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cutielando · 6 months ago

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my little engineer | oscar piastri

synopsis: in which Oscar falls in love with a McLaren engineer

a/n: based on this request! the timeline does not really follow the actual season, i just went along with what came to my head

pairing: oscar piastri x engineer!reader

my masterlist

The air buzzed with the energy of the Formula 1 paddock.

Even on a quiet Thursday afternoon, there was a constant undercurrent of urgency, the kind that kept everyone on their toes.

You were no exception to the rule.

As a McLaren engineer, your days were filled with analyzing data, fine-tuning setups, and making sure that the cars were in peak condition. The team’s fortunes often hinged on decisions made in rooms like the ones you were currently in, surrounded by monitors and endless cups of coffee.

You had been with McLaren for 2 years now, your main focus being on aerodynamics. The team had offered to hire you while you were still studying your degree, mainly because of how brilliant your mind was.

Your job was to squeeze every ounce of performance out of the car, translating theoretical possibilities and what-ifs into tangible speed and a sea of accomplishments.

Currently, you were busy reviewing wind tunnel data when a shadow fell across your desk.

Looking up, you saw Oscar standing there, a curious expression in his face. He was dressed casually, but the unmistakable sharpness of a driver’s focus radiated off of him.

“Hey” he said, his soft Australian accent cutting through the silence.

“Hi, Oscar” you greeted him, giving him a small smile.

“Do you have a moment? I wanted to ask you about the changes to the front wing design we made today” he asked, his eyes darting across your desk.

He could see that you were busy, but he couldn’t help himself. Ever since he had joined the team, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was impressed by your knowledge and experience at just 21, basically his age, and he found himself blushing and stuttering every time he would talk to you.

He was acting like a love-sick puppy.

"Of course, take a seat" you said as you gestured to the chair next to you, straightening up in your chair.

Despite only being in his rookie year, Oscar's performance had been nothing short of remarkable. And you also couldn't deny that you took a small, secret liking to the young Aussie driver.

"Can you explain to me, again, what changes we made exactly?" Oscar asked, having sat down next to you.

"Yeah, we've made some adjustments to the endplates in order to better improve airflow around the tires. It should help with high-speed cornering stability" you explained, pointing to the data on one of the monitors.

Oscar leaned in, his eyebrows furrowed as he took in what you were saying and what he was seeing on the screens.

"How does that affect the balance? Will it make the rear feel lighter?" he asked, scratching his chin.

"Slightly, yes. But we've made sure to compensate with some tweaks to the diffuser. It will feel different, but once you adjust, you should find it predictable and reliable" you explained.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful.

"I see. I get it now, thanks Y/N" he said, giving you a small smile.

You smiled back, patting him on the shoulder.

"Anytime, Oscar. Let me know how the car feels after FP1 and we can make some more tweaks if it's necessary" you said.

Oscar nodded and gave you one last smile before heading out. You watched him go, noticing the quiet confidence with which he held himself, even as he walked.

There was something about him that intrigued you, a mix of his determination to become the best and his calm, almost reserved personality and demeanor.

Something you definitely wanted to explore.

But for now, you shook the thoughts away, getting back to work before you could spiral into something else.

Into something more dangerous.

♡♡♡♡♡

Over the next few weeks, your interactions with Oscar became more and more frequent.

Whether it was in the garage, during debriefs, or even in the cafeteria, he often sought you out to discuss details about the car.

At first, everything was purely professional. Mostly technical questions, feedback on changes to the setup, and maybe the occasional joke to lighten up the mood.

But gradually, the conversations began to shift.

“So, how did you end up in F1?” he asked one evening, leaning against the workbench as you adjusted a model component.

You froze for a second but quickly regained your composure, a little surprised at the personal question.

“Well, I’ve always loved racing. My dad used to take me to local karting events when I was little. I wasn’t much of a driver, though, but I was really curious about the whole mechanism behind the cars. I got into university and McLaren hired me while I was still studying” you explained.

Oscar’s eyes lit up with interest as you spoke.

“Wow, you must have one hell of a brain, then” he said, making you laugh and blush.

You shrugged, not wanting to gloat.

“I guess they saw something in me, I don’t really know. I’m just grateful I have this opportunity” you said, giving him a smile.

He smiled back, his eyes twinkling.

“It’s good that we have you here with us. We wouldn’t get far without you” he said, his voice softer now.

“It’s a team effort, really, but thank you” you said, your cheeks now an angry shade of red.

Oscar smiled and nodded, and his eyes lingered on you for a second too long. You looked away, your eyes now focused on the task at hand, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your stomach and in your chest.

Damn you, Oscar.

♡♡♡♡♡

As the season progressed, the dynamic between you and Oscar continued to deepen.

He’d stop by your workstation far more often than was necessary, most of the times just to have a chat with you.

You found yourself looking forward to his visits, your butterflies being swarmed with butterflies whenever you would see him approach you. And even though you tried to keep things strictly professional, there were small, fleeting moments than hinted at just something more.

Like the time he brought you coffee during a particularly tough and difficult race weekend, completely taking you by surprise.

“Here, thought you might need this” he said, setting down the cup of coffee in front of you.

Startled, you raise your eyebrows, but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks” you said, looking down at the cup to notice that he had not only brought you coffee, but he brought your favorite type of coffee. “How did you know I like it black?”

Oscar smiled and shrugged.

“I pay attention” was the only thing that he said before he turned and walked away, leaving you staring after him.

Another instance was when he had caught you off guard with a genuine compliment after a tougher free practice session.

“You’re really good at what you do, you know. The car feels incredible because of you” he said, trying to comfort you after the tough debrief.

You’d brushed it off as you always did, trying to pass everything as team effort.

But the sincerity and gentleness of his voice stayed with you long after that.

Maybe a little too long.

♡♡♡♡♡

Monza.

It was during a rain-soaked qualifying session that the tension between the two of you reached an all-time high.

The team had completely gambled on a whole-new setup, a very risky one at that, and the stakes were higher than they ever were in the championship battle.

You were sitting in the garage with your headphones on, monitoring the data as Oscar ventured out on the slippery track.

“How’s the car, Oscar?” Tom, his race engineer, asked him over the radio.

“A bit twitchy, but it’s manageable” his voice crackled over the radio.

You leaned forward over the computer, your heart in your throat as you watched his sector times closely.

Even though the setup was still rocky, he was pushing hard, managing to find the limits and extract the most out of his lap times with every lap.

When the session finished and he crossed the line securing a spot on the second row, the whole garage erupted into loud cheers.

Everyone was hugging everyone, congratulating you on the proposed setup (a gamble, really) and how well it had played out in the end.

Oscar returned a few minutes later, drenched but grinning widely.

His eyes found yours almost instantly, and you couldn’t help but give him a wide smile back.

“Nice work out there” you said as he stopped in front of you.

“Couldn’t have done it without you” he replied, his voice warm and soft.

For a moment, the noise of the garage faded away into the distance, and it was just the two of you there, standing in the middle of the chaos.

Just the two of you.

Later that night, the team had decided to go out and celebrate the amazing qualifying session.

You found yourself sitting at the quieter end of the table with Oscar. The conversation between the two of you flowed effortlessly, moving from racing all the way to hobbies and childhood stories.

You learned that he loved cooking, had an embarrassingly extensive collection of movie soundtracks and missed the Australian benches.

“What about you? What do you do when you’re not making our cars faster?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you.

You laughed, taking a sip of your drink.

“Not much, to be honest. Work keeps me pretty busy. But I like hiking when I get the chance. It’s nice to unplug and just be with the nature for a little while, away from all the chaos and noise” you said.

He nodded thoughtfully, seemingly hanging onto your every word.

“Sounds peaceful. I haven’t hiked in a long time. Maybe I should start again” he said.

“You should. It’s a great way to clear your head” you said, your lips twitching into a small smile.

The evening stretched on, the line between you and Oscar becoming more blurred with each passing moment.

By the time you left the restaurant, walking side by side under the streetlights of Italy, you felt warmth in your chest at the feeling of him being next to you.

A warmth that had nothing to do with the wine you’d had.

♡♡♡♡♡

The slow burn continued as the season went on.

There were stolen moments in the garage, quiet conversations during long flights and shared smiles that spoke volumes. But neither of you made the step, neither crossed the line.

Not yet, anyways.

But the unspoken tension hung heavily in the air, growing stronger and stronger with each passing day.

And it all came to a head in Abu Dhabi, the final race of the season.

After a very hard-fought battle Oscar had managed to finish on the podium, his best result of the season yet. The team celebrated late into the night, the culmination of months of effort and sacrifice finally paying off.

You found yourself on the balcony of the hotel, the cool desert breeze brushing against your skin.

Oscar joined you a few minutes later, a drink in his hand and a soft smile on his face.

“Couldn’t handle the noise anymore?” he asked, leaning against the railing beside you.

“Something like that. It’s been a long season, I’m exhausted” you said, chuckling.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“It has. But I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you” he said.

You turned to him, your heart skipping a beat at the fire in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Oscar…”

“No, let me say this. You’ve been there for me through everything. You’ve pushed to be better weekend after weekend, supported me when things got tough and the car was shit. I don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for you” his voice was firm, like there was no room for you to contradict him.

“I was just doing my job” you said, your voice soft as your breath caught in your throat.

Oscar shook his head, determined to make you see exactly what he was feeling.

“It’s more than that. You mean more to me than just…this. I know we’ve got a million reasons why this wouldn’t work, but i can’t pretend I don’t feel this anymore” he said, his eyes boring into yours.

The vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered, all combined shattered every doubt you’d had.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his softly.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it for months, but I don’t want to do it anymore” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into a soft smile, and before you could overthink anything, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt as natural as breathing.

The world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the starry Abu Dhabi sky. Months of pining and unspoken tension culminated in a simple kiss, fireworks erupting into every part of your body.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a content sigh escaping his lips.

“So, where do we go from here?” you asked, your voice tinged with both excitement and uncertainty.

“One step at a time” he said, his fingers intertwining with yours. “As long as it’s with you, I’m happy”

And in that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

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kaywavy · 2 years ago

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[not my writing]

Pocket calculators! Now there's something. They're so complicated! I have a calculator which has sines, cosines, tangents, logarithms, hyperbolic functions and multiple nested parentheses. You can program it in Fortran, Algol, Basic, Pascal, Forth, Fifth and Sixth, ADA and Carruthers. It will factorize primes for you. At present it's working on the Halting Problem.

(continued)

It translates from one language to another. From German to Spanish. From Macedonian to Esperanto. From Cantonese to Greek. Or from American to English.

It is, in fact, a multiprocessor system. There are 22 Transputers in there. Sometimes they organize a game of football between them.

It has a full color, wraparound wide screen, liquid crystal, three-dimensional holographic display. It's called HoloChromaCinePhotoRamaScope.

Its audio facilities include Dolby Digital Decaphonic surround sound. On the way here I watched "The Labyrinth" on it.

It also has synthetic speech and a voice recognition system. I often talk to it. I tell it my problems. Sometimes it psychoanalyses me. It has me figured as paranoid. But that's just because it keeps getting at me. But don't get me wrong - it can be very user friendly. In fact you can program precisely HOW user friendly you want it is to be on a scale from ONE to TEN.

On a setting of ONE it won't even interrupt a football game to answer you. But on a setting of TEN it's so friendly that on a cold day it pre-heats its pushbuttons.

But no matter who smart it SEEMS, deep down inside it's just a dumb old computer.

One time I got really mad at it. Like all computers, it knew precisely what I wanted it to do. It knew exactly what I MEANT. So why does it have to go and DO what I SAID?

How do you get even with a dumb machine like that?

First I tried slapping it around a little. I pushed its buttons a bit hard. I threatened it. "How would you like a busted display" I said.

But it did no good. It just said "I am virtually unbreakable - and I'm not going to take any notice till you enter the data nicely, like you used to do."

Whatever I did it always seemed to win.

I decided to have a man-to-man talk with it. So I sat it down and said to it "Who's the boss here, you or me?"

No reply.

Again I ask "Who's the boss, you or me? Go on, answer me!"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," it said.

So I hit it. Hard. Too hard. I cracked its case.

At first I thought that was the limit of the damage. But then little things started to go wrong. At first there was nothing definite. Nothing you could put your finger on. Just little things like stuttering. It just didn't sound quite the same. Its voice seemed to lack its former confidence.

Then once I caught it making an arithmetic mistake. Of course I didn't mention it. But you could tell it knew. Its self image was shot to pieces.

Saddest of all, it forgot our anniversary - of the day I bought it. In the past this had been a special time for us.

I just couldn't bear it any longer. One evening I tucked it up snugly in its case, lit candles, played a record which was popular when we first met, and sat down beside it.

"Where did we go wrong?" I said. But it had it pride. It wasn't about to weaken in front of a non-machine.

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong," it said. "Just insufficient data."

But underneath you could tell it was hurt.

From there it was a rapid downhill slide.

Now it just mutters to itself. It can only do very simple calculations on small numbers.

Finally came the ultimate indignity. It lost control. It leaked electrolyte all over its case.

I felt so bad about it. My other gadgets weren't happy about it either. They all came out in sympathy for the calculator. My watch gave me a bad time. My power tools keep blowing fuses.

Then one night last week I was driving my car back from London when suddenly the engine stopped all by itself on this lonely country road.

I tried to get out but the solenoids were inhibited by the central locking computer. Suddenly the air conditioner came on and started to blow out freezing cold air. It made a noise like wind whistling through the trees. Then this creepy music came from the loudspeaker. The sort of music they play in movies when the hero is lost in a dark forest.

I got scared. The cold, the wind and the weird music got to me. Then it started to speak.

"You're the guy who beats up pocket calculators!"

#i’ve posted this bit before but it’s been lost to the tumblr search abyss #i wanna check out cryptography #cuz this is great

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hacked-by-jake · 4 years ago

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Was that Jake there 2

Part 1

Pairing: JakexMc

Words: 4,2k

A/N: So, a few days ago I got an absolutely sweet comment from @captainwanderlust78❤️

Really, you made my last week. And then unfortunately the news came from Everbyte that EP 7 will come later. And actually, there wasn’t a second part planned for this story, but since you wanted one so much, here we are. This is my second attempt, because I wrote a part that I didn’t like. I tried to keep the story a little more quiet this time. Anyway, I hope you like it and apologize for possible mistakes. Oh and Merry Christmas. 🌲❤️

"Ready little ones?" Dan asks you and pokes you with his elbow.

"Yes, I’m ready," you answer and look at the big clock in the motel lobby.

Point 12 at midday.

"I’ll be gone," you say goodbye to the others.

"Take care of yourself and call me if you need anything," Richy informs you.

"Yeah, or if he attacks you," hiss Dan.

"Dan" hisses Jessy and steps on his foot.

"Ouch" growls Dan and looks at her accusingly.

Jessy is just ignoring this and calls after you, "See you later".

Slowly but with firm steps you make your way to the elevator.

Immediately the doors open and you get in and press the button for floor three.

The place the place where you meet is going to be a motel room that can’t be used because of renovation.

This is the perfect place to meet Jake.

He will come over the fire escape behind the motel to the third floor and there you meet in the room.

Deciding how and when the meeting will take place was quite awkward.

Yesterday after you guys finished partying at the club, you and Jessy called a cab as planned to take you home to Jessy. Fortunately, everything worked out, until the taxi driver drove to the roadside in the middle of the drive and simply switched off the engine.

Immediately all the alarms were on in your head, and you were ready to get out of the car if necessary.

He turned to you in the back and silently held a note to you.

The paper was folded very small, you opened it and saw many ones and zeros.

0100100001100101011011000110110001101111 010011010110001100001010

Grinning, you rolled your eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Jessy wonders.

"This is a binary code," you explain to her and pull your phone out of your pocket.

"Ah now I know what that is, of course," she grumbles ironically.

"This is computer language"

You search the Internet for a code translator.

You took a picture of the notes, the translator took the numbers and translated them directly.

"Hello Mc" you read, "Is this serious?".

The driver silently held out a note to you.

You also open this note and moan desperately.

"Can’t he just write normal letters?" you mumble and take a deep breath.

"He’s a computer nerd, they’re all weird," answers the man who was supposed to be just a taxi driver.

01010100 01101111 01101101 01101111 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110111

00001010 01000100 01101111 01101111 01110010 01100010 01100101 01101100 01101100 00001010 01010000 01101100 01100001 01101110

01100110 01101111 01110010

01100111 01110101 01111001

00001010

"Tomorrow morning, doorbell, plan for guy" is the translation.

"Huh?" makes Jessy next to you.

"I’ve got another one," the guy calls again.

"One more? Why not write everything on a piece of paper?"

"Clay said it was too confusing"

"Clay?"

"Oh, Jake, excuse me" he grins and holds out the third note.

01001101 01100101 01100101 01110100 00001010 00110001 00110010

"Meet

12 o'clock

"Midday"

"Okay, so, there’s a man ringing in the morning and he wants me to tell him the plan but the meeting has to be at 12:00," you put it all together.

"Right" the man agrees with you and starts the car again.

"Wait, You knew what that meant?"

"Yes, but we should talk as little as possible, that’s why the notes" he explains to you.

"But I said it out loud"

"Yes, right"

After that, he didn’t speak, but at least you didn’t have to pay.

Well, and then 20 minutes later, you and Jessy took the next taxi back to Roger’s garage, and there you all met again to work out the plan.

Lilly told Mrs Walter she didn’t have to work today. Lilly would take her shift and the owner should have a nice day with Alfie.

After a little persuasion it worked and Lilly is the only one who has to work.

There are only 13 rooms occupied in the entire motel, and only two of them are on the third floor, so the room with the renovation fits best.

This morning at 7 o'clock, a flower messenger rang at Jessy’s house, and you stared at the roses and then at the man.

"Gohstbusters" he said and you understood what to do.

You gave him a note stating the plan for the meeting.

However, written in hieroglyphs.

But there is also a translator on the Internet.

The elevator doors open and you look around.

No one is to be seen so you make yourself on the way to the room which is at the very end of the corridor.

With the key card you got from Lilly, you can open the door, hold the card against the sensor and the door cracks quietly. You press the door inwards and notice that there’s light on.

However, of course you did not expect that a man sitting in the room on the desk chair.

"Oh, God," you jump back a step.

The man looks up and immediately looks worried.

"Oh my God," you murmur as you realizes it’s just Jake.

Completely out of breath, you lean with your hands on your knees and breathe deeply.

"Oh shit, MC, I didn’t mean to." He murmurs and comes up to you.

You laugh in agony and grin forced.

"Ha uhm already okay, all right, I was not scared".

A small but quiet laugh comes from Jake’s mouth.

He’s going to the side so you can come in. He locks the door behind you.

"How did you get in here?" You ask and try to calm your heart that feels like it’s jumping out of your chest.

"The doors are not safe for hackers," he explains, sitting back on the chair.

"You hacked a motel door?" you ask amused.

"Yes, you weren’t there yet, but I couldn’t stay in front of the door. That would have been more than conspicuous," he argues.

You just shake your head and let yourself fall on the bed. For a moment it is quiet, only the ticking of the clock can be heard.

"Thank you for coming," you speak in silence.

"Hm yes" is the answer.

"You’re still against it, aren’t you?" you ask unsure.

"MC, please don’t think I wouldn’t want to see you too, but I won’t be reassured until you’re safe again," he explains.

"How are you?" you change the subject.

"I am fine, and you?"

You roll your eyes, "Don’t tell me everything at once," you say ironically.

A smile appears on his face.

"Honestly not so good" he admits.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, it’s okay" he declines. You pull up an eyebrow and you look at him in a challenging way, "Okay, then in a different way. Tell me what’s going on," you challenge him and leave no room for a negative answer.

You point to the bed next to you and signal him to sit next to you.

He thinks briefly but then does what you want

"Well, it’s all pretty stressful right now," he starts.

"Okay good, and keep going" attentively you look at him.

He finally surrenders and begins to report.

"There were some problems that we didn’t expect, they almost caught us. We could only cross a border with a lot of luck and help, but that took us quite some time. And then I made a stupid mistake, the pursuers were able to intercept our signal. As a result, I had to burn my laptop and cell phone so that nothing could be found.

That took us some time too. The agents are much better than I thought, they are much too fast and much too good and that makes it really hard for me. And for the others, too. And what’s even harder is, that I can’t write to you anymore. I dont know how far along you are, or if you have new clues, new key results, how far along you are with Hannah, but even worse, I don’t know how you’re doing. How you feel or if you have problems, and that makes my head full all day with questions that revolve around you. Sometimes we manage to access the Internet for a short time through public computers in libraries or cafes. But contacting you would be too dangerous. I can delete a lot of data from the system but as I said, the agents are better than I thought and unfortunately we do not know exactly how well and how much they can get back. I would have to take every computer with me and burn it down, but that would be even worse if computers were suddenly missing everywhere. It’s shitty MC, I’m honest, I hate this situation, but it’s my own fault"

exhausted, he rubs his face.

Wow okay, that was very honest.

Worried you look at him.

You could say things like "everything’s gonna be okay" or "it’s not your fault." But let’s face it, it’s not helping anyone. So the only logical way is to just hug him tight, and that’s exactly what you’re doing.

You slide a little closer to him and wrap your arms around his upper body and lean your head against his shoulder. Unlike yesterday, he does not tense himself but also gently lays his arms around your body. Immediately, its smell rises in your nose and tingles through your body. You notice how relief spreads in your body. Relief that he’s doing reasonably well, that he’s still free, that he’s here with you, that he’s hugging you, too. But above all, relief because it feels like every pressure is dropping from you, all the pressure of the last few weeks. The pressure because of Hannah, the pressure because of the man without a face, and of course the pressure that something might have happened to Jake. At least for a brief moment, everything is fine, and that makes you happy. And if you think about he’s gonna have to leave soon, you’re gonna get sick. But you don’t want to think about the negative things now, you just want to enjoy the moment, just a brief moment of rest.

You have closed your eyes and hear Jake’s heart beat rhythmically, which also calms you down. You remove an arm from his body and place your hand on his left chest. You can feel his heart just coming out of rhythm and then beating a little faster than before. This also makes your heart beat a little faster.

"You Jake?" you whisper softly.

"Mhh?" he makes a questioning sound.

"Who are the others?"

"They’re familiar to me. The three were also involved in the government project and now they are also in danger," he says briefly.

"Okay?" your voice sounds questioning.

"We know each other from different chat portals for hackers"

Thus, all your questions were answered. For this moment.

Slowly you break away from each other, even if you don’t want to, but it’s no use.

"I still have to thank Lilly and you" he addresses your #IamJake action.

"You don’t have to thank either of us, Lilly owed it to both of us, and I do it because I want," you assure him.

"But still, it’s not understandable, I hope it will help us. The idea was really good. The others were quite fascinated when they saw this, "he praises you and his half-sister.

"You deserve it, too, Jake," you reaffirm your action even more.

Ironically he laughs, "with what?"

"In which you are, and also do everything to find Hannah, even if she doesn’t know you’re her half-brother. And Lilly also understood that we both just wanted to help."

"That might have been a little selfish of me. I just wanted you guys to make up because I don’t know where this is going with the two of us. And I wanted to take the opportunity early" he confesses.

"I can live with that" a little smile is on your face.

He doesn’t know where this is going with us, and he wanted you and his half-sister to make up.

"I’m sorry, MC but -" he starts.

You sigh, "but we still have something to discuss," you finish his sentence.

"I’m sorry, but we only charged three hours at the most, then I have to go "he looks at you apologetically.

"It’s okay, let’s not talk about it now".

You really don’t want to talk about it right now. The conversation will come soon enough. Jake gets his backpack on the desk and takes out his laptop.

Then he sits down next to you again and asks you to give him your phone.

Quickly, a connection is established and the screen of your phone is displayed on the laptop.

And so you begin to discuss everything that’s happened since he was gone.

By now you had arrived at Lilly’s and your chat.

"You really called her Duskwood’s worst legend?" Jake asks a little overwhelmed if he can laugh about it.

"Um, I was a little mad," you smile innocently at him.

"Remind me not to argue with you" he looks at you briefly from the side and grins crooked.

"I like to argue sometimes" challenging, you look at him.

