that, you know? But maybe it’s really not that deep. Maybe they literally just felt like, hey, now’s the right time to renovate. You could ask ‘em.”

“Ah - nein, I couldn’t inconvenience them like that,” Klavier said, chuckling awkwardly. He was already starting to mess with his hair once more. “If I expressed anything other than my complete support, they would stop immediately. And they’ve already sacrificed so much for me, I would never...I can’t…”

“Gavin,” Apollo said softly.

“It’s just a few rooms.” Klavier inhaled sharply. “What does it matter? It’s not like I live there. If Mama wants to turn our playroom into a crafting room, it...it makes sense.”

Their conversation, understandably, didn’t last too long after that. Apollo crawled into bed, still wrapped up in his blankets, with over a dozen trains of thought trekking through his mind, more of them about Klavier than he wanted to admit. He’d never thought of Klavier as an inherently private person - at times, he seemed almost too open to speaking his mind - but now, he could see that in some ways, he had been completely wrong.

_____

Unlike before, a few weeks passed before they had another video call. Klavier was wearing a muscle tank this time, his hair scraped back into a messy bun, his bangs perfectly placed. Apollo found himself more than a little distracted by the broadness of Klavier’s shoulders, by the length of Klavier’s neck. “Entschuldigung for last time,” Klavier said smoothly, by way of greeting. “Let’s not have me treat our conversations like my therapy sessions, ja?”

“It’s fine, Gavin,” Apollo reassured him. “One comment about how you’re feeling is no big deal. If you wanna talk, then...talk. Honestly, I’m a huge law nerd, and I could talk about Khura’inese legal practices all day, but, uh, I could definitely use a conversation or two that’s about something completely different.”

Klavier nodded, seemingly thinking it over. “...I like your hair.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “...and I like your shirt. What, are we on a shitty speed date? C’mon, you can do better than that!”

“Ach, you didn’t let me finish,” Klavier protested, chuckling. “I just meant...I like your hair like this. It looks...soft. Less severe. Something that would be nice to touch, you know?”

“I...oh.” A pleasant tingle went up Apollo’s spine. Klavier’s voice was low, warm, especially through his headphones. He brushed his hair back behind his ears, ducking his head slightly so Klavier wouldn’t notice the heat rising in his cheeks. “Trucy introduced me to some new hair products a while back. Said it was stuff she uses to make her hair look extra shiny under the stage lights. Er, n-not that that’s why I’m using it, just...it’s nice to treat myself every now and then.”

Klavier suddenly perked up. “Speaking of treating yourself, that reminds me - you know the best way to help you with all that stress and tension you’re dealing with? A gut massage. Surely, there are some facilities like that in Khura’in, ja?”

Apollo fixed Klavier with a withering look. “...Gavin, we just had a revolution here, like, six months ago. Getting a massage and a facial is hardly anyone’s priority right now, believe me. It’s not like the legal system is off in its own little world, y’know? The economy, the sociopolitical order…everyone considers themselves lucky that they can go about their day-to-day lives, but luxury goods and services? Not here, not yet.”

“Shame, though I can’t fault Khura’in for having its priorities in order,” Klavier said, frowning slightly. “Well, if I ever get bored enough and feel like hopping on a plane, maybe I’ll come visit and give you a massage myself.”

“I’m not paying for your ticket,” Apollo retorted, his cheeks reddening once more. “And are you even qualified?”

“I always massage Papa’s shoulders whenever I go to my parents’ house,” Klavier mused thoughtfully. “He gets sore from all the gardening he does. You should see our estate garden; it’s like something out of a fairytale.”

Apollo’s nose twitched. “I’m, uh, I’m sure it does. Hey, so - tell me about your parents. You’ve mentioned them a bunch of times, but I don’t actually know that much about them.”

“High school sweethearts,” Klavier said with an almost dreamy smile on his face. “The old-school kind, slipping love letters into each other’s bags between classes and all that. Now, they’re both college professors at the same school. They both act like practical, no-nonsense people, but the truth is, they're both romantisch at heart.”

“And then passed that on to you,” Apollo nodded. “Makes sense. They sound adorable, actually.”

“I never had a high school sweetheart of my own,” Klavier sighed wistfully. “I can’t imagine how...all-consuming that must feel. To be so young, to be so sure that this one person, the only person you’ve ever loved, will be the only person you’ll ever love.”

“I guess that’s where we differ,” Apollo said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, surprised at himself. He wasn’t sure where his comment had come from, why he’d blurted it out loud without a second thought. “I, uh, I had...something like that. Someone like that.”

“...oh.” Klavier furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “What happened?”

Apollo ducked his head, unable to look Klavier in the eye. “...you know what happened to him.”

Klavier’s eyes widened in realization. “Ach - Apollo, I’m so - ”

“Don’t, I - don’t,” Apollo insisted, a lump forming in his throat. “It’s not, uh. It’s not something I really wanna talk about.”

Klavier seemed unable to speak for a moment, his eyes shining with pity. Apollo hated it, hated how genuinely sorry Klavier looked, as if he had anything to do with it at all. Klavier opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “...I’ve written songs about my parents, actually. Not that you’ll find them on any Gavinners’ albums, just little love ballads that I played at their anniversary parties and vow renewal. They were big hits with my extended family - the one I wrote when I was ten years old is an absolute classic.”

“I’m sure it was,” Apollo chuckled, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “How about now, you write anything recently?”

“Barely a tune since the Gavinners disbanded,” Klavier admitted. “I haven’t felt all that inspired lately. Maybe someday it’ll come back to me, but right now...nothing. Nichts.”

“Good luck, I guess,” Apollo offered. “By the way, what’s with the tank top? Is it that hot over there already?”

“I’ve always been hot, Forehead, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Klavier said, grinning victoriously at the almost too obvious bait.

Apollo groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I will hang up on you someday, Gavin, don’t think I won’t.”

_____

The gap between video calls quickly dwindled down from a few days to no days at all. Text messages were constant, to the point where Apollo had to sheepishly ask Nahyuta how to upgrade his phone plan. Even phone calls started to increase in frequency; Apollo was starting to think he heard Klavier’s voice more often than he heard Ema’s, and they often spent entire days in each other’s presence.

“How do you feel about peaches?” Apollo asked, his phone carefully sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he deftly navigated his way through the farmer’s market, nearly tripping over a stray dog as he did so.

“Great emoji,” Klavier replied semi-seriously, though Apollo could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Although...Forehead, if this is your subtle way of asking me for my opinion on Call Me By Your Name, I’ll have you know I never learned how to play Capriccio sopra la lontananza del suo fratello dilettissimo. Now, Zion Hört Die Wächter Singen, on the other hand - ”

“Need I remind you, I only speak English, Khura’inese, and college-level Spanish?” Apollo interrupted, shaking his head. “Anyway, peaches are basically a delicacy here. Sucks for me, since I’m allergic to stone fruit.”

“Same, I can only eat them cooked. I love a good cherry pie,” Klavier hummed. “Did you remember to get kale this time?”

“Yeah, I got a huge bundle of it right here,” Apollo said, jostling his wicker basket loudly enough so Klavier could hear. A few market patrons turned to look at him strangely. “Thanks again for the tip, by the way. I’m still getting used to cooking stuff that’s not instant or frozen, so roasting vegetables is a total game-changer.”

“Glad to hear you’re eating actual fruits and vegetables now,” Klavier replied, chuckling. “So, I had a case go kaput today. Thought you might want to hear about it.”

“Obviously!” Apollo said, lighting up. “What did you do?”

“Achtung, why do you think it was my fault?” Klavier protested, his laughter warm in Apollo’s ear.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back, laughing as well. “Seriously, what happened? Can’t be as bad as...literally anything that’s happened to me.”

“Nein, not quite,” Klavier agreed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t up against Athena or Herr Wright. Some rookie, I think; I was going to go easy on them. That is, until the defendant, apparently overcome with guilt, decided to bring their own decisive evidence to prove that they did, in fact, kill the victim.”

“No!” Apollo exclaimed. More market patrons turned in his direction, glaringly so. He shot them apologetic grimaces, then ducked behind a watermelon display. “Really? Like, are we talking fingerprints, photographs…”

“Everything, Forehead, everything. I couldn’t have convicted them better myself,” Klavier remarked. “Obviously, I take no joy in celebrating crime, especially murder, but ach, I consider that one of the highlights of my career. The only thing that would’ve made it better was if you were there. I can picture your dumbfounded expression now.”

“You’re terrible,” Apollo informed him, with no real bite behind his words. “But...not gonna lie, that’s kind of incredible. I feel bad for the defense, though. I’ve been screwed over by clients before, but usually not that badly.” He then heard a sharp wuff somewhere by his feet; he glanced down to see the dog he’d nearly tripped over before was now sitting on top of his toes, looking up at him with literal puppy-dog eyes. “...uh, hello. Did you need something?”

“What’s that?” Klavier asked.

“Oh - sorry, not you, Gavin. A stray dog just came over to say hi, I guess.” Apollo crouched down, taking care not to tip his basket. “Hey, buddy. I’m not the one to beg for food, if that’s what you’re looking for. All I can offer is, like, a belly rub.”

“Wait, switch to video, I want to see this,” Klavier pleaded, laughing again. Sighing, Apollo turned on his camera, then aimed his phone at the dog, who was now rolling over onto its back, its tail thumping enthusiastically against the cobblestone. “Ah, what an adorable hündchen! Go on, Forehead, don’t make him wait.” Sighing yet again - at Klavier, naturally, not the dog; he could never begrudge the dog - Apollo carefully set his basket down, then began rubbing the dog’s belly, smiling at the adorably goofy look the dog gave him in return, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his eyes closing in utter bliss. “Hold still for a moment, bitte? I want to make this my contact photo for you.”

“Gavin, I swear - ”

“Uh, Apollo? What are you doing?”

Apollo startled at the sound of a new voice; his eyes widened when he looked up and realized who it belonged to. “Ema! He-e-ey, wh-what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Ema replied, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you petting a dog while video-calling Gavin at the farmer’s market?”

“...because I can?” Apollo offered meekly, straightening up. He quickly hung up on Klavier before Ema could attempt to talk to him, silently noting the need to send him an apology text later. “Hey, um - th-there’s a discount on tangyuan today, you wanna go all out and split the cost with me?”

Ema continued to eye him suspiciously. “Sure. But please don’t insult my intelligence - you can’t just distract me with snacks, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Apollo sighed, giving the dog one last pat on the head before leading Ema across the market, towards the aforementioned snack stall. “We just...we talk sometimes. What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing, if you guys just do video calls every now and then,” Ema said. “But here you are, shopping for produce and chatting with Gavin at the same time. It’s...a little domestic, don’t you think?”

“D...domestic?” Apollo echoed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I just didn’t think you and Gavin had that kind of relationship, that’s all,” Ema continued, shrugging as she popped a grape from her own basket into her mouth. “Listen, I couldn’t care less about that guy. But you’re my friend, so...I have to ask. Is something, y’know...going on there?”

“Wh - no, no, no, o-of course not!” Apollo ducked behind Ema the second he felt the glares of the market patrons turn to face him, again. He was starting to think he wasn’t going to be welcome back for a couple of weeks, at least. “I - he - we’re friends! It’s kinda new, b-but we’re friends. Just friends. He’s, like...pretty decent when he’s not being obnoxious in court. Or at a crime scene...or just in general.”

Ema snorted, reaching over to steal a strawberry from Apollo’s basket next. “I think it’s time you hop off that bicycle of yours, Apollo, because you’re obviously backpedaling.”

“Tortured metaphor, but okay,” Apollo muttered, glowering at her.

“How’d you guys end up talking in the first place, anyway?” Ema asked, chewing noisily. “I can’t imagine you were the one to initiate it.”

“It...I’m not sure, actually,” Apollo admitted, slapping her hand away before she could steal his entire carton of freshly-picked strawberries. They were probably more expensive than all the vegetables he’d purchased, combined. “Gavin called me a while back, seemed embarrassed about it, and then hung up. I asked him later what was going on, we started doing video calls and stuff, and then it turned into a thing, but…I never figured out why he called the first time. And I don’t think there’s any point in asking.”

“Fair enough, though I gotta admit, I’m still curious. For scientific purposes, of course,” Ema added, humming to herself. “Maybe he...no, there’s no way.”

“You know something I don’t?” Apollo asked, nudging her. “What happened to ‘I couldn’t care less’?”

“Believe me, I really couldn’t,” Ema retorted, elbowing him back. “Surprises me that you have enough to talk about, though. I mean, it’s Gavin.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested; suddenly, he felt weirdly defensive of Klavier. Again, it wasn’t a feeling he was too familiar with. “We have more in common than you think. It’s not all just - just guitar riffs and hair tosses with him.”

“If you say so,” Ema sighed, clearly uninterested in pursuing the topic any further. “C’mon, let’s pick our flavors already. And if you short me on black sesame, I will be taking those strawberries of yours.”

Later that evening, Apollo was cocooned in his usual plethora of blankets, poring over the evidence for three separate cases - honestly, the autopsy reports were starting to blur together, which explained why, for a moment, he thought one of the victims had somehow ended up with a bullet hole in their stomach from being stabbed with a blunt object - when his phone went off. He immediately perked up when he read the call display. “Gavin, hey. Sorry again about earlier, you know how Ema is.”

“Keine Sorge, you already apologized,” Klavier replied. “That’s not why I was calling, in any case.”

Apollo frowned slightly, putting Klavier on speakerphone and nestling his phone among his files. “Oh? I, uh, I thought you were just calling to chat.”

“Ja, we can talk about whatever we feel like after, it’s just - I had a question for you.” The deep breath Klavier took before speaking again made Apollo nervous. “Are you homesick?”

“...huh?” Apollo wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “Well, I mean. Yeah. Yeah, obviously. Khura’in was my home once, so it’s not like I’m in a completely new place, but it’s...yeah, I miss being back home, traffic jams and heatwaves and all. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Klavier said innocently, in that sort of tone of voice that made Apollo want to reach through the phone and strangle him. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“There’s either no reason, or a reason that I’ll learn soon enough. Pick one, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. All he got in response was warm, throaty laughter that sent pleasant tingles down his spine. “Fine, don’t tell me. So, what’re you up to?”

“Just got back from my morning run.” There was a rustling of sound on Klavier’s end that suggested he was still walking around somewhere, presumably inside his apartment. Apollo could only imagine how sweaty he still was, how his skin glistened in the mid-morning sun - and now, he realized belatedly, he wasn’t sure if it was something he should be thinking about at all. “You know, after all this time - I still hate it. Running, I mean.”

“Then why do you do it?” Apollo said, trying not to laugh. “Though to be fair, I feel the same way. Athena used to make me run laps around the agency’s neighborhood sometimes ‘cos I need to ‘improve my cardiovascular health’ or whatever. Never got any good at it.”

“I do it because it’s good for me, but achtung, I wish I actually liked it,” Klavier sighed. “The fresh air, the endorphins, it’s all gut and well, but you know what I can’t stand? Sweat-soaked hair. Sore ankles and stiff knees. Don’t get me started on the sunburns, ach.”

“Okay, old man,” Apollo chuckled. “You sound like a guy twice your age, you know that?”

“I’m not the one who once said they were starting to prefer blander foods over spicy foods - calling me an old man, mein Gott, the disrespect - ”

A few hours later, Apollo was fully curled up beneath his duvet, head resting on his pillow, eyes closed, with his phone tucked under his ear. Neither of them had spoken in a little while, though Apollo could hear Klavier humming under his breath while he worked on clearing out his email inbox. “...you really should take a day off, Gavin.”

“You first,” Klavier said without missing a beat. “Don’t trick yourself into thinking you have to take every case in the country, ja?”

“Same to you,” Apollo mumbled; he was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. “You’re working, like...stupidly long hours. It’s not like you’re the only prosecutor in the district.”

There was a long pause. “Mama said that to me the other day. She told me I should live a little.”

“And she’s right,” Apollo yawned. “Anyway, I’m not gonna get into this again. And it’s not like you have to do anything major, just...take a day off. Go get a massage or whatever. Hang out with friends, go on a date, I dunno.”

“Go on a date, right,” Klavier drawled sarcastically. “Easier said than done, ja?”

“What, is it the fame thing?” Apollo asked, eyes snapping open in curiosity.

“It’s the, ah. ‘Trusting people’ thing.” Klavier let out a quiet laugh. “After convicting mein Bruder, after convicting someone I thought was my best friend...who’s to say any future romantic partner of mine wouldn’t end up facing that same fate?”

“...oh.” Apollo’s face softened; part of him wanted to see Klavier’s expression, while another part of him had the feeling it was better this way, to only hear the slight rasp, the slight crack in Klavier’s voice as he spoke. He could only imagine the noticeable twitch in Klavier’s eyes, the forced smile on his lips, that he’d seen a surprising amount of times over the past few months. “I see. I-I get it. Not like I’m any good at trusting people, either.”

Klavier went quiet again. “Apollo?”

“I...oh. Yeah?” He couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had called him by his actual name.

“Be honest with me, ja?” Klavier murmured. “When we talk every day, when we text and chat and send each other silly things...is it something you actually like doing, or...or are you just bored?”

Apollo snorted. “Oh please, you know my schedule. I couldn’t be bored if I tried.” He nestled deeper into his pillow, yawning. “Nah, you’re...we’re friends. Talking to you is like...part of my routine now.”

“You mean it?” Klavier asked. He sounded so uncertain that it made Apollo’s heart ache.

“I don’t send stupid memes to just anybody, you know,” Apollo teased. “And look, I’m not pretending like this isn’t weird. If you asked me a year ago if I could see myself talking to you on a daily basis, I would’ve said, y’know, ‘never in a million years’. But things are different now, so...yeah. You’re not so bad, Gavin.”

“Ah, danke. What high praise, coming from you,” Klavier drawled, laughing. “But really, I’m glad to hear it. I...wasn’t sure if I was bothering you. When I called that first time, I suppose I had my answer. Then after that, I never really knew for sure.”

“Now you do,” Apollo affirmed, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling too much.

“Now I do,” Klavier echoed, satisfied. “So, how about you, Forehead? Any clients ask you out again recently?”

“No, thank god,” Apollo said, shuddering. “Besides, I’m, uh. I’m not exactly looking to date right now, either. I’m...I’m pretty good with how things are going at the moment. Maybe after I get back. Thinking about thinking about dating, I mean.”

“Smart.” Klavier’s voice was so clear, so warm, that it almost sounded as if he were in Apollo’s bedroom, too. Apollo briefly wondered what it would be like to have Klavier visit, to wander the farmer’s market with him, to take evening walks along the river and watch the fireflies together, to go through an endless number of cases with him by his side. He had to admit, it didn’t sound half-bad. Better than half-bad, really, not that he was going to say so out loud. “Long-distance is never easy. The time zones, the uncertainty, the inability to truly be together...I can only imagine.”

“Right,” Apollo hummed, his eyes drifting closed once more. “I can only imagine.” When he woke up the next morning, he found a text message waiting for him - a screenshot of Klavier’s home screen; its background was a photo of Apollo and the friendly dog. sehr süß, Klavier had texted, and the hündchen isn’t so bad, either. It was too early, in Apollo’s opinion, for his heart to be racing this quickly.

_____

Almost four months to the day since they started talking, Apollo arrived at the post office with a delivery slip in hand, visibly confused by its earlier presence on his front door. “Was this really meant for me?” he managed to ask in his steadily improving Khura’inese. “I never ordered anything from the United States. Just paying customs would make me broke!”

“It really is for you, Mr. Justice,” the receptionist replied. Apollo watched, stunned, as she dragged a crate-sized package out from behind her desk. “You must have people who really love you back home, sir.”

“I...w-wow.” Apollo didn’t know what to say. “Er, do you have someone who can help me bring this back to my office?”

Twenty minutes later, Apollo was sitting on the floor of Justice Law Offices, embarrassingly sweaty and sore from how much effort it had taken him and one of the post office employees to haul his delivery here. Groaning, he reached for his pocket knife, then carefully sliced through the tape, unwrapping the enormous package layer by layer. When he finally reached its actual contents, he sat back on his haunches, stunned by the sheer amount of items inside.

The package consisted of two sturdy boxes; one was labeled with Ema’s name, so Apollo took it out and set it aside. He then opened the one that bore his name, only to find it was packed surprisingly tight. Boxes and boxes of his favorite snacks that were too expensive to import to Khura’in, well-loved copies of his favorite manga that had clearly been taken from his apartment back home, thick stacks of the most obnoxious California-themed postcards known to humankind with handwritten notes on their backs - before Apollo knew it, his eyes started to well up with emotion. Finally, at the bottom of the box, cushioning the other items nicely, were a few of his sweaters and hoodies, some of which still had a few stray Mikeko hairs on it.

“Oh,” Apollo said faintly, wiping his eyes hastily despite being completely alone. Then, he frowned. “Wait, what is…” He pulled out the only item of clothing he didn’t recognize, an unusually large hoodie in a familiar shade of purple with an embroidered rose on its breast pocket. Stuck to its left sleeve cuff was a sticky note; Apollo peeled it off and began to read what was on it.

herr forehead,

wear this the next time you go out, just in case you run into that hündchen again. It smells just a little bit like my parents’ dog - and like me, if you’re into that sort of thing.

alles liebe, klavier

Later that day - well into the evening, really - Apollo was eating dinner at his desk, rummaging through a hefty stack of police reports, when his laptop pinged, reminding him he had a scheduled video call that was about to start. Grinning, Apollo turned on his webcam, his heart pounding in anticipation. “Hey, Gavin. So, what do you think?”

“What do I think about - oh.” Klavier’s mouth fell open. “You’re...I didn’t think you were actually going to wear it.”

“Is, uh...is that a bad thing?” Apollo asked, suddenly nervous.

“Nein, nein, not at all! You look...achtung, you look good,” Klavier said hoarsely, swallowing. He then cleared his throat; his cheeks were flushed pink, much to Apollo’s delight. “Bitte, stand up for me? I want to see how long it is on you; it’s amazing you haven’t completely disappeared inside of it.”

“Asshole,” Apollo said affectionately, getting out of his chair and taking a few steps back so Klavier could see. He smoothed out the front of the hoodie, realizing belatedly that its hem only just grazed the tops of his bare thighs. “Er, don’t mind my legs. I-I’m wearing shorts underneath, I swear!”

“I don’t mind at all,” Klavier replied, cocking his head. His eyes were darkening, shining with something that Apollo couldn’t quite identify. “Have you worn it outside yet?”

“Nah, not yet. I was actually planning on wearing it to bed since it’s kinda cold, and this thing’s the biggest thing I have,” Apollo admitted, sitting back down. At Klavier’s exaggerated eyebrow raise, he groaned. “Shut up. Don’t make it weird.”

“I said nothing,” Klavier teased, dropping his chin into his hands. “So, did you like our care package? Trucy reached out to me on the same day you ran into that hündchen and asked if I had anything to contribute. I also sent Ema some old Gavinners’ merchandise, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I heard about it from her, alright,” Apollo chuckled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Amazing how you manage to continue torturing her from several continents away. Maybe that’s your real talent.”

“To be fair, I was also the one who got her the beaker shot glasses and the glow-in-the-dark periodic table blanket,” Klavier pointed out, laughing as well. “I think all would be forgiven if she knew that was me.”

“So she gets new stuff and I get hand-me-downs, huh? I see how it is,” Apollo said, tucking his knees into his chest and yawning. “Seriously, though, thanks. This thing smells like that cologne of yours I don’t like.”

“And the backhanded compliments continue,” Klavier said, amused. “I hope you feel a little less homesick, at least.”

“Oh, I’m more homesick than ever,” Apollo snorted. “But I appreciate the care package, really! Having all this stuff here is amazing. It’s just...well. Stuff isn’t, uh...it’s not exactly a substitute for people, y’know?”

Klavier nodded thoughtfully, his smile sympathetic. Apollo took a moment to look at Klavier, to really look at him, and see how he was doing. He looked good; his skin had a glow to it, and his eyes and hair seemed to shine a little brighter than they had the very first time they’d talked. Klavier was bare-faced more often than not - aside from his tattooed eyebrows and eyelash extensions - though he seemed to be experimenting with his hair here and there, occasionally sporting different styles of ponytails, braids, and updos. It almost made Apollo forget how sullen he’d looked four months ago.

“Is that why you’re staring again?” Klavier asked, smirking. “Are you finally ready to admit you miss me, Forehead? That you miss my charming personality and my devastatingly good looks?”

“So what if I do?” Apollo huffed. He then frowned at Klavier’s wide eyes. “...what?”

“Nichts, it’s just - you do realize you just said you actually miss me, ja?” Klavier said disbelievingly. “Do you really mean it, or...or are you just saying that?”

“I-I...well.” Apollo shot him a small smile. “Yeah, Gavin, I miss you. Thought that was, uh. Kinda obvious by now.”

Klavier grinned victoriously; he looked seconds away from pumping his fist into the air. “Achtung, I knew it!”

“And the dorkiness continues,” Apollo said mockingly, rolling his eyes. “I mean it, how did you convince an entire generation of teenagers that you were cool? You go around saying crap like ‘let’s rock with these documents’ and ‘you have to get on up in order to get on down to prosecuting’ - are you an internationally-renowned rockstar, or an awkward dad trying to connect with his teenager through the power of classic rock? What’s next, Gavin, you gonna go buy a lawnmower and some cargo shorts? Fire up the grill and wear a kitschy apron?”

“Mein Gott, you’re vicious sometimes,” Klavier sighed, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ich vermisse dich auch, by the way. I think I've been...a little more obvious than you.”

“Maybe,” Apollo hummed. “But hey, I’ll take it. It’s nice to feel appreciated for once.”

“When do you think you’ll be coming home?” Klavier asked.

“I’m, er...I’m not sure,” Apollo said hesitantly, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t think I was gonna be sticking around for this long to begin with, and now it’s...it’s gonna be the rest of the year, at least. Maybe even another year on top of that.”

“You...you think so?” Klavier’s voice was small. Nothing about his expression seemed remotely cheerful now.

“It’s not like I can leave whenever I want to,” Apollo shrugged, sighing. “Khura’in needs more defense attorneys before I could even begin to consider it, and that’s not gonna happen overnight. Not with their deeply ingrained feelings towards ‘em.”

“Wait - you’re not still in danger, are you?” Klavier asked worriedly, his voice suddenly filling with urgency. “No threats, no death sentences - ”

“I-I’m fine, Gavin, don’t worry,” Apollo reassured him. “It was a little touch-and-go there for a minute, back at the beginning, but everything’s fine now. Trust me, if something was going on, you would’ve heard about it earlier.”

“Gut,” Klavier said, satisfied. “After all, if something were to happen to you…” An odd expression flitted across his face, too quickly for Apollo to catch, though he had his suspicions. “Well. Trucy would be devastated, natürlich.”

“Right...just Trucy, huh?” Apollo murmured, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. “What about...oh, I dunno. Athena would be upset for sure. Can’t forget Mr. Wright, either.”

“Nein, definitely not,” Klavier said, clearing his throat. He paused before speaking again. “Forehead, do you ever wonder what Herr Wright really thinks of you?”

“Sure, all the time,” Apollo admitted. “We didn’t, uh...well, let’s just say we didn’t start off on the best foot, you know that. Why?”

“Because I do, too,” Klavier confessed. “Ach, I want to go the rest of my life not thinking about mein Bruder and all the lives he ruined, all the lives I helped him ruin, but - ”

“Gavin, that’s not what happened and you know it,” Apollo said gently. “And I’m not exactly sure how Mr. Wright feels about you, but I seriously doubt he still has a problem with you. He probably just feels a little, y’know, awkward. You guys went seven years without knowing the whole truth, after all.”

“Ich weiß, ich weiß, it’s just…” Klavier laughed bitterly. “...I’d like to go at least one day without worrying about what someone else thinks of me. Just one.”

Apollo suddenly found himself wishing he could reach through the screen and pull Klavier into his arms; it wasn’t the first time, and he knew it wasn’t going to be the last. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. You already know what I think about you.”

“Do I really?” Klavier teased, though he still looked somewhat worried.

“Yeah, sure,” Apollo replied, smirking. “You’re the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. And, uh...I wouldn't have it any other way. I think.”

Klavier laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “You have a way with words, Forehead, you really do.”

“Thanks,” Apollo drawled, chuckling. “So, today’s case went about as well as expected - meaning it didn’t go well at all…”

_____

Khura’in was beautiful year-round, Apollo mused as he walked alongside the riverbank, but it was especially picturesque in the height of spring, during the month of May. He’d woken up unusually early today, especially given it was one of his very rare days off, not to mention the fact that he’d stayed up late last night, talking to Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix. For whatever reason, he had felt like taking his breakfast - anpan and a warm thermos of green tea - outside, while the sun was still rising. It was a peaceful backdrop for the start of what he hoped would be a peaceful day.

