#unless… she somehow registers HERSELF as an enemy and is running from herself??

[dontmindme2600]

Idk if it’s just my game but every time I go to Girdershade to see the Nuka cola girl (I forget her real name lmao), some weird glitch happens where she’ll always be running frantically into the wall as if there’s an enemy nearby. The game will say she’s “fleeing.” This will happen for like a few seconds then she’ll suddenly stop and be normal again. But even stranger, I’ve noticed that if I bring a companion into her house, the companion will suddenly turn hostile towards her??? Like, while she’s fleeing. I brought Star Paladin into her house and she started shooting the nuka cola girl so I had to make her wait outside like a misbehaving child 😭 I think the game keeps acting as if there’s some sort of enemy outside even though there isn’t?? I can’t explain why my companions will just start shootings civilians though. And I’m on good terms with the other npc that lives in Girdershade too so I don’t see why the game would think he’s the nearby enemy. I just need to trade some quantum for some caps man

[tteokdoroki]

had it | k.bakugou.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 4.5K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff, comfort.

♡ summary: your pro hero husband is a show off, always has and always will be... but when his big ego gets in the way of you doing your job, you give him little piece of your mind..

♡ warning(s): please read ! mentions of violence, i gave reader a quirk?? bakugou with a daughter ok literally nothing. oh and angst if you squint.

♡ author’s note(s):  hi besties!! happy birthday to meee!! today i’m dropping a fic that’s been a long time coming, its a short and fluffy little piece with domestic baku bc i love him with babies n kids ok ok!! i hope you all have a lovely day <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

some say that working for a pro hero is an honour, no matter what the position is. some may work behind the scenes— creating gear and suits that support the pros protecting their cities or livelihoods. others are in charge of things like reports, PR and even physical health. everyone plays an important role in a hero's career. there’s never a dull moment working in a team supporting the pros, especially if that pro was dynamight.

the offices for katsuki bakugou’s hero agency were always buzzing; usually because the clean up team were rushing through with stacks upon stacks of receipts and paperwork from the damage done during bakugou’s patrols— other times it would be his secretaries gossiping about how good he looks in his winter costume because damn did that tight black shirt do his arms justice but usually it was just because of the PR team contacting media outlets with excuses for bakugou’s potty mouth.

working for the hot headed blonde was more laid back than it seemed however, the man himself was rarely ever in the office as the number two hero but out on missions instead, the pay was pretty decent and no one ever really faced his angry wrath nor his sailor like mouth unless they had royally fucked up on their job. katsuki bakugou was someone to admire, he never gave a damn about what people had to say about him— he only cared about getting the job done and maybe that’s why most people enjoyed their time under the dynamight agency.

particularly this time, right around noon.

the doors to the floor of the secretary offices fly open, crashing loudly against the walls and drawing the staff from their daily work. this office space is around ten floors up and somehow you’ve made it in record time today. “where is he?” your voice crawls through the entrance of the room, settling over the workers like a thick fog— commanding, menacing and soft all at the same time. newbies cower in their boots, confused at what’s going on and it’s safe to presume those who have been working here for years have yet to give them the run down. “don’t make me ask again.” you add, eyes darkening as you cast your gaze across the room.

an intern approaches you, visibly shaking with fear which makes you loosen your stance and raise an eyebrow toward them. “he-uh... he just went for his lunch break—“ the stutter, gulping under the stare of another highly ranked pro hero. “in his...office— ma’am!” they stumble through their words, hiding behind the ungodly amount of paperwork that's been dumped into their hands. you make a mental note to chew bakugou out on the load his interns have been getting as well as your prior reasons for coming to his agency.

nonetheless you shake your head and drop the frown, a sweet smile quickly replacing the look that could put anyone six feet under if you really tried. with a tap to the side of your head, the visor to your hero costume rises above your eyes— allowing you to give the poor little intern a cheeky wink as thanks. “‘ppreciate it darling, have a good one!” you thank them properly with a ruffle to their hair, resuming your previous stance as you march the rest of the way through the office and kick open the door at the end of the room.

the intern sags, a whimper of relief passing from tired lips while they wipe at the sweat forming on their brow. they’d not even encountered their boss yet and they’d already come face to face with a top pro hero. “w-what’s her deal?”

a chuckle to the left of the poor kid startles them out of their mind; but they relax upon realising it’s just another one of dynamight’s secretaries— haruto, who’d apparently been working at the agency since it started up. “that’s nightsky, her quirk is lullaby, which allows her to control certain people if she hits the right note. she can also put them to sleep, if she really wants to,” the intern now perks up, remembering you from countless interviews on tv. you ranked pretty highly too, managing to the reach the top five this year along with others like shoto and deku. “she owns the hero agency across the street, herself and dynamight have been going at it ever since. it’s like they’re elderly lovers or somethin‘.”