"Yes, I noticed that, so we prefer not to"

Quietly, he continues to read the chat while you wait to see if he has any questions.

From the side you see his eyes suddenly get a little bigger and he swallows.

"Everything okay?" you ask him immediately.

"So we’re in love?" he asks teasingly.

It takes a short time to remember the message, immediately you get warm and your cheeks turn red.

Then you laugh a little hysterical.

"Um, haha that- that, uhm yes..." you stutter.

Jake raises an eyebrow.

"Um, yeah, I can explain that," nervously you start playing with your hands and scratching your neck in turns.

"Uhm, so - on that point I didn’t know, uhm, what relationship you and Lilly have. So this - I didn’t know you both were siblings, and then I kind of wanted to piss them off. Well, I- I thought it might upset Lilly or something".

You don’t even know if that’s true, you just said it without thinking. Maybe it’s true, but he doesn’t want anyone know it, or it‘s just going too fast for him.

You wish for nothing more than for the floor to swallow you.

"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have written that. I hope I didn’t make you feel stupid or anything, that’s the last thing I want, can we just forget about it?" you murmur in shame.

You look at the tips of your shoes so you don’t have to look at Jake.

"Lilly was right," Jake murmurs into the unpleasant silence.

"I didn’t like that they voted against you in the vote. They treated you unfairly, I didn’t like that at all," he admits, "I felt the need to at least scare the others. Which was not quite okay, but I couldn’t watch them treat you like this".

You’re looking at him.

"It was for Hannah, because you will be the key, but I could have just written a message, but that was not enough for me".

You can’t hold back a slight grin.

"Thank you" is all you can say.

"Is it true?" he harks curiously.

"Huh? What?" you act like you didn’t understand his question

"Well, what you wrote to Lilly"

"You know I like you," you confirm.

In response, you get just another big smile from Jake as he just keeps looking at the screen.

However, he omits the end of the chat, at the point where you got the video.

He knows probably after that it’s about his family.

"I’m very proud of you MC" he starts to talk, "you two worked really well together and I’m amazed how well you were able to solve the puzzles".

A little shy about his praise, you just thanked him.

Exhausted, you fall back on the bed.

Jake closes his laptop, puts it back in his pocket and then slowly lies down next to you.

"I haven’t asked you how you are actually doing" he notes a little depressed.

"At least better than in the last few weeks. It’s all very exhausting, but I can do it" you mumble and turn your head to the left so you can look at him.

His page profile is really beautiful.

"We met at a very strange time," Jake mutters, and he also turns his head in your direction.

For a moment, you look at each other silently.

"You are so wonderful and especially MC, do you know that?" he breathes.

"I don’t know, is that me?" you ask quietly.

"So wonderful that I don’t understand why you’re lying here with me"

"Maybe because you’re special, too, Jake. And even more wonderful than all the people I’ve met so far" you reciprocate his sweet compliment and mean every word seriously.

"Are you sure about this?"

"To 100 percent"

"You deserve someone better than me," he sighs.

"Stop lying," you grinned.

Now you both look at each other silently again, only the second hand and the birds from outside can be heard.

Slowly Jake raises a hand and wipes a strand of hair from your face.

You take his hand in yours and you cross your fingers with each other.

Jake looks thoughtfully at your hands.

"It’s dangerous what we’re doing here," he mutters.

"You can take that little break, Jake. That's okay," you calm him down.

"Maybe, but it’s dangerous to be here with you. You get such big problems if the persecutors find out you know me," he easily squeezes your hand.

"Jake, don’t worry about it. I know who I’m dealing with and I know it can end badly. But that’s why I don’t care, if we don’t risk it now, it may be too late. And then we’ll never know if it would’ve worked.

At the moment everything is going crazy, so why not at least do what you want for a short time?"

"You should become a motivational trainer" he suggests for fun.

"Do you think? Did my speech help?"

"I agree with your words, but I have so much more to lose. My freedom and looking for Hannah, but those are just the little things. The biggest problem is that I could never live with myself if you got problems just because I was selfish. Against these problems the man without face is nothing, MC. If you go to jail because of me, I could never forgive myself, you understand. And that’s my problem, I don’t know if I can risk it, I don’t want to ruin your whole life.

You made new friends here, when Hannah gets back, you’ll be completely happy, but then there’s me. The guy who runs from the government, that’s not what you deserve", he tries desperately to explain.

"That’s also why I don’t tell you what exactly I did, why I tell you as little as possible. You can’t say anything if you know nothing no matter what they do, you don’t know it. If the agents find you, they definitely do a lie-detector test with you, and hopefully, they won’t do any more than that. But if you don’t know anything, you’re not in danger either."

"I understand your point, I understand your worries and your fear, but, Jake, I’m aware of all of this. I know what happens if you and I can be connected, but I accept it for you and for Hannah."

"But that’s the thing, you shouldn’t put yourself in danger for this, not even for Hannah. And you being in Duskwood is dangerous enough, which is why I’m here with you, because it’s too dangerous."

You pull up an eyebrow and look skeptical.

"You don’t have to take care of me.What should happen to me? I won’t be alone.One of the others will always be with me. The man without a face can’t do anything to me, "you calm him down.

"I know, I know, but I’m still worried about you"

"But there’s nothing you can do about it, Jake. And the rest of the time we have left, we shouldn’t discuss things we can’t influence. None of us can change the situation"

"I don’t like that you’re right again" he grumbles what makes you smile.

"Do you know I’m happy right now?" you tell him softly, "because of you."

"Why?"

"Because I know you’re doing reasonably well, and because you’re here with me.

And you’re risking your freedom right now because I wished for this meeting. Then how could I not trust you, Jake? You deserve me to be here with you. And that’s also one reason why I don’t care if they get me, you confided in me even though you’re in a difficult time. You trusted me and that’s why I trust you" to support your words, you put his hand on your lips and breathe a short kiss on the back of his hand.

Like he’s petrified, he’s watching you.

"I think I’m really in love," he whispers.

"And I think I’m in love with you too" you giggle softly.

Minimally you slide closer to him and lean slightly with your elbow on the bed to push you a bit upwards.

As if he were considering whether this is a good idea, he eventually slips closer to you, but a lot more than you.

He also leans on the bed to be back on your height, your hands remain united all the time.

His thumb gently caresses the back of your hand.

Not ten centimeters separates your faces from each other.

Jake takes the initiative and leans even further up so that your faces almost touches. You feel his breath on your skin and your body is flooded with excitement. It’s like they just touched by accident.

Slowly, your faces move towards each other until your lips gently touch. But it’s enough to light a fire in you and get Jake to press his lips on yours.

Immediately you close your eyes and return the kiss with as much feeling as he did. You can’t control yourself and grin into the kiss, which also makes Jake smile.

Jake pulls you up to you and pushes you slightly on the bed so you can use your hands more.

But just as quickly the kiss becomes passionate again. A thousand different feelings are buzzing in your head. Despair, fear, happiness, contentment. And that is reflected in your kiss.

Now your two hands separate from each other and Jake wraps both arms around your upper body. You feel a little dizzy and feel like everything is spinning even if you have your eyes closed. Your body tries to cope with all the feelings of happiness and seems to be overwhelmed. Actually, it’s no wonder. You’ve never longed so much for closeness but with Jake now, it’s very different. The kiss last night,

it was beautiful. But that was a very different situation than it is now.you were overwhelmed and a little drunk. First the warm air in the club, then Phil, then suddenly Jake, a kiss, a deal, and then a weird cab driver. All quite a lot at once, but now you can enjoy the kiss, and it’s a very different one from yesterday. This is a relief for both of you, and the beginning of something greater, but also the beginning of an even more stressful time than before. 'Cause how you’re supposed to let Jake go right now, you absolutely don’t know.

You feel like your eyes are filling with tears because of the emotional overload that is currently running through your body. And unfortunately, you two seem to be really starting to have trouble breathing, so you’re must breaking up with each other with a heavy heart. Absolutely out of breath, Jake leans his forehead against yours.

"If the persecutors find me, beat me, okay?" he breathes hard. "Okay, but why?" you giggle.

"Because then I screwed up to be able to kiss you all the time."

In response, you laugh and give him another kiss. You could lie there forever like right now, but Jake’s phone suddenly starts ringing. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes but then stands up from the bed.He gets his cell phone out of his pocket and accepts the call. Instantly you assume the worst. The others are calling to tell him they have to leave. You don’t know how to react and your hands start to shake. His answers leave no room to speculate about what it’s all about, and his facial expressions and posture remain neutral. Shortly after he finishes the phone call, he blows out air and turns to you. You’re already struggling with the tears in your eyes as Jake starts smiling." Well, I think we need to rent a room at the motel."

Confused you look at him, "W-what do you mean?"

"We’ll be safe for the next few days, someone pretending to be me tried to hack the CIA. They think they’ve arrested me"

------

extra material:

"That’s her," he says in a much too high tone. "It’s an honor to finally meet you, I feel like I know you better than Jake knows you. Can you actually scan my personality? Jake always tells me that you are really good at seeing through people and assess" he babbles.

"Oh, is he telling you this?" you ask and grin at Jake.

"Oh yes, if you knew, When he can’t sleep, he tells a lot about you. He doesn’t usually talk that much in a year," giggles Jake’s buddy.

"Max" hisses Jake and looks at him hard.

"And he’s always telling you how impressive you are, and that he’s amazed you don’t have a problem with him being a hacker. And how sweet you are."

"Okay, that’s enough" growls Jake and pushes him. The pushed one begins to laugh and raises his hands up defensively.

"Do you tell such things?" you look amused at him. "Forget that, please," he grumbles. "Oh, I’ll never be able to forget that, but to be fair, I’m thrilled with you, too. And you don’t look bad either." You grin cheekily at him.

Masterlist🌹🎭

#duskwood #duskwood game #everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood fanfiction #jake x mc

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years ago

Text

The Cowboy - Part 5

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol) — if you aren’t a meat lover, there is a scene at the end that involves talk about meat.

Word count: 2093

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

It was dark out by the time you reached your homestead, and you frowned when your headlights shone against the back end of a truck. Shutting off the engine after parking beside the unwanted vehicle, you got out and approached the man leaning against the veranda handrail.

“Here to see whether or not I’d skip town?” you accused with a dry tone, walking passed Jaehyun and straight to unlock the front door. You didn’t stop for his sake, flicking on the lights and went into the kitchen.

Jaehyun followed you in. “No.”

“Then what brings you around here, Cowboy? You made yourself clear enough last night on your stance. I’ll stay out of your way as best as I can. I’d appreciate if you did the same.”

He had removed his cowboy hat and held it in front of himself, his grip tightening when you turned to look at him. You witnessed the remaining sincerity get squashed by a hard look instead. “Well, I shouldn’t have bothered. It seems you’re just fine, Y/N.”

“Perfectly.”

“I won’t keep you then. Goodnight.”

You followed Jaehyun back to the front door where he stepped over the threshold and turned to look back at you. He seemed to want to say something more, and you waited with bated breath before he turned for his truck. Closing the door, you re-trailed your steps into the kitchen in a daze.

Why had Jaehyun come if it weren’t to check on your plans to leave?

You glanced back at the door in surprise. Was he going to apologise for last night?!

“I ruined it!” you whined and stomped your foot, rapping your knuckles gently over your head, berating yourself. “I waited so long for that apology too!”

Looking out the kitchen window, you watched as the truck roared down the driveway until his taillights were no longer visible.

That apology was long gone now.

The following morning, you heard several new noises outside and blearily shunted a window up and leaned out it to see what was going on. Blinking slowly, you focused on the barn out back where the sounds were coming from. You watched as more of the scene started to make sense to you, the two men throwing hay bales out of the loft of the barn onto the back of a truck.

The same truck that left your drive last night.

“Morning Y/N!” a cheerful Avery suddenly greeted, and you shrieked, knocking the top of your head on the window frame as you ducked back inside, your hands covering your chest. Looking down at the sheer chemise you wore, you then stared at the mirror across the room in horror.

Did they see anything just now? Darting over to your wardrobe where your dressing gown hung, you threw it around your body and thumped down the stairs, slipping your feet into the gumboots Avery had gifted you that you kept at the back door and walked over to the barn.

“What are you doing?!” you exclaimed and both men stopped transporting the hay.

“Oh, sorry, did we wake you?” Avery asked with a friendly grin. “Around these areas, we’re up long before now. We should have realised it might not be the same for you.”

“It’s the crack of dawn!”

Jaehyun snorted. “It’s seven-thirty. You’ve missed dawn entirely.”

“Ah. Well, it’s still early for me.” Both men stared at you, and you started to feel awkward. “It’s fine… I just… waking up to men…”

“Ahhhh,” Avery concluded sheepishly and came down the loft ladder to your side. “We needed hay. We stock the barn up down here since no one’s living here to utilise it for livestock with our excess hay. Although we have plenty of grass now with it being spring, we’re preparing for summer when the grass dies off, and we need to feed out again.”

“You don’t need to explain it to her. This is our land, and we waited until a sufficient hour,” Jaehyun stated, throwing down another bale onto the pile they were making.

You stared up at him in the loft and then turned back to Avery. “Sorry, I over-reacted.”

“Seems to be a trend.”

Avery glanced at his cousin and then rolled his eyes, pulling you aside. “Did something happen between you two?”

“N-No. Not exactly.”

“Huh. He’s been exceptionally irksome over the last day. He even cut off early from work yesterday, saying he needed to meet with someone to settle a problem. I had thought it was with you.”

Grimacing lightly, you shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. I get that a lot of people don’t like me here.”

“I don’t mind!” Avery countered, and you grinned at him. He mirrored your expression and then pointed at your head. “But uh… is this what you look like when you wake up?”

“What?” Feeling the top of your head and then clamping your eyes shut at the evident mess of your hair, you heard Avery chuckle heartily. “It was nice seeing you again Avery!”

“I can’t wait to see what other looks you’ll sport whilst you’re here in Blayne, Y/N!” he called after you as you dashed back inside the house, whining outlandishly at looking so ridiculous in front of them.

The next two weeks went by with research inside and out. You took down detailed accounts of the families in Blayne and met with some of them when you went into town. You familiarised yourself with the map of the area and went out on afternoon excursions to discover where best would suit development. You spent your evenings in the town modelling software on your computer, transferring data you had taken down during the day. It was still early days, but you were excited to show your progress to Pierce in a Zoom call on Monday.

But for now, it was the weekend, and it was your first one here where you felt that you didn’t have to work overtime and could officially relax.

Back in the city, you used the weekends for recreation after a busy week. You would sleep in and lounge around your house until you were ready to head out. You’d get your weekly groceries, hit up the gym and then meet with friends in the evening.

You’d already done the lie in part of your usual routine and had lounged around for as long as it took you to eat your breakfast. Without the internet being so readily usable, you couldn’t catch up on current affairs, or the latest social news on Instagram.

You had come to realise just how often your phone had been in front of your face back home.

“Well, I guess it time to get some supplies,” you announced, going upstairs and putting on another of your new casual dresses. Although you still didn’t like the countryside, you did enjoy dressing down a lot more than you expected. You wondered if it was a waste bringing all those pencil skirts and pantsuits with you.

Humming along to a song as you drove into town, you were surprised when a couple of the people you crossed paths with waved. It was a contrast to when they would simply stop and stare, which brought a wider smile to your face.

“Maybe they’ll start to like me soon,” you hoped and pulled up in front of the small grocers on Main Street. You grabbed your reusable bags from the passenger seat and got out, locking the door out of habit. Walking up to the entrance, you pushed on one of the doors to enter.

Except it was locked.

“Huh?” you said in confusion, reaching for the other handle. It didn’t budge either.

“Don’t you know how to read?” a familiar voice asked and you glanced to your left, inhaling a deep breath at the sight of Jaehyun.

You were still too bothered and humiliated by him that you wished to meet with anyone else than him. Still, Jaehyun stepped closer and pointed to the closed sign. “It’s shut until Monday.”

“Who closes their shops on the weekend?”

“Blayne does. You should have come during the week. You’ve been here for almost three weeks, and you didn’t know it closes on the weekends?”

“I was working.”

“That you were.”

“Must you always turn up where I don’t wish for you to?” you asked honestly and then tapped your mouth when you realised you had said that out loud.

Jaehyun smirked. “I guess so.”

“Sorry. I just… whatever. Are the shops open in the town nearby? I need milk.”

“I can get you some milk.”

“It’s fine. I need a specific kind.”

“The grocers won’t be open there either.”

“Really?! Then I have to travel two hours to the closest city for my groceries?!” you wondered hopelessly, flapping your bags around with frustration. “Why is everything closed?!”

“Can I talk now?” Jaehyun questioned humouredly, and you nodded once. “We close the shops on the weekends around here, but the market’s open.”

“Market?”

Jaehyun had gestured for the keys to your car, and without much thought, you offered them to him, climbing into the passenger seat and staring at his side profile as he drove. He glanced at you before looking back at the road. “Am I that handsome?”

“You’re full of it,” you responded weakly, snapping your eyes onto the road. “What kind of market is this?”

“A fresh produce kind. Have you never attended one?”

“Ahhh, an organic shop. We have a grocer three streets down from my apartment where they get fresh produce and meat from the growers on the outskirts.”

“Seriously?” Jaehyun shook his head. “Just you wait.”

“This is amazing!” you enthused an hour later, thanking another seller for the fresh fruit you had just purchased from them.

Jaehyun took the bag from you again and shrugged. “It’s just a market.”

“Just a market?! Can you smell what I’m smelling?! Oh my god, we have to stop for lunch here.”

“Do we?”

You pointed to a burgers sign and nodded eagerly. You bounced up to the counter of the food truck and then gasped. “Avery!”

“Y/N! You finally found out about the produce market!” He looked over your shoulder and then nodded. “So that’s why you bailed on me.”

“Huh?” you asked, looking between the cousins as Jaehyun rubbed at his neck. “I want to try something delicious!”

“Are you opposed to lots of meat?”

“No! Load me up, Avery!”

Once seated at a picnic table with your bacon and beef burger, you beamed across at Jaehyun. “This is totally what I needed.”

“You’re like a kid in a candy store.”

“You’ve been to a candy store before?!” you teased with feigned surprise, and Jaehyun laughed.

“You’re different today.”

“This is me normally.”

“Then how come I haven’t met this version of you, Y/N?” Jaehyun wondered, and you frowned, wiping your lips when you felt sauce from your burger on them. Jaehyun merely watched you, and you coughed lightly, reaching for your juice.

Once composed, you shrugged. “You never really give me the option.”

“I’ve given you plenty of options,” he remarked, and you shook your head. “You turned me away first, remember.”

“I’m really sorry about that. I’ve never had someone speak to me so blunt like that. At the time, I was annoyed with you. But I get why now. I am a stranger with bold ideas, and none of you asked for me to turn up.” You let out a little laugh. “I waited for an apology, but I realised it’s me who owed you one. You’re right. I showed up with little knowledge. But give me a chance. I’m ad-”

“Adaptable,” he finished off with a grin, nodding lightly. “I know.”

“This is amazing, though. The produce markets out here are an entire affair. There’s music and pony rides for the kids, and it just has a general festival vibe. Does this happen every weekend?”

Jaehyun nodded. “We celebrate life a lot out here. We work hard, and at the weekends we try to have fun as best as we can. We might not have fancy technology or-”

“No, this is loads better than the city. Believe me.”

“It is?” he asked earnestly, and you nodded.

“And you thought I wouldn’t last more than two days,” you told him with a laugh and Jaehyun joined you.

“Maybe a month isn’t so hard to imagine with you around, Y/N.”

You stopped laughing then, staring at the man in confusion as your stomach erupted into flutters.

_________________

Part 6

[NCT Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

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spencers-renaissance · 5 years ago

Text

100

Summary: Spencer's an academic researcher who spends every morning at his local library. Derek just happens to drop by one Tuesday and ask the pretty boy in the classics section if he can help him find a book. Sparks fly.

Tags: library au, shy spencer, tooth-rotting fluff, flirting, coming out, spencer does not work at the bau

Pairing: Morgan x Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Read on AO3

Spencer’s working in his favourite corner of the library by 7.35am, stuck straight into his latest research paper while Katherine bustles quietly around the bookshelves, tidying and re-ordering as much as possible before the rush of people pour through the door. She’s probably his favourite opener. She’s calm and efficient and smiles warmly at him but doesn’t engage him in pointless conversation that distracts him from his work, although that’s not to say they haven’t had a few chats here and there. It’s a quiet moment of companionable solitude; the perfect environment for a productive early morning.

He’s vaguely aware of a gradual increase in patrons, the ambient noise level rising ever so slightly as he pours over copies of an obscure ancient philosophical text he’d obtained from the local museum, annotating furiously as he scrunches his brow in concentration. It’s sucked him in enough that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he’s tapped on the shoulder, whirling around to face probably the most attractive man he’s ever met. Immediately, he flushes red, half from the embarrassment of over-reacting, half from the intensity of the urge to jump this man’s bones.

“Hi, I’m sorry I made you jump,” the man chuckles, taking a step back to give him a bit of space. “I can’t find any librarians around and I noticed the philosophy textbook you have on your desk and thought you might be able to help me…” He trails off looking a bit awkward and uncomfortable, clearly out of his element.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Spencer says, a little intimidated but still very eager to spend any amount of time with the Greek god he’s just so happened to encounter on a random Tuesday morning.

“You will?” the man asks, smiling. “Great. Basically my best friend went to an intro to philosophy class at the local community college, one of her many whimsical new projects, and is now obsessed. I was told in no uncertain terms to pick up as many books on the subject as I could before work this morning.”

“Wow,” Spencer breathes a laugh, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Well, I don’t blame her, philosophy is a great subject. I’m working on my fourth PhD in it now, actually.”

“What, you have four PhDs in philosophy?” he asks incredulously.

“No, no,” Spencer smiles, looking down shyly. “My other three are in chemistry, maths, and engineering. This is my first in philosophy. Sorry that was misleading.”

“Looks like I asked the right person, then,” he grins. “I’m Derek.”

“Spencer,” he replies, blushing at the warm look Derek is sending his way. “We’re actually in the classics section, this is just my favourite corner. The philosophy texts are over here.”

He leads the way through the maze of bookshelves, arriving at the little alcove that houses the philosophy and psychology books. With a vague idea of what Derek is looking for, he dives straight into the shelves, combing through the spines until he finds a few options for his friend. “She should probably start with this one: Big Ideas Simply Explained and then move on to Think, which is one of my favourites. This one, How Philosophy Works, will be best if she’s a visual learner instead, and if you want something a bit more complicated, try Philosophy Made Slightly Less Difficult.” He piles on a few extra as he looks around for any he missed before turning around and gesturing that he’s done.

“This is… amazing, thank you,” Derek says gratefully. “I don’t even know why she chose philosophy, it’s a bit random for a computer nerd, isn’t it?”

“Actually about 0.58% of all US college students graduate with a philosophy degree, so it’s not as uncommon as people may think. It’s the 89th most popular major according to last year’s data, but I don’t know the statistics for people with computer science degrees or careers learning about philosophy in an official or unofficial capacity, I’m afraid,” Spencer explains, hands moving expressively as he reels off his statistics.

The mildly impressed expression that’s been pretty permanently painted on Derek’s face the whole time he’s been speaking with Spencer intensifies as he listens intently to his statistics. “Damn, pretty boy, you really know your stuff,” he marvels, eyes wide. “You some sort of genius or something?”

Spencer blushes furiously at that, ducking his head slightly. “Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Derek just stares at him.

“So, yeah, I guess I’m a genius?” he says bashfully.

“No, that 100% qualifies for genius status,” Derek asserts confidently. “Not that I have any sort of qualification to rule on the matter, but in my eyes you are definitely a genius.”

“Thank you,” Spencer murmurs, blush somehow deepening at the unexpected praise from the man who will now occupy his dreams. “You seem pretty smart, too, though. What do you do?”

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Damn it. As if he couldn’t get any sexier. “Wow, that’s… impressive,” Spencer remarks. “Does your friend work there, too?”

“Yeah, she’s our technical analyst,” Derek explains, smiling fondly. “She’s amazing, you’d love her.”