Yawning and stretching, Apollo dropped down to sit in the long grass, the worn-out toes of his boots grazing the water’s edge. He lifted his saddlebag off his shoulders and set it aside, raking his fingers through his hair. It was getting quite long in the back, he noted, but he didn’t care enough to cut it. Before he could take his first bite of his anpan, his phone started to ring. “...Gavin? What’s up, aren’t you going to bed soon?”

“I just wrote a song for the first time in ages, so I’m too alert to sleep at the moment,” Klavier admitted, his voice deeper and raspier than usual, sending shivers up Apollo’s spine. “I’m surprised you’re awake, too. It was only when I started calling you that I realized you were probably still in bed.”

“Felt like catching the sunrise for once.” Apollo turned on his phone camera, then switched it to the rear-facing one so Klavier could see what he was seeing. The entirety of Khura’in, it seemed, was momentarily bathed in a warm, yellow-orange glow. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s wunderschön,” Klavier remarked, awed. “Almost makes me wish I was in Khura’in.”

“I wish you were here, too,” Apollo said quietly. His eyes then widened. “Er, I-I mean - ”

“...Apollo?” Groaning internally, Apollo fumbled with his phone, reluctantly switching to his front-facing camera so he could shoot Klavier a nervous smile. He could see now that Klavier had turned on his camera, too; he appeared to be sitting on his bedroom floor, leaning up against a window, his face illuminated by moonlight. Somehow, his blue eyes were even brighter in the darkness, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones sharpened by the shadows. Apollo’s breath hitched as he was momentarily rendered speechless. “Achtung, you still manage to surprise me after all this time.”

“I-I said nothing!” Apollo said hastily. “You’re - I - i-it’s early, I don’t know what I’m saying!”

“If you’re planning on staying for even longer, I really should come and visit, ja?” Klavier continued, his grin equal parts sleepy and teasing. “For one thing, I can finally make good on that massage I promised you, get all that stress and tension out of your body. I could also bring you more of my clothes, since you seem to really like that hoodie of mine.”

“What would you even do here, anyway?” Apollo asked, momentarily looking away so Klavier wouldn’t see how red his cheeks had gotten. “There’s no nightlife, barely any recreational activities...not to mention the wi-fi kinda sucks. Besides, it’s not like you’re allowed to prosecute in Khura’in.”

“Let me be your co-counsel,” Klavier offered. “After all, if Herr Blackquill can help Athena, why can’t I help you?”

“That...would be kinda interesting, actually,” Apollo admitted. “And where would you stay?”

“WIth you, natürlich,” Klavier replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “After all, if you want me there, I should be as close as possible. I’d make the perfekt roommate, you know. I can cook for you, clean for you...it’d be domestic, nein? Like I’m your stay-at-home husband or something.”

Apollo shivered again. Despite his distaste for his lyrics, Klavier certainly had a way with words. “You wouldn’t be...I dunno, bored out of your mind? Things are definitely slower here compared to California, you know.”

“The change of pace would be nice,” Klavier said diplomatically. “And I certainly wouldn’t complain about the company.”

“Well, uh, sorry to break up your super-specific fantasy, but I think I’m actually pretty close to getting out of here,” Apollo said, trying not to linger too much on his own mental picture of what Klavier had described. “Another few months, maybe? Six, at most. And since it’s sorta unknown, I wouldn’t recommend booking plane tickets anytime soon.”

“Really?” Klavier perked up. “You’re coming home? Have you told the others?”

“Yeah, I talked to ‘em last night,” Apollo said, setting his phone down by his bag so he could finally take his first bite of anpan. “It’ll be weird once I return, that’s for sure. I’ve been in Khura’in for exactly one year, right down to the day, but...well. It’s definitely grown on me, even with all my...my mixed feelings about it. Though I, um...I guess those mixed feelings are more about a person than a place, and he’s...he’s, well...you know.” He swallowed thickly, reaching for his thermos and taking a generous gulp of his tea.

“Any regrets?” Klavier asked softly.

“About Khura’in, or d’you mean in general?” Apollo asked, his sarcastic tone betrayed by his nervous laugh.

“However you’d like to interpret it,” Klavier said, gesturing aimlessly. “I can be generous sometimes.”

“Yeah, real philanthropist, you are,” Apollo retorted, chuckling. “Well, you know I’ve had days where, like. I feel like I shouldn’t have stayed behind, after all. Like I’m way in over my head, and..like I’m not...not good enough. Like I’m just winging this whole thing, which is scary, ‘cos it’s like the entire country’s future is in my hands, and I can’t just - I can’t improvise. I can’t make it up as I go along, I-I have to know it. Do it, be about it. Make it my whole life, you know?” He stopped to take a breath; the sympathetic crinkle of Klavier’s brow was more welcome this time. “But no, I don’t regret sticking around. I just wish I’d gotten some closure.”

“Closure?” Klavier echoed.

“Yeah, there’s...I’ve got stuff I wish I’d been able to do or, or say before I ended up living here for twelve months,” Apollo confessed. “It’s not like I knew I was moving here when I did, so...it’ll be nice to head back home and settle in and...and get all of that out of the way.” He took a few more bites of his anpan as they ruminated in their shared silence. “How about you? Any regrets about, well, anything?”

“Me?” Then, to Apollo’s surprise - though maybe not to his surprise, given all that had been said and done between the two of them, just the two of them - Klavier let out a bitter laugh. “Always.”

Apollo’s face softened. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly, nein,” Klavier said, visibly shuddering. “Just once, I’d like to not drag our conversation down. Ach, and I used to think you were the buzzkill. Now look at me, ja?”

“Don’t worry about it, Gavin,” Apollo insisted. “I get it, you - you feel things really intensely. I know that now, and, uh. Well, I do it, too. And we hold it all in and we don’t say anything ‘cos there’s bigger things to worry about, a-and then it’s like...like a dam breaks. Like everything just comes rushing at you all at once. There’s no way of stopping it, as much as you want to, and when it’s finally over...you never know how to feel about it. Because it’s not cut and dry, i-it’s not black-and-white, it’s just...it just is. So you move on, ‘cos there’s nothing else you can do about it, and you keep going. And then it starts all over again.” He let out an awkward laugh. “Or, uh, or maybe I’m just describing what a trial feels like.” Apollo glanced back at his phone, only to see Klavier staring at him in wonderment. “...er, too much?”

“Not at all, it’s just...you’re always full of surprises,” Klavier murmured; he almost sounded impressed. “That was incredibly astute, especially for you.”

Apollo wilted. “...thanks. Glad to know you think so highly of my intellect.” Still, Klavier’s warm laughter managed to get him to crack a smile. “So, you said something about writing a new song? How’d that go?”

“I had a burst of inspiration, you might say,” Klavier said, nodding. “Like my muse sat beside me on the piano bench and hummed a melody in my ear.”

“That sounds more creepy than anything else, but okay,” Apollo snorted. “Can I hear it?”

“Nein, not yet,” Klavier replied mysteriously. “When the time is right, ja? Besides, it’s...it’s a bit personal.”

Apollo shifted slightly in his spot. “Personal, huh?”

“It’s about...someone who means a lot to me, and something I’ve been meaning to say to them,” Klavier said carefully. “Because...I’ve been looking for closure, too. And possibly, if I do it right, I might also get a new beginning. Does that make sense?”

“It’s a little cheesy, but, uh, yeah. Makes sense.” Apollo pulled his knees into his chest, resting his chin on top of them with a quiet exhale. “Do I know this someone of yours?”

“Ja, definitely,” Klavier murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they’re not mine, but...I want them to be.”

“I...I see.” Apollo felt his own pulse pounding in his ears, so loudly that he could barely hear his own voice. “Hey, Gavin, I - I wanted to - there’s something I’ve been wanting to say, and...and I…”

“What is it?” Klavier asked, sitting up, hopeful.

“Well, I...no, n-never mind.” Apollo cleared his throat. “Probably should, um. I should probably save it for when we see each other in person.” Klavier leaned back, disappointed. “Anyway, you, uh, you should probably sleep now if you wanna be awake enough for work. Unless you take the day off like I did.”

“I might actually consider it,” Klavier chuckled. “And we’ll talk tomorrow, ja? Or later today for you, I suppose.”

“Definitely,” Apollo confirmed, nodding.

Something in Klavier’s eyes seemed to shift then, something Apollo couldn’t quite understand. It happened more and more with each passing day, with every conversation, and Apollo wasn’t sure if he was ready to figure out what it meant, if it meant something other than what he hoped it meant. “Du siehst wunderschön aus in diesem licht.”

Apollo blinked. “Sorry?”

“Never mind,” Klavier said, a sleepy grin stretching across his face. “Guten Morgen to you, Herr Forehead.”

“And goodnight to you, Gavin,” Apollo replied, waving briefly before ending the call. He sat in silence for a few minutes, finishing his tea and enjoying the sun’s warmth. Then, he stood, stretching his arms over his head, and smoothed out the creases in his pants and what was now his oversized purple hoodie. “Someday,” he mumbled to himself, slinging his bag over his shoulder and turning back in the direction of the bazaar. “Just...not yet.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my fifth entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the second of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. However, as I mentioned in the top notes, day seven is a sequel to this one, so look out for it! This is the second-longest fic of all my Klapollo Week fics, and for good reason - I could've easily included an endless number of random conversations and made this fic twice as long if it weren't for the posting deadline. One of my favorite things about writing Klapollo is their back-and-forth, so I love writing fics where they simply just...talk, and hang out. And I know it's definitely a concept that's been done before, but someday, I wanna write my own version of "Klavier visits Apollo in Khura'in and they fall (more) in love". That might end up being my longest Klapollo fic yet 😜

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[snickiebear]

Hello, snickiebear! Congratulations on your 200 followers! If you have the time, would you mind writing Shisui x Sakura in a nonmass au? I’m actually curious about your take on a time travel scenario with this pairing, but I also understand that a lot of works have been written on time travel already, so it’s still awesome if you don’t do the time travel part!

Congratulations again and thanks for taking the time to read this ask! Your works are really enjoyable to read. Thank you so much for writing and for doing this 200-follower event!

hello lovely anon!!! thank YOU for reading and requesting!!!! this one was so much fun to write! you ask for time travel + nonmass + shisaku? i am helpless to deliver!! this is a bit more angsty than i wanted but are we surprised? (nope, not at all lmao) this is also now on AO3 bc i really liked it!

also, apologies that this took a bit!! lifes been a real fuckin bitch and the wall of writer's block hit me like a train AHAHAHA but i hope you like this one!!! :)))

The sky is sunny and the spring beautiful when the sky splits itself in half with a brillant, blinding flash of light.

Shisui, masked and riding the after mission high, can only stare as a body plummets from that crack, limp and silent.

It is as if the heavens have spit out what they have deemed unworthy.

Or perhaps, the heavens are dropping a gift on their doorstep.

Either way, Shisui is moving before he knows what is happening, catching that body— a woman with shaven pink hair— and holding her close, head tucked under his chin.

She’s breathing, chest rising and lowering feebly.

Shisui catches his breath as the fracture within the sky closes and only then does he notice the mask.

Porcelain and painted. A combination of a snake and fox, a wolf and slug.

His ANBU team materializes next to him, Dog-taicho’s chakra going from lazy to alert at the sight of the woman. “That’s…”

“Yeah.” Shisui says hoarsely. “She- she needs medical attention. I think.” There is a lot of blood, she’s dripping in it. But he can’t see where she’s bleeding from… or if all that blood is even hers.

“Let’s go.” Dog-taicho cuts through his thoughts, voice hard and a bit panicked. Afterall, Kakashi owes his life to this woman, they all did.

Team Ro blurred out of existence in their race to Kohona, their Savior clutched within his arms.

.

.

.

It's funny, really. When she looks back, as she so often does now, it's laughable. The fact that Haruno Sakura, the civilian born, the nobody, the weak one of Team 7 is the only one left.

Sakura was the only one left in the war against Kaguya and she had done what she has always done; what was needed.

So, Sakura was the only one left and she figured out what was left of Naruto’s seals and shot herself through time to fix everything, to save everyone. To take down Danzo, Hanzo, Madara, to save Sai, the Uchihas, Kakashi.

She was the one to heal Obito, to save Rin, to make sure that Itachi’s hands would never be stained with his family’s blood.

And now, now she sits in a T&I room and she laughs, laughs herself hoarse because she succeeded, she won. And now she is in the future, her intended destination, but it is not the same.

In this future, Haruno Sakura does not exist. She is nothing and no one.

Naruto and Sasuke are alive and well and happy. They get to live the lives they could have only dreamed about.

And Sakura. She doesn’t exist.

She laughs herself hoarse, the laughs turning into broken sobs and she drops her forehead to the table, hiccuping and clenching her hands into blood inducing fists.

Alone. As she always has been.

The door creaks open and Ibiki steps in, a folder in hand.

Sakura’s head snaps up, wiping her face as she almost sighs in relief. She loved (loves?) Ibiki, he once was one of her closest friends near the end. She knows Ibiki, trusts him. Or, at least, she had.

Sakura straightens in her chair, careful of the chakra suppressing handcuffs that really do nothing for her, just acting as a hindrance. But, she does not remove them because she is not a threat to Konoha, she never has been, never intends to be.

Ibiki sits down in front of her, eyeing her carefully and it almost feels like coming home. “You say your name is Haruno Sakura.”

“Yes.” She rasps, licking her cracked and bleeding lips. “That’s right.”

Her eyes flit to the glass window, ignoring her own reflection as she narrows her eyes at whoever is behind the wall. An unknown chakra signature, wild and worried. And— and—

Kakashi.

His cool and lazy chakra, almost like a current of electricity. She would know that chakra any where, as if it is engrained deep in her bones. And right now he’s interested, almost antsy.

Swallowing, Sakura looks back to Ibiki, who had been watching her keenly. “You already had Inoichi-san do a mind walk. You know everything I do.” Shoulders back, chin tilted, spine steeled.

The dead man that sits in front of her hums and opens a folder, “We believe you—”

“It is not a matter of believing.” Sakura snaps, eyes flashing. “You know it is a fact. He saw, he showed you, you saw. How could I ever make something like that up?”

“What we know,” Ibiki says too calmly, too pleasantly, “Is that you are severely traumatized.”

And Sakura well, she laughs again. Because. Because what else is she supposed to do? She gives and gives and gives and is given nothing back.

There are no fruits for her labor, no reward for her sacrifice.

Shoulders shaking as she cries and laughs, scrubbing at her face. “We were friends, you know.” She manages. “I made you laugh twice, once after I lost my middle finger,” Sakura holds up her hand to show him, unsure of why she is even talking. “The second when you were dying in my arms.”

Silence rings out as Sakura gathers herself, swallowing harshly. Ibiki is still looking at her, but the way is no longer cynical, no longer studying.

“Haruno—”

“Just Sakura,” She says wearily.

“Sakura-san,” He continues, “When you were brought in you had a mask on. A mask that has been seen countless times saving Konoha shinobi.”

Sakura does not dare mention the fact that she has also interfered with Suna, giving Gaara the childhood he deserves. And with Mist, cutting the head off the snake quickly enough that the caste system would never truly solidify.

So, she nods. “I am aware.”

“And you claim you are the person behind the mask on every occasion.”

Sighing, she runs a hand over what is left of her hair and makes direct eye contact with her once friend, giving a curt nod, “I am the person behind the mask.”

“One last question, Sakura-san.” Ibiki murmurs, jotting something down in his folder. Sakura forces herself not to read the familiar writing. Though, she is well equipped to read upside down. “How did you come to possess the rinnegan?”

The air drops from mildly uncomfortable to freezing and Sakura does not balk at the question. “You saw it for yourself, Ibiki. It was a gift.”

“Yes, but from who?”

Her heart aches, squeezes at the thought of Naruto, of Sasuke, phantom pains. It is as if she has lost a limb, a piece of her heart when they had turned to ash between her fingers. But Sakura does not waver as she says, “It was a parting gift from Uchiha Sasuke before he died.”

The unknown chakra behind the wall erupts into a mess of emotions while Kakashi’s is mildly surprised if not wary. There is tension between the both of them though.

Which is incredibly amusing considering it wasn’t until much, much later did Kakashi ever see anything to be wary about in her.

(It took her flicking the ground and allowing it to split open and swallow any of their pursuers to convince him that she could very well tear him in half without a second thought.

She wouldn’t though. Team 7 and its members will always be a soft and deeply bruised spot for her. A wound she could never quite heal. Sakura cannot remember a time when she has ever been bruiseless. She has come to terms with being wounded.)

Ibiki closes the folder and taps it on the steel table between them, he motions over his shoulder and the door opens swiftly, revealing Kakashi and another Uchiha with curly hair.

He’s just as she remembers him, except not. Her Kakashi had slouched, had a certain energy about him.

This one, he looks the same, has the scar, the slight slouch. But it is clear that ghosts no longer beat on his back, the world's weight no longer bends him to its will.

Pain races through her heart, echoing physically throughout her body. It hurts. It shouldn’t, seeing her old sensei, her once friend, happy. But it does.

Because while she cannot live without Team 7, it is clear Team 7 can live without her.

She straightens, eyes sharp and body tense as Ibiki stands, chair scraping harshly against the floor and then takes her hands into his, calluses and scars scraping against each other.

Sakura could only imagine what Tsunade-shishou would say if she were to see her, riddled with scars and missing fingers. She could have healed them without a second thought, but chakra had been precious then. Every single ounce had been poured into keeping her precious people safe and herself alive enough to keep fighting.

Her once friend produces a key and unlocks the handcuffs, letting them drop heavily into his awaiting hands before standing up, “Sakura-san, this is Hatake Kakashi,” Her former teacher gives her a hard once over. “And Uchiha Shisui.”

Her skin itches and crawls at Kakashi’s look, cold and unfond, nothing like how she remembers him. And of course, of course he wouldn’t be the man who she had come to adore. He is someone else in this carefully constructed future of her own doing.

The blame, as always, rests upon her weakening shoulders. Sakura is crumbling, her sanity chipping away ever so slowly. It is laughable, really. She wants to throw her head back and howl, she wants to bow and allow herself to scream.

But, if she were to begin to scream, she is not sure she would be able to stop.

So, she gives a curt nod, “Hatake-san. Uchiha-san.”

“Shisui, and therefore the Uchiha, have volunteered to bring you into their custody.” Ibiki goes on, taking a step back. Sakura stays where she is, rooted.

A chill runs up her spine and she looks to Ibiki almost pleadingly. “And you can’t simply dump me into ANBU instead?”

“Mah, Sakura-san.” Kakashi drawls and Sakura’s will cracks. (That bruise will never quite heal.) “I can promise that the Uchiha aren’t as bad as they seem.”

Shisui smiles and it is unlike any smile she has seen before.

She cannot remember the last time she had seen a smile.

“Don’t listen to the old man, Sakura-san.” Shisui says and she’s caught off guard at how friendly he sounds, deep and welcoming. Sakura swallows harshly. “We’re a bunch of assholes but no harm will come to you, we can promise that.”

Uchiha men, she thinks with distaste, will always hold a knife to her heart. And they will always know how to twist the wretched blade to get her to bend for them.

But. But perhaps Sakura could bend, bend and lay and rest. Just once. And this time she'll bend for herself. Perhaps.

She finds herself nodding, hands shaking despite the steel in her spine, her shoulders still straight. “You’re going to just let me go.”

Ibiki gives her a hard look and Sakura’s lips twitch. Ah, of course not. The Uchiha compound is just a glorified prison. Then again, it is much better than anything she thought would happen.

Then again, Saura never thought this would happen.

Too desperate, too blind with the possibility of a chance to see them again, to be whole again. She, for all her brains, all her genius, had not even stopped to think of the possibility that her future would no longer exist.

It is laughable, really.

So she laughs, she clutches her stomach and laughs because what else can she do?

Sakura has done what she has always done; what was needed. And once again, like every other time, there is nothing but black at the end of the tunnel. No light exists for her.

She is to blame for her own destruction, her own crumbling.

.

.

.

“You can come out,” Sakura’s voice calls out and Shisui grins.

He steps from the shadows, two mugs in hand as he comes to sit next to her, offering her the drink. She takes it without hesitation but swirls it before sipping from it, Shisui watches as her eyes light up just a little bit.

Hot cocoa with peanut butter. He had noticed, the last time the clan had it, that she’d snuck four mugs worth.

If Sakura was surprised he noticed, she didn’t show it. She was like that, a one way mirror, giving nothing away even as she saw everything.

“Did you want something, Shisui-san?” She twitches as he scoots a little closer, the fireflies floating around the backyard. “Or did you just want some company?”

Shisui smiles boyishly, tilting his head back to look at her, “Heard that Minato-sama called you into the Hokage’s office again.”

“You mean you heard from Genma, who told Itachi while on their date, who then told you that the Hokage summoned me for the fourth time this week.” Sakura snorts, taking a long drink from her mug. There's a little foam on her upper lip that he fights to not wipe away. “He and his wife keep trying to convince me to let them look at the seals I used.”

Shisui pauses, eyes trained on Sakura as she looks to the sky, head leaning back. Her hair has grown out a little, more fuzz on her head than anything, she looks more alive, well fed. Deep bags under her one visible eye, three nasty scars dissect her face and the rest of her body isn’t any better.

She is the most beautiful, most terrifying, most devastating thing he has ever seen.

“The seals you used…”

“To go back and hop through time like a jack rabbit to save the entire world?” She asks, a wry smile on her face. “Yes, Shisui, those seals.”

He hums, leaning back on the heels on her hands, “Why don’t you just let them look?”

“They aren’t my seals to share.” Sakura half snaps, shoulders curling in, her body strung tight. “Naru— my friend was the one to draw them out, I just figured out the last bit of it. Plus, there is no reason why they need to see those seals.” Her tone sharp, unyielding almost pleading.

Shisui stays quiet until Sakura begins to slowly relax. She gets like this sometimes, tense and defensive. As if trying to convince herself rather than him of her deeds. He knew better than to push, he knew that she had gone through more than anyone would ever go through.

The way Ibiki and Inoichi look at her with the utmost respect can verify that. The way Kakashi and Rin and Obito have gone out of their way to greet her, to help her speaks volumes.

He takes a drink from his mug, studying the stars winking above them. “Hey Sakura,”

“Yes?” She sounds oh so weary. His very soul aches.

“Thank you, for everything.” He doesn’t dare look at her, barely hearing himself over the pounding of his heart. “You don’t talk much about what happened but I know, I can tell that it was horrible. And thank you for saving us, the world.”

She had lost everything, everyone. In that future that she had protected them from Sasuke died, Itachi died, he was dead. He could only imagine what the ruins of that world looked like. He could only imagine what Sakura had to do to survive.

Sakura’s fingers are cold, freezing as they brushes the back of his hand. Shisui fights a shiver, the trail of goosebumps, the thrill. “Oh, oh Shisui.” Her voice is heartbreaking and full of nothing but steel. “I would never allow anyone to endure that. You will never have to endure that, I made sure of it. Never. No one will. I promise.”

Her hand draws back as she brings her knees to her chest, eyes far away and breathes quick. And Shisui, he doesn’t know what comes over him as he scoots even closer and carefully wraps his arm around her strong shoulders, drawing her closer.

And. And Sakura, she allows it. She moves to his side, not quite leaning but touching.

“Are you happy here?” Shisui finds himself asking after long minutes of silence. Sakura’s breath evened out and she sits with her chin on her knees.

Her eye flits to him, weighing and heavy. She looks at him and Shisui cannot help but see the age, the ancientness that has taken root. He wants to pull out the misery within her, wants to hold her tight enough that she will never fall apart without somewhere there to catch the pieces.

He wants to love her, he wants her to let him love her.

“No.” Sakura whispers, as if her unhappiness in a world that does not know her, that has done nothing for her is such an awful, wretched thing. “I miss everyone.”

Shisui cannot say anything so he does what he does best; what he wants.

He stays with her, arm resting on her shoulders and slowly, Sakura allows herself to lean into his side.

Around them, the night settles and the crickets chirp. The heavens had nothing to do with Haruno Sakura, with their Savior, coming to them. No, Sakura is the catalyst of this, of this paradise they now all reside in.

If anything, she is the heavens themselves. And it is about time someone tells her that, shows her that.

.

.

.

Sakura sees them for the first time in the five months she has landed in this new future. Itachi invited her to meet his genin team. Itachi, the man who had once been a mass murderer, is now a mednin and a jounin sensei.

Shisui joins her because of course he does, he has been the one constant throughout this entire ordeal. The Uchihas are nothing like she thought they would be. The Uchihas are everything she hoped they would.

They are loving, friendly, welcoming, and thankful. Mikoto is nothing but heaven sent sunshine and cloud soft embraces, Fukago is nothing but a deep rumbling laugh and fond looks.

No one is the same, nothing is the same.

Shisui is there though, at her side, at her back. She trusts him, gods, she trusts him. Despite her better judgement, despite everything. Sakura trusts Shisui.

So, Shisui joins her as she takes to the roofs and to training field 7. She’s finally been cleared for the mission roster and given her jounin blues. Though, Sakura has yet to decide if she even would enjoy going on missions.

Maybe with Shisui.

But she does not think she has a taste for violence anymore, for killing. Maybe she'll spend her days with Kakashi's dogs and holed up in the libraries. Maybe she'll visit Gaara or Chojuro.

She had yet to meet Tsunade, who had been hunting for her since Minato (the bastard) had let it slip that Sakura was in possession of the rinnegan and the byakugan seal. Shisui is exceptionally good at playing discractor as Sakura flees to rock in a corner until he finds her. He's good at that, holding her, letting her breathe, allowing her to find solace within his arms and his space.

They step onto the training fields and Sakura freezes mid step to watch as Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai (oh, oh Sai. Sweet Sai, oh.) attack in perfect sync.

They’re fourteen if her math is correct.

They move smooth and swift, nonverbal communication as if they had been working like this for years. It's beautiful, really.

Something ugly claws at her heart, catching on an already scabbing part to rip open a new wound. Simply another reminder that Sakura is not needed. She never was.

It's laughable, really.

Shisui’s fingers massages the sides of her neck with his fingers, the spot where her skull and neck meet. “You’re tense.”

“They have beautiful teamwork.” She chokes out.

He looks at her, long and open, “We can go home, if you want.”

Shisui’s good at that t00, the open ended question, the way of making her not feel trapped. He's too perceptive for his own good, she has yet to tell him anything except what is on record. But, but. He knows. He knows of Kakashi, of Naruto, Sasuke, and Sai. It is both a relief and a terror. “No.” She manages, curling her hands. She is Haruno Sakura. She has faced the impossible her entire life. Ghosts are nothing compared to gods.

At least, that is what she tells herself.

“I’ll be fine.” Sakura glances up at him, licking her lips. He watches the movement before his eyes flit back up hers and he offers one of her favorite smiles. The one where his dimples are visible, where she can see the small chip of his front tooth and the way his top canin is a little crooked.

Itachi calls the spar minutes later, the boys slumping onto the ground and breathing heavily. Sakura offers a small smile as Itachi nears them, waving a hand in greeting.

“Ah, Sakura-chan.” He grins, then looks to Shisui, dry amusement clear in his tone, “Shisui.”

“You’ve trained them well,” Sakura praises, watching as Naruto (oh gods, Naruto with his big blue eyes and blonde, blonde hair) pulls a limp Sasuke (a Sasuke who laughs freely, who smiles, and is loved) onto his feet, Sai huffing a chuckle from the ground.

Itachi practically beams at the praise, “They are very talented. And you would like to meet them, yes?”

Shisui’s thumb traces the bumps of her spine and Sakura is reminded that she has forged herself from the ashes of her friends, that she is borne from war and steel. She can do this. Shisui is here and she can do this. “Yes, I would love to, Itachi.”

Shisui’s hand burns through her clothes as they follow Itachi, the boys immediately catching sight and freezing at the sight of them. Sakura will never admit it out loud that she has been avoiding any and all people from her past (present? future?).

One look at Ino, whole and happy and sassy, and Sakura had almost gone insane. And then Shikamaru and Chouji, all together, all smiling. Gods, Sakura had fallen to her knees at the sight. Such grief, such loneliness—

She’s better now. She is.

“Team 7.” Itachi says, “This Haruno Sakura, and you already know Shisui.”

Silence.

Sakura shifts under the wide eyed gazes of the boys, the men she loved (loves?) with her entire being. “It is a pleasure to meet you,”

Naruto recovers first because of course he does. And he smiles at her, he smiles at her and Sakura wants to claw at her skin and cry. Shisui intertwines their hands, as if sensing that urge.

“I’m Uzumaki Naruto!” He’s fourteen and he's alive and he’s happy. He isn’t out of the village, he’s here because he has a clan, he has a family. “Is it true that you’re the Savior?”

Sasuke smacks him in the back of the head with a scowl, “Be polite, dobe.” To Sakura he offers a bow, “It is pleasure to meet you, Haruno-san. I am Uchiha Sasuke.”

Sakura’s lips twitch despite herself. Never, not once, did Sasuke ever bow to anyone. He had always been arrogant, but here? Now? It's laughable, really.

She glances to Sai and he isn’t as pale as he once was, his cheeks are full of color, his eyes brimming with life. “I am Senju Sai, Haruno-san.”

And. Sakura pauses at that. Senju Sai, huh. Perhaps she'll have to face Tsunade sooner than later. The thought added to the dread filled pool in her stomach. But. But, she could do it. Maybe.

“It is very nice to meet you all,” She croaks and then offers a very brittle smile. “And Naruto-kun,” She fights a shiver at the honorific. “That information is S class, but find me when you make jounin, hm?” And for a moment she could pretend that everything was okay and she was teasing her Naruto. Just for a moment.

Much to her amusement, all three boys pout, looking to Itachi who shrugs, “You heard Sakura, now, let’s see formation Alpha but reverse.”

The boys groan and Sakura can’t help the smile, a smile with teeth.

She can feel Shisui’s eyes on her before she even turns to look at him. Her body is shaking, Sakura realizes blankly but Shisui still holds her sweating hands, squeezing ever so slightly. “Ready to go?”

Sakura swallows, staring up at him, studying him. And oh, she is so tempted to uncover her eye, to memorize his face. “Yes. Let’s… let's go home.”

.

.

.

He wakes to warmth pressed against his chest, warm breaths against his neck. Their legs are tangled, her arm thrown over his side and brushes against the bare skin of his back. Both of them are missing their clothes, Sakura preferred being able to feel the skin on him, the brush of flesh between them.

What they have, it is something deeper than any type of physical act. No, what they have… well, Shisui can not put it to words. There are no words. There will never be words.

It is rare for Sakura to sleep soundlessly and through the entire night. Shisui kisses her forehead, above her seal, on one of the many scars of her face. She doesn’t stir except to shift ever so slightly, hugging him closer.

And if Shisui’s heart melts, no one else is there to see the absolute brilliant smile on his lips.

“Sakura,” He murmurs because if she doesn’t get up soon, she’ll miss her lunch with Ibiki (who gets very grumpy when his time with Sakura is cut short), “Sakura.”

She grumbles, limbs tensing for a moment, a single breath before melting once more. “Shisui,” Her voice is rough with sleep, the sound swirls and dances around his bones. “G’mornin’.”

Shisui laughs, a soft push of air, as Sakura leans back to peer at him, both eyes uncovered as she studies him, the look like a physical caress. “Good morning.” He whispers, kissing her forehead once again.

“What time is it?” She murmurs, eyes drooping closed.

“You’ve got about an hour before Ibiki comes knocking.” Shisui chuckles.

Sakura snorts, pulling away to stretch her arms above her head, arching her back in the way that Shisui can admire every muscle, every scar, every part of her. “Then I better get up,”

“Or, you could always stay,” Shisui cajools, to which Sakura only laughs. The sound is beautiful and full and makes his heart beat a little faster.

“The last time I canceled on Ibiki was when I had to help Itachi with his and Genma’s wedding plans, and he sent little Terror Ino after me for a week.”

Shisui cracks an even wider grin, “Well, at least you got some nice clothes out of it.”

Laughing again, Sakura leans down to kiss him, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Go on,” Shisui shoos, making a little gesture with his hand. “Have fun, I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

She cups his face, thumbing the sharp of his cheek bone before leaning forward to kiss him again, "I love you." Then. "I am glad that my suffering brought me to you, that I landed here."

"I love you." He returns, barely a whisper as he brushes hair behind her ears. His heart beats for her, cracks and aches and swells. All for her. "There will never be a time that I will not love you. There will never be a time where I do not see you and see everything you are, everything you have done."

The sky is sunny and the spring beautiful as Sakura, the very heavens themselves, mouth splits into a brilliant, blinding smile.

(Sakura has crumbled and broken, she has fallen apart over and over. She has always known how to put herself together, until she couldn’t.

But Shisui, oh Shisui, he has always been readily available with glue and tape. He will always be there to hold her together with his bare hands, ready to bleed for her, with her.

She has given and given and given. He is willing to give everything back to her tenfold.

It is the very least she deserves, the very least the world can gift her. Shisui will always be willing to give more.)

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 8

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, early morning spiciness, Javi hanging on to his self-control by a thread

Word Count: 3651

Notes: Not much memory recovery here, I just wanted some lazy, early morning sexiness...And a little bit of Javi trying to deal with the angel and devil on his shoulders!  Also, I’m really trying to stick to the whole, one chapter a week, thing but so far it doesn’t seem to be going well.  But I’m going to keep trying my damnest.  Be well!

Read on Ao3

***

You don’t want to open your eyes.  You know it’s morning...you can hear the sounds of your neighborhood waking up outside.  But you wish more than anything that you could make yourself slip back down into the deepness of the warm sleep you were just cocooned inside of.  You try not to move a muscle; do your best not to change your breathing...desperately trying not to disturb the man lying next to you.  You don’t want to do anything to break the beautiful spell that is your husband resting against you in your bed.  This has become your favorite time of each day; these short lived moments when you can just take him in without any barriers, without any thoughts or struggles trying to remember.

Javi.

Right now, his face is buried in your hair and pressed into the back of your neck, the sounds of his soft snoring muffled against your skin.  Your back is pressed against him and somehow in sleep, your hand has entwined with his and rests parallel with his arm around your waist, holding him closely against him.  He’s bare chested, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and you have still not gotten over how incredible warm the man is; he’s like a human sized space heater on the other side of the bed. Pressed against him, you can feel every edge and angle of his firm body.  Javier Peña is solid...deceptively so, and though it sometimes gets lost beneath his suits or button up shirts and jeans, he’s strong.  And you have enjoyed the peace that having that strength next to you every night and every morning has brought.

Since that night of the storm, you and Javi have slept in the same bed.  The warmth of his body, the weight of his arm around your waist, his breath heavy with sleep on your neck...all of it had become such a seamless part of your sleep pattern.  Even though you couldn’t remember anything about your marriage to Javi, the sheer ease with which you had shifted into sleeping next to him told you plenty: having him next to you as you fell asleep and next to you when you opened your eyes in the morning felt right.

He deserves a medal for what a trooper he’s being through all of this.  One thing you did remember was how your husband had been a bit of a playboy prior to your relationship with him.  He had had quite a reputation and, though you couldn’t seem to remember when it was that your relationship with him had changed from partner to significant other, you were absolutely certain that when it had, it had also become a sexual relationship.  Javier Peña’s libido was a given...you imagined that sex with your partner (now husband) was as interesting as you had remember hearing whispered about around the office.  Disappointment slips through your chest every once in a while at having no memory of what that experience was like, and as the days wear on, you’ve caught yourself studying parts of him, curious about certain...things.

This morning, as you lie awake and listen to your husband’s snores, you marvel at how his slightly soft tummy feels pressed against your lower back.  You smile as you remember seeing him stretch after dinner last night, causing his shirt to ride up over his abdominal muscles and reveal that softness.  He had quickly pulled his shirt back down and gathered your plates, but you hadn’t been able to stop smiling at the time, too.  You had also not failed to notice the soft trail of dark hair sprinkled above his waistband and disappearing beneath the denim of his jeans; a very obvious road map to other interesting parts of him that you were also suddenly very aware of this morning…

Though you didn’t ever start out that way, during the nights your legs would tangle and you would often find one of your legs hitched over his or vice versa.  This morning, one of his knees has wedged its way between yours and now, you can very clearly feel him pressed against your inner thigh, hard and heavy and it causes something feral and molten and rich to unfurl inside of you.  Despite not wanting to wake him, you can’t stop yourself from shifting slowly into him, feeling a spark shoot through you at the friction the movement caused.  You wait for a few moments, not sensing any change in Javi’s breathing and you shift against him again...again feeling a jolt spread through your belly.  

You’re not entirely sure how much time passes, but eventually, you realize that his hips are gently moving with yours, too.  His breathing is still heavy and his movements are languid and slow; you think that he must still be sleeping.  You rock into him a bit more firmly, shifting your body up slightly so that now the hardness between his legs hits you exactly between yours, on the very spot that aches from the friction this movement is causing.  Your curse the material of his sweatpants and your sleep clothes; you feel as though a dam has burst inside of you and you suddenly want to feel more than just the skin of his bare chest against you...you want to feel all of him.  As your body moves, you feel his muscles tense and hear a small snuffle of air through the nose and you know that he’s suddenly come awake.  You squeeze the hand that is still entwined with yours and pull it up to your chest leisurely, placing it gently against your breast and continue to move your hips back against his pointedly. 

You turn your face towards him and rather than the eager passion you imagined you would see on your husband’s sleepy face, his eyes are wide, his face taut and drawn in a pained expression.

“Javi?” you whisper, worried.  He swallows hard, and the next thing you know he’s scrambling out of the bed as though he’s been burned.  You sit up quickly, afraid that you’ve done something wrong.  “Javi!”

“I’m sorry…”His voice is rough with sleep and it comes out in a growl.  “I…I’m sorry…”  He starts to say more but stops.  You shake your head and start to reach for him, wanting to tell him there’s nothing to be sorry for, that you had started it, that you wanted to keep going...but before you can do any of those things, he practically flies out of the bedroom, gruffing something about “coffee” and “needing to get going”, leaving you sitting amongst the rumpled sheets, feeling completely at a loss.

****

Javi knew he had been in a grumpy mood all day.  And he knew he had taken that grumpiness out on all of the wrong people.  But he couldn’t help it, not after the events of that morning.

He had thought he’d been dreaming, feeling her rubbing against him like that.  He hadn’t wanted to wake up from that dream and, in his dream, he’d had her laid out beneath him, completely bare and open to him as he’d thrust into her.  But that dream had slipped away as he had groggily become aware of his partner...his partner whose memory was still missing and who still mistakenly believed they were married...his partner who had explicitly told him more than once that she did not ever intend to sleep with him....that same partner was grinding herself against his embarrassingly hard cock while he just snored away.  For several long moments he had almost given in; when she had put his hand on her breast he recognized it for what it was: a green light for more…

...but he also imagined how betrayed she would feel if and when her memory returned.  There was no way she would ever trust him if he had taken advantage of her like that.  Their partnership would be over; she would hate him, he was sure of it, and she would most likely shoot him before he had two seconds to think or even begin to apologize.  But, worse yet: their (and, Javier Peña did not use this word lightly) friendship would be over, too.

So instead, he had taken his throbbing hard-on, thrown on yesterday’s wrinkled clothes and proceeded to grouse around the office all day, biting anyone’s head off that made the mistake of coming too close to him or asking him a question.  As the day wore on, he had started to panic about returning home that evening.  What would she say?  What would she do?  Was she going to be waiting for him, waiting to pick back up where they’d left off?

His mind flashed to a brief image of his beautiful partner laid out seductively on her couch, wearing a sexy, skimpy little red lace number that had been floating on the periphery of his vision since he’d caught a glimpse of it that first day in her underwear drawer.  She’d smile at him and crook a finger “come here” and he’d acquiesce like a moth to a flame.  And then…

“Fuck!”  He bit out under his breath as he slammed the file folder shut he had been trying to read for the past hour.  He stood up, accepting the futility of hanging around the office anymore.  He knew that his fantasy was not at all plausible, but just the thought of returning to her warm apartment and seeing her again made him ache deep inside.  How had he ever managed to be away from her before?

The simple answer to that question was: he hadn’t.

Both of them spent so much time at work, relentlessly tracking down leads, hounding the world outside their office walls for clues...the only downtime he ever really seemed to have these days also seemed to always keep him in her orbit.  When he went to a bar for a drink, he usually went to one knowing he would find her there shortly before or after.  When he chose to pull an all nighter...even when he didn’t tell anybody his plan to, somehow she always seemed to show up in his office door with an actually tolerable cup of coffee.   The poetry book he had stowed in his desk drawer, the pitiful shrine he seemed to be maintaining for her without meaning to all made him feel pathetic.  He stared at the wall of his office as he tried to tick off the weeks that had passed since he had darkened the door of one of his informant’s for something other than just information. That, in itself, was a clear indication that he was, by all accounts, losing his fucking mind.

But there was no one else he’s rather lose his fucking mind for right now; no one else he wanted to speak to or sit next to and have dinner than his partner

He couldn’t bring himself to even acknowledge the words to describe how he felt, the ones that simmered beneath his brain.

But he recognized them all the same.

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

When he crept into the apartment that evening, he had thought maybe she would be angry with him.  Or that maybe it would be awkward.  Or that she would maybe just ignore him all together as she so often had done as his partner when he had pushed her buttons and pissed her off.

Instead, she sat at the kitchen table, a glass of wine and a notebook spread in front of her.  She clapped the notebook shut when he entered and greeted him with a smile. He waited for the other shoe to drop, but she just proceeded to move about the kitchen and get them something to eat for dinner.  He changed quickly and devoured his food, making small talk and very mindfully and carefully avoiding getting anywhere close to this morning’s events.

After dinner, they settled onto the couch.  Javi had brought home several folders full of reports and he relaxed into the cushions and proceeded to try to focus.  She curled up on the cushion next to him and he stretched one arm behind her on the back of the couch, careful not to touch her or send any signal that might be misconstrued.  This did leave his body open, though and she carefully leaned her weight over and into his chest, her arm relaxing on the cushion alongside his thigh, her head propped on his shoulder.  

God her hair smelled fucking good.  He flipped a page on the report he was reading perhaps a bit too hard and bit the inside of cheek to get himself to focus.  He was only half listening to the chatter from the news program on the television, but he zoned in when he heard her softly saying something.  The lift at the end of the sentence told him it was a question, and he closed the file in front of him and looked down at her.  He sucked in his breath when he saw her face tilted up towards him, her eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.

“Sorry...I was,” he gestured at the folder on his lap.  “What did you ask me?”

“I was just wondering…” She gestured to the television and he turned to look, seeing a headline blurb saying something about birth rates in the country. “...have we ever...ya know.  Have we ever talked about having a family someday?”  Javi gulped and he felt his heart pulsing and pounding behind his eyes.

No lies.

He was quiet for a minute while he thought about how to answer her.  When she said his name again, quietly, a question even heavier in her voice this time, he knew he needed to give her an answer.

“Um…..no.  No, we haven’t ever talked about it.”  He hoped that was enough.  He held his breath.  Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask…She made a small noise of understanding and shifted her attention back to the TV.  He waited for a few more moments, feeling like pressure was being let out of balloon and then…

“Do you want to?  Have kids, I mean...someday?”  Despite the fact that she kept her eyes on the screen, he could see a tinge of self consciousness on the edges of them. Her voice was soft, almost like she was afraid to ask.  Javi felt his mouth go dry and for perhaps the first time in his life, he felt as though he could not physically make himself speak.  His initial attempt at words dragged along his throat and came out garbled.  He paused and cleared it, trying not to make himself feel more of a fool.

“I uh….” What the fuck was he supposed to say?  This wasn’t just chatter with a friend, a simple getting to know you question.  She believed he was her spouse.  Whatever he said next would mean something to her, would have weight behind it more so than if they were just shooting the shit during a stake out chat.  She kept her face away from him, but he could feel the tension radiating off of her as she waited for his response.

No lies, Javi.  Tell her the truth.

“I...never really thought about it.  Wasn’t ever something I thought’d be on my radar, not for me.  Never really thought I was the parent type, ya know?...”  He took a deep breath, steadying himself. She looked at him then and the question in her eyes and the curious look on her face made his chest feel like it was being split open.  “But then….uhhh...then I met you and….” He couldn’t.  He couldn’t bring himself to form the words into being.  He dropped his gaze and glanced at her from beneath his lashes.  She just waited, looking at him with her soft eyes and an open expression.  He barely managed to push the words from his throat, and they came out in a strangled growl.  He brought his gaze up to meet hers.  “...Then I started to think...differently.”  He finished lamely, letting the vague word land in the slight space between them.  It was all true.  Every single word.  She looked at him carefully for another moment or two, her eyes searching his for something.  Then she leaned further into him and kissed him carefully.

It wasn’t chaste like the kiss in his office, but it wasn’t lustful, either.  It was simple, sweet, soft.  She brought a hand up and threaded it through his hair, slowly carding through it almost experimentally.  She nudged herself a little bit further into him and slid her other and along his shoulder and down his chest, resting it over his pounding heart before opening her mouth and tracing his lips with her tongue.  He received her eagerly, letting them dance and reacting to a soft noise of pleasure he distantly heard coming from somewhere.  It took him a few moments to realize that it had come from him, a soft half moan, half sigh of unadulterated pleasure.  He felt her hand on his chest start to slip further south and he pulled his mouth away from her, pressing his forehead to hers, panting.

“It’s gettin’ late.”  She nodded against him.  “We should try to get some sleep.”  Again, she nodded and he saw a small smile flick at the corners of her mouth.

Shit.

She stood and tugged on his hand, trying to pull him with her to the bedroom.  He hesitated and gently pulled his hand out of hers, gesturing at the folders spread on the coffee table and making a feeble excuse that he would join her in just a few minutes, that he needed to pack things up.  He saw uncertainty flicker across her face again, but then she smiled again and headed to the bedroom.  

Javi sat for several long minutes with his head in his hands, trying to decide what to do.  Every single fiber of his being was screaming at him to get the fuck into the bedroom and make love to her.  That he could deal with the consequences later.  But a tiny, shrill shred of reason screamed just as loudly that if he did that to her, that would be the end for him in her life.  She would see it as a betrayal.  It would be taking advantage.  Javier Peña knew he could be a cold-hearted bastard, a real piece of shit human being sometimes.  But he couldn’t do that...not to her.

He sighed heavily and hauled himself off the couch.  When he reached the bedroom, she was already tucked under the covers, the bedside lamp on his side still on.  He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and changed quickly in the bathroom before crawling into bed next to her and snapping off the light.  Almost as soon as he was settled beneath the sheets he felt her shift and turn towards him, sliding across the expanse of mattress between them and wrapping herself around him.  Her lips found his again in the dark and this time they were filled with heat and longing.  She snaked a leg up and over his hip and rocked her pelvis into him, moaning against his mouth as she felt him respond to her touch.  Her hand scratched gently through his hair and down along the back of his neck and he felt himself shudder at the sensation.  She started trailing kisses down his jawline and further down onto his neck, back to just beneath his ear, along the furiously pounding pulse point, whispering his name with every press of her lips against his skin.

Javi nearly cried as gently cradled her head in his hands and carefully pulled her face up and away from his neck.  Her lips dived down to devour his again and he leaned his whole body weight into her, pushing her backwards to lie on her pillow flat on her back.  He drew out the kiss for a moment longer, then cupped her cheek with his hand while using his other to reach behind his head and carefully untangle her hands from his hair.  He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers once more before murmuring against her warm cheek.

“Gotta big day tomorrow, sweetheart...lots of meetings.  I think we should just...go to sleep.”  

Even though he couldn’t see her in the darkness, he could feel his words land on her like a slap and he hated himself for it.  Her body went rigid and wanted to frantically rip the words back from the air around them and shove them back down his throat so that they had never been said.  But it was too late.  He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then trailed another soft kiss to her temple, her eye, her nose, her cheek, her jaw...trying to make her feel how much he wanted to do this, and trying to make her feel, too, how much he just could not.  She softened a little beneath his lips, but he still felt a firm line of disappointment as he gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.  

She said nothing, but just carefully rolled over, her back to him and settled into herself in the darkness.  After a moment he slid over next to her carefully wrapped his arm around her waist, assuming the same position next to her that he had every night since the thunderstorm.  He felt her tense for a moment against his touch, but it quickly slid away and he felt her relax.

As he started to drift off to sleep, he felt her reach up and twine her fingers between his in the darkness.  She sighed deeply, but he knew that everything was ok again…

...at least for now.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[heylissaaaaa]

Words Slip Out

Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader Summary: An unexpected question at an inopportune moment Word count: 5.3k Warnings: fluff and angst (mostly fluff and moderate angst), mild hurt/comfort, mild (non-graphic) injuries, moderate violence,  A/N: Hello lovelies! This was written for another one of the ever-wonderful @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ ‘s challenges, with the word prompt “verklempt: completely and utterly overcome with emotion”. It’s also a prequel to the one-shot I wrote for Star’s last challenge, called Rainbow Afternoon, but you don’t have to read that one to understand this one. For registered users on AO3, you can also read this fic here.

You had found the ring by accident.

It was hidden, of all places, in his sock drawer. One of the greatest spies and assassins in the whole world, and he’d tucked in in the back corner of his sock drawer. You were going to tease him something awful after he proposed. Never going to let him live this one down.

Though, to be fair, you supposed he thought you wouldn’t have any occasion to be in his sock drawer. And normally, he’d have been right. But then you’d lost a bet on how long a frozen sausage can be in the microwave before it explodes, and laundry duty for the both of you was the punishment. He probably hadn’t put two and two together.

You didn’t touch the ring box, wouldn’t dare open it, only finished putting away his clothes and shutting the drawer. But that didn’t mean you would - or even could - stop thinking about it. What did it look like? How long had he had it? Did anyone else know? You were positive Steve did, probably Sam too. But had he confided in anyone else?

Your mind flit through question after question until it landed and stuck: how was he going to ask you?

Nothing big, of that you were sure. He liked making grand romantic gestures - liked the blush on your face, because you didn’t - but he wasn’t one for crowds. Would he wine and dine you first? Would he do it with the rest of the team watching, or wait until it was just the two of you? Would he wake you up with it one lazy Sunday morning? You didn’t have any answers, each scenario as likely as the last, but in all of them you could feel his love.

You were still lost in thought when Bucky came back from hanging out with Sam and Steve. They had a standing day out twice a month that had become something sacred. The only outsider ever to go with them was Tony, when he was up for it and had the time.

“Doll? Hey,” he said, smiling when your eyes focused and you finally registered that he was in the room. “I knocked and you didn’t move. What’s that pretty mind thinking about so hard?”

He knew you well enough to know when you were lying… unless you said something that would distract him. So you shrugged, gaze drifting down his body and back up again. “Your butt,” you said, as casual as if you’d said you had been thinking about the weather. “How was boys’ day?”

It worked like an absolute champ. “Great; a blast,” he said curtly, shoving his jacket onto a hanger and kicking the door shut. “More importantly, tell me more about these thoughts of yours concerning my butt.”

You grinned and accommodated him when he crawled up the bed towards you. International super spy, sure, but still very much a man.

*

Two sharp raps on the front of your open door and then Bucky strode through in full tactical gear. You were belly down on the bed, reading a magazine, and sat up when you heard the knocks. “Suit up. We have to go,” he said. He tossed a manila folder towards you.

“What do you mean ‘we’? I thought you were going with Sam,” you said. The two of you didn’t go on missions often together; you went with Natasha, and he went with Sam or sometimes Steve. Opening up the folder, you began to look over the information it contained. It looked like a fairly simple mission: data extraction from an abandoned production facility owned by a Hydra front.

He rummaged through your closet until he found one of your body suits and tossed it your way. “Something else came up. One of the agents we were tracking disappeared; Sam’s going after him and you’re coming with me,” he explained. “Besides, you’ve got more technical experience than either of us to begin with.”

You changed in the bathroom and followed Bucky out of the room. The rest of the file was half-read, half-recited to you by Bucky on the jet as you made the few hour trip toward your target. The factory was built several miles outside any town, surrounded by forest on all sides, and for that you were grateful. You weren’t expecting any resistance, but the knowledge that the nearest innocents were well out of range was comforting.

“Ready to go?” he asked, checking over the various buckles and straps of his gear one final time.

Palming one of your handguns, you leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s make it quick and then we can stop for burgers on the way home?” you asked, a little bit of childlike hope in your voice that made him laugh.

The data you were looking for was in the manager’s office above the warehouse floor. The door that Bucky opened groaned on rusted hinges, catching on the doorframe that didn’t quite sit right after so many years without upkeep. Stepping over the threshold after him, you were met with a maze of pallets piled high with cardboard boxes and wrapped in cellophane. This was a facility abandoned at a moment’s notice. Ceiling-high shelves leaned against the walls, half full of more unmarked boxes.

“You head up to the office, I’m going to poke around down here,” Bucky said. You waved him off and started wading through the sea of crates and pallets. At the other end of the room you found a set of metal stairs leading up to a room that overlooked the whole floor through very large windows. The door was open when you peered in. Bookshelves lined the wall to your left and the desk faced the wall to your right. A picture frame on the wall reflected light from the monitor. In a warehouse that was supposed to be empty, that could not be good.

Rounding the corner of the desk, your stomach dropped. “Oh shit,” you breathed.

“What happened?” Bucky’s voice demanded in your ear, but you were only half paying attention to him.

The main monitor was indeed lit, a pop-up window showing the progress of the deletion command that someone had initiated. It was almost halfway finished. You were quick to the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as you attempted to salvage what you could. Only then did you remember that he’d asked you something. “Buck, they’re erasing everything. They knew we were-” The first shot rang out and cut you off, followed by others. He grunted in your ear. “Bucky!”

“I’m fine. Keep going.”

You glanced up from the computer, scanning the warehouse floor below. Bucky was just visible, hiding behind a wall of crates closest to you. He didn’t look to be harmed, and your heart stuttered in relief. Further away, you saw the agents. “I see maybe, eight of them, all armed. They’re splitting in three. I’m working as fast as I can.”

He didn’t respond and you turned your full attention back to the monitor. Someone must have been on the other end with remote access, because the computer was actively fighting you for the information you were trying to salvage. One hand jabbing at the keys, you reached into one of your suit pockets, pulled out a thumb drive, and plugged it into the side of the monitor. A few more minutes of cyber-battle, and you were finally able to start the download onto your drive. “Ha! Take that you bastard,” you muttered, flipping off the screen and whoever was on the other side.

So engrossed were you with the task at hand that you almost missed the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up to the office. “Shit,” you spat. You weren’t finished, but it would have to do. You were out of time. Tying up what loose ends you could, you ripped the drive out of the port.

A bullet whizzed by your left shoulder and you knew you were really out of time. Going around the side of the desk facing the windows, you crouched down and went through your exit options.

The door was out, for obvious reasons. You could hide here and try to fight them, but the desk wasn’t very good coverage and the office itself was way too small to be an advantage to you. You looked around again, and groaned. Bucky was going to be so pissed off at you, but you tried to justify yourself as you stared up at the window.

You took a deep breath, stowing the thumb drive in your suit. Covering as much of your exposed skin as you could, you shot up from behind the desk, got a little bit of a running start, and crashed through the window.

“Look out below!”

Bucky whipped around right as you hit the ground with a yelp of pain, tucked and rolled to his side in a shower of glass. Pain exploded up your left leg, lighting up that entire side of your body. You’d definitely landed wrong on your ankle. Pulling yourself up into a sitting position, you moved over to sit with your back to the crates.

One of the agents peered out the broken window, and you shot him right between the eyes. He was the only one to make that mistake.

It was quiet in the warehouse now. Most of the first group were severely injured or dead, but you knew there were more coming. If you were going to get out, you had to go now.

Next to you, Bucky was scowling. You could feel it boring into the side of your head. “Are you out of your mind? I would’ve come up and got you!” he hissed.

You brushed stray pieces of glass off your suit. “Oh relax. I got the rest of the data and a sprain is better than a bullet hole while I waited. Now, come on,” you said, holding your arms out towards him. He didn’t move an inch and instead continued to stare over at you accusingly. “Up and over, Barnes, we’re on the clock and we’ll move faster if you carry me.”

The prospect of proximity seemed to snap him out of his stupor and he had the audacity to break out a lazy grin. “Sweetheart, if you wanted to get into my arms all you had to do was ask,” he said, though he stood up and help you to your feet. Putting one arm around the back of his neck, he hoisted you over his shoulder so you could watch his back as he ran with you.

The buckles of his gear pressed against your stomach, and you were sure your elbow did not feel particularly nice digging into his shoulder blade, but neither of you complained. “Think we can go back the way we came?” you asked.