“Well we’ve already got one shared interest,” Spencer points out, gesturing to the books piled high in Derek’s arms. Spencer would’ve collapsed by now, but he’s barely flinching under the weight of seven bulky philosophy texts.

“That’s true,” Derek grins. “Speaking of work, though, pretty boy, I have to run, I’m already late. Thank you so much for your help, though.”

“No problem,” Spencer says softly, definitely not mournfully, as he watches Derek walk away to the check-out desk where Katherine smiles at him as he scans the books through, sending a discreet wink over at Spencer. He glares back jokingly before walking back over to his desk.

He continues working but he can’t help but feel emptiness sinking heavy in his stomach, the kind of a missed opportunity, of almost, of could have been. Immanuel Kant still gets his attention, but he’d be lying if he said that a decent portion of it wasn’t focused on hoping, praying that his path crosses with Derek again, that he’s not replaying every moment over and over in his mind.

⭐️

Derek is very late. He rushes into the briefing room where Penelope is already explaining the case to the team. Rolling his eyes at her pointed look, he dumps the books down on the table in front of her. “Don’t blame me, baby girl, doing your chores is what made me late,” he protests, taking a seat next to Emily.

“Well, maybe you should have been quicker,” Penelope quips, before promptly moving on with the case at Hotch’s pointed glare.

He barely has a moment to think about anything but double homicide until they’re mid-flight and the debriefing is finally over. Moving to the back of the plane, he looks out the window as he plays over the morning’s trip to the library. Spencer might just be the prettiest boy he’s ever met, and making him blush is probably the most fun he’s had all week. Bonus points for intelligence, of course, even after spending just a few minutes with him, he could confidently say he was a walking encyclopedia.

On the drive from the library to Quantico, he’d thought about finding some ruse to go back the next day. Spencer seemed as though he knew the library well, like he spent a lot of time there. Maybe he could go back and actually ask for his number this time; he was gonna take that boy out on a date if it’s the last thing he does. Now, though, that’s going to have to wait.

“Alright,” Emily sighs, flopping into the seat opposite him and dragging him out of his head, “what’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?” Derek asks reflexively, feeling a little defensive.

“Well you were late this morning, not unusual, but you’re not listening to music and instead choosing to stare pensively out the window. Plus, you barely had anything to contribute during debriefing,” she explains, raising an eyebrow.

“Drop it,” he says, sending her a look, but it’s teasing and light-hearted.

“Oh my God, there’s a girl,” she gasps. “And not just any girl, you like her!”

“There absolutely is not,” he says truthfully, raising an eyebrow. He’s not exactly out to the team, not out of fear of how they’ll react but more because he finds coming out awkward and he’s never found the right time, really.

“Suit yourself,” Emily teases, pulling out her phone to play online scrabble.

Derek just scoffs and looks out the window again, definitely not letting his thoughts wander back to Spencer. Definitely not.

⭐️

Spencer walks into the library the following Monday with low expectations. He’d thought that Derek might come back in last week, if not to see him then maybe to return his friend’s books or find more for her, but his wish had been unsuccessful. Accepting that it was a chance encounter that would ultimately go nowhere, and reminding himself that Spencer Reid’s life was decidedly not like the movies, he unpacks his papers from his messenger bag in his favourite corner again and gets back to work. He’s over the moon with the headway he’s making on his paper, and he settles in for another productive morning of work.

Just like last time, Derek creeps up on him while he’s completely in the zone, slipping into the seat opposite him, but at least Spencer doesn’t jump this time. No, he just feels his face immediately brighten, looking far too excited to see a near-stranger again.

“Good morning, pretty boy,” he grins, laughing fondly at Spencer’s reaction.

“Derek, you came back,” he says happily, putting down his pen.

“Yeah, I had a case immediately after I came to the library last Tuesday and it was a tough one. We only wrapped it up yesterday so I have today off, a rare luxury,” he explains, and Spencer tries not to read into it too much, tries not to think that Derek is saying he would’ve come back sooner if he could, tries to take him at face value.

“The exciting life of an FBI agent.”

“Not as glamorous as the movies,” Derek agrees.

“I’m, uh- glad you came back,” Spencer admits shyly, afraid of coming on too strong.

“Well, would you like to get dinner sometime?” Derek asks.

“Really?” Spencer asks, looking up at Derek with shock written across his face.

“Of course,” Derek chuckles. “I mean, I love Penelope, but if she wants more philosophy books she can get them herself. I came back to see you.”

“You did?” Spencer’s still a little floored by Derek’s words, but slowly a warmth starts to bloom inside him as he realises what’s happening.

“I did,” Derek smiles gently. “Now, about that date. How does tonight sound?”

⭐️

Derek decides on his favourite Italian place to treat Spencer at and his cheeks hurt by the end of the night; he’s pretty sure not one moment went by when he wasn’t smiling fondly at his statistics or stories or blushing. He slips his hand into Spencer’s as they walk out of the restaurant, swinging their arms a bit, directing them down the street towards the 24/7 ice cream parlour.

“I love ice cream,” Spencer grins as they head inside, his cheeks red from the cold winter air and the copious red wine they’d had with dinner.

“Who doesn’t?” Derek asks, leading him up to the counter.

Spencer insists on sampling far too many flavours before deciding on cookies and cream with mint chocolate chip in a cone. He licks at it happily while Derek sits opposite with two scoops of raspberry ripple in a cup and forces himself to think very pure thoughts.

“Thank you for this, Derek,” he beams over his cone.

“Oh, pretty boy,” Derek says fondly. “Thank you.”

Emily spots it the minute he walks into the bullpen the next day. “I’m guessing things are going well with her,” she smirks as she skids over on her chair, grinning wildly.

He sighs as he sits down, looking up at her as he sets his stuff down. “With him, yes,” he confirms, smiling a little.

She raises her eyebrows and pauses for a moment. “Wow, okay, okay,” she says. “Well, I hope I can meet him soon.”

“Might be a bit early for that yet, Em,” he laughs, “but if things go as well as I think they will, that’s definitely on the cards.”

(Five months later, when Spencer finally does meet Emily, she’s as annoying as Derek expects her to be but seeing his boyfriend’s face light up as he gets welcomed in the found family of the BAU is worth every drop of teasing, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.)

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #moreid #moreid fic #moreid writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #my writing #moreid fluff #criminal minds fluff #moreid au #criminal minds au #library au

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keltonwrites · 4 years ago

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I'm not sure if that's a good thing

“Well you’re definitely the first.” This past week, we screened-in the eastern facing porch on the side of the cabin. The porch slopes to the South, with the brick-on-dirt floor crumbling in that direction as well until it reaches uneven slabs of stone acting as steps down to the “yard” below. A mixed material retaining wall wraps beneath the steps to the south facing garage, holding up one corner of the narrow deck on the front of the house. The deck, in the heat of a high altitude summer, droops off the house like it’s daydreaming about the winter snow’s embrace. It’s safe to sit on, though I would not recommend leaning on the railing.

The side porch takes the brunt of the wind. Our wooden rocking chairs have been rocked some 20 feet into the yard more than once in the two months we lived here. In the myriad of threats we heard about the weather, most people included the wind. We all know how I feel about this ongoing weather intimidation tactic. I asked, “what speed are the gusts?” “Oh, they get up to 70 miles per hour on some days.” This was the first quantifiable piece of weather information someone had offered — an actual number we could react to with data and our historical personal experiences of various weather events. And our reaction was: uhhhh…. OK???? Look, I get it. No one’s preaching the skin benefits of -20 degree wind gusts at 70 mph, building snow drifts against your house in the span of minutes that Cooper could die in. I am not going to pretend that’s pleasant. But 70 mph? Any wind I’ve driven faster than does not intimidate me. I used to rally the horses at 12 years old in winds over 70mph to get them in the barn before the latest tornado whipped through. I helped shutter the resort in the BVI as the Category 5 hurricane rolled in. Even in Topanga, 70 mile per hour gusts were not uncommon in Santa Ana events. We had our single pane windows shatter more than once from debris in the wind. We taped cardboard up and went to sleep. That “70 mph” was all I needed to hear to confirm our next project: we were going to build a catio for these cats, and we were going to do it on the pre-existing porch structure to save time and money. We spent a week framing out the structure. We had to carve into the logs of the house to embed the wood supports for the framing.

And from there, every piece of wood was custom carved and cut to fit around the existing timber supports. The existing porch was so wildly uneven that there are gaps between each piece of old wood and the new framing. Our plan is to mix all the wood chips from the project with mortar/chinking and stuff the gaps — a good solution for the log cabin look. We built a plywood pony wall up to 28 inches from the interior of the porch, which gives a height of ~4-5ft from the exterior ground below. It’s capped with a 2x6” railing for even the fluffiest of cats to find a perch. The exterior will be wrapped with corrugated metal that we’ll quick-age to match the metal that wraps the bottom of the cabin. On the interior of the porch, we’ll use shiplap to hide the framing.

The screens themselves can withstand winds up to 120 mph, but to-be-determined if they can hold the weight of a growing maniac cat who has already tried to climb them. In the event the screens succumb to cat (or wind or snow or neighbor judgment) we’ll reinforce with metal mesh. We’re going to maintain this screen porch regardless of what the screen is. We had the pleasure of running into one of our more industrious neighbors the other day, and Ben asked him, “hey we’re building a screen porch. Is this a terrible idea?” He laughed. “Well you’re definitely the first.” But he liked it. Great way to diminish wind into the house. Simple way to regulate the temperature with massive south-facing windows. And indeed a practical outdoor safe haven for cats in predator territory. Just because you’re the first doesn’t mean you’re foolish — just foolhardy. There’s plenty of that here. This town has the typical mountain town’s truncated version of a colonizers’ history: “established 1881.” But it was plenty established prior to that by the Uncompahgre Band of the Ute Nation, removed by the U.S. Army on September 7, 1881, nearly 140 years ago. The government relocated the Uncompahgre Ute People to Utah, and one year after the Ute were forcibly removed from their ancestral land, San Miguel County split off from Ouray County and was made its own political subdivision in the newly-formed State of Colorado. In 1879, the ore-laden valley already had 50 people living in it, with a new narrow gauge railway only 2 miles away. By 1885, it was a town of 200 people. There was a hotel, a couple saloons, a pool hall. Winters were treacherous; the valley was and is prone to avalanches. But where there’s gold, there’s gumption. The power needed to run the stamp mill to process ore drove innovation. Timber was scarce at such high elevations, so a wood powered steam mill wouldn’t cut it. But the San Miguel River just a few miles down from the mine looked promising. Thus began the development and construction of the Ames Hydroelectric Generating Plant. It was a hit. In fact, it was so successful that the Ames Plant led to the adoption of alternating currents at Niagara Falls and eventually to being adopted worldwide as a viable power solution. The plant remains, but the gold rush obviously didn’t. By 1940, the U.S. Census declared this little town I call home as tied for the lowest population in the country: 2 people. By 1960, it was one of four incorporated towns in the U.S. with no residents. But the joke was on the Census — the town’s single resident was just out of town the day the census came through. 1960 population: 1. By 1980 the population grew to 38, 69 in 1990, and about 180 now. (Plus 51 dogs according to the town’s website.) With modern amenities, it’s easier to be here. Studded snow tires, satellite internet, solar panels, instant coffee. No matter the hardships, there’s the reality of the present. In the 1880s, as the town boomed, the Ouray Times declared, “it will be at no distant day a far more pretentious town than it is now.” That day hasn’t exactly arrived, but I guess it depends on what you consider pretentious. I don’t think the town claims any airs of excellence beyond what’s true. In fact, the town hardly claims anything at all. There’s no sign indicating it’s even here. There’s just the old side and the new side. The new side, the Eastern half, was drawn out in the early 1990s, some 100 years later, and is separated from the Old Town by an avalanche zone—preserved open space for hiking in the summer, preserved open space for surviving in the winter. The town forbids short-term rentals, no one has a fence, dogs roam free, and all the houses have that cabin look to them. A boulder nests in a grove near a trailhead in the center of town with a plaque paying respect to the Utes who called this valley home. There’s no industry here. No businesses allowed. If you want a $7 latte, you can drive the 14 miles required to get it, assuming there’s not an avalanche blocking your path. You can, however, buy a pink lemonade in a

solo cup at the permanent lemonade stand run by the local feral child mafia. Crystals (rocks) can be purchased for an additional cost. We bought one, hoping to buy favor at the same time. The town plan has a few guiding principles, and it’s all in the name of preservation. We must preserve: 1 - the quiet atmosphere 2 - the rustic character 3 - the natural setting

And finally: 4 - protect the health and wellbeing of the people here No snowmobiles, no ATVs, no drones. In fact, the only sign of the outside world here are the passers-through. When you take the dirt road through town to the end, you enter National Forest, and you can hike over the pass saddle at nearly 12,000 feet before descending down the other side into Silverton. The pass road climbs rutted through an aspen forest before scaling across a scree field and then lurching over to the other side. Every day, it seems like 30 or so Texans and Arizonans in lifted and loud Jeeps with unused mods climb over this mountain in the comfort of their air conditioning, simply to drive down the other side. You could hike it, ride it, run it, and ski it, but they don’t. They rev their engines, kicking up dust in a town of feral children and roaming dogs, staring at us instead of waving. I’ve lived here for two months and look how salty I am. I’ll fit in yet. But today, there is a temperature that whispers of perfect trails and the dwindling of ogglers driving 35 in a 15. It’s already snowed in the mountains we see from our kitchen. Today, like a dedication to the Septembers of our youth, you can feel a chill in the air. A temperature akin to pencils and sweaters and reinventing yourself. A temperature that doesn’t exactly sing “screen porch” but could if you had the right slippers on. That’s what I did this morning: put my slippers on and sat there in the cool mountain morning air, thinking about the cemetery behind our house, about the Ute tribe, about the miners, about the mailman who died on Christmas in 1875 on the pass, about the 5 people who died in avalanches here just last year, about the people in their cars on their phones driving through, and all the people who’s very first question to us was, “so are you gonna live here part-time or full-time?” Maybe it will be a hard place to live. But at least we’ll have a screen porch.

Every week I'm writing about moving to log cabin in a small town at 10,000 feet. Subscribe here for free: tinyletter.com/keltonwrites

#colorado #small town life #home renovation #amwriting #creative writing #newsletter #a little bit better

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 113

Sooo.... I completely did not realize my queue dumped itself again, or that this chapter didn’t post when it should have. So I’m sorry for the slightly-delayed update!

Thanks to @baelpenrose for their beta-reading, as always. This chapter loops back to something that came up previously and I hate loose ends dangling around everywhere. Content warnings for anger issues, trauma, and poor coping mechanisms.

“Dude, I’m making soup,” I jokingly scolded Maverick as I took the bowl of pumpkin seeds away from him. After the camping trip, I had made the brilliant decision to roast the seeds we had harvested. All of them. Ten pounds of them, it turned out. How he wasn’t sick of eating them, I had no idea.

With a pout, he made grabby-hands at the bowl. “What kind?”

“Potato,” I informed him as I pivoted away and carried the bowl back to the kitchen and put the lid on it.

It didn’t take long for him to join me and start requesting potatoes from the food console. Even though they were freshly-generated and already clean, he started washing them anyway. I was pretty sure the action ranked up there with utensils being in exactly-the-right place, because he always washed the vegetables that he got from the console. It didn’t hurt anything, though, so we generally just let him do it.

About an hour later, we were sitting at the table with two bowls of velvety, off-white soup - his topped with sour cream, bacon, and cheese, mine just topped with scallions - and dug in. Conor was on Beta-shift at work currently, so we made sure to put the lid on the rest to keep it warm. Even though the temperature on the Ark never changed beyond a ten-degree variance, the camping trip had triggered something in me that said “Autumn”, and soup was exactly what I needed right then.

I had just finished my first bowl, and Maverick was halfway through his second - with somehow even more bacon - when the door opened and Conor stalked in. Everything in his body language screamed that he was angry about something, and I subconsciously held my breath. Glancing at Maverick, I saw him arch an eyebrow at me before turning to our clearly-upset partner.

“Everything okay?” he ventured slowly.

“Work. Huynh,” he grunted, shoving a hand through his hair as he started pacing into the kitchen, past the table, into the living room, and back. “Stupid pre-fab structures. We don’t… Stupid!” Grasping for words, he only seemed to get more and more frustrated. On his next trip into the kitchen, he grabbed a bowl and thought he was going to try to eat, but instead I saw him start to raise the bowl higher.

Maverick stood, rushed over, and snatched the bowl from him. “We talked about this. If you throw that, you’ll give Sophia the panic attack she is trying not to have right now. I told you before, if you give her a panic attack again, I would knock you out. Please don’t make me keep my word.” Rather than angry, he sounded distressed and sad. “What are you supposed to do when you get frustrated like this?”

“Run,” Conor grunted, rubbing his face briskly before gesturing at his sweat-stained coveralls. “And I did. For miles and miles. It didn’t help. And I’m supposed to try to talk about what I’m angry about, but that’s even more frustrating, because I… I can’t explain it fast enough.”

Nodding, Maverick ladled soup into the bowl before gently pushing Conor to the table and setting the now-full bowl in front of him. Without even realizing what he was doing, Conor started tearing a roll in half and dipping it in the soup - he ate every soup like that, and it was the weirdest thing I had ever seen. But it meant he was calming down, apparently, because he couldn’t rant and eat at the same time, and the man had priorities.

“I’m frustrated, because Huynh wants us to start prototypes for the pre-fabs that we will be using on Von,” he confessed, angrily dunking another chunk of bread and shoving it in his mouth. “I still think it’s too early. I talked to Noah, and the last information they have about the planet is a decade old. We aren’t close enough to drop out of whatever FTL we are using and get fresh scans, and we can’t get communications while we’re travelling, apparently, because… FTL.”

I nodded tentatively, encouraging him to go on, and started putting butter on a roll to keep myself calm. So far, he wasn’t nearly as angry as it usually took for him to start throwing things, and he hadn’t had an episode in a while, so…. So far, so good.

He saw my nod and kept going. “I just think he’s putting the cart before the horse. We shouldn’t be constructing things based on old data, and major climate change can happen over ten years.” We’d found that out the hard way, unfortunately.

“What does Charly think?” Maverick asked.

“She’s on Gamma shift this week, so I didn’t get a chance to ask her,” he confessed sullenly. At this point, he was out of soup and still trying to stab a piece of bread through the bottom of his bowl, so Maverick gently took it away and refilled it. “Thanks, love. So, I couldn’t ask Charly her suggestion, Huynh won’t listen, and I just… I feel like I’m barking in the wind.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I tried to do everything I was supposed to do.”

“I don’t think it’s working.” Maverick’s statement wasn’t said unkindly, and Conor shrugged and nodded in response. “What else have you and your therapist discussed?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow,” he answered, rather than answering the question.

“Then you need to talk to them about another way to vent your frustration,” Maverick insisted. “And where these anger issues are coming from.”

Conor mumbled something, prompting us to lean forward to better hear him. When I made a gesture to repeat himself, he sighed. “We’ve talked about that, and I think I know where it’s coming from, it’s just…. It’s embarrassing.”

“It can’t be any more embarrassing than anything you know about either of us,” Maverick tried to point out, prompting me to scowl at him. “Hey! I literally slept through the end of the world.”

That got a chuckle out of Conor, but he got serious again quickly. “The anger…” he started, clearly reluctant. “So, I was an orphan. Parents died when I was - four? Five?” We nodded - this wasn’t new information so far. They’d died in an accident, and neither had any family. He’d mentioned siblings, but they were his foster siblings throughout the years. “I got bounced around the foster system a bit as a kid, but I think I got lucky. None of my foster families were bad, necessarily, but I think that made it worse when I got moved from home to home. Every time I started to let myself get close and open up…. I would get taken and moved to another family for one reason or another. This family moved, that couple got too old to keep fostering kids, one of my foster mom’s got cancer and her wife couldn’t take care of me and Mum at the same time. No one’s fault but… I felt so betrayed. So I… I started getting angry and pushing people away, making sure that I wouldn’t get close to them just to lose them again.” That word, betrayed, tickled something in my mind. It was too familiar. “I got moved from family to family even more after that, but it hurt less, right? Because I wasn’t getting attached, and I was being moved because of anger issues. Because of something I did.”

“So… you’re pushing us away?” I asked, not even trying to hide my hurt feelings.

“I’m getting there, swear.” His response was very firm before he picked up where he left off. “Eventually, I turned eighteen, I was on my own, and now I really felt like I had control over my life. I started an engineering program, I saw a therapist, and a lot of that anger went away.”

“That’s where the You we normally see came out?” Maverick asked, direct as always.

“Yeah. I was happier, calmer… I wasn’t a scared little boy anymore. I felt more stable.”

“And then…?”

“And then the world went tits up,” Conor laughed sadly. “I didn’t have much control over which people were in my life and which weren’t, but it was the After, right? I did manage to find a group who were pretty peaceful, and I stuck it out there. Then I woke up here, and I could be happy again. I tried to be the version of myself that I liked, instead of that angry little boy.”

That was when it clicked. Betrayed. “Then Arantxa…”

“Yeah, then Arantxa,” he confirmed quietly. “And you almost died.”

Tyche’s words from the day she busted my lip came back to me. For three weeks, I had to watch you try to figure out if you were going to live or die! Conor had to watch you… “Three times,” I whispered without realizing it.

“Twice,” Conor corrected, not realizing I was talking about what Tyche had said. “Once after you were attacked, and once when we were trying to figure out what was going on with Else.” Huffing, he shoved his now-empty bowl toward Maverick. “Please take that, I’m getting angry again.”

“Thanks for recognizing that,” Maverick nodded. “But I don’t think you’re mad. I think you just feel out of control again thinking about it.”

“That’s what my therapist says,” he admitted. “But inside, it feels like anger. And after Arantxa, when I started feeling that kind of angry, I… I felt like that scared little boy again. I didn’t realize I was doing it, until I started talking to Josh, but they think I subconsciously started pushing you away more every time something would happen.” He took a deep breath to compose himself. “To… I don’t know, make you show me who you ‘really’ are, to make you leave me before you can decide to leave, or before you actually die one time.”

“So, this is about me,” I ventured slowly. “Not Maverick at all.”

“I don’t mean it’s your fault,” Conor objected quickly. “None of this is your fault, that I react the wrong way when I feel like I need more control over situations.”

It started dawning on me what he was talking about. “PTSD. You’re talking about PTSD. Not just the kind we all have from the After, but… from moving around so much when you were growing up. From not having a secure situation.”

My mind started racing, connecting the dots. Before moving in with me, neither Maverick nor Conor had what would have been considered ‘proper’ quarters - both had essentially chosen personal quarters barely big enough for a bed. Maverick had admitted early on when we were still only friends, that he had chosen his because he never really had anything and spent his entire life after his dad died wandering from place to place, never really belonging. So he had a habit of being ready to pick up and go at a moment’s notice, and tried to take up as little space as possible in the process. It was no secret - he did it deliberately and had no shame regarding the situation.

It had never occurred to me that Conor did the same thing without realizing it.

Maverick shook his head. I thought he was negating what I had said, but then he sighed. “We’re a mess, you know that?” Leaning back, he stretched and put his hands behind his head. “I think we should have a therapy session or four, together, about all this.”

Both Conor and I turned slowly to stare at him, wide-eyed. “When did you start being the sensible one?”

He pointed a finger at me. “You run headfirst into every dangerous situation you can find.” The finger flicked to point at Conor. “And you are convinced you’re an idiot, which is the only idiotic thing I’ve actually heard you say.” Smugly, he put his hands back behind his head and smiled. “I’ve always been the sensible one.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #hfy #found family #aliens #food #relationships #polyamory #earth is space australia #science fiction #original science fiction #sci fi #original sci fi #my writing #original fiction

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fijiangecko · 4 years ago

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Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 3: Into the Murky Waters

previous | next

Read it on AO3 here

A/N: A day late but it’s here!

~~~~~~

“I think after we visit the police and get their files we should head back to my place and sort through everything. If we’re lucky we might be able to visit one or two of the crime scenes before the sun goes down, but it would be best for us to all have the same idea of what’s going on.” You speak while putting your arms through your coat, the cold air hitting your face as the group walks down the streets.

“Sounds like a plan to us.” Nodding, Iwaizumi pipes up and leads the group further along the streets of Yokohama.

The police station is busy as officers pace quickly through the corridors, quietly chatting amongst themselves. Two men stand by a desk, one looking up for a brief moment before nudging the other with sickly green hair. The latter frowns upon seeing your faces, but walks over.

“Officer Suguru, nice to see you again.” Kuroo speaks, a sly smile spread across his lips when he sees the man. You recognize the officer as well, having worked a handful of cases with him, although he treats everyone at the agency as though they are lesser than.

“Can’t say the same about you.” His voice is stern, almost spiteful while his eyes glaze over the group lined up.

“Alrighty then,” you interject. “We’re just here to pick up the files and maybe ask some quick questions, then we can get out of your hair. Sound good?”

Suguru makes eye contact with you and clicks his tongue. “Follow me.” He turns on his heel and starts to walk off, not bothering to see if you all follow. “ We’ve been covering this case for about a month and a half with absolutely no leads. As soon as we think of something, a piece of info pops up that discredits the entire theory. I told the chief not to bring you weirdos into this but we’re starting to get desperate considering the media still doesn’t know.”

“Figures,” Oikawa pipes up. “Once they know it about this they’re gonna be up your asses.”

“Thanks. Not helpful.” Suguru shoves the handle down on a door and pushes it open with his hip. Inside the doorway is a conference room with one box sat on the long table. “This is what we’ve got so far.”

Iwaizumi walks over and pops the top off. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” The box isn’t even half full. You assume that most of its contents had already been given to you by Takeda and Ukai. “Again, we called you freaks to help us.” Suguru stands by the door, arms crossed.

“Well, if you don’t mind, we can take these off of your hands and we’ll let you know if we have any questions.” Ever the charmer, Oikawa puts the lid back on top of the box, and slides it off the table and into his arms. Suguru has a displeased look on his face, but doesn’t respond to the banter. “Tell the Chief I said bye!”

The four of you hastily make your way out of the office, away from the prying eyes of countless officers. With a sigh, Kuroo lets his shoulders relax. “I knew from the first step inside that place that they wouldn’t be any fucking help.”

“As soon as I saw Suguru I knew it wasn’t going anywhere.” The thought of the green haired piece of shit makes you mentally gag. “It would be better for us to just get back to my apartment and go over it ourselves.”

With a silent agreement, everyone quickens their pace to the subway.

“Water anyone? We can set up in the kitchen, just let me move some shit.” You put down your belongings and take off your shoes before running over to the kitchen to get rid of the stacks of mail on the table.

No one responds to your question as they walk over to the dining area, but Kuroo bumps your hip with his. “I’ll get a pitcher, you go set up the files.” As a thanks, you bump his hip back and start to scatter papers.

“So…” Kuroo sets the pitcher and some glasses down as you speak. “There have been six murders over the past month and a half, each occurring within six to nine days within the last.”

Iwaizumi picks up a glass. “By the looks of it, all of the bodies were found in abandoned sections of the city, or ones that were sectioned off from the public.” He talks over the sound of water being poured. “Some of them are known spots while others the general public wouldn’t have the knowledge of.”

“So it’s most likely someone who either has access to these locations or knows about them,” Kuroo says absentmindedly while looking over a piece of paper.

“Yes, but that doesn’t narrow down the options all that much.” Your arms are folded across your chest as you gaze over the plethora of information spread across your table. “I think it’s safe to say that it wouldn’t be someone from the general public. These murders don’t look like they were random, but none of the pieces here fit.”

“We should set the files up in a general timeline and visit the newest spots first and work our way back. The last one was almost a week ago so there’s no telling when or where our killer is gonna drop a body off next.” Iwa leans over the table and starts to move the stacks, Oikawa following suit.

A few short moments later, each of the files is placed chronologically. “So we’ll stop at the old shipyard first and then head over to the warehouse district. That should be enough time before it gets too dark and then we can go everywhere else tomorrow.” Oikawa points at the locations.

“Sounds like a plan, but we should probably take my car instead of the subway if we wanna get there in time.” You turn to face your apartment and try to find where your keys are.

“We’re taking your car? The one you told me I wasn’t even allowed to look at? Like, that car?” Kuroo’s eyes are wide, but teasing as he pokes his nose in your direction, trying to hide a smile.

“You and Bo were drunk and if you got a scratch on my pride and joy I would’ve killed you both, but yes. We’re taking that car.” You can feel his sarcastic tone from miles away, but you don’t bother to look at him while you rummage through different purses to find your key ring.

“Shotgun!” Oikawa makes his way to the front door and starts to put on his shoes. “The passenger seat is so much more comfy than the back seats.” His body turns partially to Kuroo’s, looking at him to let him in on this little known fact.

“Wait, you guys have been in the car?!” The tallest guy in the room reels back, genuinely shocked at the revelation.

“Yeah… Y/N used to take us out of missions in the suburbs in it.” Iwaizumi proceeds to put on his shoes as well.

“What the hell dude?! Am I the only one who hasn’t been in it?”

“You, Nishinoya, Tanaka and Bokuto.” You whip out the keys from a bag and jingle them in his face. “Everyone else has at least sat in my car.” He pouts, but follows the rest of the group.

The car is easy to spot from the parking lot, the sleek black gloss finish reflecting the sunlight back at the group. From Kuroo’s knowledge of cars, it looks to be an older Chevy Chevelle but with four doors instead of two. “How old is this thing?”

“It’s a 1967 model, I had to have it shipped from the U.S.” You walk to the drivers door and unlock the car. The boys all hop in, taking their respective seats.. The first thing that catches Kuroo’s eye is the modern interior paired with the stick shift in the center of the front seat.

“I can see why you never let me in here, looks expensive.”

“I don’t take her out too often since I’m in the city most of the time, but it’s nice to be driving again. And yes, a good chunk of change was spent on her.” You pat the dashboard and start the engine. “Once again, I will kill you if you get the tiniest scratch on her.”

“This place is still taped up since it wasn’t all that long ago, but we should probably split up so we can get to the warehouses before too long.” The engine rumbles underneath your voice, the car slowly coming to a halt as you park not far away from the scene.

“Iwa-chan and I will check out the actual crime scene, you and Kuroo can check the perimeter to see if they missed anything!” Oikawa hops out of the car and stretches quickly before walking over. You take notice of the fast blue flash that happened when he was stretching, but no one else seemed to have caught it.

The possibility of the Port Mafia appearing put the three of you on high alert, and almost anytime your group was out Oikawa would use his gift to make sure there were no surprises. The three of you had briefly chatted about it at the agency, behind Kuroo’s back. The general consensus was that Oikawa would be the lookout anytime you all went out and that it was his responsibility to let you both know if anything happens. Iwa’s job is to keep track of all of the data and keep separate files that contain anything related to the Port Mafia, such as the patterned blood stains. Your main focus is to keep Kuroo out of the loop. If the mafia is involved in this case, you could only hope that the police call you off of it before things get too involved.

Kuroo takes the lead and starts to walk the perimeter of the shipyard, checking out all the different angles that could have line of sight on the crime scene. “So, what do you make of all of it?”

“What do you mean?” You stuff your hands into your pockets and lean forward to inspect some of the large crates strewn across the concrete.

“I mean the case in general. You are one of the most seasoned detectives the agency has, and I can tell you already have an idea, if not a couple, of what’s going on here.” He puts emphasis on his words by craning his neck to look at you, but his words are sincere as he’s genuinely curious about your opinion.

Pursing your lips, you think for a moment. You don’t want to lie to him necessarily, but telling him exactly what you’re thinking isn’t really an option. “You wouldn’t be wrong, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions and get something in your guys’ heads before I have enough evidence to back it up, y’know?” With your last word, you look into his golden eyes.

“Smart.” His look softens when he sees that you’re telling a truth of sorts. “Then the whole group wouldn’t have to deal with confirmation bias.” His scientist is peaking through. You roll your eyes and walk off to inspect a different area as he chuckles and moves off.

The yard is bleak for the most part, countless variations of cargo and ship parts placed carelessly around. It’s odd, you think, that the body would be in the center of everything. Like it isn’t trying to be hidden. Your pace slows as you come to one of the last places that has visibility on where the body would have been. There’s a large shipping container that blocks some spots; age and the general wear and tear has caused the large piece of metal to rust. Your eyes rake over the orange container, but something catches your attention around the handle.

You crouch down and move in closer. “What’d you find?” Kuroo notices your position and makes his way over.

“Fibers that were caught on the door.” You point to the black material, careful not to touch it. It could’ve been missed easily, blending in with the rusty metal. “I’ll have Kenma run diagnostics on them just in case.” He nods, but turns his attention to the buzzing in his pocket. You walk over to the car and grab some gloves and a bag.

Taking the fabric between your fingers, you gently shimmy it out of its wedged position and place it into the plastic. Kuroo puts his phone back into his pocket. “Oikawa and Iwazumi said that nothing was out of the ordinary at the scene. They’re headed back to the car now.”

“Okay. I think we looked over everything so let’s go.” You hold the bag up and examine it in what sunlights left.

As you and Kuroo approach the vehicle, Oikawa practically shouts. “I’m just saying! If you like this person then you should just come right out and say it! It’s not like you’re ugly!”

“And that’s why you’re a dumbass. No way in hell am I telling them shit,” Iwa huffs and turns away from his partner.

“Why’d you piss him off, Oikawa?” You speak before Tooru can get another word in, tossing the bag at Iwa.

“How dare you! I was trying to be a good friend and help Iwaizumi with his crush but apparently I’m not allowed to be a decent person.” Whining like a child, Oikawa crosses his arms and turns his chin up and away from the group. You and Iwa roll your eyes.

“This happen often?” Kuroo leans in to whisper.

“More than I’d like to think about.” You take off the gloves and pull out the car keys.

“He does know it’s pretty obvious who it is, right?”

“Absolutely not.” You stare at Kuroo and sigh. “Alright, Hajime rides shotgun to the warehouses.”

“But-”

“No,” you cut off Tooru once more. “After that, Kuroo gets to sit there on the way home.” He silently grumbles to himself, settling into the back seat while the rest of you silently get in and listen to the radio.

Slowly coming to a halt, the metal hunk jerks into place as you put her into park. “Same groups?” Kuroo asks, looking between everyone.

“Can I trust you two to not hurt each other and do your jobs?” You look at Oikawa from the rearview mirror, popping a brow up accusingly.

“We got it Y/N.” Hajime breaks off the childish encounter before it can continue and splits off.

The warehouse is large, but filled with nothing. Your footsteps echo in the dark space. The other two in your group keep forward and walk down where police tapes are starting to fall off from their previously tied positions. You stop and take a second to look around, noticing the staircase and balcony on the outer parts of the room.

The metal creaks under yours and Kuroos footsteps. “Do you think he’ll ever say anything to Oikawa?” Kuroo walks up the stairs behind you, unsure of where to look before ultimately deciding to look at the ceiling.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” You reach the balcony and slow your pace to check everything. “I hope he does. They’re good for each other.” Kuroo can tell you’re being sincere, and he smiles at your statement. All three of you are close and if you think that they’re good for one another, then he decides to take that stance as well.

Following behind you, he checks the wall and floor for anything while you observe the space below and the railing. You can see Tooru and Hajime talking down on the ground level, crouching and standing straight, taking out the photos and finding where each position is.

I hope he says something soon. Tooru can’t take a hint but it’s not like either of them are interested in anyone else right now. You watch them while you walk, a nudge to the shoulder brings you out of your thoughts. “Y/N. Blood stains.” Kuroo points to the railing. Dried splotches of blood are faint on the top bar of the railing, only a few specs and faint from age.

Your face scrunches in thought, impressed that he spotted it. “These weren’t in any of the photos.” He shakes his head in confirmation, and pulls a swab and container out from his pocket.

“Not that it does us all that much good, but at least we can try and get the blood type. See if it matches any of the victims. After the last place, I thought it might be a good idea to bring some equipment with us.” You agree with him by nodding and letting him take the sample.

“We should probably stop by Kenma’s tonight and give him all this stuff since he’s not gonna sleep anyways.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Placing the swab into the tube, he turns and walks back down to the others.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are already standing next to the car in silence. You can tell Iwa’s just being petty and Tooru looks like he’s about to burst if he doesn’t talk in the next two seconds. “Ready?” You unlock the doors for everyone and they all hop in without a word.

Rubbing your eyes, the dim lights from the lamp posts light the city streets as you blink harshly to bring some moisture back into your eyelids. While you’re staring at the road, you don’t see Kuroo staring at you from the passenger's seat, admiring how gorgeous you look with the different angles of light hitting your face. He loves how you took charge of this case, and he admires your leadership skills on the field. His chest tightens at the thought. You have been doing this for so long, he thinks to himself, and you deserve the praise.

Tooru glances up from the back seat and notices Kuroo’s current state, and decides to nudge Hajime’s arm to get him to look. Both of them smile at the scene, knowing for quite a while that Kuroo has a thing for you, but they quietly return to their work and let it happen.

The trip to Kenma’s house doesn’t take all that long considering it’s getting fairly late at night. You and Kuroo decide to just go and drop off the evidence quickly, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi can stay in the car and wait.

You knock softly on the door, careful not to be too loud for his neighbors. Within a matter of seconds the door is swung open and Kenma stands in front of you both, wearing his pajamas and bags apparent under his eyes.

“Hey Kenma, sorry to drop in so late.” His face is telling you that you had interrupted something, so you speak as sweetly as possible.

“Don’t worry about it. Kuroo already filled me in; I’ll have it done by morning.” He extends his hands towards you and you place the two bags into them. Kenma holds them up and looks at them. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ll call you when I’m done.” And with that, he shuts his front door and leaves you both outside.

“Okay.” You swallow your saliva and turn back to the car.

“He’s probably been up for a day or two,” Kuroo grumbles.

“It’s okay, that means he’ll most likely pass out soon.” You don’t know Kenma as well as his counterpart, but you still knew of his tendencies.

The engine puts you in a trance for the rest of the way home; the sound puts you at ease and your heart rate slows until you are completely relaxed. You pull into the parking space and sit for a moment, taking in the noise before cutting it off and getting out.

“What’s a good time for everyone? The rest of the crime scenes are spread out all across town so it’s gonna be a lot of driving around.” A yawn finishes your sentence as you lean on your apartment door, looking to the three men.

“How does nine sound? That should give Kenma some time to get back to us and give us enough time to get coffee or whatever.” Kuroo shivers in the night air, shoving hands down into his pants pockets and hunching into himself.

“Sounds good to me.” Iwa pulls his suit jacket on.

“Same here.” Oikawa matches your yawn, but smiles at you.

“Cool. Get home safe guys.” You wave to them and open your apartment, feeling a blast of warmth.

“Night.” They each mumble and head on home.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive Y/N.” Kenma’s voice is tired over the phone, words slurring slightly from over exhaustion. “Neither of the samples matched with any of the victims. The blood’s O negative and the clothing was made out of some kind of cashmere, which no one was wearing when they died.”

“Okay.” You rub your eyes and sigh, frustrated that this was going exactly how you didn’t want it to go. “Thanks Kenma. Go to bed.”

Kuroo, having walked in not that long ago, heard the entire conversation. He places two coffees down on the counter and watches you rub your eyes. “No dice?” You shake your head and let your hand run slowly down your chin. “Well at least we know that the police missed stuff. It’s not exactly what you wanna hear, but it gives us a chance to actually piece this together.” Always looking for the positives, he smiles at you and gently rubs your shoulder.

“I suppose.” You put a hand on top of his, patting it lightly. His thumb continues to rub circles into your shoulder, but the moment is cut short by a knock at the door. As you step away, your heart skips a beat and you take a deep breath. Unbeknownst to you, his heart does the same thing.

“Good morning, Strike Team Alpha!” Oikawa practically screams as he enters the doorway, a big, bright smile across his lips. Hajime walks in behind him and waves.

“Mornin’ boys. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?” You walk back into the kitchen, picking up the coffee.

“Please.” Kuroo clears his throat and grabs his cup.

“Better chug your coffee now. No drinks in the car.” You take a few sips of yours before leaving it on the counter. He deadpans and attempts to drink all of the burning hot coffee, but ends up coughing a majority of it up. You laugh and head outside.

“Where to first?” You pull the seatbelt across your chest and click it into place before looking at your co-pilot, Hajime.

“If we’re following the order, we’re headed to the suburbs. It’ll probably take an hour or so with traffic.” He takes out some papers from a file folder, showing you the address.

“Sounds like a good nap to me!” Oikawa stretches in the back, placing hands behind his head.

“Nuh-uh.” His smile falters. “I’ve got files back there you all need to go over in the meantime.” You point over the seats, down to where his and Kuroo’s feet are.“Plan is to get these first two locations over with before two, then get lunch and finish with the last few locations. Depending on traffic and stops we should get done around nine or ten.”

“You think it’s gonna take that long?” Kuroo takes some papers into his hand, glancing up at you through the rearview mirror.

“Unfortunately. It’s a weekday, which means traffic is going to be hell and these places don’t have the police on them anymore, so we have to call ahead of time and get clearance before going.” You twist the keys and the engine roars, warming up for a long day of work.

The morning passes pretty quickly. The owners of the two locations cooperated with no complaints and let you inspect as much as you like. Just as expected, the traffic did hold up some of the progress, but before you knew it, the afternoon had rolled around. You haven't found anything new, and pairing that with the unfortunate news Kenma had given you this morning, your mood is starting to turn sour.

“Alright. One more and no more bathroom stops.” You speak clearly, eyes dead ahead on the road.

“This should be the place near the steel manufacturing site, right?” Kuroo flips through the papers in the back seat, the car now littered with files.

“Yeah, the body was found near the scrap metal. Hajime should’ve already contacted the owners to let them know we’re on our way.” You watch the sun slowly meet the horizon.

“They gave us the gate code and said no workers should be there when we arrive.” He responds at the sound of his name, typing something on his phone. “These are the guys that also gave their security footage to the cops so we don’t have to split up this time.”

Not another word is said while you drive. Oikawa takes the photos, Kuroo looks over the information and Iwa fills in Takeda and Ukai as to what’s happening. You hum softly with the radio and tap your thumb to the beat.

Ever so slowly the sun descends beyond the skyline, leaving the streets to the moonlight. A few more turns and you’re met with a gate and keypad. Hajime tells you the numbers and the large steel construction site was before you. Street lamps light up the parking lot, but on your better judgement you swing the car around the building and park it out of sight. The four of you step out of the car, a cold breeze bringing you out of your tiredness as you lead the group into the building.

“So where was the body found?” Kuroo steps further into the building, looking around at all of the different welding tools.

“Should’ve been right around here based on the photos.” Iwa walks him over in the direction, Oikawa and yourself following suit.

The scene’s been cleaned up weeks ago; no traces of where the body was could be seen but luckily you have the photos to point you in the right direction.

Oikawa staggers further and further behind, his heart picking up in rate while he turns his ear towards the door. His ability Listener in the Night allows him to hear a bobby pin dropping in a room surrounded in five foot thick steel walls and from far distances if he chooses to listen to that distance. His feet stop, as if waiting for confirmation. Not a second later he rushes over to you. “They’re here.”

The urgency in his voice sets off every alarm in your brain. “Where?”

He motions outside, near where the parking lot is and sends Iwaizumi a look. Knowing without saying a word, Iwa’s jaw tenses and he turns on his heel, spotting a concealed spot from the front entrance. Hastily he moves over and waits for Oikawa to join him.

Seeing the guys make their move, you rush over to Kuroo and grab at his shirt collar, pulling hard. “Y/N! What the hell-”

“Tetsuro. Don’t ask.” You run while he jogs, but the tone of your voice and the use of his first name shuts him up immediately. There’s nothing in the world that would let you loosen your grip on his clothes, and he knows this well. When you take charge, you are a dictator. No questions asked.

Your group of four huddles in the corner, Hajime keeping everyone behind him while Oikawa whispers their location to you all. Suddenly, a familiar voice is heard near the doorway.

“The cops give up already?” The voice sends chills down yours, Iwaizumis and Oikawas spines. Kuroo keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on you instead of what’s going on. The man's voice is cartoonish, the inflection on each word is overused making it easily recognizable.

The tension is thick enough to cut as the three of you stop breathing all together. Kuroo places a hand on top of yours to try and relax you, but you are completely unaware that he does so, too focused on the crisis at hand.

“Y/N.” You snap your neck up to look at him and shake your head harshly, mouthing the word ‘no’ to him. His eyes hold endless amounts of worry while yours carry panic. In your haze, you didn’t even realize that Iwa and Oikawa had pulled their guns out and are now standing in front of the both of you. Oikawa’s hands shake slightly and Iwa is taking deep, slow breaths.

“That, or they are trying real hard to keep this away from the public.” A second voice emerges, one that is less familiar to you but doesn’t put you at ease. The two men walk further into the complex, their foot falls echoing in the large space.

You feel cornered, like a rabbit in a trap and your throat is starting to close, making it harder to breath. With white knuckles, you pull Kuroo closer and place your forehead on his chest, below your hands and take a deep breath. He panics, never having been in this situation, and looks to the other two men. They aren’t paying attention at all and focus on the voices.

“Either way, Wakatoshi still needs us to pick up some stuff tonight.” That name sparks another wave of chills. You prep your ability, letting the faint blue aura slowly build around your person, Iwaizumi doing the same but letting his ability release as he prepares for the worst..

“Uh… I hope you realize we don’t have the right vehicle to pick up,” the second voice deadpans.

“No, not that.” The footsteps go quiet. A few seconds of silence pass, but it feels like an eternity as the group tries their best to stay as silent as possible.

“I know you're here, little detectives!” Tendou Satoru’s voice booms over the empty factory, his laughter filling the space shortly after.

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avengersassemble-fics · 5 years ago

Text

What is it About You?

part 03/10 “a blast”

masterlist

previous part

word count 3.2k

an: sorry for the delay y’all but I kinda just wanted to enjoy my week off for spring break (even if that’s pushed back until march 29. but lets not talk about that)

Your feet carried you back to your quarters faster than you had wanted. You nodded to a couple people you had passed and didn’t hesitate as you practically threw yourself through your door and it shut behind you. One hand balled into a fist and repeatedly pressed into your other palm, as you processed what had exactly just happened. You took a few steps into the center of your room and began to pace.

Okay, this would be no problem. Yes you may have never seen any kind of action before but this was going to be fine. They had briefed you a bit on what to expect, and you knew from the name that Jakku was a pretty desert and barren planet. They weren’t expecting much Resistance activity, but the squad was going to be well prepared. You had zoned out when you felt a presence in your mind.

For someone so stoic, your mind is racing, his voice said. You fought the urge to shoot daggers at the Commander on the other side of the table.

Get out of my head, you thought - hoping he would just leave you alone.

As I’ve said, you’re too loud to ignore, he replied. You glanced for a moment at the masked man and right back to General Hux.

Go read someone else’s mind, then, you told him and shifted in your seat.

It doesn’t work like that.

You stopped in your tracks. You had forgotten to go and check the progress on the Command Shuttle. You grumbled to yourself and straightened your posture before heading to the door, you would be quick, and come back and lay in your bed and grovel over your life decisions. The door opened for you and you stepped back into the overly familiar hallway. Your feet knew where to take you.