Bucky shook his head. “More of them coming that way,” he stopped with his head tilted, listening. “They’ve gone around the sides too. We’ll have to backtrack into the offices and circle around.”

No sooner had he made the decision than another two dozen agents were streaming through the main and side doors. “Time to put those morning runs to good use,” you said, firing off a few shots towards the lines of men racing toward you.

The hallways weren’t very wide or tall, dingy white walls and gray tiled floors depressing under the fluorescent lights. “I’m starting to think this place wasn’t quite as ‘abandoned’ as Stark told us,” Bucky grumbled, flinching out of the way as a bullet raced past the side of his head. You didn’t answer, too focus on trying to keep your balance over his shoulder enough to aim as you returned fire. The arm you were using to hold yourself up with was starting to tremble, and you were having a hard time breathing with Bucky’s shoulder squished against your abdomen.

When you emptied the clip of your handgun you shoved it back into its holster and reached down for the other one you were carrying. No way were you going to try and negotiate reloading with the position you were in. You were lucky enough as it was that Bucky swerved around a few sharp corners, giving you a second’s reprieve from the gunfire.

Some of the men had gone around to try and cut you off from the front. Bucky blocked the shots they got off and fired back, not stopping as he jumped over their fallen bodies.

The crowd of agents was thinning now with each round you fired, far less following and no more jumping out in front of you. Bucky kicked down a door and then you were outside, albeit on the other side of the warehouse, but you were that much closer to safety. Still, the click of your third empty weapon - you’d stolen Bucky’s too - made you curse. Because of course, of course, there was one agent left. Completely out of bullets and there was still one agent standing.

It wasn’t far, you didn’t think, so you could try to outrun him. Bucky no doubt had more stamina. But as another bullet lodged itself into a nearby tree, you knew you had to do something else.

Bucky yelped as one of your hands braced itself lower on his back, and the other began groping down by his left thigh. He stumbled a step before he could regain his footing. “Woah, hey, Jesus. Be careful down there, would ya? I was kidding about getting frisky.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, hot shot. Just keep running,” you huffed, making another swipe for his legs and grumbling when you missed.

“What are you-?”

Your shout of triumph interrupted the rest of his question as your fingers finally wrapped around the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh. “Fucking finally,” you muttered, and glanced up to where the last agent was still tailing you. One quick steady breath to aim and the blade flew from your fingers. You watched with a detached sort of satisfaction as if flipped, end over end, to land neatly where the agent’s left eye had been.

Patting the small of Bucky’s back, you let yourself go limp against him with a heavy sigh. “I think we’re okay,” you muttered. You turned your head to the side and caught sight of the now-empty holster. “Thanks for the knife, babe.”

You felt him slow underneath you and turn, swinging you slightly to one side. A moment’s hesitation and then a sharp inhale as he took what had happened to his knife, the body still visible behind you. “Christ,” he groaned. And then, quietly, breath on a sigh, “Marry me.”

It thundered in the silence that followed.

The shadow of the jet fell over you and you pushed off of Bucky, landing in front of him with only a slight wince. His ears were pink and his eyes were wide, betraying his own shock at what he’d said.

You blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, um- I-”

“Now? You’re doing this now?” It sounded harsher than you’d meant it, coming out of your mouth, and you felt bad about that. But you were upset, damn it! This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen - not on a half-failed mission, sweaty and injured, after you’d both just killed two dozen men. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He went redder. “I don’t know! You had me all… verklempt!” he sputtered.

“Verklempt? Where did you even-?” You shook your head, turned your back on him, and hobbled up into the jet. You were still muttering to yourself as you tossed yourself down into the pilot’s seat and began readying to leave. Bucky stood outside, staring at you, until you snapped, “Get on the fucking jet, Barnes.”

Turning back toward the console, you heard the heavy thud of his boots, and the impact as he sat down. It was silent the rest of the way home. You wanted, several times, to turn and look at him. But the thought that he might already be looking at you, that you might end up looking at each other, stopped you.

When the jet landed at the compound, Bucky stopped you before you could hit the button and let down the ramp. “Would it be so bad? Being married to me?”

Part of your heart broke, and it softened the lingering scowl on your face. You were still upset. But you also couldn’t leave him to think that was why were angry. Cupping the side of his face in your hand, you ran a thumb over his cheekbone. “Of course it wouldn’t, Bucky. Nothing would make me happier,” you murmured.

There was something he wanted to say, more than one thing you wanted to say, but no room left in the jet for either of you. Biting the inside of your cheek, you dropped your hand and let down the ramp.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha were waiting in the hanger when you got back. That all three of them were there was a little odd, but you were so determined to get away that you didn’t give it too much thought. “Nat, darling, take me to the infirmary please?” you asked with more cheer than you felt, half-hopping over to her to avoid putting pressure on your injured leg.

She looked between you and Bucky, searching for the answer to a question she hadn’t yet asked. Turning around without a word, she bent down so you could climb on her, piggy-back style.

You tapped her collarbone as you passed Tony, and she stopped. Wedging a hand between your front and her back, you felt around until you found the zipper for the pocket you’d stashed the thumb drive in. You shoved it towards Tony’s chest. “I got as much as I could,” you said. His hands came up over yours to take the drive, and Natasha led you away from the hangar. Behind you, you heard Steve and Bucky talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Natasha waited until you were changed and sitting in the med bay, one of the nurses cleaning the cuts on your arms, before she pounced. “What happened?” she asked, in that nonchalant way she had that let you know she was keenly interested in the answer.

You sighed, shoulders dropping. “With the mission or with Bucky?”

A pause, in which Natasha searched your face, eyes flicking back and forth. “Both,” she said.

“They were waiting for us when we got there, had already started wiping everything. I got maybe half of it, had to jump out a window.” The nurse - Daniel, you thought his name was - snorted as he straightened up, having finished with your arms. You gave him a wry smile and a shrug as he moved on to examining and then wrapping your ankle.

“And Barnes?” Natasha pressed.

You looked away from her, jaw clenched. “Asked me to marry him right before we got on the jet,” you started, and told her the rest of what had happened. Your voice was thick and your throat burned with the tears you were trying to keep at bay. Now that the shock and adrenaline was wearing off, you felt a little dumb.

“You’re upset, but not surprised.”

A helpless shrug was all you could give for a moment as you negotiated the sobs tightening your chest. “Found the ring a month ago, maybe. I’ve been waiting for him to ask.”

She let out a breath, coming to sit in a chair next to you. “And this wasn’t how you pictured it going.”

“I know it’s a dumb thing to get worked up over, and I know he didn’t mean it like this.” You couldn’t get his face out of your mind, the way he sounded when he thought you were refusing him. “And I wasn’t expecting anything big or extravagant; you know I don’t care about that kind of attention. But I just- was hoping for something… else. Something special and normal and not tied to this job.”

Daniel gently interrupted, his hand warm on your shoulder. “You’re all set. Get some rest, keep your ankle iced and elevated. If the pain gets too intense, you can take some ibuprofen or Tylenol, whatever you prefer.”

“Thanks, Dan. I appreciate it,” you said, returning his wave as he left.

Natasha was there as soon as you were upright, an arm under your own. “Hey, why don’t you come hang out in my room for a while? It’s closer than yours,” she said. You wanted to decline and go back to your own room, but she continued before you could. “We can watch something if you want, make some popcorn. I’ll even steal some of Sam’s M&Ms for us.”

You smiled in spite of yourself. “With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”

Together you hobbled over to her room where she brought you over to her bed. Once you were settled back against the headboard, a pillow under your ankle, she left for snacks while you scrolled through Netflix looking for something to watch.

You’d gotten through Natasha’s list, trending now, and popular on Netflix twice when you noticed that she still hadn’t come back. It didn’t take that long to make popcorn, especially since her room was one of the closest to the kitchen. You were starting critically acclaimed movies when she slipped back into the room, a large bowl under one arm and a bag of ice in the other.

“I was about to send out the search party,” you said, pausing on Molly’s Game to read the description.

Natasha handed you the bowl and laid the ice over your ankle. From a pocket in her jacket she revealed two bright yellow packets of peanut M&Ms. “Sam was in the kitchen, just got back,” she said. She settled down on your other side and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Oh I wanted to see that.”

“It sounds good,” you agreed, and queued up the movie.

You didn’t remember when it ended, only that at some point the TV was switched off and Natasha was running a hand through your hair. The bed shifted as she got up, and then her hand was on your other side, gently shaking your arm. “C’mon, sleepy, let’s get you back to your room.”

You groaned and shook your head, not even bothering to open your eyes. “Jus’ wanna stay here,” you mumbled.

Natasha scoffed and started to pull you into a sitting position. “No way. We both know you hate going to bed without your routine and waking up in rooms that aren’t your own. I will not be put on the wrong side of morning-you for that,” she said. You grumbled, but knew she was right. If you fell asleep without going through your routine, it guaranteed you’d wake up in the middle of the night feeling gross. You put an arm around her as she helped you off the bed.

As the pair of you walked down the hall, you noticed an alertness to the way she moved and looked around that puzzled you. It was subtle, and would be unnoticeable to most others, but you knew her pretty well. It wasn’t mission alertness, cold and wary, but more like… anticipation, excitement.

It spiked as you approached your bedroom door, which was now closed. “Nat, what’s going on?” you asked.

She didn’t answer except to nudge you with her hip into reaching for the handle. You opened it slowly, and the breath caught in your throat.

Bucky stood in the middle of the room, dressed in jeans and a Henley. His hands were clasped together behind his back like he would fidget otherwise. The overhead lights were switched off. Instead, candles covered the long windowsill against the back wall, the entire top of your dresser, and most of the desk in the corner where Bucky liked to clean his guns and knives. It gave the room a warm, soft glow, but it wasn’t what drew your attention.

The entire room was filled with pale pink peonies, one of your favorite flowers. There were blooms laid loose among the candles, both with and without stems, and others in different glass vases. You wanted to run your fingers over their petals, get close enough to see the specks of deep crimson you knew would be there. The whole room smelled like peonies, not intoxicating or cloying, but beautiful and fresh.

Natasha removed your arm from around her neck and backed away, making sure you were steady enough on your own. You barely noticed, too focused on the flowers and the man who’d gotten them for you. “Hey Buck,” you breathed, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, his voice as soft as yours. He rushed to your side when you took a step forward, putting an arm under yours and helping you sit on the end of the bed. Taking the spot next to you, he turned so that his whole body faced you. “How’s your ankle?”

“Just a sprain. Daniel down in the med bay says I’ll be right as rain in no time.” You looked around at all the flowers again, heart swelling as you took in the way the light shone on the pale petals. “These are some real pretty flowers, Barnes.”

He looked too, a fond smile on his face. “Do you like them? I got ‘em for my best girl,” he said, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. Emboldened when you leaned into his touch, he shifted from by your side to kneeling between your legs. “See, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask her, but I messed it up. I was hoping she’d let me try again.”

“‘Course I would.”

“I want you to know: I had a plan. I was going to wait until it was warmer and take you to that park where we met. Remember, when you-”

“When I hit you with my bicycle, yes, I remember,” you grumbled. It was something he refused to let go of. Never mind he was the one that was so busy messing with Steve that he wasn’t looking where he was going. And never mind that he was fine, thank you very much. Did more damage to your poor bike than anything else.

His laugh made your chest warm and your heart soft. “I was half in love with you already after that. You made sure I was alright before completely tearing me a new one. You weren’t even phased by the fact that you were scolding the Winter Soldier, with Captain America looking on. He was on me for a week after that because I didn’t get your number. Then Tony walked you into the compound and introduced you as the new team member and, sweetheart, I was gone.”

Once upon a time, you’d been an agent for SHIELD and - after everything had happened - you’d been a little lost. Then, you’d woken up one day to a forwarded email recommending you for a position as a member of the Avengers. It hadn’t said anything about who’d made the recommendation, and you’d never had many friends in high places, but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was only after you’d officially joined that they let slip that Fury wasn’t quite as gone as everyone thought he was.

The position hadn’t been guaranteed when you’d met Bucky and Steve in the park, so you didn’t say anything in case it turned out not to be true. And facing them in the common room of the compound, seeing the moment they recognized you, was something you wouldn’t ever forget. “You dropped the coffee pot. I don’t think I’ve seen Tony that mad, or Clint that visibly crushed. He looked like you’d told him Santa wasn’t real,” you said.

“The point is, I had a plan,” he said, his cheeks a little pink. “But then today happened, and things went a little wrong. I kept thinking how they could have been way worse. Either of us could have come out with more than a couple of cuts and a sprained ankle. But you had my back and I had yours. And I saw that fucking knife sticking out of that guy’s head and it reminded me how strong you are, how capable and - I’m man enough to admit it - how incredibly hot you are. In that moment, I was overwhelmed by it. By how much I love you. By the reminder that this-” And here he finally took from his pocket the velvet ring box that had been gracing your dreams for a month. “This is all I want. A life with you for as long as I can, as long as you’ll let me.”

With steady hands, Bucky opened the ring box. The ring inside was a band of rose gold that went from smooth line metal at the bottom and morphed into vines about halfway up either side. The vines wound around a small opal. The longer you looked, the more you felt tears gather in the corner of your eyes, the pressure building in the base of your throat. The rose gold was warm and felt like being in his arms, and the opal shined the way his eyes did when he watched you laugh at his teasing. It was a physical offering of his love, of the life he wanted.

“Bucky it’s perfect,” you breathed. Your hand by contrast, was shaking when you lifted it for him to put the ring on. When it slid home and sat snug on your finger, joy lit up in your chest like fireworks, bubbling out of your mouth in uncontrollable giggles. You brought Bucky closer for a kiss so that he could feel it too.

“I paid a lot of money to get those flowers here, so I better at least get to see the ring before you guys start removing clothes!” Tony called from the other side of the door, startling the two of you apart. Bucky dropped his head onto your chest and you leaned yours against his, torn between irritation and amusement. There was a muffled impact, Tony’s yelp of surprise and maybe pain, and a “come on, man” that definitely came from Sam.

“Tony, have a little class, would you?” Steve hissed. In a louder voice, definitely meant for you and Bucky to overhear, he added, “Besides, they shouldn’t be doing anything with her sprained ankle!”

Bucky huffed a laugh and you could feel him gearing up to shout back, but you beat him to it. “I swear to God if I open that door and see anyone on the other side, you’ll wish you had a sprained ankle.”

“Come on boys, let’s give them some space. But we better see that bling first thing in the morning. You’re both expected at breakfast,” Natasha said, herding the boys away like a schoolteacher her children. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped as their footsteps faded away, Bucky joining you. As annoying as they were, you did love your friends.

Bucky lifted his head, forcing you to lift yours too. You gave in to the kiss he asked for, but pulled away a few moments later. He lifted a brow at you. “I have one question,” you said.

The brow rose a little higher. “Shoot.”

You squinted at him a little. “Where exactly did you learn the word verklempt?”

[fluffykitty1999-blog]

Dog of the Military- Chapter 35

Chapter 35

A little bit of rest and relaxation for our favorite heroes, and some family bonding time fluff. 

Also- Mustang gets a little ribbing from Hughes and acknowledges that yeah, he’s a dad.

Roy ended up lacking the motivation to carry Ed up the stairs to his room. Or to make himself climb the stairs to get to his own bedroom. He ended up depositing Ed on the couch and flopping into his favorite recliner.

Alphonse had gotten a ride to the hospital at some point, and he puttered into the house behind them, with a bag full of prescriptions for both the other residents of the home.

Al seated himself calmly on the floor and started reading an issue of Cosmo as the Roy and Ed slept.

It was sunlight streaming through the window, the smell of coffee, and voices that woke him in the morning.

Roy blinked harshly, getting to his feet and checking the time. It was almost noon.

He'd thought he was doing good- but as he walked, he realized there was a jackhammer drilling behind his eyes and his headache came back as he became more awake.

Still, he trooped into the kitchen, intent on tracking down some of the coffee he'd been smelling.

He found Hawkeye sitting at his kitchen table, speaking quietly to Alphonse.

"Good morning Colonel!" Al said happily.

"Morning, Alphonse." Gosh, he felt like absolute garbage. Still, if He slammed some coffee and painkillers, he could probably get in a good half day at work, if the Lieutenant was kind enough to drive him. There was no way he'd be able to drive himself in his current dizzy state.

"Lieutenant- mind giving me a ride to work?"

Riza sipped from her mug of coffee, shaking her head. "No need. You've been given the day off. Edward, too."

"By who?"

"General Haruko himself, sir. He and the brass have enough to deal with, he wanted to congratulate you on catching Banks." her gaze flickered to Alphonse for a moment, and Roy knew he wasn't getting the whole story. Still, he knew that Riza must have a reason for keeping the truth from him, and he nodded, grabbing some bread from the breadbox and making himself some plain toast, pressing his palm to his pounding head.

"Take two of these, sir. Alphonse will give you more in an hour." Riza offered him something from a prescription bottle, and he downed both pills dry before nodding, grabbing his toast.

"What about Ed?" Roy asked, thinking of the boy still passed out on the couch. "Has he got anything he has to take?".

"I woke him and gave him his medication about an hour ago. My lunch is almost over, though, I have to get back to the office. One of the men from the office will bring by dinner, Alphonse will call and tell us what you want..."

Riza Hawkeye was, in fact, an angel in human form.

Ed was still out cold on the couch, and Roy took the opportunity to toss a blanket over him before sinking back into the recliner. He briefly considered reading the paper before electing not to, deciding today would be better spent being lazy. He hardly ever got days off like this- and neither did Ed. Might as well waste it sleeping while he could.

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"Yeah- four cheese pizzas, with like, a bunch of shit on them. I don't even care, as long as those little fish aren't on it. Surprise me. I dunno- a soda. Something brightly colored. Yeah, he'll probably eat some too. No, he's not awake. You know what, throw some breadsticks in there too. They're really good. Yeah, he's alive, I totally checked like five minutes ago. Alright. See you soon. Thanks Havoc." Ed hung up the phone and plunked himself back on the couch, looking pleased with himself.

Roy opened his eyes.

"Oh good- you're awake." Alphonse said cheerily.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Bastard." Ed smirked. "You want anything for dinner? You weren't awake, but I can call back and order more..."

All Roy really wanted right now was some tea, and maybe a breadstick or two.

"No- I'll have some of whatever." his headache was still there, but not as intense as before. It was more a quiet sort of misery than a burning agony, now.

"Alphonse- do we have any tea?"

"Yes, we do! I'll go put on the kettle." Alphonse bounded to his feet, setting something off his lap and going into the kitchen. He was glad to be of help.

Roy looked down to see some sort of red yarn monstrosity nearly covering the floor of his living room.

"Alphonse taught himself how to knit today. I'd say that's lame, but all I've been doing is drinking juice boxes and complaining, so he did more than me." Ed spoke up from the couch.

"I tried to read something about the stone, but then I fell asleep again. These damn pills ruin everything." Ed complained, sitting up a little straighter.

Roy smirked. "That's not what you were saying at the ER last night. The pain medication made you act like a little kid."

"Shut up, I don't wanna hear it!"

"It was adorable. You came over and cuddled with me."

"Lalala!" Ed was covering his ears, now, and Roy laughed slightly. The only bad thing was that with Hughes in the hospital, he wouldn't have photographic evidence.

The doorbell rang just as Alphonse came back into the room with tea, and Ed jumped to his feet, excited. "Dinner!"

He came back with Havoc and several pizza boxes, settling himself down on the floor and starting to demolish an entire pizza by himself.

Havoc smirked. "Well. Glad to see the Chief wasn't too badly affected by everything. How are you, Boss?" Havoc looked over at Roy, who shrugged.

"I'll live." he sipped his tea and grabbed a bread stick from one of the take out containers. "How are they resolving this whole incident?"

Havoc shrugged. "I'm under orders not to talk about work with you. Hawkeye says you can get caught up on it yourself." Havoc shot a quick glance at Ed, who was still eating at an insane pace, and once again, Roy realized that there was something he didn't want to tell him in front of the boys. He'd find out soon enough when he went back to work again tomorrow, anyways.

"Hey Havoc- you wanna sign my cast!?" Ed held up his casted arm and continued to eat pizza with his other arm, and Havoc grinned, pulling out a sharpie from his pocket.

"Sure, Chief, let me see.".

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

The morning at work was quiet- Hughes had been discharged from the hospital yesterday, and Hawkeye told him he should go visit him friend immediately when he came in, despite the obvious stacks of paperwork on his desk. Roy complied without question- he'd known something was up since yesterday.

Fullmetal was occupied filling out his own share of paperwork about what'd happened, and getting people to sign his cast between forms.

He found it easy to duck out and stride into the investigation's branch, letting himself in and nodding to Scheska before he was knocking on the door to his friend's office excitedly.

Hughes was sitting sideways at his desk, his casted leg propped up on a chair set beside him. He gave a tired smile when he strode into the room.

"I was wondering how long before you showed up."

Roy snagged another chair and pulled it up, sitting down across from his friend.

"Well, I'm here. And I get the feeling something else has happened, but none of my team will say it outright. So tell me what it is. How are they resolving this case? Is Banks in custody?"

"No." Hughes frowned, sliding a manilla folder across the desktop.

"Banks was driving a car with two Drachmans in it and Ed in the passenger seat. They were tailed by a car driven by a single Drachman. Despite the crash, there was only one fatality. A Drachman in the car Ed was in- he was ejected and died on the scene. Everyone else survived the crash."

"So why aren't they in custody, then?" Roy said, not understanding.

"Open the file, Roy."

Roy obeyed. He found himself staring at the pieces of a destroyed car- the black car was upside down, the windows shattered, the front absolutely smashed... Roy found himself nauseas just looking at it, and he had to pull his eyes away.

"Ed... that was..." he could hardly put the words together.

Hughes nodded. "That was the car Ed rode in, yeah. He was the only one wearing a seat belt. He was also the only one uninjured enough to walk away from the crash. And it's a damn good thing he did."

"I don't understand. Ed said Banks was breathing when he left him, they were too injured to run away..."

"Someone else got there before the military, Roy." Hughes said gently. "Armstrong is processing the scene- he's the one who took these pictures. Shortly after Ed left, the wedding band killer surface from a nearby manhole."

Roy continued flipping through the folder- pictures, of a blood trail from bodies being dragged across the pavement, an open manhole cover...

"They were too injured to get away. The wedding band killer dragged every living man out of those cars and took them down into the sewers with him. He's having a hell of a lot of fun right now chopping them up- Armstrong has been able to confirm Banks is dead, though we're still looking for pieces of the other two. The corner is going to get back to me- let me know if we have enough body parts to account for three bodies. He left the dead man in the street- he only wanted the ones that were still alive."

Roy kept flipping through the photos. There were messages written in blood on the sewer walls. Cryptic warnings, some quotes of religious text, and for one, just a large smilie face drawn in blood.

"Are you okay?" Hughes asked, looking at Roy with concern.

Roy took a deep breath, closing the file folder when he was done. His heart was hammering in his chest. "I will be." he said finally, looking up. "I just... didn't expect them to all be dead. And like that..."

"Dragged into the sewers by a madman and tortured to death. Yeah, it's not exactly an ideal ending for anybody..."

"That could've been Edward."

"But it wasn't." Hughes said firmly. "Your staff all knows, but nobody has told Ed, and we're not planning to. All he needs to know is that they've been handled by the justice system."

"What kind of justice is that?" Roy looked down at the folder in disgust.

"Street justice. I know nobody deserves that, and it's horrific, but the one good thing that came out of all of this is that Ed is finally safe in Central again. That's what I tell myself, anyways."

"So- what does the brass think of all of this?"

Hughes sighed. "They have... mixed feelings on the matter. They're glad the whole Banks Fiasco has been dealt with. They're glad the Drachman issue is dealt with and was never publicized. And they're breathing down my neck trying to get me to catch the Wedding Band killer. I've already borrowed a couple of your men and called in as many favors as I could to help locate this guy. We're going to be starting to search the sewer systematically in teams next week." Hughes said simply.

"Enough of the official talk, though- what about the boys?"

"What about them?" Roy asked, looking puzzled. "I'm not planning on telling them about any of this. Now that the Drachmans and Banks are out of the picture, he'll probably start asking to travel again..."

"And what will you do?" Hughes asked, steepling his fingers and eyeing his friend carefully.

"I'll let him go." something painful in his chest tugged as he said those words, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Edward had goals to accomplish, leads to chase- and he wouldn't get anywhere standing still. "There's no reason to worry about him more than usual, now that things are dealt with. Besides, it's probably safer. It means I won't have to worry about him while I'm helping with the Mr. Fingers case. I'd rather have him out of the city while this is dealt with- he's already gotten too close to this killer for comfort a few times."

"Right. That's what I figured. How soon do you plan on letting him go out again?"

Roy paused for a moment, thinking. Ed did have a broken wrist- he was still sleeping more than usual, starting to recover...

"I'll keep him here for a week. Then he can go back out on his search."

"You sound disappointed." Hughes observed.

"It's... more lively with them around. But I'd only be hurting them if I kept them too close. I'm not the only one with goals, Hughes." he wondered about the day when Ed would return to Central city not with a suit of armor, but with Alphonse in the flesh. He realized he didn't know what Alphonse physically looked like- not even in pictures- and something fluttered in his chest at the thought of finally seeing the younger of the two boys for the first time.

"That's what being a parent is, you know. Knowing when to protect them and keep them close, and knowing when to let them go into the world on their own."

"I'm not their father, Hughes."

"No. You're not. But you're the closest thing they have. Ed's probably gonna be back here in two months, pissed and tired because he hasn't found anything. What'll you do then?"

"Tell the kid to go take a shower and let him crash upstairs. If he finds any alchemy that he needs my help with, he'll ask me about it."

"That's what a parent does. You're they're father, Roy, in all but name."

"Somethings are better left unsaid, Hughes. I'm climbing up the ladder- the less people know about who I care about, the better."

"And if Edward says it?"

"He already has."

"He has!?" Hughes eyes widened and his grin grew impossibly wide.

"Yes. He was drugged to high heaven in a hospital, but he's called me Dad."

"And did you correct him?"

"No."

"That's it. I'm starting a damn photo album." Hughes was rooting through his desk drawers.

Mustang sighed, standing and heading for the door. This was probably all the useful conversation he'd get with Hughes today.

"You had two damn kids and I didn't even get to come to your baby shower!"

"Shut up, Hughes!"

Obligatory ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12 .

[tartagilicious]

Victor - Coming Home (translated date)

Here’s another translated date, requested by @shimizusora​! This time, here’s the card beforehand, as I couldn’t find the separate versions to place when they appear ^^

spoilers for a date not released in EN server beneath the cut~

The meeting has lasted for almost 3 hours, and everyone is waiting for Victor’s final decision. In addition to dignity and fatigue, his expression also showed a trace of annoyance: before he came, he did not expect the situation to be so heavy!

Earlier, when it acquired shares in the SE online video platform, LFG issued a circular to the public saying that this was an important and strategic move for LFG to sweep the overseas film and television market.

In just two years, SE was in debt due to a bad project, and the capitol chain was broken several times -- all accounting for a debt totaling 10 billion…

Many insiders in the industry secretly insulted Victor and took a few days to turn a blind eye; after all, this incident was only passable as a joke for the wine table to them. The people of LFG’s public relations department exhausted all available media resources to suppress the negative rumours of this matter as much as possible. Fortunately, the news did not end up flowing out.

Only this time, LFG did lose.

Everyone at the meeting exchanged glances. The president had not closed his eyes for two days -- from his plane landing to now. He had spent a lot of time looking at the report documents, and sometimes the project information. He even tended to sit alone in the meeting room for several hours.

No one dared to step forward and say something, even the question of a cup of coffee seeming threatening.

It wasn’t until everyone came to the meeting room three hours ago that they found the dinner they had sent was still tucked in the corner they had left it.

Goldman: President, the most difficult problem is in the long return period of the project. SE now also has stable advertising revenue and a large amount of copyright resources, which we can fully leverage on their acquisition, wholly owned. (t/n: big words. He’s basically saying that with the deal, LFG can buy the aforementioned things and get complete ownership of them.)

Goldman: With LFG’s resources involved, these batches of information may not be able to go online smoothly, and there will be a turn around.

Victor: There’s no need for this.

Victor closed the folder in his hand and raised his eyes across the conference table.

Victor: Talk about prices with a few funds, don’t make a habit of stepping deeper and deeper.

The lengthy meeting ended at this moment.

When Victor returned to the hotel, the number of unread messages accumulated on his mobile phone exceeded one hundred again. He didn’t pay attention to this information, though, just clicking a single number from the countless list of tips.  