You hadn’t taken the time to really think about what exactly Commander Ren’s words meant, all of them over the course of the last day. Had it really only been a day? And he was already bugging you this much? Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. And with the news you were going along on the Jakku mission you had to deal with him even more.

You slammed into someone else’s body, knocking sideways and also back to reality. You were about to apologize when you saw who it was.

“Commander,” you greeted. He ignored you and kept walking. You stared at the back of his helmet and turned back to where you were headed. Whatever. You took a deep breath and continued on your way, making sure this time you were focused on where you were going.

The door to the bay opened for you and you were met with cold air. You shivered, but made your way over to the Command Shuttle, so far from the distance it looked good as far as the minimal repairs on the outside. You passed by a crew and nodded at them, they were the only ones in the bay besides you but with them leaving you found yourself completely alone. It was dinner time for most of the base, and the silence that filled the air was comforting to you. You did your usual routine, walking around the shuttle and looking for any imperfections (there weren't any).

The ramp was kept open and you walked onboard, not much light came in from the bay but it was enough for you to see that the wall of the shuttle was no longer in complete disarray. You instinctively ran your fingers over the metal, and a content sigh left your lips.

“Is it true?”

You jumped slightly, a hand going over your chest, as you spun around. Kylo Ren was at the bottom of the ramp, looking up at you. You closed your eyes for a moment before shaking your head.

“What?” you asked. He took slow steps up the ramp and his hand motioned around him.

“Did you help design this?” he asked, more straight forward.

You looked around, a smile gracing your lips for only a moment, “Unknowingly, yes. My final year in training a few men from this base came to the Academy and had the top performing engineers in the program design a shuttle based off a loose blueprint,” you paused to look at him, and saw he was still looking at you so you continued, “they took interest in mine and helped fine tune it. And I guess they ended up producing it.”

“They took credit,” he said and earned a nod from you, “that’s..unfortunate.”

He was careful with his wording and you raised a brow at him slightly. He moved past you to the pilot chair, his hand touching the top. You watched with curiosity, and finally broke the silence.

“What did you mean earlier? When you said that.. It doesn’t work like that?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder. You didn’t break the eye contact, so he turned to face you fully. You swallowed the lump in your throat. You seemed to have forgotten from the early hours to now how much bigger he was then you.

“I can’t just read people’s minds, not unless I put effort into it,” he explained, “but.. With you, you’re always there. Like an annoying bug.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “If it’s so annoying then why are you here, or just keep showing up? Now that’s annoying.”

You probably shouldn’t have said that. You noticed how his fist tightened, and his head seemed to twitch. A feeling formed inside of your gut, twisting your insides and you grimaced at the discomfort. It was him. He took a step forward, his hand opening and pressure formed inside your mind.

“Need I remind you,” he nearly growled, “if you continue to irritate me, you can easily be disposed of. With no regret.”

You winced as he neared, his hold on you tightening with each inch he got closer. You nodded and he released the pressure. You hand rubbed the side of your head and he walked past you, disappearing off the ramp.

It was going to be a long week.

----------

The Finalizer is huge, probably the biggest command ship you would ever step foot on. You had the “pleasure” of leaving with the likes of the Commander and Captain Phasma to the astronomically large ship in space. Of course by pleasure you meant you wanted to tear your hair out by how silent the pair was. There were a couple of storm troopers there, probably for your sake but who knew, and a third piloting the shuttle. Of all your years working on it, you had never been able to actually ride in it.

It wasn’t too long of a ride (thank god) but it was enough for you to eagerly await the sweet release of stepping foot onto the Finalizer. By protocol, the troopers exited first, followed by the pilot and then by you, all to wait for the Commander and Captain to come offboard. You stood shoulder to shoulder of one another, and your eyes looked to the four shuttles that were already there, lines of Stormtroopers awaiting Captain Phasma. Your eyes looked straight in front of you as the two walked off the ramp, and past the line you all had formed. When they were a distance away, that meant the crew was dismissed. The pilot, still with their helmet on, turned to you.

“Have you been on board before?” his voice asked you, covered by the typical vocoder.

“Nope, first time,” you replied, and you took a couple steps forward to the bay doors, noticing him lingering by your side.

“I can show you around, if you like,” he offered and you waved your hands.

“No no that’s perfectly fine,” you reassured him, “I think I can find my way around.”

And he nodded, and veered off from your direction. You let out a sigh, and your eyes glanced towards the squadron of troopers, where Kylo Ren was. If he could tell you were looking his way he ignored you.

It didn’t matter to you, you just needed to find the informations level and try and see if you can get any information on what exactly you’re expected to decode. The halls of the Finalizer were more narrow and darker, and the bay doors closed behind you. People walked around you as you tried to gauge your surroundings. You felt yourself get pulled into the direction of travel and just let it take you. There was a low beeping noise than rang through the ship, indicating the Finalizer was about to jump to hyperspace.

You pulled yourself from the traffic and stopped by a set of elevators, and pressed the call button. You found yourself tapping your foot, and thoughts you could feel the command ship going into hyperspace. The elevator doors opened and you stepped in, joined by a couple other people. The doors shut and multiple buttons were pressed, and you eyed one of the officers who had come in. They looked like an intelligence officer, maybe you should just follow them.

And you did. When the floor opened up, they exited and you did as well, to a room full of intelligence consoles, and people on them and listening intently. The person who exited the elevator seemed to sense your presence.

“Do you need assistance with something?”

You noticed his eyes glide over you, and you took a sharp breath, “I need a scramble key and data pad.”

“And why is that?” He pressed. You furrowed your brows at him.

“I don’t think Commander Ren would appreciate the unnecessary questions about his mission,” you saw him straighten, “the scramble key and data pad. Now, please.”

He motioned for someone, and another man scurried over, holding what you needed. You took it from him and looked back to the man who had first spoken with you, “Thank you.”

You turned back to the elevator and pressed the call button, seconds passed and it opened up for you and you stepped inside. It closed and you rolled your eyes to yourself. It was irritating not being taken seriously, and having to use Commander Ren’s name to get what you needed. But, something you did remember your mother telling you was you can’t help those who don’t see you as their equal, and just to keep being you.

How naive she had been, but it was kind.

Another beep filled the air, indicating the ship exiting hyperspace. The elevator doors opened for you and you found yourself back to the floor you originally were on. You instinctively made your way back to the bay you had landed in, and was rushed past by the troopers you had originally exited with. Too caught up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice Captain Phasma approach you.

“Officer,” she greeted, halting you in your tracks, you laid the data pad against your legs, “I hope you retrieved everything you need for the mission.

“Yes, ma’am, I did,” you said, but decided to press further, “but it would be of help to know what exactly you’re expecting to be decoded—“

“You don’t need to worry yourself with such details,” she warned you. Before you could reply, she was walking to the shuttles that were being loaded with her chosen squad. You looked over the mass of white armour, wondering if that trooper you had met earlier was there, but with the helmets there was no telling. You continued your walk to the command shuttle, the roar of engines coming to life from the transports.

You stood alongside the pilot and troopers on this shuttle, awaiting Commander Ren to join you. You pressed your feet together, rubbing the pad in your hand.

“I heard that the Resistance’s best pilot is down there,” one commented.

“Hear that, Jameson? Their best pilot, you can see what a real man flies like,” another joked.

“The Resistance is filled with amateur people, I’m sure he isn’t so special,” the pilot next to you scoffed. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. If this was how men compared themselves to others then maybe it was best you stayed on base for all of eternity.

“I can’t believe the General of the Resistance is nothing more than a mere princess, what kind of tactic is that?”

You heard the struggle of breath, and everyone turned their heads to the Stormtrooper who was scratching at their throat. Your head turned to the source behind the line, none other than the Commander himself. A part of you was relieved it wasn’t you on the receiving end, but the other part was filled with confusion.

“We do not speak of the Resistance here,” Kylo Ren spoke, “let’s not forget who was nearly shot down by one of the Resistance pilots just days ago,” he released his hand and the trooper gasped, “you should spend more time training and less talking. You’re dismissed.”

The trooper removed his helmet, sending daring glares at the Commander, who walked on board his shuttle. You ignored those looks and followed behind with the two remaining troopers. Mumbling something you couldn’t hear and storming away, the trooper vanished from the bottom of the ramp. It began to close and you busied yourself strapping yourself into a chair across from the Commander. You laid the devices you carried in your lap as the engines were switched on, and the pilot made a comment.

“They’ve engaged hostile, sir,” he warned Commander Ren.

Suddenly, a wave of nervousness washed over your body. You had never seen any kind of combat since arriving at Starkiller Base, and as the shuttle lifted into the air and into space outside the air locks, you took a deep breath. Your eyes flickered to the helmet of the Commander, who you felt was staring at you.

He was.

If he would stop staring at you, maybe you could relax.

Me staring at you seems to be the least of your concerns, his voice echoed in your mind. You shut your eyes for a moment, and sighed quietly.

Why are you like this? How many times do I have to say not to read my mind or whatever this is?

Calm down, he said. His voice didn’t sound like it was behind the vocoder, but like when he took his helmet off the other day to spar with you, Captain Phasma will have them subdued by the time we land.

“Two minutes out, Commander,” the pilot said, as you felt the pull of the atmosphere (in a way, not like you could actually feel it passing through yourself).

You watched him stand, easily adjusting to the movement of the shuttle as it began to land. Two minutes passed in almost an instant. You had only unbuckled yourself when the shuttle was fully landed and the ramp opened. You watched as he walked off the ramp and into the darkness of Jakku.

He did have style, you could admit that much. You guess.

You quieted your nerves, no sound of blaster fire as you stepped behind the Commander and the two troopers. The sight before you was favorable for the First Order, the large mass of stormtroopers towered over the few resistance there was, Commander Ren focused on one older man.

“Look how old you’ve become,” he said, his vocoder evening his tone of voice.

“Something far worse has happened to you,” the older man said back.

You felt the irritability in your mind, seeing him tighten his fist, “You know what I’ve come for.”

“I know where you come from. Before you called yourself Kylo Ren.”

Anger filled your mind now. It almost felt too much and you winced, watching the scene unfold before you, Kylo motioned for his men, and the two Stormtroopers you travelled with moved forward, gripping the old man, and reaching throughout his pockets.

“The map to Skywalker. We know you’ve found it, and now you’re going to give it to the First Order,” he spoke, placing his hands behind his back. Suddenly, one of the troopers pulled something from the mans jacket, walking over to the Commander, who took it in his fingers. He looked it over in his hand, and then turned to you, walking over and placing it in yours.

Coordinates.

You nodded to yourself as you turned the artifact in your fingers. It felt like metal, looked like metal, but you didn’t know what kind. Commander Ren turned back to the old man as you attached the slicer to the device, and to the data pad. As quick as you could, you worked through the data in front of you, basic codes, and star systems flowing through your mind.

You stopped over one piece of information. Your fingers graced the screen, and looked back to the Commander. He knew you looked at him, but ignored your look.

“It’s a fake.”

That got his attention though, almost looking back at you with anger, “What?”

“It’s a fake, sir,” you repeated. Your eyes going back to the old man, who you noticed looked to almost have a smirk on his face. Commander Ren turned back to him.

“I’m not interested in your games, old man,” he warned.

“The First Order rose from the dark side.. You did not.”

Commander Ren shook his head, and you could see him reach for his lightsaber, “I’ll show you the dark side.”

The old man shook his head, and you shifted your weight between your feet. It didn’t have to go on like this, but just as quickly as the thought entered your mind, a thing of pain did as well.

“You may try, but you cannot deny the truth that is your family.”

Commander Ren’s saber ignited, shooting in a cross guard creating a disturbance in the flow, but he meticulously brought it above his head, “You’re so right.”

He rips it across the old man's body, and you close your eyes at the impact. A voice yells from farther away, and your head snaps in the direction. A man, dressed like a pilot, stood from the distance, blaster trained on your direction, and two shots were fired. Commander Ren outreaches his hand, stopping one of the blaster fires from hitting his back. But the other wasn’t so lucky.

The blast was enough to send you back into the sand, knocking the wind from your body. It was a fine tuned shot on your stomach, which with a glance and by the touch of your fingers, you could tell it was bloody. You panicked as a couple Stormtroopers came to your side, one with a trickle of blood down their helmet, and the other placing a hand over your bloody torso. Stop the bleeding, wrap it up, you didn’t know.

You stared up at the starry night sky, your breathing frantic as a couple of voices tried to get your attention. You couldn’t focus though on their words, letting one take your head into their hands.

Oh. The one you had met a few days ago. Finn you would call him.

As he did that it allowed you to see the Commander. His powers had allowed the pilot to almost be frozen in spot, and a couple of troopers to grab him. He was looking to you, maybe? You couldn’t really tell, but heaviness filled your mind, and in an instance — everything went dark.

----------

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official-archivist-keith · 5 years ago

Text

Keith sat down with the paper and the statement before turning on the tape recorder. He took a breath, he was starving... hopefully this would help.

"Statement of Sunil Maraj regarding their work as a security guard and the disappearance of their co-worker, Samson Stiller. Original statement given 3rd April, 2011. Audio recording by Keith Kogane, the Archivist.

Statement begins."

"So I lost my job last week. I mean, I quit, they didn’t fire me or nothing. But you know how like sometimes you quit because you want to, and sometimes you quit because you’ve got to? Well, this was the second, although I’m not gonna pretend I’m not glad to see the back of the place.

It’s ‘cause I kept asking about Samson, you know? And what I saw. And they really, really don’t want me to make a stink about that. Because if he just disappeared one day, didn’t come into work, that’s fine - I mean, not fine for his family, obviously, or the police who have to find him, but fine for the company. If he disappeared at work, though - if what I think happened is even close to what actually happened - then that’s real bad news for them, and opens them up to all sorts of lawsuits and liability.

I mean, it’s fine, I can get other jobs, and it’s not like I really want to be working there after what happened, but I just wish someone would take it seriously. It’s messed up, and I’m having a real hard time getting out of my head.

So, I work security right? Used to be, a company or shop would have its own little security force they put together, did all the in-store and CCTV vigilance stuff. These days, it’s all centralized, though. You tend to have a building or a shopping central contract all the security work out to a single company, who’ll then cover all the businesses or shops. It’s easier, from a centralizing point of view, and cheaper, if that’s what the owners like.

But it does mean that there tends to be a lot less stability and how it’s all structured, personnel-wise, at least. If you’re lucky, you’ll be assigned to a post and stay there for years, getting to know the place, the systems, your co-workers. If you’re unlucky, or there’s contract difficulties, you could easily end up moving through two or three different places in as many months.

That was kind of the case for me and Samson. We were the odd men out in a lot of ways. We’d originally been brought in for a big corporate office block near Liverpool Street, but there’d been some problem and the whole place had to be closed up for months. Samson said they found asbestos, I heard it was a lease issue, but it doesn’t really matter. Point is, they hired us for a job that no longer existed.

I expected they’d just get rid of us, but I mean to their credit, they did try to do right. They did their best to fit us in with other security teams: I mean, over the last two years we did a couple of data centers, a digital marketing hub - whatever that is - three different office buildings near Kings Cross… trouble was, every time, almost as soon as we got there, there’d be some personnel changes, or expiring contracts, or some other trouble, and generally, as the last in the door, we were the first to get reassigned. Started to feel a bit like we were cursed, you know?

Samson took it harder than I did. I mean, I’m young, my mum’s got a flat in Hackney, and to be honest, most of my evenings are out with friends or in with black ops, so the moving around was pretty much fine with me. Sam had a three-year-old, though, and lived way down in Morden, so being thrown from one post to another all the time was really kind of getting to him. He tried to talk to me about it a few times, but honestly, we weren’t that close. Or rather, we were close because we’d always worked together, but we didn’t have a huge amount in common. I mean, I tried to talk to him about football for a while, but I think he could tell I was talking out of my ass. Anyway, point is, when we were reassigned to a shopping centre in Stratford, he wasn’t in a great place.

Now, I’m not sure I can legally name the shopping center I was working in to you guys, but let’s just say it wasn’t the Westfield. It was old, clearly been around decades, and the security systems really showed it. I mean, one of the shops still had the original alarms from the late 70s, and plenty of them still had cameras that recorded to VHS, for God’s sake.

The security office was a mess. The company I worked for - again, dunno if I can legally say them, but you can look it up, you know - they have a package where they replace all your equipment and systems with the stuff we use. It’s not cheap, but it’s worth it, if only because we all know exactly how to use that stuff.

Whoever was running this shopping center had very much not opted for that particular contract. I mean, the teams before us had made a valiant effort to centralize and integrate all the feeds and setups into just the one control room, but… damn, that place was a mess. Flat screens, next to banks of old CRT monitors that some of the cameras had to feed into, next to racks of channel banks, and a few actual, honest-to-god computers, that tried their best to wrestle everything into something that was almost usable.

I found it properly overwhelming, didn’t like the place at all. But Sam actually seemed to get on with it pretty well almost from the get-go. He’d apparently been an engineer back in the day, and something about all those old surveillance systems, all tied together, all wrapping into and around each other like some weird nest of cameras… it seemed to really appeal to him. The first week he was there he spent almost the entire time playing with the system and the wiring… left me to do most of the other work on my own. Well, I mean… there were the other guys working there, of course, but even the ones who’d been there awhile started to get the picture and gave Samson a bit of a wide berth after a few days.

He really did seem to get the place in a bit better order. I mean, some of it, only he really understood, but soon enough it actually made sense - what we were watching and when - and he managed to get rid of some of the delay, so that we even managed to catch a couple of shoplifters.

There was only one piece of equipment that seemed to give him any trouble. It was this old Tecton multicamera recorder from the late 80s, managed the feeds for one of the various budget shoe shops that lined the promenade.

It didn’t seem all that complicated when you just looked at it, but trying to use it was an absolute nightmare. None the buttons seemed to do exactly what you wanted them to do, and there were all sorts of sequences where pressing a button, holding a button, pressing it three times, all that - they’d all do really different things.

Sam spent almost a whole month wrestling with it, before he finally cracked and he asked Dave - the bearded old guy who we all sort of assumed had been there the longest? - whether they still had any of the old operating manuals.

I remember the smell of dust when Dave went and cracked open the filing cabinet in the back room, before waving his arms in the direction of the drawer and shrugging. I mean, I’d have just left it, obviously, but I think Samson was taking the whole knowing how the system works thing as like - a point of pride? Something he could salvage from the whole situation. Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?

So he found the manual. More of a pamphlet, really. Can’t have been more than ten pages of A5 in the whole thing, yellowed and water-damaged. Well-used, though. Someone had even put their name in the front, like they were afraid people were gonna steal a manky instruction book.

Still, Sam just couldn’t put it down. I mean, it was like 10 in the morning when we finally found it, and when I went in at 2:00 to see if he’d taken his lunch break yet, he was still sat there, just staring at it. I mean, I’m not a fast reader, or anything but that’s a lot, right?

And like - okay, so this is the part that you’re definitely gonna think I’m having a joke with you, but I’m honestly not, I’m dead serious. Because I saw some of the pages over his shoulder, and on one of them there was, there was a picture of me.

Like, a black-and-white photo of my face. I didn’t get a good look, but it certainly wasn’t one that I remember having taken. Not that would make it any less weird for it to be printed in an old CCTV manual from back when I was doing nappies. And I’m not making it up, I swear.

Then Samson turned, and he looked at me, and I don’t know, I got real spooked. His eyes were all - messed up. Like, weird. And glassy. It was really, really freaky, and I just turned and I got out of there. That wasn’t the end of it, though. If it had been then sure, maybe I write it off as a weird dream, where I was tired or whatever, but no. Because from that point, on Samson just gets creepier.

For a start, he’s always at work. I mean, we’re not always on the same shift, so it takes me a while to notice, but when I ask him about it, he just says that our schedules must have synced up weird. But whenever I arrived, there he was, staring at the monitors, watching all the people come and go, his eyes wide like he was drinking it all in. And whenever I was there late, and it was my turn to close up, he’d always say that he was happy to do it, say I could head off a few minutes early.

So, I never actually saw him leave. I tried to stay once, said I needed to do it myself, but he just got real quiet, like… real quiet, and stared at me.

The bank of monitors was behind him, and I’m just trying to come up with something to say, get him to talk to me… and one by one, they began to just wink off, turning dark.

And I got this feeling, deep in my gut, that if that last monitor turned off, then something really bad was gonna happen to me. It was one of the old CRT sets, big, and bulky, and the picture on it was never that clear, but for a moment it looked like it was me on there. Staring right back at myself as the screens slowly went black, getting closer and closer. The face on the monitor looked absolutely terrified, and I was starting to feel it myself.

So I just tried to smile, told him not to worry about it, and I headed out as quick as I could. My legs were shaking so hard I almost fell on the way out.

Then there were the actual cameras. I mean, you work in a shopping center, obviously you do a bunch of shopping there. I used to get my lunch, for one, and usually pick up any of the essentials I needed. Sometimes, if I was feeling hard done by and it was payday, I might buy myself a new shirt, or a game, or something.

And obviously, because I work security, I know where all the cameras are. where they cover, even how they move. A lot of them are completely static, just pointing at one place. But gradually, I start to notice something when I’m shopping. It’s like a tickling, creeping sensation all over the back of my neck. Like I’m being watched.

So I start to keep an eye on the cameras when I’m in the shops, and you know what, I’m right. They’re following me. Whenever I look at them - doesn’t matter where it was they were meant to be aimed - they’re always focused right on me.

I keep staring at them, moving around, and they just shift to keep the lens pointed at me. But they’re not articulated, they don’t have any motor or swivel mount they just… move. Pointed right at me.

One time, when no one in the store was looking, I threw a can of deodorant at one of them. Hit it square on. Samson wore sunglasses for the next two days, and when I caught a glimpse of him without them, there was a crack right down the center of his eye.

I tried to talk to the others. I’m pretty sure that they were getting similar weirdness from them. they were all jumpy and nervous those last few months. But I was known as Sam’s friend. We’d come in together and everyone just assumed we were close. When I started to ask about it, about what was going on, they just clammed up like I was trying to get them in trouble. My nerves were all shot to hell.

I wasn’t in work the week he disappeared. I’d called in with a bullshit stomach thing. I just needed a break, some time to get my head right. It was almost working, you know? A little distance, a little space to relax. I was starting to feel good.

Then I got the call from Dave. He was frantic.

I couldn’t make out half of what he was saying over the bad line, but he kept saying Samson’s name. Asking me if I “knew,” if he’d “told me.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he kept screaming at me. He kept saying, I must know, he must have told me what was going on. He kept saying, “what do we do with his eyes?”

I mean, I didn’t know what the hell to say, I just went quiet listening to Dave as he started sobbing down the phone

“He won’t stop,” he said. “We can’t get rid of his face.”

I hung up. And Dave was gone when I went back in. A bunch of them were, all quit suddenly. I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened, but we’d never really been friends, and I didn’t know any of their details.

I never saw Samson again, either. Though, I did find his old work shirt in the back. It was torn to shreds, wrapped around that old instruction manual. I put it back in the filing cabinet, and I threw the shirt away.

I tried to stick around, to do my job, but I was asking too many questions for the folks upstairs, I think. I wanted to know why Samson hadn’t signed out of the building before he disappeared. Why, no matter who tried to reset the system, it always logged back in as him.

Why, whenever I was watching the monitors alone, I’d see him on that old CRT screen. Staring right back at me. Quietly calling for me to join him."

"Statement ends." Keith let out an exhale, "Much better..."

@zombieapocalypsekeith