Unsurprisingly, it was all nonsense gossip, accompanied by small expressions of different styles.

Victor loosened his tie and read them one by one from top to bottom.

“I made an improved egg omelet for dinner, would you like to try it?”

“What’s Goldman’s circle of friends talking about? I know you’re probably irritated and tired, but I hope the meeting still goes smoothly!”

“Remember to eat…”

“Also remember to sleep!”

Victor’s motion stopped after that line, and soft emotions flooded his eyes.

“The internet celebrity lawyer I told you about last time agreed to my interview invitation, so I have to hurry up and plan the case for this Saturday. Do you want to come supervise the work?”

Victor opened the dialogue box and typed a single ‘good’, and immediately received a cat with a smiling expression. But, he raised his eyebrows slightly when thinking about the time in China.

I sat up in bed and was preparing to have a long discussion about the weekend schedule, but my phone in my hand suddenly rang and shocked me.

Victor [over the phone]: did you sleep or stay up?

MC: haha….

Victor: Why are you laughing?

MC: Because I feel like that’s often asked by me, but now you’re the one asking…

Victor: It’s only 5 o’clock here, but there..

I understood what he meant.

MC: I wanted to wait for your reply and couldn’t sleep well, ok…..

I rolled over in bed and changed to a more comfortable position and held the phone against my ear.

MC: What projects have you been busy with this time? Is it going well?

Victor: Smoothly. But, you should go back to sleep again before it’s too early.

MC: ...I’m not too sleepy. You told me before, but will you still come back Thursday?

Victor: Before Saturday.

MC, sadly: Today is only Tuesday, and today’s sun isn’t even out.

I heard Victor laugh seemingly indiscriminately, and I noticed a little laziness in his low voice.

Victor, softly and groggily: Is it too late?

MC: Don’t you dare, as long as it’s not for something important, postpone your return. But, even if it’s necessary for work, you still have to say one thing, you have to promise me:

A slow sigh fell to my ears, revealing faint fatigue.

Victor: Go on.

MC: You can’t stop eating or sleeping.

The other side of the phone was silent for a few seconds.

Victor, humming: Then, I promise you.

The misty light of Loveland was reflected faintly on the curtains, and in the moments of silence, I closed my eyes to feel the frequency of every breath from him.

MC: ...It has been raining in Paris these past few days.  

Victor: It’s the season.

MC: The meetings… Are they cold?

Victor: Not badly.

My consciousness became uncontrollably deeper, but I could still clearly capture his voice from within the grotesque dream.

Victor, sweetly: Sleep if you’re tired. I’ll hang up now.

MC: ..No… I’m not sleepy… Don’t go.

Victor: Your words are slurred but you still refuse to sleep?

MC: …

I can wake up in five seconds.

I hummed gently, not sure if I actually said this.

Soon, Victor’s long and heavy breathing was close to my ears, very close, making me feel calm and almost as if I was next to him.

Victor: Sleeping?

MC: ….

Victor: Go to bed.

Victor: ….

Victor: Sleep peacefully.

On Saturday afternoon, I looked up at the wall clock for the nth time. Until the hour hand reached the number 3, I couldn’t help but call Victor. But after waiting, the robotic voice reminding me that the other party could not be contacted sounded. The doorbell rang before I could react.

Victor, who was standing outside the door, was putting his phone back in his pocket the moment I opened it. I looked hesitantly at his empty hands.

MC: Your luggage…

Victor: I let Goldman take it back, and I’ll go to LFG tonight.

With that said, he entered the door and walked to my bedroom after changing his shoes at the entrance.

Victor: What have you been doing these past two days?

He walked over to the coffee table, and carefully picked up the interview outline that I had been writing all morning. A corner of his lips raised with a single glance.

Victor, teasingly: You said that you worked hard for several days, and listed a few outlines.

MC: Don’t underestimate me, I have read a lot of information in the past few days, see--

I pointed to a pile of hot social cases and legal books on the ground to show Victor.

MC: I did not sharpen the woodworker by mistake. And I’m also very self-knowledged, aren’t I, supervisor?

I busied myself and dragged a chair to the coffee table, and took a medium-sized pillow and placed it on the back of it.

MC: You sit.

MC: I guarantee that from this second, I will devote myself to planning, and I will surely have the first version of the results before the sun goes down.

Victor couldn’t help but laugh, hang his coat up by the door, and pull out the chair. Just sitting down, I remembered what it seemed like, and sighed slightly.

Victor: Let me borrow your computer.

I handed the laptop to Victor, and a thought flashed through me. How could he come here without a computer?

MC: Victor Li, when were you infected with my bad habit of losing everything?

Victor: Only once. I put in the backseat of my car and forgot to bring it down.

Victor avoided my gaze, and opened the LFG website without changing his expression, and approved the documents.

Victor: The sun will go down in two hours.

MC: Maybe the sun won’t want to go home today. (t/n: maybe the sun will stay up a bit longer and she’ll get to work on her report longer)

I sat back in my position and looked at Victor from across the table with a hand under my chin. The light golden slightly projected from the window slowly enveloped Victor. The quiet and warm light was also calmed by his smooth wooden fragrance, which was very comfortable.

Victor didn’t speak, and tapped his fingers one by one, so in the quiet room, even the sound of our breathing was quietly amplified.

Not knowing how long I had taken, he finally raised his eyes to meet mine.

Victor: Will staring at me finish the planning case?

MC: I’m not staring at you, but conceiving a plan in my heart.

As soon as my voice fell, a short ‘ding’ sounded.

MC: Wait for me~

I ran out of the room and to the kitchen, taking out the fragrant cookie from the oven. I put it down carefully to cool, and took it back with two hot drinks.

MC: Afternoon tea time!

Victor took care of his cup, the steam rising up to slightly warm his eyebrows. The milk in his glass was a light temperature, and the similarly warm scent of the cookies melted into the room.

MC: Your dark circles are so heavy, didn’t you at least drink coffee while you were away?

Victor: I’m fine.

I thought Victor didn’t mean to drink the milk, but when the words left his mouth, he still picked up the glass. After watching, I pushed the dish with cookies in front of him again.

MC: Take a look at my new designs. Cute, huh?

I pointed to the painted kittens with different expressions on the cookies to show Victor.

MC: This one is yawning, this one is surprised, this one is asleep, but I like this one the most--

MC: It looks really angry, so I named it “flaming”.

Victor glanced in the direction of my finger.

Victor: It looks like you.

MC: Is that so?

I let air fill my cheeks, trying to look like the cat on the cookie, and raised my face to look at Victor. He didn’t react, and his eyes that were connected with mine were full of silence. I just smiled and picked up “buffoon” and brought it to his lips. (t/n: “buffoon” as in another named cookie)

MC: Can you try it?

Victor took a bite of the cookie in my hands and looked back at the computer.

MC: Would you like to comment?

His lips were pulled into a weak line, and I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not. Then, he moved a little closer and ate the remaining half of “buffoon” in my hand. Warm lips briefly rubbed my fingertips, leaving a soft warmth in its wake. A fluffy, sweet, happiness suddenly bloomed in my heart.

I patted away the crumbs on my finger with satisfaction and picked up the pen again. The smooth tip made a rustling sound on the paper, and I wrote it down with the same strokes of the previous outline.

But today’s weather is so nice….

The sky is a clean blue, the clouds a lazy white, and the room is full of rich and warm fragrance. I turned away absently, quietly looking to Victor. The sense sunlight was reflected in his dark pupils, refracting the invisible layers of his thoughts into a glorious glow.

He doesn’t have any emotion when he works, and his expression is always calm. But the appearance of deep concentration in his eyes is not the same as usual.

To say what’s different….. It’s probably even more eye-catching.

Victor: It’s only been a few minutes, and how many times have you lost your concentration?

I quickly returned my eyes and scribbled onto the paper, pretending to be like a good student who was caught by the teacher during a lesson. But, my ideas were not connecting, and nothing could be written, so I opted to draw a little heart on the upper right corner of the white paper instead.

I noticed that Victor was still focused, so I kept drawing this little heart, adding a tilde to its tail. But after a short pause, I sighed and raised my eyes slightly.

Victor sighed.

MC, flushed: ..I can’t help it.

Victor: And what can’t you help?

MC: I can’t help but look at you.

I folded my arms and changed to a more comfortable position on the table, tilting my head and looking at Victor. He chuckled almost inaudibly and was about to speak, then a familiar ringtone came from his pocket.

After seeing Victor answer the phone, all the messy thoughts in my head disappeared in one evil stroke, secretly lost.

Victor: the time now is…..

Victor looked at the bottom right corner of the computer during his speech, paused for a moment, and then quickly looked back to the mobile phone.

Victor: It’s 4:30 right now, so let them reply to me by 8pm.

He hung up the phone in a concise manner, and I asked a little hesitantly,

MC: Are you…. Going back to LFG now?

Victor: Don’t worry, I won’t go.

Victor said this, muting the volume of his phone and sliding it to the corner of the table. Facing my doubtful eyes, there was a trace of helplessness in his calm eyes.

Victor: Your computer is in Paris’s time.

I didn’t understand the random topic for a moment, but nodded subconsciously.

MC: Well, it’s more convenient to look at the time like this.

Victor didn’t speak, and glanced at the computer again. At this time, the system pushed out the weather forecast for the next 5 days in Paris -- a continuous rain every day. He smiled lightly and closed the computer slowly.

Victor: ...it’s all getting stupidly convenient.

MC: Yes, yes, taking care of a fool like me really makes the president troubled…

I deliberately stopped talking there, and couldn’t help laughing with Victor as I got up and picked up the two empty glasses.

MC: I’m going to go wash the cups, do you want anything else to eat?

Victor: No need. Do you think I’m you?

I groaned, irritated, and turned my head towards the kitchen.

I originally thought it would take less than a few minutes to wash the cups, but after I cleaned them and cleaned all the tools I used for baking before, a half an hour had passed.

When I came back, Victor was already lying on the bed, still holding my unfinished outline. I walked past him quietly, and whispered near his ear.

MC: Victor, are you asleep?

Victor didn’t answer me, only taking a shallow breath that made his twilight-coloured eyelashes tremble.

MC: Are you really asleep or pretending to sleep?

I climbed onto the bed, approaching him little by little.

MC: ...Victor?

I called him again softly, but he still did not stir. Only the corner of lips raised, into a badly hidden smile.

MC: You didn’t fall asleep!

I laid my arm on the bed and picked up a few strands of his hair. Looking down at his smoother and sharper jawline, my fingertips unconsciously rubbed against the tips of his hair.

MC, whispering: ...Have you been tired recently?

Victor, with his eyes still closed: No.

In his words, there is obviously fatigue. I don’t know if he has rested in these past few days, and the possibility of him fainting after a bit of relaxation crosses my mind.

MC: Didn’t you read the outline of my interview? How does it look?

Victor: I see what you’re written.

I thought of the heart with the small tail, and was suddenly caught speechless.

Victor: You deliberately brought this to your supervisor, but in the time I’ve been here, you wrote so few lines?

MC: Yeah, I guess you should go overseas more often, then. When you are near, the efficiency of my work plummets!

I reached out and pulled away the notebook in his hands, and covered him with a blanket. Victor turned his face and looked at me for a moment with his eyes half open. I rarely saw his tired eyes, but felt that all the emotions in my heart were softened a hundred times by him in that moment.

MC: Still want to go to LFG after a while? I’ll wake you up at 7:30.

With Victor’s degree of rigor in scheduling, this time, he temporarily canceled several important meetings and later flew to Paris while delaying the return time twice. He had already said that it would be before Saturday, but suddenly, it was changed to Saturday…..

It’s not very difficult, it won’t be like that. He’s also very stubborn in insisting he’s not tired.

I put my index fingers on his temples and slowly massaged circles into them. After a moment, a flirty smile overflowed from his lips.

Victor, laughing: …..

Victor pulled my right hand and wrapped my fingers into his palm, and moved me closer to him wordlessly. The close distance has our breaths mixing, and I can’t help but lean down to press my lips to the corner of his forehead. In the silence, all I could hear was our heartbeats and breaths, slowly accelerating together.

Victor, softly: Do not worry about me. I’d never let a fool worry.

MC: Ok, I know…

I responded softly to him, but I couldn’t hide my calm smile.

MC: ...I just can’t help it.

I can’t help worrying about you, whether you’re hungry, cold, or tired. I can’t help but want to see you whether you are in front of me or not. I can’t help but smile, only because of your figure in my mind.

I looked out at the clouds stretching out of the window, spreading out a large dim twilight, the stars looming, the golden sunset and the quiet night meeting at the end of the sky.

The sun is going down.

MC: Victor, I did not finish the interview before the sun set. Will you punish me?

Victor: ….

The only response to me is his even and steady breathing. I looked down at his sleeping face. This familiar face became thinner in just a few measly days. I reached out and stroked his cheek gently. But, still afraid of waking him, I just watched quietly.

MC: Go to bed.

MC: …..

MC: Sleep peacefully.

[alltingfinns]

Part 2

John crestfallen at what looks like another sign of Sherlock not caring. Except Sherlock obviously sees it differently, time is of the essence and this is probably not the first kidnapping case he’s seen.

He looked through the fairy tale book probably because it was noticably out of place.

“Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment”. So close to Jim’s method.

Oh God. Sherlock telling the John mirror that they’re better off avoiding relationships since at least one attempt involved a master criminal. At this point John is avoiding relationships but will soon enough meet “Mary”. Also worried about his interest in Sherlock who has the air of menace drawn thickly around him.

Did that sentence even make sense?

The modern equivalence to ACD Sherlock knowing the origin of soil samples.

“Thank you John” “Actually I’m just his mirror”

Keeping a sharp eye on John so the mistake seems more psychological than visual.

He looks upset when she says she doesn’t count. Just because he doesn’t like her romantically it doesn’t mean he doesn’t value her as a friend. He’s just really bad at valuing his friends. But also she might be so long gone on him that his lack of reciprocation is seen as an all out rejection.

Oh God the quick shots of the kids eating the poisoned chocolate. That’s my fill of horror for the holiday.

“Not be myself.”

Collar goes down.

I wonder how Jim faked a Sherlock to traumatize the girl.

We know Anderson’s theory on that from TEH, latex perfection.

Sherlock being subjected to the “they’ll think you’re crazy or lying if you say anything” quick show of “I O U”. Also known as the dancing frog effect.

Sally fishing for a reaction because she needs a bit more than a hunch and a screaming child to go on. But keeping it subtle enough that you have to be Sherlock Holmes to fully pick up on it and deduce what she might be thinking.

John being snubbed but it’s like other times. Sherlock is going into danger and needs to keep John out of the firing line. Not the first or last time he pulls this stunt.

Next on fairy tales with Richard Brook: The Story of Sherlock and His Very Bad and Downright Awful Evening.

Wonder if being found with a dead body is going to compound his situation? I mean, obviously he didn’t have a gun and the guy was shot from a distance, but at this point it’s the rumors that matter not the facts.

Been a while since I saw TPLoSH, but wasn’t that the one where dust was part of his filing system?

“Can’t kill an idea”

The breaking point. The wrong conclusion I wrote in the last post. Here it is.

He thinks what would upset John is being duped by Sherlock into liking/praising/admiring him.

I want to write a bigger thing about it, although I can’t imagine that the subject has gone unexplored in the fandom.

Sherlock is the one doubting in this scene. Doubting that John sees him for more than the Persona.

Remove the Persona, and John’s affection goes with it.

But John isn’t just there for the clever man in The Hat. Coat collar up or down, he cares for Sherlock.

The doubt will unfortunately not die here, or The Hat wouldn’t have such a pronounced presence in future episodes.

Are English gingerbread men always that thick? Then again it’s possible we just generally bake them thinner in Sweden, judging from a couple of German cookie cutters I have that doesn’t quite work on the level of thin we usually bake.

John standing up for him throughout this scene while Sherlock just quietly accepts it.

Am I even going to make it to the rooftop?

Both John and Sherlock get such good smash cut scenes in this episode.

“A good friend bails you out of jail, a best friend sits next to you and say ‘We fucked up.’”

The way Lestrade underreacts to the situation is amazing.

Once again on Gun Safety with Sherlock Holmes.

Lestrade’s face in his hands. Sherlock’s very tired dad/babysitter.

“Now people will definitely talk”

Priorities, John!

They’re going to need to coordinate. Good thing that they at least can do that in life or death situations, because they’re terrible with it otherwise.

“A lie that is preferable to the truth.” Also known as every straight Sherlock reading, because people can’t deal with their hero being gay.

Interesting that the guy got shot just as Sherlock lowered his gun. As in after he got the information. He wasn’t shot by one of the others. This is the work of Moriarty’s shooter.

I thought from the look on Sherlock’s face when John mentioned Brook that he had an idea who it was. But apparently not.

So the money was good enough that he’d risk jail time but still not enough that he wouldn’t risk the wrath of his ex-employer, the master criminal, for what she could get him? Sherlock was right on the money in his analysis of her. Not smart or trustworthy, just hungry.

Oh her look of pity to John. Like he’s the one that was duped.

A folder with printouts. That’s her big cache of evidence?

For Christ’s sake, her character in The IT Club is smarter than this!

And to top off her character she does a pathetic repeat of Sherlock’s insult to her and then John brushes her aside.

Wrap up a lie in the truth. There are way too many good lines in this episode.

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am, that I think I am, would you still help me?”

So close to the actual question he has for John but will never ask.

Mycroft doesn’t actually believe in the key code nonsense, does he? Both Holmes brothers can’t be this blind on matters of cyber security.

This scene was at the end of THoB, which doesn’t have to mean anything timewise, granted. But I sincerely doubt a hypothetical key code was of concern.

Are there any updated versions of M theory around? I think I saw some new idea about Mycroft being in charge rather than Moriarty, but I still get the impression that these scenes happened even if no key code was involved. So why did he really have Moriarty slapped around?

“Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, and you have given him the perfect ammunition.”

Wasn’t there a theory that Mycroft manipulated John into Sherlock’s path because he thought the doctor could save his brother?

Jim used the code to change his identity in the records. You seriously think Kitty checked the records, rather than taking him at his word and printouts?

Even then, Jim has worked with someone who knows what the record keepers like. No need for a magical key code.

Ah yes, about ten characters of binary. The ultimate key code!

“No. Friends protect people.”

People is John.

I personally love coming up with names with hidden meanings, so that’s probably what I would have picked too.

On the one hand he brought back the scary SUDDEN SHOUT he terrified me with in TGG, but on the other hand he used it to say “doofus”.

“Ordinary Sherlock”. This scene must have been fun to act.

Mrs Hudson assuming that John’s back because Sherlock did something clever and made it alright.

“Police! ...sorta”

Sherlock has already set Lazarus in motion, but the possibility of not having to leave John if he can get to Jim has to be explored.

Faked suicide like the bride. I don’t blame Sherlock for not seeing it. He’s running on no sleep, more adrenaline than blood in his veins and someone just seemingly shot himself in front of him. Not to mention the overall pressure he’s under.

The little laugh when he can’t make John doubt him.

Everything’s blurry.

“I researched you”. Subtle slam at Elementary?

Oh God their hands reaching.

“He’s my friend” with his voice breaking

“Say it now.” “I can’t.”

Mrs Hudson outangering John is the levity needed now.

“Stop this.”

Things are blurry again.

Risked being seen just to see John one last time and hear his words.

And I need to wash my face.

I also remembered that Sherlock talked of a lookalike in TEH, but I’m keeping my musing on Sherlock faking for transparency. Also I’m too lazy to go back and edit.

[vydante]

Restart | Avengers x Male! Reader | 11

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Avengers x Male! Reader (romantically: multiple)

Plot: Dr. Strange said there was only one possibility of winning the battle against Thanos.

But when (Name) is forced into the past and into his younger body, he’s suddenly given the chance to start over and prevent the future from happening again.

So which route are you going to take? Are you going to risk the future and take preventative measures, or live life with the Avengers for the next 4 years, knowing what will soon come?

A/N: Different format this time, taken like a video log, though it’s mostly dialogue. 

[Action: enter folder titled ‘Project Renaissance’.]

...

[Enter Password: |]

[Enter Password: 1R0NM4NSU|]

[Enter Password: 1R0NM4NSUXXAP3XRUL35 |]

[Action: enter.]

...

[Password Accepted.]

[Accessing…]

[Enter folder name.]

[Action: “video logs”.]

[Searching…]

[Folder ‘Video Logs’ found. Would you like to play from the beginning?]

[Action: “Yes.”]

...

[Playing… “uh i don’t know name it whatever you want”, date created: 10-23-2013.]

...

...

“Is this thing on? Hello? Hell-o?”

The video feed shows your lone figure in your lab. It’s dark outside as the timestamp in the corner indicates that it’s half past midnight. You’re sitting directly in front of the camera, dressed in pajamas but no signs of fatigue anywhere.

You visibly huff, but only mirth flickers through your eyes as you look directly into the camera. It doesn’t last long as your eyes travel over to the camera feed and now you’re just looking at yourself as you begin to talk.

“Alright, so uh. Yadda yadda yadda, I planned to manually enter and type all of this out, but… I thought why not record it all in a log along the way? Fun, huh?”

You trail off on that thought, mumbling something about ‘well, that’s what my therapist said, anyways. Ah, wait, I don’t have her yet… mm, should probably look into that…’.

“Anyways, this is day one of Project Renaissance, or as it’s also known as, Project Get-Our-Shit-Together-Before-We-Get-Our-Lives-Rocked-By-Thanos.”

You shrug nonchalantly, but to the keenest of eyes, there was a stiffness in your posture when you mentioned Thanos. It was brief, but present nonetheless as it quickly dissipates from your shoulders.

“And, we don’t have to worry about any of this being leaked or whatever, because this is all on my sweet DAHLIA’s servers! Say something to the camera.”

“Something to the camera,” a dull female voice spoke up from the ceiling, Australian accent thick.

“Charming,” you purse your lips as if to hold back a smile, “Anyways, where was I…”

“Oh, yeah- Renaissance. So this is gonna be a long, long project with a bunch of other mini-folders inside.”

You swiped your hands across the air, slicing through as blue holograms appeared in front of the camera. There were already dozens of folders, but the camera catches only a few of their names.

‘Firecracker’, ‘Thunderpants’, and ‘Accords’ are some that are visible.

“I just wanted to get on base with what we have so far, but it’s not much considering it’s, y’know, only day one.”

You mumble something incoherent away from the camera before gazing back up on the camera feed, not quite looking directly into the camera itself. To the left of you, there’s a hologram of a checklist that you occasionally glance through as you resume speaking.

“Main objective of this project: prevent Thanos from decimating half of the universe, preferably killing him in the process. Side objectives: keep the Avengers together, current members optional, new members in need nonetheless. Contenders in another file.”

You glance at the checklist.

“Current objective: locate and capture Barnes, codename Winter Soldier, and any other Winter Soldiers, and sift through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database for traces of HYDRA.”

“Sidenote: we, ah, started the search yesterday- for Barnes. So far, it’s… Not really promising. I, uh, initially gave the timeline to find Barnes a few days max, but man, I’m starting to doubt that…”

You sigh, scratching at your arm irritably.

“Whatever…” you mumbled.

“Anyways.”

“I, ah, I don’t know for sure what I want to do with Barnes, but considering that I’ll probably have more than ample time to think about it, I’m not worrying about it too much. As for his triggers…”

You glanced at an adjacent folder, almost contemplating.

“I know of one person who can help, but I’m not exactly putting too much hope for that one. So.”

“We might have to resort to B.A.R.F. when it’s ready. DAHLIA, who- who was on that case again?”

“Mr. Quentin Beck and his team, doll.”

“Ah, yeah, Beck. Cute, tall, big ole’ eyes?”

An image hologram pops up in front of you, presumably of Quentin Beck.

“I don’t know about ‘cute’, but in essence? Yep.”

You ignored DAHLIA’s apparent judgment in your taste in men.

“Gotcha. Well, there’s that we can resort to if need be. Um…”

“Well, as for HYDRA, that’s… That’s a whole ‘nother can of worms right there.”

You sighed, and this is the first inkling of exhaustion you’ve shown so far. You deflate a little bit and spend the next few minutes staring at something behind the monitor in silence. You’re deep in thought before your phone buzzes.

Then, the video feed cuts off.

…

… 

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “okay don’t do that weird thing where you record everything i say and make it the title, please dahlia anyways uh i wanna name it uh huh um shit dahlia i swear to god stop doing that”, date created: 11-02-2013.]

…

…

“Wow, alright, I was watching the last log last night and man did I literally got nothing done. I mean, it was the first day, but still! Still, I fucking…”

Your voice trails off as you walk away from the screen, holding what appears to be a big box filled with papers and envelopes. You set it down in the far corner of the lab, still talking but your words are unintelligible as the microphone is too far to hear anything.

“... And yet here I am, just- ugh!”

You dropped your body onto the chair and plopped right in front of the screen. Your hair is disheveled, undersuit still on. There’s a bruise forming on your forehead, but you don’t really seem to care about your messy appearance.

You pointed a lazy finger towards the corner, a small grin as you try to line it up with the camera feed.

“That’s fanmail- apparently someone has been neglecting to read those… It’s me, I’m someone.”

You chuckle to yourself.

“Mm, I’ll read myself to sleep later, probably hang all of it up on a mural wall somewhere. Or the ceiling, that works too. Anyways. Just went on a, shall I say, self-imposed mission. It was, ah, to look for Barnes.”

You sheepishly smiled.

“‘Was followin’ a lead from DAHLIA, a potential hit marker, but- it was just a- a barely running base. Nothin’ new, but- it’s nice. To fly and- and fight in the suit every now and then.”

You shake your head.

“Not the- the current one. The nanite one. It’s- god, I miss it, you know?”

Your eyes glaze over, a faraway glint in your eyes as you paused your ranting. This goes on for about 24 more seconds before you started talking again, voice smaller.

“I did this thing, with dad. After the whole, um, Accords bullshit. He- we would get into our suits- the newer models, and just… Go at each other. No repulsors, no nothing. Just raw, brutal punches in the suit. No holding back, no making sure the other one’s okay after a good blow… Just… We just hailed on each other, you know?”

“I mean, obviously we weren’t trying to kill each other, but sometimes it… It felt close, y’know? Nothing personal, but… It was primal, sometimes. Sometimes he’d knock my jaw a little too loose and all I’d ever see would be red… It was wild, I’ll tell you that.”

“But- we only did it here and there, considerin’, y’know. He’s-... He was getting older, and I was… getting busier.” You sighed. “No one knew about it either; god knows how Rhodey or ma’ would react to us- just- beating the shit out of each other.”

You smiled, though it looked more like a grimace.

“It was fun, though. Get the frustrations out. Work on our weaknesses. Show no hesitation. It’s…”

There’s a sudden hollowness in your eyes as your face shifts, an expression years older than you were currently. Haunted, almost. You shake your head, whatever traces of your former self now gone as you smiled- though, there was nothing genuine to that smile at all.

“... Not important. Anyways.”

You shifted in your seat, clearly uncomfortable at the stagnant air despite being the only one in the room.

“So yeah. HYDRA. I took out everyone at that base. Nothing left. Downloaded whatever they had, wiped it, then burnt it to a crisp. The usual, nothing new, nothing important…”

You shrugged, “It’s harder to get the Avengers to look the other way when I’m doing these solo missions. I’m pretty sure Natasha’s getting sus about this… Nothing tied to me, but. Still.”

“But yeah, DAHLIA’s sifting through the information right now.”

Your eyes shift to the left, presumably a screen with said findings loading in.

“So-o... There was… There was that.”

You paused, trying to gather your thoughts when your eyes flickered.

“Ah- but to continue to the last log; HYDRA… Man. HYDRA, HYDRA, HYDRA. Always a pain in the ass.”

You scowled.

“I thought it was gonna take me a little longer to sift through the S.H.I.E.L.D. database, but surprisingly enough, it was… Kind of easy to sort out HYDRA and Not-HYDRA.”

You scratched your head in confusion.

“Back a couple of years ago- or, well, in… Next year, actually. June? Well- Team Cap is gonna go haywire on S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA and Project Insight and basically dump all that good-good, and we,” you noted with an oddly bitter tone, “were left to clean up the mess they made. And, well, it exposed a lot of active field agents. Shit, man.”

You scrubbed your face with your hands, which were marred with fresh scratches and burn marks. It’s unclear where they came from, but you don’t seem bothered by it.

“So many agents were killed in that stunt. God…”

Your voice is muffled, but still audible.