#SORRY THIS IS SO LONG

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victorlimadelta · 5 years ago

Text

This operation is supposed to take six hours. Outside of the observation window into the operating room, Pidge has even posted a tentative schedule on a small whiteboard. Pre-procedure time-out no later than 0745, operation begins no later than 0800. By 0830, or at the very latest by 0900, Ulaz should be able to disconnect Shiro’s arm. Depending on how sensitive the next part is, they can test all the command line prompts on the socket that remains by 1000. Then, once that part’s over, the biochemistry part starts: isolating the genome Pidge has created with the Altean molecular synthesizer, hooking it to a CRISPR carrier, testing the insertion point with an Olkari tiara application, and then--then the quintessence wash-out. As far as Pidge can tell, the closest analog is a mixture of dialysis and transfusion, but without the difficulty of using extracorporeal membrane oxygenation at any step. Not like they don't have ECMO, defib, EKG, EMG, and a crash cart readily available, should things go south (because what are they, animals?), but it shouldn’t take any of that to make this work.

First, though, they have to actually get to work.

Pidge pulls out of her carefully-calibrated sleep a little after 0600 and immediately puts herself under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the med bay. This little bit of time she has left is taken up by tech tests, making sure the Olkari tiara is still responding to binary input, waking up the molecular synthesizer, running the last compile on the code they’ll need--but it's all busy work, really, just something to fill the time while she gets coffee in her. (Not the Olkari root juice, she wants something made by humans, for humans, no matter how inefficient it might be.)

She doesn’t need much. She feels better rested than she’s been in weeks; she’ll have to thank Hunk, later, for reminding her to get some sleep. Like she was trying to cram for an exam, or something equally as trivial. (As if she’s ever crammed for an exam a minute of her life.) Still, it gets closer to 0745, and eventually, Ulaz takes Shiro’s cot, moves it into the operating theater.

Shiro’s been in a barbiturate-induced coma for the past few days, but anesthesia is a little different. The pentobarbital doesn't provide any pain relief, just slows brain waves; the transition to propofol isn’t seamless, but it still works well enough. Ulaz just had to tell Pidge that Shiro’s woken up during anesthesia, before, during--during the druid experimentation. Not that the druids cared, but it knocked ketamine right off the table as an option. And the midazolam, this time, should work as an amnesic, so he never remembers even if he does wake. Small mercies, really.

Pidge is managing the transition between states of consciousness, with enough time to get a real feel for it by the time she and Ulaz get through their figurative pre-flight checklist. Correct patient--they’d be here forever if they debated the metaphysics of it, but this man is still intrinsically Shiro, no matter what’s happened to him while they've been in space. Correct procedure: right upper extremity prosthetic removal, right upper extremity amputation stump revision, targeted genomic insertion at the diaphragm, genomic implementation test, and full quintessence flush. Just in case there was any question about the correct site, Pidge marks the cap of Shiro’s right shoulder with a permanent marker, gives him a little freckle and a twin under the left side of his ribcage.

Materials are set aside, too. Yes, there's the standard surgical kit, lancets and retractors and forceps, but there's also a set of trocars, one for camera placement, one for tissue manipulation--that’s for the diaphragm, less traumatic abdominal entry. A set of eyeglasses screwdrivers with miniature flat, Philips, and hex heads, needle-nose pliers, and thermal paste, for operating on the prosthetic. Pidge tries not to touch it all before she snaps a set of nitrile gloves on her hands.

0759.

Pidge cracks her knuckles.

0800.

“let’s get started.”

Ulaz starts by prying apart the near-invisible seams near Shiro’s shoulder joint, exposing the wires hooking the neural interface together. Separating the prosthetic is the easy part; disconnecting it from his brain is, as he explained, a lot more difficult. It really is like perfoming the amputation on him all over again, and this part needs to be done carefully so he retains as much function as possible.

Of course, the prosthetic isn’t exactly cooperative. Having been poisoned with druid quintessence, it’s occasionally outside of its master’s control. Even with anesthetic, the limb has its own programming, and trying to keep it (nonsensically) calm as it’s disconnected is a struggle--why it has to be done slowly, methodically. Every so often Shiro’s brows will twitch together, or his mouth will fall open, and Pidge panics that he’s stirring from anesthesia, but no, his vitals are still stable. Weak, but stable. If he were awake, would this cause as much pain as the original amputation, or is there a way to engage his circuit dampeners from the cap?

She’s going to have to replace her gloves if she does this, but Pidge doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if Shiro’s insensate, amnesiac, not present. His forelock, where it hangs over his forehead, is limp; Pidge pushes it back, runs her thumbprint over his hairline. It makes no change in the constant read-out of the blood pressure monitor, the constant blip of the real-time EKG, but she’d like to think it edges up his O2 saturation a little. A white lie she tells herself, to get through this.

0820. “sitrep.”

“Forty-seven percent complete with detachment,” Ulaz tells her, like he reports to her. Like she’s running the show. Which, she is, isn’t she. This is her responsibility. “At 0830, begin the command line program.”

“right.” It’ll take a few minutes to boot, giving Ulaz enough time to get the metal endcap exposed before they start the killswitches. “anesthetic holding.”

“This is your first operation, is it not?”

what gave it away? is Pidge’s reflexive, sarcastic response, one she bites down by literally biting the tip of her own tongue. “yes.”

“Remarkably complex,” Ulaz says, ineffable. His eyes have never left Shiro’s arm plating. “This is not how most residents begin. If at any point you need a break--”

“let me stop you right there.” He doesn’t cease his movements, but he does stop talking. “making shiro’s medications meant sitting in front of that synthesizer and basically concentrating with my entire being for hours at a time while i asked literal atoms to be nice and bond with each other. i can do this.” She can, and she has, before. Just... maybe not with these stakes.

A nearly-imperceptible shrug runs along the Galra’s shoulders. All the while, his fingers have been working steadily at the synthetic nerves keeping the prosthetic functional.

It occurs to Pidge, as she watches these connections be terminated one by one, that Ulaz might have been attempting kindness or mercy or paternalism with her. It’s a poor stand-in for the kind of familial affection she'll accept from the man that’s anesthetized on the table between them, but she can at least recognize it for what it is. Ulaz has been pretty patient with her throughout all this, even as she’s been working herself sick, even as she’s had full-scale shutdowns trying to put this project together over the past week. As a medical officer, he’s a pretty good mentor. She’s just not sure she’d ever be friends with him outside of a strict working environment. She’s... not exactly the kind of person that inspires camaraderie, and she gets the feeling that Ulaz, as a senior Blade and infiltration specialist, is just as private a person as she is.

For now, it doesn’t matter. They work together well. Their professional relationship has actually soldered together, tempered over the past few days, to the point where they’re working this seamlessly during a surgery. While she brings over the Altean-level data-crunching device she’s using for the command prompt termination, she almost asks for another sitrep, but it’s clear that Ulaz doesn’t have much left to go. Pidge connects the nodes to the tiny empty sockets of the shoulder caps where the prosthetic had attached its neural nets, and by the time Ulaz disconnects the last, she’s ready to plug that port.

Dictating for the medical record, “0847, first phase complete. second phase begin?”

"Begin," Ulaz tells her, and she tells her program to execute.

This should theoretically be as simple as watching code print out on a screen, but it’s not really a diagnostic. This is making sure Shiro’s brain isn't sending errant commands to a military-grade weapon attached to his body. Pidge had warned Ulaz, ahead of time, that the prosthetic often seemed to have a mind of his own, and she’s just relieved that he's taking her concern so seriously. Maybe he feels responsible for grafting the original on in the first place? Maybe that's why he’s trying to engineer a replacement that’ll run off of purified, or at least untainted, quintessence.

As this program runs, it sends back error messages. They’re far enough apart that Pidge can read and understand each before the next one comes along, and most have to do with detecting and eliminating threats. She’s seen the arm’s glowing function before, knows it can work as a heat source to create a hull breach in a Galra warship, but according to these readouts, it can also do other things. Form a shield, that’s reasonable, their Paladin armor can do that, too, except his would probably appear as that ghastly Galra magenta-neon instead of Altean blue. Form a blade--that’s new. Apparently it would slide out over the back of his hand, rather than an assassin’s blade from the meat of the inside of the wrist, but given that Shiro mostly uses that right hand for enhanced martial arts, the placement makes a little more sense for his inherent sense of movement.

What strikes fear into her gut, though, is the discovery that the arm had an ion cannon function. Oh, what the hell, Haggar, that was absolutely unnecessary. How much power would that have required? More than the arm could hold, surely? And if it ran off of impure quintessence, that would mean sapping Shiro of his strength every time it was used. For accuracy, he’d also have to be immobile whenever it was fired. From the code, though, she can see that it’s only been deployed a few times, and never at the owner’s insistence, only remote command line prompts. Oh, boy. Oh, wow. That’s not terrifying or anything. Pidge has never been quite so glad that they’re replacing this compromised, tainted thing with one that will complement Shiro’s innate essence, one that can’t be tampered with at a distance by druids, one that doesn’t need to be shut off at the command line because it poses a danger to his friends and loved ones.

Ulaz seems to read it on the screen at the same time Pidge does; a clawed hand points at it from over her shoulder as it scrolls up, then away. “yes, i saw it,” she tells him. It’s dumping the output into a file, she’ll have time to go over it later, but it’s important that she saw when it came out.

“I installed no such function into this prosthetic,” Ulaz says, and he actually sounds... mildly perturbed?

“yeah, well, it's not technically your prosthetic. i wouldn’t be surprised if he got an upgrade.” She can tell Ulaz’s yellow sclera are drilling into the base of her skull, like he could extract the information from her that way, so she gives him a gift: “long story. involves clones. you weren’t involved with that, were you?”

This close, Pidge swears she can hear the wet sound as Ulaz's nictitating membranes force him to blink. “Not technically.” That answer isn’t exactly reassuring, but it's better than nothing. When Pidge looks back to him, his expression is almost as usual, except for a slight wrinkle between his brow ridges. For Ulaz, that’s extreme discomfort. Hm. Something to talk about later.

The prosthetic technically wasn’t the focus here, after all. It just needed to be removed because of unforeseen dangers like... well, that. Imagine having left that arm on while actually trying to perform the operation--it would have killed them. Probably everyone on this ship. (But anesthetic is okay? Apparently? Pidge has so many questions.) The kill program keeps running. “you... do have a replacement for that one,” and she jerks her head at it, “right?”

“In progress.” That’ll have to do. Again, this isn’t about the arm. Having input from Shiro about what he wants it to look like and how he wants it to function will be just as important as relieving his body dysmorphia, after all. “Whatever is built will need to connect to his neural network--to his brain, through this access port.”

Ah. Thus the full sweep. Pidge nods, once, sharp, and keeps scanning the code for anomalies. If Ulaz wrote the code for the first version (the one Sendak said was a piss-poor druid prototype), then she has no doubt he can work with what he’s given here to make the replacement the best it can be.

No other anomalies, although Pidge’s eyes hurt after scanning a screen for that long. Something intrinsic about the muscle cap seems... inert, once they’re done. Function absent. Good. “Your turn,” Ulaz prompts her gently.

“1018, second phase complete, third phase begin,” Pidge dictates for the record, picking up the trocar and lining it up with the mark she left on Shiro’s chest.

There’s a resonating pain in her own ribcage as she drives the surgical tool in, until the camera at the end, inside, shows her that she’s at the center of his diaphragm. She wanted to target this muscle first, because as soon as it can regenerate dystrophin, Shiro can start breathing easier. That’s a brainstem function, one of the last to go, usually autonomous. She doesn’t want him to have to fight to breathe anymore. Second trocar punches in, a few inches off from the first, but the tip of it ends up in the visual field of the first.

She and Ulaz can both see the camera feed on a monitor that's just by the one showing Shiro’s vitals. The other part of this, though, happens on an Altean holographic screen, not unlike the forearm computer Pidge has in her paladin armor. Through the second trocar, she uses a specialized micro-tool to reach deeper into the smooth muscle tissue. This camera, too, has magnification properties far outside of what Terran tech is capable of: electron microscope installation, so she can actually see what she’s doing in manipulating individual cellular molecules.

The smallest possible glass bore needle is at the end of the trocar. It takes an insane amount of precision for Pidge to guide it where she wants it to be, puncturing the cellular membrane and resting in the prokaryotic soup inside for a second before delivering its microliter payload. This is what she was doing last night before she drugged herself to sleep: swirling test tubes, sometimes manually, to make sure that the CRISPR molecule picked up her DNA strand to carry it where she wants it to go.

She has more in reserve if this one fails, and she doesn’t expect the first attempt to be successful. Even if it is, she plans to impregnate a cellular cluster of about a dozen with this gene fix--better chance it’ll hold, and she may as well, while she’s in here. Unfortunately, she took the approach a little too harsh on this one, and just after the injection, it undergoes apoptosis.

Sigh. Another try. She eyes the clock, Shiro’s vitals. Ulaz has control over the anesthesia while she’s working on this. She doesn’t need to see his face to know that they’ve hit a critical point in trying to save Shiro’s life; it’s do-or-die at this point, absolutely literal. All she can do is be patient, and that's among Pidge’s worst skills.

She takes the second approach, on a second cell, a little more oblique. This time, a little bit slower on the plunge, the injection takes, and she watches as the CRISPR bacteriophage splits open the one chromosome she needs it to, splice in the gene she created this past week. That’s... that's incredible. Pidge feels like she might cry; she knows her eyes are doing the sparkle thing, again, that she does when she's this close to incredible technology. She did this. She was the one who figured this out. Even Shiro’s said it, multiple times, if anyone can do it, it’s Pidge. And she did. The proof is right here.

Third one--a repeat of the second attempt. Holy crow, it’s happening. Fourth, another success, wow, look at this. By the fifth, Pidge feels like she’s getting the hang of it, until the delivery molecule installs the DNA backwards--well, quiznak. Waste of work. On the way out, she hooks the nanometer needle into the cellular membrane to kill it, just in case it started getting any ideas.

All in all, it takes her much longer than she’d planned to get this part in place, but, hey. Just like Ulaz said, it’s her first surgery, and she’s doing it with trocars, and minimally invasive tools, on not just a cellular level but a molecular level. At the end, out of about twenty payloads, she ended up with maybe a dozen cells. That’s better than just the one she outlined in her project proposal to Ulaz on Monday.

Now is not the time to start getting smug about her abilities and Shiro’s prognosis, though. Time to see if it actually works. “1159, third phase complete, fourth phase begin.”

From somewhere far outside her laser-focus concentration, she thinks Ulaz might be asking her if she needs a break, something to eat, a pouch of water. Pidge waves him away. She’s on a roll, and she has to finish this now. The tiara from Olkarion finally sits atop her head, and in a strange sort of way, she feels like a queen on her throne, even though it’s just a bunch of twigs and a crystal and she’s sitting on a surgeon’s stool that’s still just a little too tall for her to perch comfortably.

Pidge picks up Shiro’s left hand in her own, holds it close with their thumbs hooked together and their palms flat against the other’s. It’s so strange not to feel him grip back, and only part of it is the anesthesia. He doesn’t... he doesn’t look right. He’s been so sick for so long and only just told her and he let it deteriorate to this level and he-- no. She has to shake her head to stop from digging too deep into those thoughts.

Instead, she reaches out with binary, into what feels like Shiro’s core.

There’s something different about that cell cluster, she can tell before the code of her mind even gets there. Something about her recognizes them as altered. That’s, theoretically, what the quintessence wash is going to fix. What she can do with the tiara, though, is take that little switch that she just implanted, and turn it from off to on. “let’s see what this does,” she mutters, and mentally switches that operator from 0 to 1.

Twenty amino acids a second start compiling, almost faster than Pidge can visually track. It’s like watching a 3D printer, but if it was in someone’s body. The building blocks start making these absolutely beautiful spirals, one after the other, branching out from a stem like a fern unfurling in the sun. The cell is doing what it’s supposed to, but the dystrophin gene is the largest known in the human genome, and the protein it makes is similarly gigantic.

Three minutes. A little more. And then Pidge is looking at a fully-formed, perfect dystrophin protein, all 3,684 amino acids of it. This is the point at which she actually sheds a for-real tear, not even bothering to wipe it or her impossibly bright and broad smile off of her face. It worked, it worked, it worked...

“1203.” Sound off. “fourth stage end, fifth stage begin.”

This is the quintessence wash-out. Theoretically, this will take all the pent-up energy that’s been stored in Shiro’s arm from taking the Castleship offline and pour it back into him, but better. Not tainted with whatever the druids do to manipulate it, but somehow purified, almost to a clinical level. It’s almost undetectable as bioenergy, now. And what they can’t tap out of the arm, they’re taking from the ship, with Allura’s permission, Coran’s engineering, and Hunk’s assistance. It’ll leave them limping until they can replace the main crystal, but full power can wait, so long as the Lions are still operational. This? Can’t.

It’s boring, though. There’s nothing to do. There’s no manual surgery, no injection, no reading code or even watching protein formation. Just... monitoring energy. This is the part of engineering that she hates. The part of life that she hates. It twists her, makes her sour and bitter in turns, because she can’t do anything to drive it forward, because she just has to accept that this is out of her control.

Of course, this gives Pidge and Ulaz a second to take a breather. It’s, a little absurdly, like waiting for a device to charge, and all they’re waiting for is the battery indicator. Yeah, yeah, the quintessence is also picking up the molecular change Pidge made to Shiro’s genome in that little cluster of cells and propagating it through his whole body, core first, then spreading to extremities, but that’s not something she can see or monitor.

Ulaz offers her a bite of whatever food he’s eating. It looks bland, but healthy; from the texture and the sheen under the light, it’s probably some kind of protein, maybe a high-fat meat. Pidge declines and goes back to whatever dried fruit had been set aside for her earlier this week. It tastes like... kind of like if a pineapple and a potato had a child? Sort of stringy, and not overly sweet, but not bad to chew when dehydrated, and she can swear the movement of her jaw helps kick-start her thinking.

This part, Ulaz warned her, will take hours. But the anesthesia is holding. Shiro’s vitals are holding. If Pidge cared to peek in, she could see his cell still building little dystrophins as fast as it can, to make up for all he’s lost over his lifetime. That part, at least, is reassuring. And maybe, just maybe, as the quintessence starts pouring through Shiro, she feels like he’s... glowing? Is that a thing that can happen? Not visually, just... he feels incandescent. Some kind of heretofore unknown radiation? Would a Geiger counter even be able to measure this?

Whatever it is, that hopeful feeling starts resonating in the room, but not without pushing the dread that coalesces around impure quintessence ahead of it. Maybe it’s like air, in that cold air sinks, because it feels like it pools around her feet, like she needs to direct it to go someplace else before it infects the rest of the passengers on the ship. Then again, maybe if it's all of them bearing the burden of this tainted quintessence, maybe it won’t get to all of them at once?

The crystal is meant to be the filter. It’s meant to kill the ship's power, basically. Directing it back to the crystal, though, is hard, it’s like that dark energy wants to latch onto sentient life and direct it to its own will. Is quintessence sapient? Does it have will and purpose of its own, or is it directed by something else?

A lot of philosophical, metaphysical, maybe even directly physics-related questions for Pidge to sort through, later. Right now, though, washout progress is still steadily climbing. The rise and fall of Shiro’s chest is getting a little more purposeful, now. Not that he’s climbing out of anesthesia, but that it’s not so difficult for him to draw in a breath. His O2 sats are improving; so is his respiratory rate. Even his blood pressure is up, meaning his heart is pumping stronger. Oh, wow. They really were just in time with this.

Once the progress of the wash-out tips into the 90th percentile, it’s back to work, with new gloves and apparatuses. Pidge starts withdrawing the trocars at 91%. Ulaz sounds as incredulous as she feels when he reads off 92, then 93. On instinct, Pidge reaches down to hold Shiro’s hand again, nearly feeling the tingle of quintessence through the nitrile of her gloves as the wash-out takes hold.

“94,” Ulaz announces. Then, a few minutes later, “95.” The same interval, then “96.” Then, nothing for a little while. Pidge frowns at the monitor, wondering what's wrong, until the number changes again, finally--95.

Down? “what’s happening?” Shouldn’t this be a continuous process? How are they somehow losing progress on this?

“I had thought we could avoid this complication,” Ulaz says, “but it appears as though Shiro’s body is using up this new quintessence at an alarming rate--faster than we can replace it.”

“which means?” Pidge snaps off, but Ulaz hesitates. That’s never a good sign. Either what he’s about to explain is out of her depth, or it’s an answer she’ll refuse to accept. “try me,” she urges.

“The crystal on this ship only has so much power to give before we are on auxiliary life support,” Ulaz starts. “My original plans would have allowed the crystal to retain enough to perform basic ship functions--navigation, communications--but little else. At this point, however, those will need to be sacrificed to--”

“you're telling me we’re out of juice,” Pidge interrupts. Ulaz hangs his head, and he at least has the courage to wear his apology on his face. “he’s just going to keep chewing through quintessence until none of it takes, is that what’s going on?” A slight nod. “so it’s going to fail.”

That’s...

That’s unacceptable. They’ve come so far--Pidge has sacrificed so much, and this is going to be what stops them? Miscalculation of the amount of raw energy it would take to force a quintessence dialysis and genomic replication? No, that’s, this is, this isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. Pidge’s hands feel numb, but her lungs feel like they’re on fire, and her heart’s about to leap out of her chest, and there’s a ringing in her ears, and she feels sick in her core, deeper than her stomach but full of just as much bile. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening, it’s not, it’s--

A bone-deep thrum feels like it’s starting from the base of the Castle--is it finally giving up the rest of its power, or is that--it feels like an intrusive thought in the back of Pidge’s mind, until something in her answers it. That’s Black. That’s the Black Lion, bellowing so loud they can hear her through the distance and through advanced plating. Black, reaching out with Shiro’s link to cry out in pain, devastation, loss. Black, who’s never given up on Shiro before, isn’t about to do it this time.

Pidge isn’t about to give up on him, either.

Some kind of answering call gets stuck in her throat but screams out through her mouth anyway, tearing her vocal cords raw with the sheer force of her frustration, anger, grief, determination, and alongside her, in her mind, she can feel the verdant mindscape of Green roar back. This cannot happen. Pidge is not going to just sit here and let this happen. When she closes her eyes in a silent prayer to every saint whose name she ever learned, a god she’s long abandoned, and a universe that has never listened to what she wants, she can feel the tears streaking down her face. Her forehead falls to press against the back of Shiro’s hand.

When she opens--

--her eyes--

--it’s--

--it feels like--

--seeing through her Lion’s eyes. Forming Voltron. Pooling the souls of five into the vessel of one, a sixth and somehow more powerful entity, like a white lion having been unprismed into its component colors. There’s an urge to grip a bayard that isn’t there, fit it into a socket that doesn’t exist, the same feeling she had on the tip of her tongue just before she formed Voltron’s shield for the first time, and she knows. Knows, bone deep and just as intrinsically true, what she has to do.

The patience of the last few hours, the last week, the last three months since Shiro told her about his diagnosis, has honed her focus beyond the simple edge of a blade. Her body, her mind, her soul are as one. Her teeth are tingling with the force of her conviction. With her being, she reaches out, hooks around Shiro like she’s bonding with her Lion, and she can feel his indomitable will to live, ready to submerge her if she lets it. A well of quintessence here, nearly full, still struggling to reach its apex.

Pidge reaches out with her entire self and starts to pour, thoughtless, selfless, unheeding.

The way the quintessence flows from her being into Shiro’s is nothing short of hemorrhage. It’s not pure, not proper, not the bright, unblemished white of the artificial rarefied form. Nor is it the neon-lavender of Shiro’s tint, the reserved cast of premature maturity and the kind of endless empathy that could drown a man, but a sunny yellow-green, youthful, growing, reckless, insightful, intellect and daring.

It floods through him, so much faster than the slow trickle of purified quintessence routed through the ship’s core. Even as the force of her resolve leaves her, Pidge knows that this, this was the missing part, this was the key. Not some impure dregs from the Galra, not whatever purification science Ulaz has wrought, but the undeniably human connection. The courage to face the entirety of the known universe, the laws of physics, the insurmountable odds against them, and tell them “no, you move.”

From someplace that doesn’t matter, Pidge’s vision starts to go. Ulaz is--something, some kind of words are coming out of his mouth, but Pidge can’t parse them. That quintessence well in Shiro is almost topped off, and she pours, and she pours, and she pours from herself, until the grip goes from her aging hand, until her face fades into a haggard, wrinkled mask, until the light goes from her eyes, until it’s done.

It’s done.

The quintessence flush worked. Pidge knows, in a way she can’t describe, that the change she caused in his cells has propagated to all of him, has made him into something better. That her contribution here was helpful, useful, wanted, needed, necessary. That she wrung out everything she had to give and it was, for once, enough. That Shiro is--not cured, but the genetic portion of his disease has been defeated.

Victory or death. Knowledge or death. Pidge tips forward, out of her stool, and loses consciousness before she hits the floor, quintessence wrung from her in every possible way.

#this is important plot shit #δ drabble #palidinus #swordsedge #medical /#surgery /#illness /#disease /#mortality /

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the-three-idiots · 5 years ago

Text

The Blurred Line Epilogue: The necessary Grey area

It’s been a few weeks since the attack on Castrum Lab.

A lot has happened since then, Ashal and her guild cleaned up the lab, taking away the bio-weapon Castrum had created.

Yue woke from her coma and after she found out what I did, she disappeared. She left a note saying how she failed me and how she was going to stop teaching for a while.

In the meantime, I’ve been recalled back to Rata Sum. The council questioned me about Castrums technology, more specifically, they were asking if any of it was recoverable. I of course said no, Castrum was right about one thing. The council wanted the weapons that Castrum made.

I’m currently sitting in the promenade of Rata Sum, awaiting the council’s decision. It’s not exactly a warm day and the sky is more grey than usual, it’s rather fitting given today.

“May I sit here?” Asks a familiar voice.

I turn to see Ashal, in a smart blue uniform, double breasted jacket, blue trousers, a golden hip sash with 4 ranks bars on her sleeves and two square gold pips on her collar. She looks remarkably well for someone who had a broken arm and several cuts.

I nod at Ashal and she sits down beside me. She crosses her leg and undoes some of the buttons on her jacket.

“Busy week I’m having, recruited a norn engineer yesterday, talking to the council today, recruiting a ranger tomorrow night. Not quite sure how this week is going to end that’s for sure.” Ashals says with a chipper tone.

She looks at me and places her hand on my shoulder.

“How did it go with the council today?” She asks

I shrug and Ashal takes her hand off my shoulder.

“They can’t seem to decide who to blame, Me or Castrum.” I reply

Ashal nods, full well knowing of the councils gun ho politics.

“I've just been in there for the last two hours defending you to the council. They really have it out for you…” Ashal lifts up a datapad "...then again after what you made, i can't blame them."

She passes the datapad to me, it's an older model. Similar to ones used when i was put on trial for the weapon i made, where did she get this? It is supposed to have been destroyed.

“I prefer ink and paper but I suppose the asuran way of keeping information means it can be held forever. I suppose it stops you from forgetting about the past, Yue was so quiet as to why you were kicked out of Rata Sum and now I know and understand why…” Ashal says

I look at the pad in shame.

“Weaponized portal technology.” She says

I place the pad into my pocket.

“No one has ever attempted to do that and there's reasons why it shouldn't be done, i don't pretend to even comprehend the math or technology behind it but what you created is...unethical at best.” Ashal says with a tone of disappointment.

I place my hands in my lap, fiddling with them.

“I made the weapon as a defensive option, do you know how easy it is for an enemy just to hack a gate and get through the portal with an army? It's happened before and will happen again…” I place my hand in the pocket with the datapad. “...all i wanted to do....all i want to do is protect my home.” I reply

Ashal nods, her disappointed expression fades into one of understanding, she stands up and walks a couple of paces forward.

“The council took interest, I assume, so why did they stop you?” Asks Ashal

I pull the datapad out of my pocket and unlock it, the pad has some restricted data that even the council didn't know about. I unlock the pad and give it to Ashal, she takes it and starts reading it.

“There were two parts of the device, the actual gate and another part that goes around the wrist. Theoretically speaking, the gate projects a small amount of directional energy from the wormhole. It's dense and largely harmless but it could be used to teleport someone in a short distance, it would be instantaneous…” I pause, seeing if Ashal has any questions.

She looks at the pad with a confused expression and then looks up at me.

“If that was refined, it would make the use of asura gates moot. Personal teleportation devices would have massive implications not just on travel but to pact or any military.” Ashal explained

I nod.

“Theoretically...the energy that comes out of the portal could be temporarily superheated to vaporize the enemy target with the only thing stopping guards or civilians getting vapourized is the wristband but something went wrong…”

Ashal sits down next to me.

“I tested it on a Ettin which not only ripped it in half but somehow kept the creature alive, leaving the ettin screaming in agony for days as the portal energy kept it alive. it finally dissolved into a toxic goo which dissolved anything that touched it.” I say.

Ashal nods.

“I’d imagine the council were horrified by this, considering most of Rata Sum has portal technology inside the city. The possibility of the portals killing Asura was quite high. I can see why they wanted to exile you…” Ashal explains.

“They destroyed the weapon and exiled me to reduce the chance of a similar device being built.” I reply.

Ashal smiles at me , places the datapad next to her, takes my hand and holds it.

“Your right about what you said about the blurred line, it's a necessary grey and I would be lying if I said I would never have to cross the line, i can't imagine what would happen if I was put up against a god but like that would ever happen…” Ashal pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to me “...but until then, I have a promise to keep.” Ashal says

I take the piece of paper and look at it

‘TALES OF THEDAS MEMBER APPLICATION FORM’

I study the front and back of the form, all filled in, signed and ratified by Ashal. I look at Ashal, why would she do this?, especially after I killed Castrum.

“The council wanted to throw you in prison, so I suggested you work with us. I'm afraid with reduced pay...for now.” Ashals says with a smile

Voroni walks in front of us with a large package and a letter, judging from size, it's a piece of clothing of some kind. The letter looks old as well, five years judging by stains and wear. Voroni is also wearing the same uniform as Ashal but with a purple waist sash and two sleeve bars.

“Ashal, even with waypoints, we may have to leave now if we want to keep Miss Adairs plan in order.” Voroni looks at me with a smile “Hello again Miss Arcturis.” Says Voroni with quite a chipper tone.

Ashal stands and walks over to Voroni, she looks at his uniform.

“Now doesn't that look better on you Voroni, less spiky and more...well, more-”

Voroni interrupts Ashal.

“-More uniformed?” Voroni says

She smiles and pats his shoulder, Ashal turns around to me and smiles.

“After all I did...why do you want me in your guil?” I ask

Ashal nods.

“You're a diamond in the rough, you may have killed Castrum but you did me and my whole race a favour by taking out the only person who knew how to create that weapon that could hurt the people I love...”

Ashal smiles as she looks at the datapad on the bench.

“Sometimes good people do bad things and sometimes we just have to deal with it, Is that wrong? Definitely, can it lead to better things? Maybe...in my line of work, each option comes with consequences that we can't foresee and the right choice usually isn't the best choice. Sometimes you just need to make a bad decision to save the world.” Ashal explains

I pick the datapad up and hold it, it’s got all my schematics of the weapon and information on it. I stand up, I throw it onto the ground and destroy it. Ashal looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“If used right, those gate weapons could save thousands of lives…” Ashal says

“...But they could kill millions if used wrong.” I retort.

Ashal nods and Voroni gives a smirk, I look at Ashal and give her a smile.

“You speeches are quite something Ma’am.” I tell Ashal

Ashal walks over to me and shakes my hand, her hand feels soft and smooth. Very paradoxically smooth given how her hands look like it’s made of overlapping leaves.

“I’ll see you next week Zela and don’t call me Ma’am, makes me feel old.” Ashal jokes

Our hands part and Ashal walks away with Voroni, their blue uniforms standing out in the promenade crowd. I walk towards the Asura-gates and look at them, I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if my weapon was installed in every gate.

Maybe it’s best for the gates to stay as they are or Maybe not…

I’m not sure what choice is best for them, all I know is that for now, destroying the schematics for the gate weapons was the right choice.

I know I’m on the right side of the blurred line.

#gw2 fanfiction #gw2 #gw2 oc #Guild Wars #guild wars 2 #tales of thedas #stories #tyriaslibrary #gw2 sylvari #Gw2 asura #fanfic #gw2 fanfic

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cakesunflower · 6 years ago

Text

Liability [Peaky Blinders!Calum AU] Part 2

Previous Part: Part 1

Part 2

“That is a profoundly stupid fucking idea which is only going to get us killed.”

Had it been anyone else who spoke to him like that, Calum wouldn’t have hesitated in delivering a punch in the face of whoever was skeptical of his orders. But instead he kept to shooting Luke a flat expression, loud and clear about his lack of interest in what the blonde had to say before returning his attention to the papers laid out in front of him—particularly the Export License that they’d recently acquired. It had been a moment teeming with pride, showing off that license to the people who stood by his side, to the men and women he trusted with his life. This was what they had been waiting for and it was finally there.

Calum put the books on top of the license, data from the latest race open for him to see. He wasn’t as concerned with his decision the way Luke seemed to be, hunched over the books and going over the week’s recordings.

As he took in the impressive profits the last of the horses, Oakley, earned them during the week, Calum inquired in an uncaringly airy tone, “D’you think I don’t know what I’m doin’, Luke?”

The blonde sighed, running his fingers through his curls. The last thing he wanted to do was disrespect his best friend and leader, but the unease and concern still ate at Luke from the moment Calum had announced his plan to him, Ashton, and Michael. “You know I haven’t an issue following your orders, but this. . . This is dangerous territory, Calum. She’s the Police Captain’s daughter.”

“If she had views similar to that of her father’s, then she never would’ve stepped foot into the Garrison,” Calum pointed out. His tone, as usual, was all-knowing, because he knew Karina. She was a curious one, he could tell, and while he expected her to reject his offer the second he suggested it, Calum knew she would eventually come around to the concept.

Granted, it was possibly a risky move on his part, but Calum stood by what he said; Karina wasn’t her father. Reading people was one of Calum’s strong suits, practically hearing their thoughts in the way they carried themselves. Every time he ran into Captain Garner, Calum knew the policeman was looking for any solid reason to put him behind bars—or, to the captain’s preference, be hanged. But that night at the Garrison, Calum saw no inkling of the same train of thought from his daughter—didn’t see much of it from Sean Garner either, if he was being honest.

It seemed to Calum that Captain Garner’s aversion to the leader of the Peaky Blinders wasn’t one his children shared.

Perhaps Calum was playing with fire with the idea he was concocting in his mind since running into Karina again after so many years. It surprised him how she seemed to be stuck in his head since that night at the Garrison.

She was an independent one, it was easy to realize. Averting from her father’s views, especially when it came to Calum himself, wanting to be a working woman, being damn near abrasive where her dead husband was concerned. Calum wasn’t going to lie—seeing Karina within the walls of his pub had felt like a breath of fresh air, and speaking to her had only served to peak his interest in the woman who once had been his schoolmate.

“It’s still a dangerous bet,” Luke spoke with a shake of his head, a resigned sigh escaping him. He knew there was no talking Calum out of this, so why bother trying?

The smirk returned to Calum’s face, leaning back in his chair, with his hands splayed on the desk in front of him. “When have I ever backed away from one?”

*****

“Come on, Karina—Ed doesn’t mind giving you a ride home. Do you, Ed?” Joyce hummed, looking over her shoulder towards her fiancé, who sat in the driver’s seat of his Ford Model T, the engine rattling lowly as he waited for Joyce to get in.

“’Course not,” Ed returned with a friendly smile, leaning to his left to get a proper look at the two women still standing on the sidewalk. “More than happy to.”

Karina smiled, ready to comply. Getting a lift from her friends was far better than walking home by herself at this time of night, especially with many of the factory employees getting out of work around this time. But just as Karina’s lips parted to accept the offer, the soft rumble of an engine cut her off, her gaze sliding to the right to catch sight of an expensive, shining black Bentley driving towards them, stopping in front of Ed’s car, yet not blocking it.

She felt her heart drop, noticed the way Ed’s eyes widened and Joyce tensed up when the elbow resting on the sill of the car door was accompanied by a head leaning out of the window. Calum Hood’s dark eyes found Karina’s greener ones, looking far too casual and relaxed as he sat in his car and said to her, “Jump in, Miss Garner.”

Of course, Karina remained still where she stood, gaping at the man who had just arrived out of nowhere and all but demanded for her to get in his car. For a moment, all Karina was capable of hearing was the distant sound of the factory lines, the clanking of metal and the occasional burst of fire and smoke. Karina felt her heart beginning to pick up its pace, beating wildly in her chest as she took in the expectant expression on Calum’s face, as if he knew that she wasn’t going to reject his offer and wished she would just hurry up.

The completely rational part of her was screaming to oppose, as if no was a word Calum Hood often heard. But the insatiable curiosity picked at her brain, whispering for her to get into the vehicle, to see what he wanted. Karina could hear herself trying to rationalize that she would be alright, that despite Calum being a dangerous criminal to be feared, he wouldn’t bring her any harm. Perhaps she had gone insane.

He watched her, eerily calm and observant, and Karina’s throat remained dry with hesitance of not being entirely sure what to say. Briefly, she could hear her father’s voice in her head, telling her to run the other way, to get as far away from the gangster as possible. But, oh dear, she couldn’t bring herself to look away from the dark of his brown eyes, at the way he was looking at her, like he knew what her answer was going to be before she could even consider anything else.

Karina swallowed the nervously excited lump that had formed in her throat, knowing she was going to regret this eventually as she met Joyce’s gaze and told her friend reassuringly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Joyce, who had been more or less thrilled when she’d noticed Karina chatting Calum up at the Garrison the other night yet now looked tensely nervous in his presence, widened her eyes at Karina. Quietly, she asked, “Are you sure?”

Feeling Calum’s heated gaze burning into her skin, Karina nodded at Joyce before forcing a smile to her lips. God, what was she doing? Looking at Joyce and Ed, she bid, “Get home safe.”

Joyce hesitated for a moment, but eventually climbed into Ed’s car as Karina took a breath and walked around the front of Calum’s. It was difficult to ignore the weight of his gaze, eyes tracking her movements as she approached the door, stopping when Calum leaned over to open it from the inside before sitting straight. Ed and Joyce drove off as Karina gripped the front of her dress, lifting it ever so slightly as to not trip on it as she stepped up on the running board so she could slip into the car, free hand gripping the door to keep her balance.

Karina’s breath stilled in her lungs as she settled in the car, the scent leathery and expensive as she shut the door, the metal creaking before it slammed. The gentle vibration of the running engine did little to calm her as she sat in the car, looking out the windows of the mostly deserted street. It wasn’t too late at night, but not many people were wandering about, and in that moment Karina was beginning to regret agreeing to get in a car with Calum Hood.

Honestly, what was she thinking? She didn’t expect Calum to pick up his hat that sat in between them, or pull out a gun, and use either on her. But there was a reason why the man to her right was feared, why he drew panic and unease and had people moving out of his way. Calum was a force to be reckoned with, a killer and a protector rolled into one, unpredictable like a storm. How could Karina ever hope to be calm in the presence of someone so arbitrary? And why had she willingly put herself in a situation that had her stomach churning uneasily and had her picking at her nails? A bit of a masochist she was, wasn’t she?

Licking her lips after a few moments of silence that ate away at her, Karina said, “My flat’s on—”

“Delaney Street, I know,” Calum finished, never taking his eyes off the road, though Karina had a feeling he still noted the way she blinked at him in surprise over his knowledge of her residence. He kept his gaze straight ahead, though Calum lifted his chin and allowed the shadows provided by the streetlamps to accentuate the cut of his jaw as he mused, “Nothing goes on in this city without my knowledge, Miss Garner.”

Her throat tightened at the casual rasp of his tone, the knots in her stomach only intensifying. For the first time, Karina second guessed her decision to move into her own place, away from her family, now that Calum Hood seemingly knew exactly where she resided. She rolled her lips into her mouth, looking straight ahead and allowing any words die on her tongue as they drove on in silence.

Karina fiddled with the soft fabric of her dress, watching as shop owners closed up and began their journey home, how those walking by caught sight of the man driving past them and gave a tip of their hat or a polite call to the leader of the Blinders. It fascinated Karina how respected Calum was, even if it was born out of fear—though she had a feeling that it didn’t matter to him. So long as no one got in his way, she figured.

“Your friends didn’t look particularly fond of you getting in my car.” Karina bit the inside of her lower lip at the sound of Calum’s voice, conversational and smooth. His eyes remained on the road ahead as he added, “You didn’t seem to share their hesitance.”

Her gaze dropped to her lap, watching as she twisted a thin ring on her middle finger as she answered in reluctant honesty, “To be frank, I didn’t think I had much of a choice.”

Calum hummed disapprovingly, their bodies gently jolting as the car drove down the cobblestoned street while he made a turn to Karina’s neighborhood. “Everyone’s got a choice. And it’s imperative for me to know you’re able to make sound decisions.”

The car came to a stop in front of Karina’s building, but she was too busy staring at Calum with a puzzled furrow between her eyebrows, not entirely understanding what he meant. It was imperative for him? What in the bloody hell was he on about?

Before she could even question him, Calum spoke up to answer her silent inquiries.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout what you told me the other night, Miss Garner, ’bout how you wish to work.” His eyes met hers, relaxed against her own curious ones. “I just so happen to have an openin’ for a secretary position.”

Karina paused, blinking at Calum, wondering if she’d misheard him. But he sat perfectly poised, right elbow propped on the car door sill as he met her gaze. The dull street lamps not providing much light, and Karina realized that Calum Hood, unsurprisingly, looked all the more intimidating when the shadows of the night sharpened the line of his jaw. Karina found it chilling how he looked fearsome whether the peak of his cap was covering his eyes or if he was granting her the opportunity to gaze at the dark irises.

His words registered in her mind and bewilderment flooded Karina easily. He was offering her a job? Calum must be aware of how ridiculous a notion that was—she was the daughter of the Police Captain; she couldn’t possibly work for the leader of the Peaky Blinders. Granted, Karina didn’t care much for what people said about or thought of her, but she just knew the mere thought of her accepting this job would have her father preferring to receive a gunshot wound instead. It was unrealistic for her to work for Calum, to vehemently go against everything her father believed in and stood for just for Karina to spit in his face by accepting such an offer. It went without saying that there was no relation between the Peaky Blinders and Karina’s family other than hostility—at least where her father was concerned.

“I—” Karina paused, pressing her lips together and furrowing her eyebrows. Many befuddled emotions were running through her, but the strongest one was utter bewilderment. Never did she expect for this to happen to her. Did Calum himself understand what he was asking of her? Begrudgingly, Karina realized that Calum Hood didn’t seem like a person who said things without meaning them. “You. . . Understand how complicated your offer is, right?” she asked, careful in choosing her words. She may not be one to conform to a man, but Karina wasn’t dumb enough to go around disrespecting a man such as him.

“I do.” The car was stopped, Karina absently realizing they were in front of her building, though she was too busy trying to register what was happening. He didn’t at all look like he regretted what he said, cool gaze stuck on her. Karina tried her hardest not to bristle in her seat under the weight of his stare. “But it’d be worth it, I reckon. ’specially the pay.” Karina couldn’t help the curious quirk of her eyebrow, subtle and almost involuntary. But Calum admired her interest despite her attempts of not wanting to appear so. He wasn’t surprised; the world ran on money. “Nine pounds and four shillings a month.”

For someone who prided herself in keeping herself in check, Karina lost every sense of self control the second she registered the gangster’s words. Her eyes grew wide, staring at him in a greater sense of disbelief, lips parting with an incredulous scoff because that was quite the pay he was willing to give her. Truthfully, Karina wasn’t sure if she would make that kind of money anywhere else and the amount in itself was enough for her to want to accept the offer. But she mustn’t. She couldn’t.

Watching as Calum pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, the lighter sparking as he placed the flame at the end of the stick, Karina tried to control her stutter as she began, “Mr. Hood—”

“Calum,” he interrupted, uttering his name past a puff of smoke that filtered past his lips. His dark eyes were on her, cigarette between two fingers as he added, “Call me Calum.”

Karina briefly bit the inside of her cheek before continuing on carefully, “The offer is generous but. . . It would be unwise for me to accept.”

He didn’t look disappointed, nor affronted at her rejection. Instead, Calum kept that collected expression on his face, gaze never leaving hers, and Karina hated how the dark of his eyes seemed to freeze her in place. Like the look he was giving was enough to still someone of all their actions. “I thought you didn’t care for living by your father’s orders.”

Of course he’d unapologetically use her own words against her. Karina wasn’t surprised at that, nor was she surprised that he understood exactly why she didn’t want to accept the offer—it was quite obvious. “It isn’t about what my father wants—it’s about how he would feel if I started working for you,” Karina responded truthfully.

“Your father’s a grown man, Karina.” Calum spoke with a calmness in his voice that only kept Karina’s body tense. There was nothing more dangerous than a calm criminal. “I’m sure he’ll be able to handle it.”

Even if it didn’t show on his face, Karina could hear the smug smirk in Calum’s voice as he spoke those words, well aware of how her father would react should she accept the offer. Despite knowing better of it, Karina found herself scoffing, “Because you know everything, yes?”

She hadn’t meant for the condescending tone her voice had taken, matching the challenging raise of her eyebrows towards a man no one dared provoke. Karina would never, either, save for in this moment where she was seemingly experiencing a lack of judgment. Having control of her mouth wasn’t something Karina particularly excelled at, and she wondered if it would get her in trouble one of these days.

To her fortune, Calum didn’t look displeased at her rebuttal. “That I do,” he replied easily.

His calmness in all of this had Karina’s nerves jumping—though most of it had to do with his mere presence in general, she knew. Still, it didn’t stop her from giving a gentle shake of her head before asking, “Why me?” Her gaze wandered as she shrugged. “I’m sure you can find anyone willing to fill that position—so why ask the daughter of the one man trying to arrest you?”

He flicked the cigarette out the window and, before Karina could comprehend it, leaned towards her. Her breath stalled in her throat, neck tensing as he unapologetically invaded her personal space, dark eyes gazing into her own green ones, and suddenly all she could hope to smell were the scents of cigarettes and Calum’s distinguished combination of pine and smoke. Karina’s lips parted, eyes never daring to leave his, entranced by the glimmer dancing in his irises and while the logical part of her knew it was merely a reflection of the outside light, a part of her was admiring how it derived from the mischief and danger he was known to possess.

Calum’s left elbow propped up on the top of their bench style seat, Karina having no choice but to watch him watch her, and a shock of something coursed through her body at their proximity. Her initial thought labeled it as fear, but she instinctively realized it was something completely different. He was so close as he tilted his chin up, still watching her. “You’d be an asset to my business, Miss Garner,” Calum spoke smoothly. “A well educated woman from a respectable family working for me only puts my business at an advantage.”

She swallowed, throat feeling dry and her fingers only tightening around the fabric of her dress. He seemed so honest, but Karina knew better than to trust him right off the bat. Surprising herself by keeping her gaze locked with his, she prodded, “It doesn’t hurt that you’d be gloating to my father should I accept your offer, does it?”

He raised an eyebrow, far too elegant and poised as he looked at her. “For someone who wants nothing more than to gain her independence from her father, you’ve got quite the habit of bringing him up, love.”

Heat flushed across Karina’s cheeks, ridiculously feeling like a hypocrite. She was embarrassed and flustered as she shifted, gaze dropping briefly. “Forgive me, but this situation is—”

“Complicated, so you’ve said,” Calum finished knowingly, prompting Karina to press her lips together. He clicked his tongue, leaning back, and Karina ignored the dull thud in her chest that seemed eerily akin to disappointment. “It’d all be clean, if that’s one of your main concerns—other than the obvious. You’d only be looking over my day-to-day meetings, and adjusting the books if your maths is as excellent as I remember.”

The last bit had the warmth in Karina’s face only intensifying, finding it a bit hard to believe that he remembered one of the things she was good at since they were in school together.

“Forget about your father and his reaction for a second, yeah?” Calum’s voice had Karina looking at him again, noting the way he raised his eyebrows. He was about to try and convince her to take his offer, and Karina realized in that moment that he was quite the patient man—and that he must really want her to work for him. The knowledge of that was both thrilling and nerve wracking at the same time. “If you accept my offer, Miss Garner, it’d be advantageous for both of us.” He gestured between them with ring clad fingers as he finished, “You’d be helping my business keep its legitimacy, and you’d be paid a hefty sum for your work. And, let’s be honest—”

He was leaning in close, and suddenly it was like a switch had been flipped and Karina’s stomach churned at the smirk that was tilting at his lips. She remained still where she sat, eyes widening ever so slightly at their closeness, at the heat radiating off his body and the scent intoxicating her so easily. It didn’t bloody help when Calum’s dark eyes flickered down briefly, landing on her lips before he looked at her with eyes far too alluring for this situation.

His voice was low, a dangerous rasp that sent shivers down her spine when he added, “You crave to see how the other side lives—something you’ll never get from any other painfully numbing job.” It suddenly felt hot in the car. “Break a few rules, love. Allow me to give you what you need.”