“There was one agent… Codename Acai. Sweet gal, ‘cording to her co-workers. Little unhinged, but she got the work done. She… She was undercover in North Korea for a few years. Got busted by the data dump. And…”

“God, they just…”

You sighed gruffly, refusing to look anywhere near the camera.

“It was rough, finding her body. Kept looking for her even months after the whole Ultron bullshit. By the time we got to her, it took us months to I.D. her body- even worse? North Korea already had her death listed as suicide under her fake name. Bullshit! Parts of her was missin’, how the fuck is that a suicide?! Both feet, gone. Her sternum was nowhere to be found. How- I just…!”

You gritted your teeth.

“I just don’t understand what they were thinking when they pulled that dumbass stunt to release all of that- that sensitive data…! I thought- oh, maybe, maybe, HYDRA had already corrupted a large part of S.H.I.E.L.D., that’s why they did it!”

“But no! No- do you know how much of S.H.I.E.L.D. was infected? How much?!”

You pinched your fingers together and squinted at the camera with a visceral smile.

“6 percent. That 6 percent accounted for a majority of the higher-ups. Not lower field combatants. Not the technicians. The higher-ups.”

“6 percent of S.H.I.E.L.D. was HYDRA,” you hissed, “yet they still endangered the other 94% active and non-active members! Fuck- it was a miracle! A miracle, that we got to any of the agent’s family that had been documented before HYDRA or anyone else could!”

“It’s a miracle that the Bartons even made it- and we didn’t even know about them until Ultron! It’s just-... Fuck!”

Growling, you knocked your head against the metal table in front of you. The camera shakes a little bit.

“God, Romanoff, what the fuck were you thinkin’? You were supposed to keep them in check, not… Not be so goddamn stupid!”

You growled under your breath, taking a moment to breathe. You lifted your head up with a neutral face and exhaled.

“Whatever. What’s done is done. I’ve- I’ve had years to simmer over it and I’m- I’m not. Angry. I swear I’m not. It’s done, it happened. But. Hopefully in this timeline… It won’t happen. Not like that, at least.”

There was a peculiar glint in your eyes as you started reaching into one of your cabinets.

“And I know just how to stop it.”

You raised your eyebrows with your eyes closed, reluctant to repeat what you had already said.

“Again, sifted through S.H.I.E.L.D. for HYDRA. Got the information. And it is all. In. Here.”

You pulled back up to reveal a small black USB flash drive. There’s nothing of interest to it on the outside, but it’s what’s inside that really, really counted.

“This bad boy has all the shit that HYDRA’s been skeemin’ all up in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s system. I- well.”

“I actually have 2 of these, but, ah. One’s already on the way to ole’ Saint Nick.”

You brushed a hand through your hair. It’s grown quite a bit and in need of trimming.

“Because if there’s one thing I know for sure about S.H.I.E.L.D.? Nick ain’t apart of HYDRA, no matter how much of a scumbag he is. And, really… I’d like to think I trust him to handle this situation properly- more so than anyone else but me and my dad. Obviously, dad can’t- he can’t ever know about… About this.”

Despite referring to the USB in your hands, your words were heavy nonetheless. It wasn’t just the flash drive you were referring to.

“So Fury’s getting the other bad boy. Worth millions, and 2 of a kind, too.”

“Well, I sent it to the bastard. Hopefully, he doesn’t trash it, or whatever. Soon.”

You hummed. Setting the USB down on the table, you made direct eye contact with the camera and posed with pouty lips. You threw up a peace sign ironically and grinned.

“Well, that’s that. Oh, and Clint vomited on Steve’s clothes yesterday. Not important, but funny nonetheless. Deuces!”

…

…

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “dahlia we don’t have the fucking time for this get the damn suit”, date created: 11-29-2013.]

…

…

“Hi.”

You’re still in your school clothes that day, a simple sweater and sweatpants. Your letterman is hanging on the back of your seat for going to the robotics competitions your school had. 

The timestamp also indicates that you had just gotten out of school too- though, it is considerably dark outside. Snowing that day, most likely. And still is, probably.

“So, uh. Fury got the message, I think.”

You spun around in your chair, knees up to your chest.

“Usually we’re getting harassed by him every now and then to do missions, but Natasha just came home yesterday sayin’, like. ‘Fury’s put my mission on hold’, or something.”

“He doesn’t know I sent it to him, I think. But. Thing’s’re getting pret-ty serious now, huh.”

You shrugged.

“Well, whatever. I didn’t come here to talk about Fury, though. I came here to update on, ah, a few things.”

“I know I haven’t touched base with- well, you,” You gave the camera a saucy wink, “about a lot of my projects so far. So, here are a few that I’ve been thinking of implementing.”

A picture is pulled up from your desktop. It’s an aerial shot of a brunet talking to his friend, both of a juvenile appearance. There’s another picture, a 3D generated image of a red and blue suit.

“So. Peter Parker.”

Sigh.

“I… really, really, really don’t want him to be involved in any of this. No superhero bullshit, no nothing.”

“He’s young. He doesn’t- doesn’t need to be involved with this mess. I just… I just want him to have a normal life.”

‘One I never got to have; one he’ll never get to have,’ goes unsaid, but you continued on.

“But… By my reasoning, I am… Hypocritical in my justification.”

You paused, frowning as you look at the picture long and hard. When you speak up, your voice is noticeably quieter.

“He was just as old as I was when I started this whole Apex mantle thing. Hell, he might’ve been older. Will be older. And quite frankly, I can’t stop him even if I wanted to. He’ll still do it, still go out and fight and just-...”

“He’ll do it unsupervised, and that’s what scares me the most.”

You mumble under your breath, “He reminds me too much of… Me. Young, dumb, and reckless as all hell.”

You shook your head and pulled up another file. This one’s a text file, and it’s detailed enough to go on for pages and pages, but clearly there’s more to be added.

“So, what I’m hoping to do is… Start an internship program. Start- start him early. The sooner, the better control he’ll have over his powers. The better experience he’ll get. And, of course, with the additional benefits of, well. Being in an actual internship program.”

“What that will intel? I don’t know. But I think… I think both the students and SI can- can benefit off of that.”

“So, that was one of my projects. Another one is about, well.”

You swallowed hard for this one.

“Extremis.”

You held your hands up as if trying to halt the camera- even the viewer- from freaking out.

“Listen, look, I know, I know- ‘oh, Extremis is already stabilized, oh, why mess with it even more, oh, just leave it alone it’ll make you explode into a thousand firecrackers, oh’- I get it. I know.”

“But… Listen to me.”

“I really, really do think Hansen was onto something with Extremis, no matter how evil and fucked up it is now. It… With a little bit of love and care, I really do think it can help. Maybe not- not on a mass-production scale- or for commercial use, period- but still.”

You licked your lips, eyes flickering to a picture of you, Tony, and Rhodey eating ice cream on your desk.

“I… It can be a last resort type of thing. It- it has the potential. So, so much potential.”

You chuckled to yourself.

“Well, it’s not like you- whoever else that isn’t me that’s watching this- can convince me otherwise. Don’t worry, no live subjects. No evil scientist bull, just… Just trust me, please.”

It’s unclear who exactly you’re referring to, but it’s as if there’s a specific person you’re trying to plead with despite knowing that no matter what, this footage- along with the rest- will be forever condemned to rest in the grave that is DAHLIA’s protected database.

“So, yeah. Working a little bit on Extremis. Um, I wish I could say that the next projects are more- light-hearted, but. Not really, no.”

“I’m… Well, there’s no easy way to say this: I’m thinking of filing a class-action lawsuit on Ross.”

And with that bombshell of an announcement to the camera, the Avengers alert rang across the building.

“Fuck- DAHLIA, end it- put me on comms!”

…

…

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “i am so mad i didn’t think about this before dahlia change the mission objective”, date created: 12-18-2013.]

…

...

“Would you believe me if I said I completely forgot about these whole video log things?”

Your back is turned to the camera, completely shirtless and hair dripping wet. You’re texting someone, and you’re typing a little bit furiously. The camera catches the other person sending a cat picture. You huff, but turn your phone off and set it to the side.

“So. Ross.”

You shake your head.

“Sorry to drop a bombshell like that on you,” you quietly address the camera, “then disappear on a mission, but-”

“There’s nothing concrete now. Just- it’s just an idea. I think…”

“I think Bruce would like it. There’s- there’s a lot of dirt on Ross. So much shit that can get him life, too. Maybe even death if we play our cards right, but… I want that bastard to suffer. And quite frankly, if I can get rid of him now, the better the Avengers will be in the future.”

You rolled your shoulders, a satisfying crack echoes from you and you grinned for a moment, before smoothing your face out into something more neutral. You leaned back in your chair, and take a breather.

“So, uh. It’s been… Over a month, I’d say? Since I started these whole video logs. Um… No traces on Barnes. It’s…”

You glance up at the ceiling with a pained expression.

“It’s frustrating as hell. You’d think, with access to a majority, if not all of the satellites and cameras and whatnot, we’d find him easier…”

“It’s like he’s not even doing anything, at all. No missions, no assassinations or whatever… Nothing. Nada. It’s like… It’s like he’s not even being deplo-”

You paused. It’s clear that the gears inside your head are turning. You narrowed your eyes, a smile threatening to break out as you reached towards the camera buttons.

“Sonnofabitch.”

…

…

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “i won’t let history repeat again starting with him”, date created: 12-29-2013.]

…

...

“So. I’m, uh, major update.”

Unlike the previous video logs where you were in your lab, this one is different. The camera is a lot closer to your face and from a bottom perspective as you hold the camera. 

You’ve got part of your helmet, chest plate, shoulders, gauntlets, and presumably your boots still on as your steps are heavy and clanking. There’s blood smeared across your forehead. You’re slightly out of breath as you glance at something outside of the camera’s perspective.

Around you, the view is shaky and it’s unclear where you’re walking. None of the interior decors indicates that you’re in the tower- in fact, it’s barren and empty.

You glance down at the camera view.

“Remember the last log? Well, I uh, sort of had an epiphany, if you will.”

You continue walking, but you’ve reached a door mechanism. You punch in some numbers and continue talking as the doors open wide.

“It was strange, that I got no hits of a Winter Soldier stalking around anywhere. Sure, he’s a trained spy and killer, but no one’s that slick- not even Natasha, as much as she thinks otherwise.”

You’re in an elevator now, catching your breath slightly as you drew your eyebrows together. There’s a dinging noise, indicating the floors you’re ascending- or descending, as it’s unclear what story you’re on.

“It was like there was no Winter Soldier; at least, no active one.”

“That got me thinking. He’s- what- from the 20’s? He should’ve been, say, early thirties, so 31? 32? At the time he went missing, anyways. But the thing is… Even in the future, the man looks barely in his late thirties. Barely.”

You tap your feet impatiently, boots echoing in the small space.

“But he’s been the Winter Soldier for, what, almost 70 years? Shit don’t add up.”

“So, while he’s practically responsible for so many goddamn murders, he’s probably not always… Awake. Active. I was thinking, shit, if he ain’t up and about right now, where the hell is he?”

“So I did some more digging. Found a Winter Soldier file in S.H.I.E.L.D.- er, HYDRA’s database. There’s… A bunch. Of the Winter Soldiers, I mean. But none of them were- was Barnes. Just a bunch of knock offs.”

You glance up at the floor indicator. The camera shifts and the numbers blink downwards.

 -3… -4… -5...

“But I found something interestin’. There’s a- a list. Of HYDRA bases. Had no idea what they were for, but I took a hot guess.”

“One of them was Siberia. First one I went to- no Barnes. A bunch of other Winter Soldiers, though. The failed ones.”

“I…”

There’s a moment of hesitation, unsure if you should say what you’re about to say.

“I shot them dead.”

The ball drops just as the elevator dings, doors opening as you stepped out with a confidence that doesn’t match the remorse in your eyes.

“It’s. Look, I know it- that’s fucking. Insane. Inhumane. Murder. I don’t care. It’s- it’s too goddamn dangerous, having them- alive! I don’t know if there was any- any redemption for them.”

“But in the end, they- they were willing soldiers for HYDRA. The best, even. Anyone who- who willingly works for HYDRA… I’m not too sure I can trust them.”

You growled.

“Shit, I trusted Maximoff… And look where that got us.”

“I’m not fucking risking it with them.”

You shook your head, face smoothing out so it’s only the stressed wrinkles on your forehead that’s present. Your eyes soften minutely so.

“But for Barnes… There’s a chance. He’s a goddamn POW, and… If Shuri succeeded in getting rid of the trigger words, then there’s. A. Chance.”

“And… I’m willing to take that risk with him.”

The camera shifts, staring directly at the underside of your jaw. You cough and recalibrate the camera so it’s at a better angle.

“Anyways.”

“I… I went down the list. Of the bases? I didn’t- didn’t infiltrate them per se. It’s too risky- a majority of those bases are major ones. So I just… Snuck around. Looked at the infrastructure for anything that remotely looked like a certain Winter Soldier would be in.”

You stopped walking, now staring directly at something behind the camera. Your lips are pressed in a grim line.

“And I hit the jackpot.”

You should be happy about it if you took those words out of context, but your expression is far from it. Guilt, pity, and an earthly weariness mares your eyes as you huff.

“Everybody, say hi to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.”

The camera view flips, and in the front stage center is a big chamber, similar to that of a hulk play box. But while it is smaller, the glass is noticeably thicker. In the corner, outside of the chamber, is Mark 22 standing eerily still with its glowing eyes trained on Barnes. It’s in a neutral stance, but it’s clear that it won’t hesitate to incapacitate the soldier if it came down to it.

And on the furthest wall inside the chamber is Barnes, slumped on the ground with a pool of water around him. He’s wet as well, but unconscious. He’s in his military tactical gear, too, though there are no weapons visible on him.

The microphone picks up your sigh.

“I… I don’t know what to do with him. I- I saw the fucking- freezer they kept him in, but. It was a quick operation- I had no time to get the damn thing out without them- HYDRA- noticing me. So. Guess that throws out the plan to keep him- frozen like a popsicle until further notice.”

Barnes twitches slightly, and his fingers move. There’s an audible grunt, and your breath hitches as you swerve the camera back on you. Your eyes are wide, and you throw the camera a nervous grin that’s more akin to a grimace. In the background, your suit whirs to life.

You gave a nod to the camera.

“Wish me luck.”

…

…

[Video end.]

[Play again?]

Masterlist

Tagged: @unsolvetheheckoutofit, @tonystanktheirondad, @ludwigvonbaethoven​, @fabledxmystery

[pugszler]

16, 20, and 23 for the fic asks?

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

honestly, not that much? i’m lazy lol also my fic ideas tend to be pretty ordinary so there isn’t much to research. i do have a folder in my bookmarks called “fic reference” tho and i think i have the most links saved for a sequel to one of my pacific rim fics that i had plans to write... but i never got around to it. but i basically tried to do some research on hong kong and like... date related things? i was looking up things about restaurants and cute bakeries and pretty cakes i’d never heard of before. 

other than that, i’ve actually had to do a bit of basic research about cats lmao bc a lot of my fics lately have involved cats but i honestly don’t know much about cats irl bc i’ve only had a single cat ever and he’s been here for just 5 years, so yeah, there’s still a lot i don’t really know about cats and their behavior.

20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

publishing it lmao. getting comments and kudos and praise lmao. nah, but i rlly do love when i’m actually in the WRITING ZONE and i’m able to pump out like 1k words in a single sitting. those days always feel amazing and i feel Extremely powerful. writing has been very difficult for me in the past few years due to my mental health, but i truly Want to keep writing and having fun with it and sharing happy stories with other people. <3

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

i answered this already but i can think of another one! ....i think. i thought of an answer but i’ve technically only written it once, but i DEFINITELY want to write it again and that’s my favorite au: soulmate aus. they’re my favorite thing to read but i wanna write them too! i looove seeing and thinking about all the different variations of soulmate aus! also they’re just super reassuring and self-indulgent for me bc i’m a lonely ass cheeseball who wants to find her own soulmate. 😞

ask me stuff about fic and writing!

[wulfrann]

I was tagged by @makebelieveanything ! Thank you!!

AO3 name: Silveriss

Fandoms: I’ve written for AFTG, Good Omen, and SNK (a long, long time ago), but I will read fanfics from many more fandoms, including but not limited to Carry On, 911 Lone Star, LOTR, Yoi, Haikyû!!, and HP.

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort is my jam. I’m very weak for single parents AU and all those kidfics, and any kind of slow burn in a modern AU is always great. Also fantasy AUs. Any kind of fix-it fics, too! I’m just a big softie.

Number of fics: I have 32 works posted, but only 15 of them are fanfictions (the rest is original work). I have many, many more wips in my personal folders.

Fic I spent the most time on: Probably Whispers in the leaves, shadows in the moonlit night, because that’s the first plot-driven fic I’ve finished. But I have some wips that I’ve been working on intermittently for several years now.

Fic I spent the least time on: I think that’d be Truce, which was written in the same day I got the idea for it.

Longest Fic:  Whispers in the leaves, shadows in the moonlit night as a standalone fic, but the When the frost is in bloom series is longer if you put all the parts together.

Shortest Fic: Brighter Than Snow is my shortest standalone fic!

Most hits/kudos/comment threads/bookmarks: Winter never lasts forever has the most kudos, bookmarks and comments! Words given, words breathed has more hits though.

Total word count: 152 972! 

Favorite fic I wrote: Winter never lasts forever is, imo, the best (finished) thing I’ve ever written.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I’ve got plans to keep expanding the When the frost is in bloom series! Also the TFC Fantasy AU series, which only has one-shots for now but will eventually have a main, multi-chaptered fic.

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on: I’ve been working on the next chapter for As you watch the snow fall, and it has some domestic fluff and Nicky finally getting to meet Neil.

Here’s a snippet:

Pale sunlight bounces off the snow piled up on the balcony and inundates the room. Neil has left the window clear of frost today; he absorbs the morning rays with his eyes closed.

    “If you were a cat, you would purr,” comes Andrew’s voice from just below his neck.

    Neil trails lazy fingers through the layers of Andrew’s curls and smiles. “So would you.”

    A noncommittal grunt answers him. Neil lowers his fingers to scratch at the back of Andrew’s neck, and turns it into a sigh. Andrew’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into Neil’s chest; the hand that was holding up his book drops upon the couch.

    He’s sitting curled up in Neil’s lap, with his feet up on the cushion and his back to the armrest, Neil’s right arm draped across his middle. They’ve been dozing in the living room since the scent of warm coffee coaxed Andrew out of bed. Finding a good position took a few minutes, but Neil would be lying if he said it wasn’t worth it.

    He presses his fingertips to the sides of Andrew’s nape, and massages a low hum out of him.

I tag @kittyfeathersflying !

[quickspinner]

Tag Game: Authors

Tagged by: @freedom-shamrock​

Author name: I’m quickspinner here, on AO3, and on fanfiction.net (although I haven’t been posting the new stuff there, because I’m lazy. there is some older stuff for other fandoms that’s not on AO3)

Fandoms I write for: Currently, Miraculous Ladybug. In the past, I think my Dragon Age and The Croods fics are the only ones that made it to publication

Where I post: Here on Tumblr and at AO3

Most popular one-shot: Oof well it’s kind of short to qualify as a one shot but Smile got by far the most reblogs. The runner up is probably Out of Your League. More recently, the response to Cupid was pretty wild. 

Favorite story I wrote: I think Finding Harmony, with Second Chance being the runner up (have I told y’all I am super bad at committing to a single answer?). Although honestly, I like most of what I’ve done. I have periods of what was I thinking, I’m such a hack, that was awful, but by and large I write the stories I want to read and so I enjoy them all. Once I quit trying to write the things I thought people wanted (angsty things with lots of plot!) and just started writing the things I wanted to read (fluffy happy things about dorks being hopelessly in love, with lots of cuddles and some smooching) my enjoyment of both the writing itself and the end results skyrocketed. 

Story I was nervous to post: Dude I’m always nervous to post. I would like to remind you all that I am really a huge dork and I’m not remotely cool at all and I am anxious about everything, all the time (so please don’t ever be afraid to leave asks or comments or whatever, because I promise the idea that I could be cool enough for anyone to be intimidated by me is absolutely laughable to anyone who has ever met me). The first few stories were the hardest (see aforementioned hangups about what I thought people wanted to be reading vs what I was writing). After that it got easier. I think Something Just Like This was actually the worst, because I feel like people have been really sensitive about character criticism of any kind lately whether it’s justified or not, so I was kinda freaking out about whether what I was doing would come across the way I wanted. I got nothing but love, though, so I deeply appreciate everyone that read it and, to be honest, I deeply appreciate anyone who read it, decided it wasn’t for them, and clicked away instead of leaving hate.

How do I choose titles:  Frequently with a great deal of agony. In fact there are many times when I’m sitting at the AO3 post new work form and I’m like crap, this needs a name. 

Do you outline? Rarely. There’ve been a couple of stories where I needed to, just to sort my thoughts out, but a) most of what I write is short b) I don’t do a lot of complex plotting. 

Complete: 22 on AO3 and 14 on fanfiction.net (although several of those are one shot collections, so if you count each one shot separately that total goes up a lot)

In progress:  13. This number’s actually a little fuzzy, because some of them are barely started and some of them are nearly finished, and I also have a folder I call the scratchpads of thoughts that aren’t organized enough to be upgraded to fic-in-progress, and some things in the wip folder might get demoted to scratchpad if I don’t get far enough on them. I’d say of those 13, maybe 7 are things you might see in the next few months, and most of those are little meet cute fics for I’ll Never Not Know You.

Do you take prompts? Kinda yes, kinda no? I like collecting meet cute ideas, so those are always welcome as long as it’s understood that I may not get them written right away, or at all. You can drop them in my ask box or in the comments for I’ll Never Not Know You. Other than that, I don’t usually take unsolicited prompts. If I am in need of inspiration or I need to dump some energy, I’ll ask for prompts and then I do my best to fill them within that short time. 

Upcoming project I’m most excited about: Beautiful Dreams is the big one I’m excited about right now. I’ve previewed it a few times on WIP Wednesday and SSS. It’s a Lukanette no-powers single parent/music teacher AU in its simplest terms, and of course it’s a fluffy love story, but it’s also kind of about loss, moving on, and how sometimes your dreams don’t turn out the way you expected.

It’s a bit ambitious for me which is a little scary; short and fluffy is my comfort zone and when it starts to get long I get nervous, but I’m loving it so much and I hope you will too. Right now I’m expecting about 6, possibly 7 chapters, and the first 3 are pretty much done, and I have some work done on the other three. I don’t generally post until I’m at least halfway through, because I don’t ilke to post things I can’t finish. I want to get some more of Chapter 4 fleshed out, but hopefully you’ll see the first chapter sometime in the next month. 

Tagging but you are under no obligations to participate: @livrever, @justknitstuff, @verfound (but no pressure friends)

[queenbirbs]

what if the closest we get to the moment is now | Ethan Ramsey x MC

WC: 10k+

Rating: Mature

Content: N*FW, contains semi-graphic medical scene (nothing too bad, but I don’t know everyone’s level of comfort with these sorts of things)

Summary: An OH AU where everything is a little bit different, but also very much the same; or, Ethan is an ER attending and MC is a paramedic, but they still manage to fall in love.  Title taken from Katie Herzig’s Closest I Get. 

+ + +

He sees her three times before he learns her name. 

The first time is at the intersection of State and Congress, which he approaches with that tight feeling in his chest. It’s the feeling that only comes from jogging the three-mile route from his apartment, where he goes up around the government center and back down Bowdoin, before taking a lap around the Common. Then there’s the historic facade of King’s Chapel and the less-historic Chipotle on the corner, where he can choose to extend his route by taking Water Street up to Congress and circle back to his apartment. 

Which is the route Ethan takes this morning with Jenner at his side, dawn slowly approaching as the sky shifts from that deep blue to a hazy gray. 

The only light comes from the streetlamps and the headlights of the delivery vans and buses that idle at the major intersections. State and Congress being one of those -- his last one, actually, before he crosses to return home. 

The appearance of another jogger at the intersection isn’t strange. Though he purposefully goes for his runs before five a.m., he knows he isn’t the only one with the same exercise preferences (or the same work schedule). There are others he sees along his route sometimes, though he doesn’t know their names, as he’s never been inclined to strike up a conversation while waiting on a light change before. 

The woman in front of him is much the same; he spots the earbuds at the same time he hears the humming. She paces back and forth on the sidewalk, trying to keep her heart rate up. Ethan moves closer to the curb and into her peripheral, making her aware of his presence so he won’t frighten her by hovering behind. 

“Morning,” she says to him, offering a quick smile. He returns the motion, suddenly unsure of himself, as he finds that he wants to say something back. 

The light changes, cutting off any chance of a reply. 

And then they’re crossing and he’s watching the way her ponytail swings in the beam of the headlights and the white piping down her leggings that frames tall, shapely legs that end in a pair of bright orange sneakers and then, suddenly, they’re on the other side. 

Where she goes right and he goes left.

He thinks of her once more that day, hours into his shift, before deciding that he probably won’t see her again. 

+ + +

The second time he sees her is at Derry Roasters. 

It’s the local coffee shop down from the hospital that he frequents when, instead of pulling out every follicle of hair one-by-one, he goes to drink expensive lattes to escape the doe-eyed nuisances that are his interns. 

Ethan is nearing the front of the line when he spots her at the back. Instead of running gear, she’s dressed in a black T-shirt and navy cargo pants, clearly dressed down out of some uniform. Her hair is pulled back in that same ponytail; she runs her fingers through it, her wide eyes giving off an overwhelmed vibe. It’s been years since he’s actually looked at the scrawling cursive above his head, having ordered the same drink so often that the baristas automatically charge him for a Vienna as soon as he steps up to the counter. In theory, he could take his drink and get back in line, sidle up to her, and offer his suggestion. Maybe she would chat with him, maybe he would get to know her name.

Maybe he would promise to see her again to share a coffee at a later date. 

Before he can test such a theory, a young man darts into the shop and straight over to her. Ethan is trying to place where he’s seen the man before, but then the bartisa calls out his order and his pager is buzzing and he’s shoving down the disappointed feeling in his chest when he sees the young man’s head dip down to whisper in the woman’s ear.

He takes his coffee and goes, thinking of her twice more that day, and hopes that he’ll see her again.

+ + +

The third time he sees her is in the ER.

There’s a traffic jam of stretchers in the receiving bay, filled with the hypochondriacs or the psych evals or the people who called a closed doctor’s office, only to be told by the secretary’s voicemail to call 911 or visit the ER if any of their (usually minor) problems persist. Several paramedics are holding the wall, as if helping out in any way would inconvenience them. 

Ethan is helping a nurse transfer in the fourth victim of a six-car pile-up when that ponytail catches his eye. 

Down the hall, the young woman is leaned over a stretcher, one hand on an older man’s shoulder to keep pressure on a bandaged wound, while the other rests on his arm. She says something to the man, whose worried frown ticks up into a half-smile as he nods. Standing on the opposite side of the stretcher is the same young man from the coffee shop, who Ethan now recognizes as Rafael, one of their regular paramedics. 

The nurse takes over the accident patient and Ethan returns to the line, shuttling the new patients in and signing off for the intakes. It takes him six minutes to get to Rafael and his new partner, who immediately launches into her patient’s status. 

“Henry here took a fall, he’s got a five-inch gash along his clavicle.” 

Ethan takes the copy of the report she hands him and assists with transferring Henry over to a bed. His gaze flickers down to her uniform where, pinned above her heart, a nametag reads S. McTavish. Before he can think of a way to find out her first name, a code blue sounds from on down the hall.

Rafael and McTavish are long gone by the time Ethan steps back out into the receiving bay, where another nurse has joined to help the first, leaving him to resume his duties. 

It isn’t until hours later that he remembers the copy of the report he handed off to the nurses station. Rifling through the intake folder, he retrieves the document and is pleased to discover her first name at the top, written out in neat print: Sloane.   

+ + +

As if the universe has designated him a break, he starts to see her everywhere. 

Aside from the daily drop-bys in Edenbrook’s ER, he runs into her at the market one Thursday, and then the liquor store that same afternoon. Their interactions are short -- awkward in that way that barely-colleague ones are -- though he manages to make her laugh at his terrible joke in the wine aisle, so he considers the whole trip a success. He runs into her again at Carson Beach, where he runs Jenner so the Boxer-mutt mix will release some of that pent-up energy she’s infamous for. That breathless feeling hits him again when he sees her pass by on the HarborWalk, then circle back around and jog towards them across the sand, her orange sneakers kicking up little clouds behind her. 

“Doctor Ramsey, hi!” she greets, flicking back the long rope her hair is braided into. Her skin glistens with sweat from her mid-morning run. 

“Good morning, Miss McTavish,” he returns, keeping his eyes pointedly on the flush staining her cheeks and not letting it drift downwards to the shorts she wears that look as if they were sculpted on. He wouldn’t know, of course, as he certainly wasn’t checking out her backside when she jogged past earlier. 

“And who might this be?” Sloane is already kneeling, so he doesn’t get a chance to stop her before Jenner knocks her down into the sand. 

“Jenner, off!”

His dog perks her head up at the command, then resumes her wet kisses across Sloane’s neck. From underneath the mound of wet dog comes laughter, which eases some of his anxiety. 

“Oh, she’s just a big ol’ girl, aren’t cha? Aren’t cha?” Sloane shoulders Jenner off her so she can sit up, ruffling her dark fur where it’s coated in sand. Ethan tosses a frisbee down towards the water and uses the distraction to help her back onto her feet. 

“I’m sorry, she usually isn’t--” he cuts himself off with a sigh. Sloane follows his gaze and starts chuckling at his dog, who has abandoned the frisbee and is now trying to chase down a clump of seaweed in the water. “Actually, she’s a real pain in the ass. But I am sorry she knocked you over. I’m out here to tire her out so she’ll behave.”

Sloane flaps a hand at him, quieting his apology. 

“Don’t worry, my dog Relay is the same way.” 

Ethan watches his own dog give up on the seaweed and wade back onto the shore, trying to think up a response. “I’m from South Carolina,” she continues to explain. “About an hour outside of Hilton Head, so I take him to the beach as much as I can. Except for when I went to college in Columbia.”

“What did you study?”

“Pre-med. And then I went to Northwestern for med school, but that didn’t work out. So, I thought I’d try Boston out for a while, see how the north coast will treat me.” 

He wants to ask how she went from studying medicine in the Windy City to responding to heart attacks on the east coast, but can’t come up with a way to do so that would be polite.

“How are you liking Boston so far?” he asks instead.

Her gaze leaves the stretch of blue water in front of them to meet his own, her mouth rounding into a smile. Standing this close underneath the bright sun, he can see the freckles that dot her nose. They fan out in small strokes across her cheeks. 

“It’s interesting.” 

“Just ‘interesting’?” he teases, shifting his stance in the warm sand, which brings him a few inches closer. Sloane doesn’t move away, though. Instead, her shoulders roll in a lazy shrug as her smile widens. 

“Jury’s still out on a final verdict. For now, interesting.” 

“Well, if you need any recommendations, let me know. Though,” he gestures to the beach surrounding them, “I can see you already know some of the sweet spots.”     

“Thanks, Ramsey. I might just do that.”

“Of course. And it’s -- you can call me Ethan.”

“Okay, Ethan. Then you can call me Sloane. Deal?”

“Deal.”

+ + +

He doesn’t see Sloane again until the next Thursday, and even then their moments together are a few, too-brief moments in the ER. 

The Fourth of July weekend keeps both of them up to their eyeballs in emergencies. He’s starting to see why Doctor Mirani always insists on taking the next week off. Just when he thinks he’s seen it all, someone manages to stick a firework in a new orifice. 

When his shift is reaching its eleventh-hour, the receiving bay mysteriously empties, and the waiting room starts to clear out. It is, of course, when one of the interns from diagnostics uses the Q-word, which sends a shockwave of groans through all the staff. True to the nature of the universe, calls from emergency dispatch flood in about a ten-car pile-up in the tunnel. Ethan pushes off the nurses station to prepare for the oncoming storm when Kendra, his charge nurse, hangs up the phone. 

“Dispatch is sending us a few that Mass Kenmore couldn’t take.”

Ethan scoffs, biting his tongue from making a rude comment about the rival hospital. 

“What’s on the menu, then?” he asks, reaching over the desk for his coffee. 

“A tractor-trailer hit an ambulance,” Kendra relays with a frown. “They’re sending over the two medics and the driver to us.” 

The coffee in his mouth suddenly feels like lacquer, thick and cloying in his throat as he swallows. 

“Did they say what company the ambulance was with?” 

Kendra shoots him a curious look at the question, obviously wanting to know why he cares, but she’s been working alongside him almost as long as he’s been at Edenbrook. She can tell when he’s going to keep mum, especially when it comes to gossip. 

“No,” she finally says, “sorry.” 

The pile-up victims arrive first, with their herniated discs and second-degree facial avulsions and grade-three contusions -- enough to keep him busy, hopping from bed to bed to oversee the interns as they fumble about. 

Then he’s back at the nurses station to book the avulsion into the next-available OR, while also sending a queasy-looking intern to the bathroom and performing another sweep of the immediate area for any familiar paramedics, when a voice sounds over his left shoulder. 

“You’re a regular Mark Greene, huh?” 

The anxiety in his chest ebbs away. Relief rises and crests across his shoulders, which ease down when he turns to see Sloane, her hands tucked into the pockets of her EMS jacket, leaning against the counter next to him. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Her mouth opens to contradict him, then abruptly closes as she runs a critical eye over his form. He resists the urge to straighten under the sudden scrutiny. 

“I pegged you as a man who prefers the classics, as opposed to HIPPA-violation hook-up primetime, but,” her shoulders bounce in a quick shrug, “we all have our guilty pleasures.” 

Ethan clears his throat. Then, for good measure, clears it again. 

“I can assure you that I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, come on -- you can’t tell me you’ve never watched a single episode of ER or Grey’s. There’s nothing more entertaining than tearing a show like that apart.”

A nurse interrupts to get his signature on a report, giving him a chance to steer the conversation away from his watch history of medical dramas. 

“Can I ask why you’re loitering in my ER in the first place?” Following the motion of her elbow, Ethan finally notices Rafael sitting in the corner. One of his interns is suturing up a wound on her partner’s waist, while several of the other interns stand around and ogle the young man’s physical attributes. They scurry off to the far corners of the department when he reminds them that drooling is not a part of their job description. 

“Superman got a little banged up earlier,” Sloane explains, concern flitting across her face. “One of the walls buckled in when we were retrieving the other two medics from their rig. It’s like the thing was held together by spot welds and promises.”      

Although ambulance construction isn’t his expertise, he is rather gifted in the art of observation. Which is how he knows that Rafael wasn’t the only one injured on the job, if the way Sloane is favoring her right side is any indication. 

“Have you been seen to?” he asks, biting back the urge to roll his eyes when she seems surprised at the question. 

“Oh, no -- it’s just a scratch, don’t worry.” 

She wavers under his gaze, the one he uses to quietly bully patients into telling the truth. Within a minute, she’s hopping up onto an empty bed. The wince when she moves to take off her jacket tells him that his instincts were correct. Just below the cut of her sleeve is a four-inch laceration that she’s covered with two loops of gauze and a scrap of medical tape. 

He busies himself by tending to the wound, trying to ignore the heat of her body and the little hitches of her breathing when he applies the antiseptic. This close, he can smell the coffee on her breath and the minty scent of her lip balm. His mind drifts to how such a combination would taste on his own lips, before he shoves the thought deep, deep down. When he glances up, though, he sees a similar hunger dancing through her eyes. Something base and egotistical uncurls from his chest at the sight. 

“I could’ve done all this myself, you know,” she teases, watching as he fastens a piece of tape across her new bandage. 

“Yes, I saw your handiwork,” he reminds her with a playful scoff. “Is that how they’re teaching students to bandage wounds at Northwestern?” 

Sloane laughs at the gentle barb and slips back into her jacket. 

“It’s what they teach to the ones who drop out, I guess.” She’s grinning as she says it, but her gaze drops to the floor for a brief moment, the movement telling him there must be a story there. Now isn’t the time for it, though he suddenly wishes that it were, if only to spend a few more minutes with her. 

And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, he reminds himself as he leads her out into the hall. “I’m surprised you remembered,” she says.

“Just… paying attention.” 

+ + +

Late September in Boston is his favorite. When the heat of summer has peeled away and the promise of blistering cold is still some distance away, when all of the summer tourists have flown back home and the autumn ones haven’t yet arrived. 

When the rain is more than just relief from the stagnant warmth, such as it is on this morning. The pavement is slick and dark with it, giving Ethan something to focus his attention on as he approaches the last intersection before home. Given the weather and people’s affinity to avoid it, he’s only seen a handful of runners out this morning, so he’s surprised when he spots someone already standing at the corner. Their figure is draped in a dark jacket, their hood up against the rain. It’s only because of the orange sneakers and the hound dog at their side that he knows it’s Sloane.

“Good morning.” 

She whirls around at the sound of his voice. He enjoys watching the surprise on her face shift to joy, as she moves her hood back to take him in. 

“And here I thought that Relay and I were the only ones crazy enough to be out in this mess.” Sloane gestures to the Bluetick hound at her side, who is busy sniffing Jenner’s backside. 

“No, I thought I’d start my day off by getting the both of us drenched so my apartment smells like wet dog the rest of the day.” His sarcastic remark gets a huff of laughter out of her, which makes him want to grin like an idiot. 

He doesn’t, but only just barely. 

The light changes and they jog across to the opposite corner. “Well,” he begins, trying to think of some way to continue talking to her (but without offering to follow her home, which would come across either sexist or creepy). “I hope you--”

“Do you want to get breakfast?” she asks. “I know a great place off Amherst that opens in about--” she raises her fist into the air so the jacket’s sleeve will slide back enough for her to peek at her watch, which he shouldn’t find endearing, but he does. “--ten minutes.” 

“Do they allow dogs?”

“They have a covered patio.” 

“I’m not sure if that would protect us from the rain.”

“It’ll let up.” 

Ethan glances pointedly at where the sun is struggling to break through the overcast sky. He thinks of the day ahead he’s already planned, about the laundry that needs to be done and the counters that need cleaned and the fridge that needs a purge. Then he looks back at his side where Sloane stands, who seems unable to resist ribbing him gently as she waits for an answer. “Come on, you’ll enjoy being spontaneous for once in your life. I promise.”   

Sloane is right on two counts. The first is that the place does serve great food. The second is that the rain does let up about twenty minutes after they arrive, allowing them to watch as the city around them wakes up. Lights in the law offices next door switch on; cars clog up the avenues and block the intersections; people in business attire head off to work, passing people in delivery uniforms who have already been on the clock for several hours. 

“Why did you become a paramedic?” he asks, genuinely curious to know something more personal than general shop talk or the way she takes her coffee (both topics which they covered already).  

Sloane’s eyes narrow as she chews on a piece of toast, thinking over her answer.  

“I like helping people.”

“I’m not some layman, so I’m not going to accept such a boring answer,” he tells her, and enjoys the little twitch of her lips as she gives into a grin. 

“Good, because I’m going to tell you the real reason. Or, well, the major one.” Taking a sip of her coffee, she continues, “I like the uncertainty of it. I could go on a call and help an old woman back into her bed, or I can go on a call and talk a man down from the brink, or I can go on a call and help the rescue squad cut open a burning car and pull a person from certain death.”

“You like the unknown,” he surmises. 

“Exactly!” she nods, gesturing with her fork in agreement. “I arrive to situations where everything has gone to hell, and I’m like the eye of the storm, keeping everything cool and calm and copacetic. It’s like an adrenaline rush.” 

“You would be a good ER physician.” 

She shrugs at the comment, though a flash of something passes across her face, so fleeting that he can’t put a name to it. 

“I don’t know about that -- I like being out in the field. And with my crappy luck, if I did become a doctor, I’d wind up being placed at Mass Kenmore.” She makes a face at the idea. “Then I’d have to deal with the raccoons.”

“Raccoons?” he questions. 

Her fork pauses on its way to her mouth. 

“Oh, my god!” she hisses, leaning towards him across the table. “How do you not know about the raccoons? It’s, like, an infestation over there. One of them even got into our rig once when Raf was driving and got under the pedals. We would’ve ended up on the other side of the 93-North ramp and in the river if I hadn’t pulled the e-brake.”

“In the middle of the highway?”

“There’s no shoulder on the ramp, I had no choice!” She’s giggling over the rim of her coffee cup as she defends her actions, using the cup and his silverware when he requests a recreation of the scene. 

She was right on a third count, Ethan realizes, as he watches her tale unfold, interrupting occasionally to ask for clarification. 

He is, in fact, enjoying the spontaneity of saying yes. 

+ + +

“You’re like my little Georgia peach.”

“I’m not from Georgia.”

“Oh, baby, say something else to me.” 

“Touch me again and I will strap you to this stretcher.”

“That a promise, Peach?” 

Ethan finishes checking over the fractured tibia in the fast track bay and ducks out into the hallway, having heard enough of the conversation. 

“What seems to be the problem here?” he asks. Both Sloane and a man on the stretcher next to her look up at his arrival. 

“I’m waiting on a bed to open up,” she explains, her jaw clenched tight.

“I hit my head,” the man moans pathetically, lifting a hand to touch his bandaged forehead. 

“That’s because you drank too much and ran headfirst into a parked car, Junior.”

“Oh, so you do know my name?” Junior leers up at her, abandoning his injured head to reach for Sloane again. “Say it again for me, Peachy.” 

Ethan decides it’s well past time for him to step in, doing so before Junior can get close enough to grab her. 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to keep your hands to yourself.” Ignoring the man’s drunken babbling, Ethan glances around for a resident to dump the man onto. When none appear in sight, he beckons a male nurse over to help assist with the transfer. 

“It must be my lucky day,” Junior crows as they wheel him down the hallway. “Two McDreamys all to myself.” 

Resigning himself to the harassment he’ll be dealing with for the next hour, Ethan helps the nurse get him transferred into a bed. It’s another ten minutes before he can escape to return the stretcher to Sloane, who flashes him a grateful smile. Her hand brushes against his as she takes the stretcher from him and he convinces himself that the tingling sensation across his skin must be from the carpal tunnel he’s suddenly developed. 

“Thanks again for the save, McDreamy.” With a wink, she’s off and gone, disappearing through the doors of the ambulance bay. 

Across the hall, Kendra looks up at him from the nurses station and raises an eyebrow. He orders her back to work, scoffing when all she does is smirk in response. 

+ + +

He thinks the knock at his door is something else at first. 

Four thumps against wood drift over to where he lies, slumped on the sofa. It’s his noisy neighbors, he’s sure. The music he put on returns to its full volume once the racket ceases, allowing him to sink back into himself.

The thumps sound again, somehow harsher this time. The noise gets Jenner’s attention, who trots over to the front door and sniffs. Whoever is on the other side causes her to race back over and bark excitedly at him.

“Who is it, then, Lassie?” Ethan shoves himself up out of the hole he’s burrowed into and crosses the room. 

That it’s Sloane standing on the other side of the threshold is a surprise (one of two that he’s received today, though this one is infinitely better than the other). “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might need this.” In her hand is a bottle of liquor that, upon his closer inspection as he takes the bottle from her, is his favorite brand of scotch. “Everyone is going to send flowers, but I thought I’d bring over something you’d actually use.” 

He doesn’t ask how she found out; the staff in the emergency department were well-known for their inability to keep mum on anything. The tragic diagnosis of his mentor and best friend definitely would have been the daily fodder. “Kendra gave me your address,” she explains, having somehow read his mind. Her now-empty hands wring together, then disappear into her pockets.

Ethan backs up, swinging the door wider to wave her inside. She stops just inside the entryway and succumbs to Jenner’s demand for belly rubs. He can feel her eyes on him as he goes to the kitchen to pour them each a glass. “Are you listening to cello covers of The Smiths?” she asks.

“If I knew who they were, then yes. But no, this is just an instrumental collection I selected at random.” 

“Well, at least it isn’t Patsy Cline.”         

“Good thing that you weren’t here an hour ago, then.” 

He enjoys hearing her little huff of laughter as she comes to stand next to him in the kitchen. Handing her the other glass, they sip in companionable silence for a while. The sky outside his loft mellows to a brilliant orange, the clouds piped in pinks and purples. Sloane moves to the tall windows to take in the view; the light traces the features of her profile, outlining her in gold. It isn’t just the liquor in his stomach that suddenly warms him to the core.

“Your place is really nice.” After giving the open space an assessing spin, Sloane turns back to face him. “I’m glad to see that it actually looks lived-in.” 

She moves to the bank of bookcases along the far wall, where photographs are symmetrically-spaced across the shelves. Ethan follows to study the pictures with her. There are a few from childhood, most with his older sister Allison, the two of them shoved next to each other in front of various American landmarks, their matching shirts stamped with cheesy phrases like South Dakota ROCKS! and Yellowstone National Park: Where the Wild Things Are! 

She picks up the one of them pointing back at Mount Rushmore with bored-looking faces. Ethan remembers his mother insisting on the pose while they whined about how hot it was. Just as he remembers lying in their motel room that night, listening to his parents argue about cheating out in the parking lot. He’d been too young to understand, but being the older and wiser sibling, Allison had turned on their little box TV and let Johnny Carson drown them out. 

“When I was little, I thought the mountains were naturally formed like that,” Sloane admits with a self-deprecating grin. 

“That… explains some things.” He chuckles when she whacks him in the arm with the picture frame, before she sets it back onto the shelf and eyes another one. It’s a photo of Harper, Chris, and him at a dean’s dinner party, all of them in the fanciest attire they could swing on a medical student’s budget. They’re all wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to make their mark in medicine. 

Ethan wonders what it says about him that he’s kept this photo up on his shelf, despite the fact that both of the people in it are technically his exes -- Harper being the longest and most recent, and Chris being a one-night stand that multiplied into several more before ending abruptly. He wants to believe that it shows he can remain good friends with his previous partners -- but it’s probably a testament to his lack of other friends in his life, he realizes.    

Though she’s not an Edenbrook employee, Sloane knows enough about the hospital through the gossip mill (that always seems to start in his department and then work its way through the rest of the facility) that she recognizes both faces.

“You went to school with the chief of medicine and the chief of nursing?” Her eyebrows dart up at his answering nod. “Wow, is there a fast-track placement at Columbia that I can get in on?” 

Ethan snorts over the rim of his glass. 

“Sure, if you can become one of the dean’s kids, they’ll make you chief innovation officer.” 

“I’m sensing that you’re not just making up an example here.”

“Nepotism is afoot at every hospital, but it runs rampant at Edenbrook.” 

As if shelving away the cheery turn the conversation has taken, she places the photograph back. His throat tightens at the next one down. Sloane is staring at it as well, biting at her lip, as if torn on whether or not she wants to expose the elephant in the room. “You’ve sufficiently liquored me up,” he reminds her. “Ask away.”

“That’s not why I brought--”

He waves a hand at her, cutting off her defense; he knows what she wants to know, what everyone asked him all day long at the hospital ever since the meeting this morning.  

“Ask.” 

Still, she hesitates -- but before he can demand again, she finally speaks. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Jesus, Sloane, just get to it.” 

“That was my question,” she snaps back. 

Realization washes over him. He forgets, sometimes, that she’s not one of them. She’s an outsider, looking in. She’s not interested in adding coal to the gossip mill to keep it churning; she’s not eager to know how long Naveen has or who’s going to take the now-vacant chief of emergency services position, or any of those pointless details.

She’s worried about him. It’s been so long since someone has that it takes him a moment for it to sink in.    

“Oh.” He clears his throat, then clears it again, thinking it over. Does he want to talk about his mentor and best friend and the two months he was given to live? Does he want to talk about how everyone will expect him to accept the empty seat Naveen will leave? Does he even want to give up the long, grueling hours and getting his hands dirty and the adrenaline rush of saving a patient’s life -- all so he can sit behind a desk and nod at people? “No, not really,” he admits, surprising himself with the answer. 

Sloane nods once and turns from the photo of Naveen and him, moving over to the barely-used, big-screen television. 

“Are you savvy enough to have Netflix on this, or are we gonna have to haul out the VHS player that I definitely know you have stored away somewhere?”

Brushing dust from the photograph, he prepares to respond to her smartass remark with one of his own, when she makes a weird, strangled gasping noise that has him spinning around. 

To see her holding a box set of ER season one, betrayal carved into the set of her jaw. “You have the entire series on DVD and you let me stand there that day and make a fool of myself with my excellent references?” 

“You called me a regular Mark Greene,” he defends, “and I said I had no idea what you were talking about.”

Sloane rolls her eyes as she drops down onto the couch. She reaches for one of the four remotes that seem to come with every piece of technology he buys and, without him needing to explain, turns off the music and connects to the DVD player. 

“What, I suppose you think you’re Doug Ross?” 

“Clooney’s a good looking man.” He settles down onto the couch next to her, though he gives her enough space to not make her feel crowded. “I wouldn’t be opposed to such a comparison.” 

“You realize the only way to settle this is with a marathon.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

It’s the quiet, he realizes, that must’ve woken him up. The television screen is dark, having shut off due to inactivity. With the only light spilling in from the kitchen, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the living room. Scattered across the coffee table is the evidence of their impromptu watch party: a half-eaten bowl of popcorn. a quarter of a pepperoni pizza, and two empty glasses. 

Curled up next to him is Jenner, who blinks awake to watch him collect the dishes as quietly as he can. Because curled up next to Jenner is Sloane, who has her face nestled between the cushion and a blanket he’d found for her when the Christmas episode, combined with his surround sound, made her cold. 

“Stay,” he whispers at Jenner. She wags her tail as he gets up, but obeys the command.

“I should go home,” comes Sloane’s voice, muffled against the cushion she was snoring on seconds prior. There’s that feeling again, like his heart is suddenly too big for his chest cavity to hold, when her body contradicts her words by snuggling even deeper into the blanket. 

“You can stay,” he murmurs, reaching out and tucking a piece of her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll wake you up early so you can get home and get ready before your shift.” 

“Gotta day off,” she tells the cushion, a yawn finishing out the slurred sentence. 

“Then we can go get breakfast at that place off Amherst again. Deal?”

The quiet of his living room stretches on as he waits for an answer. When none comes, he straightens and starts to head for the kitchen, sure that she’s fallen back asleep. 

And then, so soft that he almost misses it for running the water: “Deal.”  

+ + +

Annually, Boston EMS hosts a gala to raise funds for the upcoming fiscal year. 

As one of the leading hospitals in the city, Edenbrook always receives an invitation to attend. And thus far, as the emergency department attending, Ethan has always declined the RSVP, as he can’t imagine anything more mind-numbingly boring than being stuffed into the overcrowded ballroom of the downtown Marriott with the city’s elite. 

So, it’s no surprise that when Harper receives the invitation that she throws it into the trash without ever consulting with him. Honestly, he doesn’t blame her at all. It does make the whole situation rather awkward, though, when he asks her to dig it out of her trashcan so he can send in his response. 

It doesn’t take him long once he arrives at the function to find Sloane. 

She’s surrounded by her station, obvious even from a distance away due to the way they interact with each other. Ethan takes his time, though, circling the ballroom and letting himself be dragged into tedious conversations with the mayor and the police chief and every other person he didn’t come here to see. It had been their agreement, Harper’s and his, since she had rifled through her trash for the invitation after all. 

By the time he’s done with his due diligence, Sloane and her company have moved over to the long bank of windows that overlook the wharf. He takes a moment to appreciate her figure in the dress she wears, the cut of the neckline dipping just low enough to catch his attention. Her gaze flickers up to scan the room and Ethan gets the pleasure of watching her spot him. A brilliant smile spreads across her face as she waves him over, unlooping her arm through her co-worker’s to reach for him and drag him into their circle. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” she chides, her elbow playfully nudging his side. 

“It’s not typically my kind of scene.” It’s the truth, though it’s more of a deflection from the real truth, which is that he moved his schedule around and dry-cleaned his suit just to come here and see her. He hasn’t had enough drinks to spill that secret. 

“Yeah, I have to say I’m pretty surprised to see you here, Doctor Ramsey.” Rafael gestures to the throngs of guests that surround them.

“Well,” one of the women shrugs, “I’m sure this is what the ER on New Year’s looks like.”

“The people here have more clothing on than our typical New Year’s patient, but sure.” 

The group laughs at his poor attempt at humor, while Sloane shakes her head at him, though he can see her lips twitching from holding back a grin. He is soon introduced to the rest of the station: the training EMT Sienna, the station supervisor Elijah, and two of the firefighters Bryce and Jackie. 

Though Sloane always seems to have the ability to merge into any environment, Ethan is glad he gets to see her amongst her people, still in her element despite the champagne and fancy attire. Her witty attitude and infectious demeanor are like magnets, drawing in people from other stations into their circle. 

He can’t help but notice, though, that she keeps him close to her, either with a hand on his back or by looping her arm through his. Delight at her touch simmers low in his stomach over the course of the evening, a feeling he can’t blame on the alcohol this time. 

After the live auction is over and the dessert plates have been cleared away, the guests start to slowly trickle out. Their table is one of the first to leave, deciding to continue the party at a little hole-in-the-wall bar down on the wharf. It’s how Ethan comes to be standing on a rickety pier, dressed to the nines, sipping on a draft beer at ten p.m., well past his usual bedtime. 

There’s a brush of warmth against his arm. He looks down to see Sloane leaning against the railing beside him, squinting out at the dark water. 

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. Anything to help our city’s finest.” 

She gives a soft snort over the rim of her drink. 

“You’re impossible.”

“You like impossible.”

“You’re right.” She’s smiling as she says it, leaning into his arm. He moves his hand from the small of her back and wraps his arm around her shoulders, bringing her into his chest. She lets out a contented sigh.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she hums. 

“Why did you drop out of med school? From what I see on a daily basis, you’d have your pick of residencies.” 

For a long moment, there’s only the muffled pop tunes bleeding through the bar and the rhythmic churn of water against the pier and none of those things are her response. He fears that he’s finally stumbled upon the one topic that had warning signs all over it not to approach, and that he barreled right through every one of them. 

“My sister got sick,” she eventually says. “She went to the doctor on a Tuesday and she was diagnosed with stage four Hodgkin’s lymphoma by the next Wednesday. Her girlfriend split soon after and the only family we have to speak of can’t be trusted any farther than you can throw them.” She sucks in a breath, her fingers clenching around the drink she holds. “So, I moved back home and took care of her. But loan holders don’t care about why you dropped out, they want their monthly-minimum -- and with no decent-paying residency to lean on, I had to figure out something. I ended up hiring a caregiver to be with Sydney in the afternoon and evenings, so I could go work my retail job and then go to night classes to get my EMT certification. 

“I spent a year working for the local EMS and learned how to be adaptable to any situation. My partner taught me how to drive a rig at sixty miles-an-hour while taking hairpin turns on county roads. I helped deliver babies at both Texaco stations in town, fought brush fires with the volunteer fire department, waded into the river to rescue an idiot teenager who decided to try out drifting during Hurricane Matthew. I’d gone into the job to keep a foot in the door within the medical field, but suddenly…”

“...you loved it,” Ethan finishes for her. Beside him, she takes a sip of her drink and nods. 

“Exactly. Then, in the last week of January 2017, my sister died. And a week after her funeral, after all the extended family stopped coming by and pretending to care, I’m sitting in her living room on the floor, and I’m organizing her finances to start the process of selling her house. I get to this envelope that just has ‘Read this’ written across it. So, I mean, I opened it, of course -- and there’s a letter from Sydney to me that she’d written probably a month prior to her death. In it, she tells me that she’d saved up money during all those years I was away at school for us to go on a trip together. 

“But with her cancer treatment going nowhere, that was no longer an option. She wrote about how my work stories made her laugh, about how obvious it was that I loved what I did, but that I didn’t deserve to be stuck in our hometown for the rest of my life, carrying her dead weight around. Her words, mind you -- her dry humor would rival even yours. And then she went on about how she didn’t want me to be fucked over by quitting school for her, how she wanted me to continue my education, and that she wanted me to use our trip money to go back to school. So, I called up a realtor, spent three months keeping the house from looking like anyone lived in it, sold the place, and within the next week I was living in a duplex out in Lower Roxbury and enrolled in a paramedic course at Northeastern.”          

Ethan lets the story settle, lets the noises of the evening fill up what little space remains between them. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he eventually says. Pressed against his side as she is, it doesn’t take much for Sloane to dig her elbow into his ribcage. 

“Okay, I told you my story. Tit for tat, as they say.”

“No one actually says that.”

“C’mon, I know stalling when I hear it. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Wracking his brain for something to say, he spits out the first thing that comes to mind: “I wanted to be a diagnostician.” Sloane perks up at the statement, shifting to look up at him. “Before, you know, during my early days of medical school. I had it all planned out, signed up for all the seminars to attend so I could rub elbows, narrowed down my list of where I would spend my residency. All before I started my first year.” 