It was a wonder Karina could even speak through how tightened her throat became, Calum’s words filled with double meaning boiling her blood and making her body grow rigid. She couldn’t help the way her own gaze fluttered to his lips, full and far too inviting, voice almost a whisper as she asked almost dazedly, “What is it that I need?”

“Independence,” Calum murmured, promising and confident. Karina wondered when the world outside of the car stopped existing. When all she could focus on was the man sitting so close to her, offering her things no one else ever had, dangerously alluring. “Adventure. I can give you both. And more.”

It was almost embarrassing how fast her mind had been made up.

*****

Karina wondered if she should have thought this through some more, if she should have stopped to consider all the elements and consequences of her decision to agree to Calum’s job offer. Of course, it had been running through her mind since she had accepted it that night in the car, through a semi-clear mind that wasn’t entirely dazed by the gangster. But now the second-guessing was far too loud in her mind as she walked through the office floor, feeling the lingering gazes of the working men and few women as Michael led her to Calum’s office in the back.

She looked around as they went, easily realizing how much of a legitimate business had been set up here. It was filled with chatter and the clicking of typewriters and rustling papers, employees discussing with one another or focusing on the paperwork on their desks. There weren’t that many people there, honestly, and Karina didn’t recognize many of them as known gang members. The only Peaky Blinder she saw here was Michael. Maybe they really were serious about this being licit.

“Hey, Cal,” Michael called once they stopped in front of wooden double doors, knocking on it with two knuckles. “I’ve got Miss Garner out here,” he added, green eyes meeting her own darker ones as he offered a small smile.

From inside, Calum’s voice sounded, “Send her in.”

Michael gestured towards the door, an unexpectedly polite, “Good luck.”

She returned the sentiment with a close mouthed smile, facing the door as Michael walked away. Karina gave herself a brief moment to take a breath, looking at the sleek wood of the door before licking her lips. Nervous butterflies fluttered around her stomach, as they had been for two days and only intensified last night and this morning as she made her way to the office. And it wasn’t like Karina could talk to anyone about this—agreeing to this job was an incredulous move on her part, and she didn’t entirely expect her family or friends to understand. Not the way Calum seemed to.

There was a need for something that Karina knew she desired, something more than what her life had so far given her. Something, she had a feeling, could be given to her if she accepted the job.

So she turned the door handle and took a step into the spacious room, the door clicking shut behind her as she allowed her gaze to wander around the room. Windows were on either side of the room, the walls and floor paneled with sleek mahogany wood. A couch with plush red cushions was on the left, a glass table in front with an ashtray and some books, a cart in the left corner with a few decanters filled with whiskey or bourbon or the like and some glasses.

And then there was Calum. Sitting behind an oak desk decorated with papers and books, a cigarette familiarly between his fingers, and dark curls free from the confines of the signature hat. He sat back, relaxed, the jacket from his three piece suit hanging on a stand off to the right, and Karina tried not to think of how devastatingly handsome he looked. It was a bit ridiculous, how a man as dangerous as him was just as good looking.

She didn’t think twice of the large painting of horses on the wall behind him, unsurprised at the sight of it given Calum’s known fascination with them and the conspicuous dealings the Blinders have whenever there’s a race. It was a sight to be seen, Karina took a moment to appreciate; him sitting behind a desk under that painting, nursing a cigarette like he always did, looking just like the powerful, fearful man everyone knew him to be.

“Good morning, Miss Garner,” Calum’s raspy voice greeted once she entered, leaned back comfortably in the chair with his right elbow propped on the armrest, the smoke curling out from the end of the cigarette. He gestured to the chairs on the other side of his desk, “Have a seat.”

The soft click of her kitten heels sounded as though they were echoing in the room as Karina made her way over, hoping to maintain the confident and first-day-ready facade she’d been keeping up since she left her flat. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t somewhat excited for this new job, but understandably, the nerves were swirling in her stomach anxiously. Karina had a feeling after today, her life would change. Whether it’d be for better or worse, that was yet to be determined.

She sat down, cautious and poised with the dress of her skirt straightened and hands on her lap because she didn’t know what else to do with them. Her eyes took in her surroundings, as if they hadn’t the first time, looking at everything but the man sitting directly opposite of her.

“You seem nervous.”

Karina was a bit surprised that she didn’t jump in her seat, though she also prided herself in not looking like the fool she knew she wasn’t in front of Calum. She realized she didn’t entirely feel like herself when she was around him—she was jumpy, anxious, tense under his gaze and while that was understandable given who he was, Karina was growing tired of it. She’d never been one to shy away from anyone, much less a man, and it felt entirely out of character when she found herself unable to even look at Calum in the eye. It was ridiculous and, frankly, embarrassing. She was more of a woman than that.

“First day jitters, I suppose,” Karina responded with a quick smile, finally bringing herself to meet his gaze, dark eyes steady and focused as always.

Calum raised a lazy eyebrow, watching her, gesturing to the cart with the cigarette. “Whiskey?”

While she could hold her liquor and it would be calming, Karina wasn’t particularly inclined to start her first day at her new job with alcohol buzzing through her system. “I’m alright,” she politely declined, offering a smile with a gentle raise of her shoulders as she added, “Just eager to get started.”

He eyed her for a moment and Karina was proud of herself for not bristling under his gaze, fighting against the initial need to do so. Instead, she kept his gaze, showing him the honesty and drive behind her words, and Karina could’ve sworn she saw the ghost of a smirk tilt at his lips before his expression remained a practiced blank.

“What I do here is quite simple, Miss Garner,” he began and Karina listened to his words, choosing to ignore the jolt she felt in her veins every time he referred to her as what he did. “We’ve recently acquired an export license from Mr. Churchill which allows us to transport manufactured goods from here to the Poplar Docks before being set off to their final destination.”

Karina nodded slowly at the brief explanation, finding herself asking, “What kind of manufactured goods?” She at least wanted to know what the business she was about to get involved in was transporting.

If she blinked, she would’ve missed the ghost of a smirk that quirked at the corner of Calum’s lips at her question as he took a drag of the cigarette. The smoke curled out of his mouth as he responded, “Crates of motorcar spares.”

Nothing illegal then, Karina was relieved to realize. Though, she figured if Calum was as serious of a businessman as he was showing himself to be, it made sense for him to want this company of his to be clean. And despite him being the man her father hated, a known criminal that was allowed to set up his own business—with the help of Mr. Winston Churchill himself (even though it itched at Karina’s curiosity how someone like Calum managed to pull that off)—Karina found herself to be excited about being a part of this. Dealing with her family’s reactions could be saved for later. For now, she truly wanted to get started in whatever it was Calum needed for her to do.

It was like he saw a spark in her brown eyes as that thought crossed her mind, and the man on the other side of the table sat up coolly. Calum then propped his fingers on a sheet of paper resting on his desk, sliding it forward towards her. “These are some businessmen I need to meet with during this week. You’ll find their contact information and the appropriate stationary already on your desk outside my office. My week is so far clear so set up the meetings. Knock when you’ve finished.”

Karina’s gaze dropped to the sheet as she picked it up gingerly, eyes taking in the scribbles of Calum’s handwriting decorating the page; sharp and precise like him. With a nod, Karina stood up, the small heels of her shoes clicking as she made her way towards the door, feeling the heat of his stare burn her back through the material of her dress.

She’d only grasped the door handle when Calum’s voice stopped her. “Ms. Garner?” Karina looked at him over her shoulder, throat working at the sight of him; a businessman laid back in his chair, elbow propped up on the arm rest and a tendril of smoke curling out of the cigarette he was nursing, dark eyes glued to her. For a brief moment, Karina let herself admire the sight of him; every bit as poised and powerful as she knew him to be, seated under the large painting in an elegant office. Calum tilted his chin up a little before finishing, “Don’t take no for an answer.”

Karina wanted to laugh. As if anyone could say no to Calum Hood. She certainly hadn’t been able to.

The office door clicked shut behind her, and Karina ignored the few gazes that weighed on her as she settled on the desk by Calum’s office door. She huffed out a gentle breath through her nose, smoothing the skirt of her dress as she draped the strap of her purse on the back of the chair. Karina’s eyes dropped to the black notebook on the desk, a container of pens available for her to use as well as a typewriter. She took a few minutes to acquaint herself with the stationary, taking note of the sheets of paper for the typewriter in the bottom drawer, her own personal telephone to make the calls, and a smaller black notebook in the top drawer that she realized, while flipping through it, had the contacts Calum wanted her to get in touch with.

The book wasn’t full by any means, only taking up a few pages scribbled with names of business owners and the like along with their phone numbers, plus what they did next to their names. Some ran certain docks at the harbor, others owned warehouses or chartered shipping boats. No doubt Calum needed these men for the storage and deliveries for his own business’s dealings, and once Karina found the information for the first name on the list Calum had given her, she reached for the candlestick phone and started her first day of work.

She minded her own business, ignoring the few looks she was receiving from the people around her, holding the receiver to her ear and speaking into the transmitter as she set up appointments for Calum and jotted down the dates and times. It wasn’t a difficult task, Karina knew, but she couldn’t help the satisfaction that surged through her each time she appointed a meeting. Some of the men had outright agreed upon hearing that she was calling from Calum Hood’s office, his reputation almost threatening the men into agreeing to meet with him, but there were also some that hesitated.

Apparently not everyone was jumping at the opportunity to be involved with Calum Hood or his business, and while Karina understood their reluctance to even meet with him, she was determined to complete the first task Calum had given her. She was going to get him every single one of the meetings he asked for. Like Calum had said. . . Karina wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“I understand you’re a busy man, Mr. Finch,” she mused, knowing full well the warehouse owner was spitting fruitless excuses to deny the meeting. Karina leaned back in the chair, crossing her right leg over her left knee as she gazed out the window to her left. The occasional person walked by, Karina’s eyes absently following them until they disappeared from sight, as she continued breezily, “But as a businessman you should be able to see a lucrative offer such as this one. Refusing to meet with Mr. Hood without hearing what he has to offer to you and your business may just end up with you regretting a missed opportunity. Not quite a wise decision, innit?”

The man on the other end of the line sputtered at her baiting words, obviously taking offense as he huffed, “Miss Garner, I’ve a reputation to uphold and I don’t believe getting involved with a known gangster would be a wise decision. I’m surprised you haven’t come to the same conclusion.”

Karina rolled her eyes, biting back the urge to remind the man he owned warehouses for a living, which she doubted added any such points to his so called reputation. Not to mention his own jab at her choice of working for Calum. She truly didn’t care for what others thought of her agreeing to Calum’s offer, and she had half a mind to tell Mr. Finch just that. But she still needed him to agree to a meeting because Calum needed him to, so she fought the desire to potentially insult the man as she moved the mouthpiece away from her to let out an exasperated breath Mr. Finch wouldn’t be privy to before bringing the piece back and speaking up once more.

“My choice in getting involved with Mr. Hood comes from knowing full well he has the means to build something worthwhile,” Karina responded easily, using Mr. Finch’s reasoning against him. “I would imagine you would want to at least get a glimpse of that same kind of future for yourself, Mr. Finch. And your business. Agreeing to meet does not an automatic deal make. Hearing what Mr. Hood has to offer you from himself does not cost you anything. I promise you, it will be worth your time.”

And hopefully not your life, her dry thoughts echoed in her head, though Karina kept the chilling words to herself. She liked to naively think Calum wouldn’t be one to threaten someone into a business deal, thought she wouldn’t entirely put it past him. Perhaps his desire for wanting to keep this legal business of his clean would prevent him from doing so. At least, that’s what Karina hoped as she pursed her lips and waited for Mr. Finch’s answer.

He was silent for a few moments as Karina kept her gaze towards the window, sunlight seeping through the glass and warming her lap where it touched as she watched those outside go about their day. She nibbled on the corner of her lips, waiting for Mr. Finch’s answer, hoping she somehow got through to him.

The receiver crackled as he let out a sigh. “Alright. I can meet with him this coming Thursday at noon.”

Karina grinned, the satisfaction once again lifting her as she praised, “Excellent. You wouldn’t want to be the first to say no to Mr. Hood.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Mr. Finch grumbled in response before providing her with the address of where he could meet Calum, and Karina ended the call before reaching for her pen and jotting down the information.

“Did you just threaten a potential business partner, Miss Garner?”

Karina froze momentarily at the familiarly smooth voice, sitting up as she glanced to see Calum standing right beside her chair. He peered down at her, raising an eyebrow, expression practically unreadable save for the hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. She hadn’t heard him leave his office, most certainly hadn’t detected his presence beside her, and Karina twirled the pen between her fingers absently as she found her tongue. “Of course not,” she hummed, surprising herself with the cool tone she adopted while looking up at Calum. “I was just stating a true fact to Mr. Finch. How he interprets it is entirely up to him.”

The amusement Karina had seen a hint of in Calum’s dark eyes seemed to flare up a bit, more present, as a breath of a chuckle escaped him at her words. Then his gaze flickered to the notebook where she’d written down the information Mr. Finch had given us and he nodded in approval. His eyes met Karina’s as he added, “Good work,” before turning and heading back into his office.

The door shut behind him, and Karina leaned back in her seat as she failed to fight off the smile that had tilted upon her lips. Not even the few looks she was being given could keep the grin off.

*****

The knock that sounded on the door didn’t lift Calum’s gaze from the paper he was reading. It was a gentle rap of knuckles, instantly informing the gangster who was on the other side as he called a gruff, “Come in.”

He heard the subtle creak of the door as it opened, followed by the click of heels against the slick floor and if he inhaled deeply enough, Calum was sure he’d smell the fruity fragrance that he’d come to associate with Karina Garner. He’d only been around her a few times, and yet Calum had familiarized himself with the appealing perfume that stuck to her skin. Or maybe it was just her.

Keeping his eyes on the paper held in front of him, Calum noticed Karina come to a stop in front of his desk from his peripherals as he asked, “Did you get the meetings?”

“Every one of them, yes,” Karina answered, giving a tap to her notebook with the pen she held. “I doubt anyone’s eager to say no to someone like you.”

Her comment, despite his efforts, tempted a smirk to tilt at Calum’s lips as he kept his gaze on the paper for a few more moments. Calum didn’t need Karina to tell him something he already knew, except that hearing her acknowledge his reputation, his power, as if it was a well known fact—even if it was—filled him with a sense of pride that he hadn’t seen coming. Of course, Calum pushed it away, reminded himself as to why he brought Karina on to his operation in the first place, and kept the smirk at bay.

Still, he couldn’t help but play with her a bit. “Someone like me?” He lowered the paper, cool expression complete with the quirk of an eyebrow. Calum tilted his head, all signs of amusement purposefully wiped from his face as he gazed at his newest employee.

Karina’s lips parted slightly when she noticed him gaze at her, inquisitive and wondering, and Calum kept his face professionally blank when he noticed her neck tense that preceded the blush he knew was warming her cheeks. He wondered if he could fluster her, wondered if she would react to it—to him.

She surprised him pleasantly when she lifted her chin after her throat worked. “Powerful,” she responded, her tone even, lips pursing briefly. If he was someone else, he would’ve thought he’d imagined the way her brown eyes so subtly raked over him. But Calum knew he saw what he did. “Capable.”

His jaw worked at that, at the way she said it so surely and the look in her honey colored eyes had the muscles in Calum’s body tightening without his meaning to. His fingers curled into his palm, elbow propped on the armrest of his chair, unable to keep his eyes off the woman standing in front of him. He couldn’t put a finger on it, which was frustrating all on its own, but the way Karina said those two simple words had him clenching his teeth as a way of keeping himself grounded to something. If Calum didn’t know any better, judging by the way Karina was watching him, he’d say she was already coming out of the shell that surrounded her. Whether it was one she built herself or her father did, that was still up for question.

Either way, Calum was going to enjoy breaking it down.

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singledarkshade · 5 years ago

Text

New Circumstances

Part Three

(Part One and Part Two found here)

Gideon stared in amazement at the computer setup in front of her, it was like someone had spied on her dreams and made them into reality.

“This is just the initial setup,” Ray said from her side, “You’ll be in control of the entire system, including who is allowed into the base.”

“This is wonderful,” Gideon told him.

Ray grinned, “Save your excitement for what else I have to show you. Follow me.”

Gideon chuckled and let him lead her through the door to the next section of the base.

“There are several offices that can accommodate a few people,” Ray explained as he pointed out several of the doors, “And at the end of the hallway is the conference room.” He didn’t stop and moved further on through the door turning to his right, “Next we have the gym which I wanted to add a swimming pool to but there’s not enough room. The team will have to use the one in the main building.”

“I’m sure they’ll get over it,” Gideon said amused at how upset Ray was at this.

“Anyway,” he continued leading her to a set of stairs, “Up here is a wardrobe room. I’m assuming the team may need specific outfits for different missions. There are also a few rooms with en-suite shower rooms that can be used if they need to work late and don’t want to head home. Or have to clean up.”

Gideon stared at him, “When you said you were giving us a base of operations, I thought it would be a few offices not…”

“What?”

“This,” Gideon laughed, “Ray, this is incredible.”

He gave a bashful smile, “It’s just a start. I’m hoping whoever Joe recruits will give me some ideas for whatever they need and of course you as well as your team.”

“As soon as we hire them,” Gideon reminded him.

Ray shrugged, “I’ve managed to whittle down the list to a few people. Unfortunately, one of my first choices is unlikely to join us as she’s just got engaged.”

“And that is a problem why?”

“Her fiancé is Oliver Queen.”

Gideon nodded, “Ahh, next in line to run Queen Consolidated. Alright what about the others?”

“I have three files for you,” Ray said, “They’re on your system for you to go over once we’re finished the tour.”

Bemused Gideon asked, “What else do you have to show me?”

Ray motioned her to follow him down the stairs and then down another set of stairs, “This,” he said.

Gideon stared in amazement at the cars, vans, motorbikes and even what looked like a mobile lab sitting in front of her. She could also see at the end of the room through a large window there was an armoury.

“Okay,” Gideon laughed, “I am even more impressed, and I really want to drive the silver Mercedes.”

Ray nodded, “Whenever you want as long as it’s for a mission.”

Gideon took a long drink of coffee as she scanned the files Ray had sent her. Every one of them was qualified for the role but she gravitated to the one who, from what she could tell, would complement rather than just mirror her skills.

Sending out a quick email to Ray to confirm her choice, Gideon then turned her attention to setting up the computer system for the base. She’d have to think up a cool nickname for it at some point.

Ray had made a good start, but Gideon knew she would need a higher-level system for what he wanted it to do.

“Gideon?”

Surprised at the interruption Gideon looked up to find Ray standing there, “Yes?”

“You need to take a break,” he told her, “Come on and I’ll treat you to dinner.”

Gideon hesitated, not sure if it was a good idea to socialise with her boss.

“We can go over the file you sent me,” Ray continued not noticing her hesitation.

“That’s great,” she shut down the computer, “And I can tell you about all the upgrades I’ve implemented.”

*********************************************

Gideon checked the file once more before she walked towards the man sitting in the reception area. She smiled slightly amused seeing how uncomfortable he looked in the suit he was wearing, while his long dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail that he kept fiddling with.

“Cisco Ramon?” she said reaching him.

Bouncing to his feet Cisco nodded and offered his hand, “Yes, yes, hi.”

“I’m Gideon Ryder,” she introduced herself, shaking his hand before saying, “Follow me.”

Gideon led him to the private elevator that would take them to Ray’s office where he was waiting. Once they had the base ready there would be a private entrance for the team to use.

Reaching the office Gideon led him to where Ray was sitting waiting for them.

“Hi,” he grinned when he saw them.

“Cisco Ramon, this is Ray Palmer,” Gideon introduced them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cisco,” Ray offered his hand, shaking Cisco’s enthusiastically until Gideon pointedly coughed, “Grab a seat.”

“Thank you for coming today,” Gideon took over, before explaining why they’d asked to meet him.

Cisco stared at them once they’d finished.

“I understand if you need to think about this for a while, you are currently employed by Star Labs,” Ray said, “And I know that you’re working on a lot of high profile projects…”

Cisco let out a snort if disgust, “My team leader doesn’t let us do anything remotely interesting. I spent the last month watching the computer beep as it told me the system was not overheating. I’m in.”

Cisco stared in amazement as Gideon showed him around the base.

“This is fantastic,” he breathed.

Gideon smiled, “I know. From your file it states you create devices and I wanted you to have a lab area. I’ve set it up at the back in the large empty section, out of the way but will allow you access to the main hub easily.”

“We need a cool name for this place,” Cisco told her, “Because ‘The Base’ just doesn’t do it.”

Gideon chucked, “That is exactly what I was thinking.”

“Give me time,” Cisco said, “I’ll think of the perfect name.”

“Then we are going to get along just fine,” Gideon told him.

Cisco grinned back, ��Definitely Miss Ryder.”

“And it’s Gideon,” she told him, “We are on a first name basis here.”

He nodded before asking, “So, where’s the rest of the team?”

*********************************************

Gideon looked up from her screen when she heard Ray’s voice coming towards her, wondering who the man with her boss was.

“Gideon,” Ray beamed, “This is Agent Joe West, our government liaison.”

“It’s nice to meet you finally, Miss Ryder,” Joe said shaking her hand, “You have done amazing work here.”

“Thank you,” Gideon smiled proudly.

“Gideon, can you join us in the conference room?” Ray asked.

With a nod, Gideon saved her work and grabbed her tablet following the two men. She smiled when Ray placed a cup of tea in front of her and handed a mug of coffee to Joe.

“I have the rest of the team selected and agreed upon,” Joe told them, “Which means we can get started once they join us.”

Gideon waited as Joe tried to connect his tablet to the system, after a moment she held out her hand for it. With an annoyed sigh the older man handed it to her, and Gideon quickly fixed it so it would connect automatically from now on.

“There you go,” she smiled, handing it back.

Joe gave her a quick nod before opening the file, a picture showing two women appeared on the screen.

“Agents Alex Danvers and Eve Baxter,” Joe told them, “Both are highly trained in martial arts, weapons and explosives. Agent Danvers is also a biochemical engineer while Agent Baxter specialised in mechanical engineering.”

Ray nodded, “That’s good. What about the more unconventional hire you were trying to get?”

“I spoke with him,” Joe told them, “And he has agreed but he now comes with a partner. So we have two retrieval and infiltration experts.”

Ray shrugged, “That’s good. Who are they?”

Gideon felt her heart stop for a moment at the two people who appeared on the screen before her. The couple she had spent the night with only a few weeks before, who she suspected had stolen from her but never wanted to believe it. Now, as she read their skills in front of her, she couldn’t deny it.

It had been such a nice fantasy that was now gone.

“Rip Hunter and Miranda Coburn,” Joe continued not seeing Gideon’s reaction, “Not their real names but the ones they prefer. Rip I’ve known since he was about eight when he picked my pocket. He is exceptionally good which is why he can work for us as he has no record.”

“And Miranda?” Ray asked.

“His wife,” Joe continued, “They met a few years ago and he will only work with us if she does.”

Ray shrugged, “Is she as good as he is.”

Gideon let out a soft snort but neither man heard her.

“She’s the foster daughter of Damian Darhk,” Joe grimaced, “From the research I’ve done her life with him was not pleasant and when he died took none of the money she should have received. But I’ve also learned she is a gifted grifter and can get people to trust her very easily.”

“That’s true,” Gideon sighed, this time both men heard and turned to her making Gideon wince.

Joe frowned, “What exactly do you mean?”

“I met them the night of the conference,” Gideon stated, “And I was befriended by them. Then they stole from me. They stole the Flash Drive and almost destroyed my career.”

Ray winced, “Gideon, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Miss Ryder,” Joe said softly, “I understand how you must feel about this, but they were hired to steal that information from you. It wasn’t personal.”

“It damn well felt it,” Gideon snapped.

Joe sighed, “I’m sorry, Gideon. I was not aware that you met then when they were hired to steal the data from you. I can understand how upset you must be but…”

“But?” Gideon demanded archly.

“They’re the best,” Joe stated, “And this team need the best to be able to do what we want to do. I wasn’t going to tell you until the full team were here, but our first mission is to retrieve the data stolen from you.”

Gideon stared at the photograph on the screen of the couple whose flattery she’d fallen for and nodded.

“I will work with them, Agent West,” she stated coldly, “But, they answer to me. I run this team and if they get out of line then they’re gone.”

Joe stared at her for a moment before nodded, “Agreed.”

#fic #legends of tomorrow #gideon #ray palmer #the flash #joe west #cisco ramon #alternate universe

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