Dragging in a breath, he continues, “And then one day during my first year, I’m waiting for the subway, and this man falls onto the tracks. At first, no one moves. We’re all stunned into place, watching, as if we’re waiting on him to jump back up onto the platform by himself. Someone finally moves, and then a crowd runs to the edge and they’re all yelling for help and for police and for a doctor. It’s stupid, but the word ‘doctor’ finally spurred me into action. I jump down there with two other people. The man was impaled on a section of broken track, so we not only have to get him off the tracks, but I’ve also got to make sure he doesn’t bleed out in the process. There’s no time to worry over the puncture wound while we’re all in the path of a soon-to-be oncoming train, though, so we simply had to pull him off the metal. It was… intense. We carry him over to the stairs and get him laid out on the ground, where I can finally take a look at him.”

“How bad?”  

“The metal had sliced through his fourth intercostal.” Ethan brushes his fingers across the same spot on her back. “So, not only am I dealing with a chest cavity wound, but as I’m talking to the guy and trying to get information out of him, I can hear his breath getting shorter and shorter.” 

“Pneumothorax?”

“Exactly,” he nods. “And all I have on me is a backpack full of textbooks. So, I borrow this woman’s pocket knife and another woman’s bicycle pump to create a makeshift chest tube. By the time I got it up and running, the paramedics arrived and carted him off.” 

“I have a question,” Sloane interrupts. 

“Hmm?”

“You said you borrowed the bike pump… the woman really wanted it back after all that?” Ethan feels her shoulders shake with contained laughter as he scoffs at her terrible joke. “Okay, okay, sorry -- back to the story. So, is that what made you change your field?”

“It seems juvenile, looking back, for one moment like that to matter so much--”

“No, it makes complete sense!” she insists, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as she tries to think of how she wants to convey her point. “It’s like… you sit in classrooms all day and you poke at cadavers and you can name every muscle in the body, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a conductor and the patient’s life is this symphony you get to control. That rush -- it makes you take leaps you wouldn’t normally take.”  

Her eyes open in time to spot the look of contemplation on his face. There’s something else, though, in the set of his jaw, in the ragged breath he takes in. 

“Or risks that are worth taking,” he says. His other hand drops from the railing as he turns into her, gathering her even closer. Sloane moves readily, easily into the circle of his arms. “Like this.” 

He leans down and she stretches up, meeting for a kiss that goes on and on -- until there is only the sound of the surf, steady underneath their feet. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, and Ethan can feel the words against his lips. “Exactly like that.”

+ + +

“Make it harder.”

“Hmm.”

“Levator scapulae.” 

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Trapezius… supraspinatus… rhomboid major… come on, this is Anatomy 1010 stuff.”

“I’m beginning to think that we should have agreed to ‘if Sloane complains about my seduction technique, she forfeits the competition.’”  

“If you have to say the words ‘seduction technique’ out loud, then it’s probably not working anyway.” The words are barely out of her mouth before she’s squealing with laughter as Ethan digs his fingers into her ribs, tickling her there. “Inter… intercos -- intercoastal.” 

The mattress dips as he shifts, dropping down to skim his lips across the skin covering the muscle she labeled. So far, she’s gotten all of them correct -- which means he’ll have to make this game of theirs a little more difficult. Shifting again, he centers his weight onto his left hand and distracts her with a lazy kiss against her lower back. He smirks at her bored sigh. “Latissimus dorsi.”

“Mmm, no, I want you to think… deeper.” His lips touch the spot again, his tongue dipping out to taste the skin there, warm and salty sweet. Tracing the outside of her thigh with his other hand, pleasure clutches at him when he sees the muscles in her leg twitch as his fingers stroke further inward, closer and closer. 

“Iliocostalis?” Maybe it’s his imagination, but some of the confidence has left her tone, replaced by that low, breathy voice she uses -- the one that could get him to move mountains, if only his work schedule would allow it. 

“Very good,” he murmurs, his fingers dragging two heavy passes across her inner thigh, where her abductor muscle tenses at his attention. She squirms against his bed, spreading her legs a little wider, silently urging for his touch to come a little closer. Unable to resist any longer, Ethan sinks two fingers into her. He groans as she clenches around him. Shameless little gasps fall from her mouth as he slides in a third finger, her hips gently rocking against his bed as she begs.   

His name on her lips could be an aphrodisiac, could be sought after like the maca root, could convince men and women alike to traverse 3,000 feet into the mountains to seek out. It’s his luck, then, that she’s chosen to let him have the taste of her. 

He curls down over her to nip at the skin of her waist. 

“Longissi -- no, fuck -- serratus posterior inferi--”

All at once, Ethan pulls away. Self-satisfaction floods through him as Sloane groans in frustration, rolling underneath him so that she can glare directly at him.

“You know the rules,” he tells her with an easy shrug, as if he’s done with their game (as if he isn’t hard as a rock, staring down at her, pissed-off and naked in his sheets). He’s expecting her to do quite a number of things, all towards the goal of getting her way. What he isn’t expecting is for her to wrap her legs around his waist and use all of that hidden strength she possesses to tug him down on top of her, where she proceeds to kiss along his jaw and nip at his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“You tried your seduction technique,” she says. “Now I’m trying out mine.”

He feels every inch of her smile as she drags a hand across his chest, down over his hip, and around the base of his cock. Arousal is a hot poker to his sternum, drowning everything else out. His awareness tunnels until it’s only her (and her touch and her breath on his skin as she chuckles and the slick slide of her thighs against his hips and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time).  

“I think it’s working,” he chokes out, talking about too many other things that he can’t put names on yet. 

“Hmm… you know what?” she grins, beating him to the answer. “I think so, too.”

+ + +

It all starts when the waiting area empties out. A rare sight on a rainy Friday afternoon, when car accidents and ankle sprains typically fill the lobby to the brim. Such a rarity, indeed, that the interns collect at the double doors to take in the scene. 

Ethan clears his throat, enjoying the way they all spin around in a panic at the noise. 

“What’s say you all find something more productive to do with your time than stare out at the parking lot -- unless you’ve decided to abandon your medical careers and become meteorologists?”

Marisa, one of the more vocal interns, grabs a handful of her breast and tilts her head.

“There’s a thirty percent chance that it’s already raining.”

Some of the group laughs, while others glare. Ethan doesn’t bother asking about the pop culture reference and shoos them all away with threats of inventorying the supply closets if they don’t find patients to care for. 

Sidling up next to him, the pediatric specialist stares out at the rainy day. Tucked into her elbow is the clipboard she’s never seen without. The interns all think it’s full of patient charts and motivational quotes. Ethan wonders what they would think of Ines Delarosa if they ever found out that hidden between the hand-outs on SIDS and the importance of handwashing is the newspaper’s sports section. Because, aside from being the state’s leading pediatric emergency physician, Ines is also a die-hard Bruins fan -- she’s even got the season glass seats to prove it (and a ridiculous amount of memorabilia, which he only knows about because he graciously attends her Halloween party every year). 

“It is odd to see it so s-word,” she says, dodging the wrath of the ER gods by avoiding the word.

“If it keeps up, maybe you can get off early and snag a good seat at the game.”  

Ines chuckles and shrugs her shoulders. 

“A girl can dream.”  

He turns from the doors to see that the interns are following his commands when Ines makes a concerned noise. Glancing back out the window, he spots the flashing lights of two cop cars as they streak down the street, followed quickly by a third and a fourth. After the eleventh he quits counting. “There’s a whole squadron heading east,” Ines calls out to the room. “Anybody know anything?”

“I’ll check Twitter,” Kendra suggests, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Both doctors watch as the screen loads, reflected in her horn-rimmed glasses. Ethan’s stomach tightens as her dark eyes go wide behind the lenses. “Oh, shit.”

It takes seven minutes for the first victim to arrive. From then on, the ambulance bay resembles a floodgate, filling up with concussions and internal bleeding and broken bones. It’s an all-hands-on-deck situation, with staff from every other department coming to assist. Even Chris and Harper come down to help -- and it’s almost like med school all over again with the three of them working together, side-by-side. Any awkward relations between them are buried deep in the wave of such a disaster. 

Ethan spends the two minutes he can spare explaining the card system to the interns before handing each of them a stack. As he races from one bed to another to oversee the critical cases and get them transferred into the next available OR, he notes the lack of black cards. He can’t help but hope that it’s a good sign, and that the accident wasn’t as catastrophic as it could have been. 

But with each new patient’s stuttering recount of the disaster, he finds that hope slowly dwindling. A partial tunnel collapse, they say, repeating what the news anchors have been relaying on the screens in the break room, where they’ve set up a makeshift triage for the less critical. One patient tells him about the crunching noise of the impact, while another one cries over the terrified screams of those trapped in between the layers of rubble. 

It isn’t until the third hour (or fifth or sixth, he isn’t sure; time is a construct that he only becomes aware of when he has to call a time of death) that he finally gets an opportunity to talk to Sloane. He’s caught glimpses of her before now, rushing in and out of the double doors. This close, he can see the dust and grime that coats her jacket, the reflective strips splattered with black sludge. Streaks of the substance are smeared through her hair and down onto her neck. 

“Hey,” he reaches out, cupping her cheek in his hand and drawing her eyes up from the transfer report she’s scribbling on at the nurses station. “How are you holding up?”     

She bites at her chapped bottom lip, dragging in a breath as she thinks over a response. 

“It’s… bad,” she tells him. “Out there.” 

“It’s amazing, though,” one of the interns pipes up from where they’re hovering nearby, “that so few people have such serious injuries.” 

Sloane meets the remark with silence and Ethan knows there must be countless victims that she had to overlook in order to get to those that would have a chance of survival. Placing her hand over his, she turns her head and presses a quick kiss to his palm. 

“I’ve gotta get back out there.” She gives his hand a squeeze before she pulls away, back into the rush of bodies and out the door. Sloane McTavish, once more unto the breach, he thinks as he watches her disappear.     

By the mid-afternoon, the ER’s lobby is no longer just a home for the injured. Loved ones come in droves, in fast-moving packs across the parking lot and through the entrance to clog up the reception desk. They demand to know if their brother or partner or best friend are safe within the hospital, their panic bouncing between one another and magnifying when the staff can’t give them the answers they need. 

From inside the curtained-off cubicle where he’s working on a patient, Ethan can hear Harper giving a speech to the crowd. It’s sympathetic, but not coddling; assertive, but not aggressive. Her ability to sway a large group of panicked patients into understanding the reality of the hospital’s situation within two minutes is why she excels at being the chief (and why Ethan would never be able to do what she does -- he would’ve been mauled the minute he opened his mouth). 

“You need any help?” 

His head snaps up to see Sloane hovering at the gap in the curtain. Maybe it’s the fluorescent lighting, but she looks paler than last he saw her. Her knuckles are white where she grips the curtain’s edge, he also notes. “Raf is restocking our rig,” she continues. “He said for me to take a quick five and grab something to drink.” 

“Take five means to sit down and get some rest,” Ethan points out. 

“If I sit down, I’m gonna fall asleep.” She takes a long drink from the styrofoam cup in her other hand and grimaces. He can’t help but worry about how much coffee she’s ingested -- enough that there are fine tremors in her hands, her body running on caffeine and cortisol. 

Finishing off the suture, he calls for a nurse to start the discharge process and guides Sloane over to an empty seating area. 

“Sit down, honey. I’m going to get you something to--” 

Her muffled cry of pain cuts him off. Ethan drops down onto one knee in front of her and cups her chin, forcing her glassy eyes to meet his. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What hurts?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “I’m fine, I--”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What hurts?” He reaches for the zipper on her jacket when she snags his wrist and pushes him away. 

“I told you: I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” 

He frowns at her hurried assurances. 

“Forgive me, but I’ve heard that one before. I didn’t buy it then, either. Let me at least check you out.” His authoritative tone seems to sway her. She drops his wrist and inches forward in the chair; her pained wince as she does so worries him further. He’s got her zipper halfway down when a voice calls out from behind them. 

“Slo, you ready to roll?” 

Before he can stop her, she’s yanking her zipper back up and shoving past him to join her partner. 

“Yeah, I’m all set.” 

Ethan gets to his feet and prepares to coax her into getting checked out when Rafael glances between the two of them and smirks.   

“Aren’t there supply closets for this kind of thing? If you need to get a leg over, partner, I can go grab a snack real qui--”

Sloane knocks her fist into Rafael’s arm, ignoring his fake cry of alarm as she turns and heads for the double doors. 

“She’s injured,” Ethan tells him. “Keep an eye on her.” 

Rafael quickly sobers, his grin falling away. He nods once before jogging back down the hallway and through the exit.     

The rescue squad has reached the third section of the tunnel, Kendra tells him at some point in the early evening (or he thinks, at least; he hasn’t had the time to look out a window and actually take in the position of the sun in several hours). The opening brings a new flood of victims, their injuries more critical, given their extended time underground without aid. 

Most of his interns are holding up surprisingly well, given the sheer influx of patients and the higher amount of critical codes. Ethan’s found only a handful of them having a pity party in the on-call room. His brain is too fogged to stumble his way through an original speech, so the one he gives is ripped straight from Doctor Greene. None of them seem to notice, though, solidifying Sloane’s claim that his interns are all fans of Hugh Laurie’s medical drama instead. 

His thoughts turn once more to his girlfriend as he leaves an intern to wipe away their tears and moves back out into the hallway. The few times he’s seen her he’s been too busy with a patient to get close enough to check on her. Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he’s about to resort to texting Rafael again to get a status when he spots her across the room. 

She’s standing at the nurses station and staring down at a report. The pen in her hand moves back and forth in short strokes across the page, too sloppy to be anything legible. Even from where he stands, he can see the choppy rise and fall of her chest. Hurrying past a cluster of waiting gurneys, he pushes his way through the hallway traffic to reach her side. He calls her name as he rounds the counter. The lack of reaction in her drives that stake of worry down farther into his chest. Gripping her shoulder, he gives her a little shake. 

“Sloane, hey, look at me,” he urges. 

His breath catches in his throat when she complies; her pale face is clammy, her lips tinged blue. Blinking heavily up at him in confusion, she tries to take a step back. His instinct already has him shouting for a bed. He’s moving even before she can collapse, catching her before she hits the floor. He loops an arm under her knees and another around her back, fighting back the wave of panic when her head lolls to the side. 

Kendra rushes over with a bed; they wheel her into the closest open room, a team of nurses racing in behind them. 

“’m fine,” Sloane mutters as Ethan jerks her zipper down. “Jus need a new… bandage--”

“Fuck,” Kendra swears. 

Looking down at the bloodied mess of her shirt, Ethan can’t help but agree with the sentiment. He tugs the fabric up to expose a blood-soaked bandage, secured only by a few strips of medical tape. Peeling back the bandage, he sucks in a breath through his teeth at the jagged laceration across her lower abdomen. The one she clearly tried to pack with gauze and walk off. 

“Jus patch me up an--”

“Goddammit, lay back down!” he orders as Sloane tries to sit up. “You’re not fit to do anything but try to save your own life for once. You’re in hypovolemic shock.”    

“If I was, be dead already,” she argues, her words slurring together. 

Kendra produces a pair of scissors and they cut off her uniform as Ethan orders for a blood transfusion, as well as a CT scan to rule out internal bleeding. 

“BPs at eighty-nine, heart rate is 126,” Kendra reads out. “She’s in tachycardia.” 

Fury at her disregard for her own safety roils in Ethan’s gut, compounding on the anger he already feels towards himself for letting her go earlier. Layered beneath everything is fear, thick and cold and viscous as it eats away at him. 

He spends the next hour going through the motions of testing and eliminating any possibilities of further injuries. Once they get her downgraded from stage three and stabilized, Ethan allows her to give in to sleep and steps out to check on the rest of his department. Finding everyone at their posts (and no one sobbing in the on-call room), he returns to Sloane’s room. 

Where he’s surprised to find her awake, albeit groggy. 

“Hey,” she greets, her voice almost lost underneath the steady beeps of the monitor. 

Ethan steps further into the room and shuts the door behind him, snuffing out the hospital’s incessant noise. Settling down into the chair by her bed, he reaches out to take her offered hand and brings it to his lips. 

“I need you to explain to me what the hell you were thinking.” 

She sucks in a breath, holding it for a long moment before letting it out. He raises his head, clutching her hand to his cheek as he watches her mull over her answer. 

“I was in the first section of the tunnel,” she begins. “The one we’d already cleared. I was on my way to help Raf board someone when I heard this noise. Like an animal wailing, you know, really high-pitched and drawn out. It’s closer to me than him, so I get down on my hands and knees and I’m crawling through the wreckage and I’m calling out and I can -- I can tell it’s a kid because he starts to talk, and he’s asking for his mom, and finally I spot him and he’s… he’s just a little tiny thing.” 

She pauses to catch her breath. Ethan turns his head and presses a long kiss against her knuckles. “He’s pinned underneath his mom, who we… had to move past earlier... and he’s tucked up underneath a seat. I don’t know how we missed him before, but I know I’ve got to get him out of there; he’s soaked in blood and I can’t tell if it’s his own or his mom’s, and there’s no time to try to figure it out. I finally get him out and he’s got a gash above his ear -- deep enough that I know I’ve got to hurry. And… that was it. I was going too fast, wasn’t watching all of my steps, and I’ve got him in my arms when I feel myself start to slip, but I’ve got him so I can’t stop myself, so I tucked him close to my hip and rolled into the fall and... landed onto a broken railing.” 

“That you slapped a bandage over and ignored,” Ethan finishes for her. “Without letting anyone know and refusing to let me check--”

Sloane shakes her head; tears track down over her pale cheeks. 

“You don’t -- Ethan, there were so many people down there, trapped and screaming and… and we were hauling out buckets of debris to get to them and sometimes, by the time we got to them, they wouldn’t be screaming anymore and I knew I couldn’t stop and sit that out, I couldn’t--”

“You’re lucky you only needed stitches and a blood transfusion. If you had gone on any longer, you would have progressed to stage four hypovolemic shock. You could have fallen into a coma from blood loss,” he hisses out, the anger from earlier returning with a vengeance. “Only a rookie would pull a stunt like this.”        

She meets his narrowed gaze and it’s like she can see past his front, past the frustration; without moving, without speaking, she peels back those jagged layers to see the worry and guilt that festers below. 

“This is what we do,” she murmurs. “Sometimes we forgo our own safety for the sake of others.” Tugging on his hand, she urges him to sit beside her on the bed where she can run a comforting hand through his hair and down his arm, reassuring him of her presence. 

“I know,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, and then her lips. All of the pressure in his head evaporates at her touch, at reassuring himself that she’s okay. “But next time, let me do it. I am closer to the ER, after all.” 

Sloane lets out an exasperated chuckle, rolling her eyes at his lame joke. 

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” he says, that soft smile of his making an appearance -- the one only she gets to see. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” 

Standing up, he reaches above her head and switches off the strip light. The room dims, lit only by the muted hallway lights that leak through the blinds. Leaning down, he gives her a longer, sweeter kiss, trying to pour all of his relief into it. “I love you, too,” he tells her as he tucks the blanket in around her.

“Wake me when your shift ends.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

+ + +

He approaches the light with that tight feeling in his chest; his body’s assurance of a job well-done. Covered in a fine sheen of sweat from the summer heat, he yanks at the collar of his T-shirt and wafts it against his chest, groaning at the feel of air moving against his skin. 

“Are you prepping for the marathon?” he asks between ragged breaths. “Is that why you were going so fast?” 

“Wasn’t going any faster than usual,” Sloane replies with a shrug. Leaving her side, Relay trots over to sniff at Jenner and then at him, nudging his pocket with interest, where the tennis ball they toss around in the Common hides. 

“Well, either you’re lying, or I’m starting to show my old age.” 

“You’re not old,” she scoffs. “You’re thirty-eight.” Turning towards her, Ethan recognizes the look on her face; he immediately becomes invested in whatever she’s about to say next. “Here, I’ve got an idea: I’ll race you. If you beat me, then you’ll get a treat.” 

Both dogs and he perk up at the term. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

The light changes. 

They take off, jogging across the intersection and up onto the opposite sidewalk. 

Where they both turn left for home.

+ + +

AN: I did some routine googling for the medical information in this, but not nearly enough as I probably should have. Take it with a grain of salt. *Fixed as of 6/2/21: changed Sloane’s dog name from Haint to Relay. Haint is a term for ghosts or evil spirits, which I learned originated from Gullah culture in GA and SC, so I feel it was appropriation for me to use it with an MC who is white / is not part of that culture.  This fic also contains a real-life AU in the fact that Boston EMS does not work on the same structure as Chicago or NYC, where some ambulances reside within certain quarters at a dedicated fire station -- however, in this they do because everything’s made up and the points don’t matter. 

[blurry-fics]

Chapter Four

Prove Me Wrong | Series Masterlist

Warnings: Self-doubt

Word Count: 1847

Author’s Note: I have nothing interesting to say yet again, so enjoy the chapter! (Also if this post is later in the day than usual, I apologize! My sleep pattern has gotten totally thrown off and I’m sleeping in late every day :/)

“No, that’s bad.”

I ripped the page out of my notebook and crumpled it up in my hand before adding it to the growing pile of paper at the side of my keyboard. My entire morning had been spent trying countless melodies and lyrics and I still had nothing good to show for it.

“It’s all bad,” I mumbled. “I can’t create anything good.”

I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands. There had to be something in decent in my head, buried under all the terrible ideas. 

“Come on.”

I moved my hands to the back my head and twirled my fingers in my hair. There had to be something. Anything.

Nope. Nothing.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Y/N, hoping that she would pick up. She would be able to stop me from this downward spiral. Y/N was good at that.

“Hello?”

“Hi. What are you doing right now?”

“I’m with Carter. What’s going on?”

“I was just wondering if you could come over. I’ve been trying to write all morning but I’m stuck and I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Thanks.”

“Take care of yourself, Ty.”

I hung up the call and set my phone down on my keyboard. Now all I had to do was keep myself busy until Y/N showed up. She didn’t live far, but I had called on short notice so she would have to get all her things together, which wasn’t exactly one of her strong suits. Y/N always liked to be over-prepared for everything.

I cleaned up the pile of papers and tossed them into the recycling bin, just so there wouldn’t be a mess when she showed up. There were a couple other things lying around - mostly wrappers and a plate that I had been too lazy to get up and put away the night before - so I decided to clean those up too. Y/N had seen the apartment in worse states, but it was always nice to make a little effort for her.

Y/N showed up about ten minutes after I had called her. Cleaning had helped me a little, but self-doubt was still swirling around my mind. I was thankful that she was willing to come over and help me.

“Hey, Ty,” she smiled as I opened the door.

“Hey.”

She stepped inside and set her stuff by the door, wasting no time in kicking her shoes off next to it. I shuffled back towards the couch and got settled on one end of it, leaving plenty of room for Y/N to sit next to me.

“Do you mind if I grab something to drink?” she asked. “I jogged up the stairs.”

“Help yourself.”

Y/N rummaged around in the fridge for a moment before taking a seat on the couch with two drinks in her hands. She handed one of them to me.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Come on, Ty. It will make you feel a little better.”

She wasn’t wrong. With a shrug, I grabbed the can from her and popped the top open before taking a long drink. I had to admit, even that small gesture had already lifted my spirits a bit.

“So what’s going on with you?” she asked as she popped open her own drink.

“It’s all this songwriting stuff. I’ve been trying all morning to just get something down but I end up hating everything.”

“You just finished an album, you know. It’s ok to take a break.”

I slowly shook my head, “There’s always the next album.”

“Do you have any of the stuff that you wrote today?”

“I tossed all of it.”

“What, in the recycling?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N set her drink down and walked into the kitchen. When she returned, she was holding the crumpled pages in the bottom of her shirt like a little basket.

“There were too many for my hands,” she laughed, letting them all fall onto the couch.

She took a seat behind all the crumpled pages. I didn’t even want to look at them, but Y/N slowly began to smooth them out so they were sitting in a neat stack. Once they were all laid out, she began to flip through them. Her lips moved a little as she read over the words.

She looked up at me, “Why do you hate these? These are really good, Tyler.”

“They’re not.”

“They are! This line right here, ‘The sun will rise and we will try again’, that’s really good! That resonates with people.”

“You don’t think it’s dumb?”

“No. Do you know how many people need to hear that?”

“Too bad not that many people will.”

She set the pages down on the coffee table and scooted closer to me.

“The only way that people aren’t going to hear your lyrics is if you keep tossing them in the recycling bin instead of using something. Haven’t you said yourself that you need to push through the droughts?”

“Hey, don’t use my words against me,” I smiled, finally looking up to meet her eyes.

“Sometimes you have to follow your own advice.”

“I hate when you’re right.”

She reached out and patted my shoulder, “You’ll get over it.”

Y/N had a point, even if I didn’t want her to. Sometimes I didn’t know what I would do without her, besides just not knowing what to buy at the grocery store. She had been my support system since day one. It was like she always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better, no matter what had me in my head.

“So are you going to keep these? Because if you don’t, then I will.”

I reached a hand out and Y/N passed the pages to me. Upon second glance, some of the stuff that I had come up with did seem usable.

“I think I’ll keep them. Thanks for digging these out of the recycling for me.”

“It was the least I could do, although you may want to take that out soon, Ty. It’s beginning to overflow,” she giggled.

I folded up the pages and stuck them in my music folder with all the other half-finished songs. Who knows, maybe they would come in handy someday.

“Alright, now let’s do something to give your brain a break. What do you think we should do?”

“Um, go on a walk?” I suggested.

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

Y/N wasted no time in getting off the couch and pulling her shoes on. I, on the other hand, took a little longer to find my beat-up Vans and pull them on. She was waiting by the door when I finally emerged from my room.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

I grabbed my keys from beside the door and together the two of us headed down the stairs and out onto the street. There was a park not too far from where I lived, so we headed that way.

“How’s school going?” I asked, hoping to keep the conversation off of me for awhile.

“Fine,” she shrugged. “The term is ending soon which means there’s a lot of studying to do and then I get a whole new batch of classes.”

“Are you excited?”

“I mean, as excited as you can be for school.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

Y/N pulled the sleeves on her sweatshirt down over her hands. It was a bit cold today, as it often was in mid-March, but the sun was still shining.

“Um, so about earlier-” I started.

“Hey, we’re not talking about that right now, remember?”

“It’s not about the music. I promise.”

“Ok.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for being so willing to come over and spend time with me, especially since you were with your brother. It means a lot to me.”

Y/N walked a little closer to me so that she could gently bump her shoulder with mine, “I’m always going to be here for you, Ty. You know I would do anything.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still going to thank you for it every time. Not a lot of people would do that kind of thing for their friends.”

Friends. Why had I chosen that word?

“Right,” she smiled, stepping away from me again. “I know you would do the same for me, should the situation arise.”

“Of course.”

Y/N nodded and idly kicked at a rock on the sidewalk. Her shoe scuffed against the pavement.

“What are your plans for the next week?” I asked.

She laughed. It sounded nice.

“You mean besides studying? Probably spending time with Carter. Spending time with you. Oh, and I have a lunch with my grandparents on Saturday. Other than that, just try not to completely break down before finals week.”

“If you ever need a study break, you know who to call,” I said, hoping it would cheer her up.

“I’m sure you’ll be getting a call every night.”

“I don’t mind.”

Y/N turned to me and raised an eyebrow. I simply smiled at her before turning to look at the pavement.

*     *     *

We ended up walking through the park for close to an hour, enjoying the bits of sunshine and just talking about things that had been on our minds lately. Y/N talked about school and she finally let me talk about music a little more. It was a nice opportunity to get some things off my chest that I had been bottling up for awhile.

“I should probably get going,” Y/N announced as we reached my building. “My mom is working late again tonight and there’s no way Carter is going to be able to make himself dinner.”

“Sounds like an exciting night for you,” I smiled.

“Oh yeah, I love taking care of my older brother. You would think that by 22 he would have a better idea of how to do basic tasks.”

“Who knows? At the rate I’m going, I’ll be the same way.”

Y/N sighed, “Not if I can help it.”

“Ok, well, drive safe.”

I held my arms out and Y/N happily accepted my hug. She held onto me tightly, swaying me ever so slightly as she did so.

“Take care of yourself, Ty. And call me if something else comes up.”

“I will, I promise.”

She pulled away from the hug, gave me one final smile, and started to walk off to where she had parked her car. I waited until she had rounded the corner before I walked into the building and headed up to my apartment.

It was hard to believe that I had gotten lucky enough to have someone like Y/N in my life. Ever since we had first met when we were freshmen, we had basically been inseparable. Sometimes I wondered what it would be like if we were dating. Her feelings for me were already there, the only issue was that I didn’t feel the same about her.

Well... maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate.

*     *     *     *     *

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