“d-do you think they are? lovers like you say?” the intern asks a little too excitedly, touching at their messy hair from where you’d ruffled it. a crimson blush warms their cheeks, the idea of two pros playing enemies to the public eye but being lovers in secret seemed like something right out of a romance novel. how romantic.

haruto only chuckles at the newbie, standing to ruffle their hair as well before heading over to the coffee stand to fix himself a cup. “beats me,” he mumbles cheerily as he walks away, arms crossed behind his head. “but with the way yn bursts in here at the same time everyday to scold bakugou, and leaves with a huge smile on her face— i wouldn’t put it past them. they probably have a whole life together.” he taps his nose once as if he’s given away too much information, turning away without a word.

the intern hums, seemingly happy with their superior’s answer and easily heads back to work from there.

katsuki bakugou was bored out of his mind.

being a successful pro hero was all he’d ever wanted— being the number two pro hero just came with that. bakugou wanted to get to the top and show everyone he was the best of the best and with him being blessed with a powerful quirk there was no way he couldn’t be where he was today. yet, now that he’d finally achieved his dream all he wanted was a fucking break. the blonde stares down at his microwaveable bowl of home cooked stew, a frown cutting deep into his cheeks. it was his lunch break for crying out loud, but instead of scarfing down the delicious meal before him, the hero was forced to watch it cool as some dumb fuck reporter asked him questions over the phone.

the telephone interview ( or a waste of his fucking time, as katsuki had called it ) , had been set up by his PR team right after he’d taken down a couple low level villains downtown earlier this morning. katsuki had called it nothing but apparently the whole world and their mother had been on his ass, watching as he took the criminals down with ease and raving about how glorious dynamight was during that fight. the reporter drones on about said event, asking the same old questions and it takes everything within the hot headed pro not to blow a casket— he’d been promised a few extra days off from his manager if he could finish the interview without blowing something up and only god knew how much katsuki needed a break from dumb paps and some overly obsessive fans.

‘so, final question, how does it feel to be the number two?’

bakugou grunts, buying himself time to formulate an answer. what he really wants to do is kindly tell the reporter to fuck off and ask more original questions; but with the prize of a longer weekend hanging in the balance he bites his tongue for the sake of freedom. “well i—“

“katsuki bakugou.” your voice cuts through his sentence before he can finish, vermillion eyes land on your hero costume clad form as you burst into his office. a lazy smirk now decorates the hero’s lips, brow quirked with piqued interest. “i have a bone to pick with you, you motherfucker.”

the reporter on the other end falls silent as katsuki watches you, leaning back in his plush leather chair. you look slightly disheveled, costume torn in a few places, scrapes littering your skin as you pant heavily from exertion— chest rising and falling with every breath, it seems ragged and bakugou makes a mental note to remind you to get your ribs checked out later. “you’re late, shitty woman.” the number two sits up a little straighter as you enter the room, leaning up to look at you while you slam your hands down on the smooth marble desk— the force rattling the items he has neatly placed on it.

‘uh-? mister...dynamight-? sir?’

your eyes sweep the room while the pro before you deals with the reporter, mentioning to her that they’ll have to continue their call later. in the meantime, you note that katsuki’s office is meticulously clean, not a single book, folder or pen out of place— it’s high up with a perfect view of the city and the large windows allow golden beams of the sun to light up the room. the sound of a phone being placed back on its hook brings you from your thoughts; annoyance settling deep in your veins as you turn to face bakugou again.

“i had it,” you growl lowly, jumping the gun before he can even register what you’ve said. “i’m a grown woman, katsuki, i can handle a couple of criminals myself, you know.”

the blasting hero does nothing but smirk even wider at the irked tone that litters your voice, standing up as well to tower over you. bakugou still wears his own hero costume, considerably in less damage than yours— not a single tear had formed in his suit, mind the small scratches on his face no doubt from his stupid explosions creating some debris. leaning over the desk between you, bakugou uses a forefinger and thumb to tilt your head up, bringing you even closer than before. “clearly y’didn’t sweetheart, or otherwise that icyhot bastard wouldn’t have needed to back you up ‘fore i got there...” his timbre voice sends sparks of electricity through the air in the room, it’s low and gravelly which is enough to send shivers down your spine but you’re not about to let katsuki bakugou know that he makes you flustered— it’d go straight to his head, the cocky bastard.

nonetheless; you roll your eyes at the mention of your old classmate and fellow pro hero— shoto todoroki. yourself and shoto got along fairly well, even back in high school, so it was normal for you to work together from time to time; you both made a great team and your skill set complimented each other’s well. katsuki was just jealous. he never really got along with todoroki like that. “he didn’t back me up, we were working together,” you snap back at the blonde, shaking yourself from bakugou’s grasp and flicking him right between those alluring vermillion eyes. “something you might not be familiar with, mister number two.” bakugou backs away from you completely ( only wincing slightly ), making you smirk in victory. you’ve struck a nerve. deciding to leave the conversation at that, you turn to make your exit as he collapses back into his seat with a deathly scowl and a quiet ‘tch’. “like i said, i had it, dynamight. next time, don’t jump in uninvited.”

happy that you got the last laugh, you open the door to leave his office but pause when a wave of heat hits your back. you should have known, katsuki bakugou was never one to back down from a challenge and you certainly weren’t an exception. well shit. when you turn around to face the blonde, small explosions spark from his right hand and he has some what of a look of a feral pomeranian, blood red eyes full of rage.

you visibly gulp and katsuki growls out his next words with the upmost venom, designed to hurt and cut at your feelings. “well maybe y’sudda let the actual pros handle shit like this,” bakugou begins, voice rising in volume with every syllable that passes his lips. “we both know you’re no good at short distance attacks with your quirk, shitty woman, you couldn’t have taken those villains down without me.” the blonde finishes with a short ‘tsk’, settling the explosions that spark in his palms. now it’s your turn to be pissed. you could handle katsuki’s jealousy, his petty reasoning for joining you on your patrol and taking the credit but bashing you and your quirk? no way in hell would he get away with that.

“bakugou?”

“what? the fuck y’still here for?”

you roll your shoulders, gracing the blonde with a devilish smile as your eyes light up mischievously. “why are you hitting yourself, bakugou?” you sing, hitting just the right notes that will have him under your spell, the tone in your voice as smooth as chocolate. katsuki’s eyes widen in horror and before he can stop himself, his free hand comes up to slap him across the face. that was your quirk, lullaby. you had the ability to sing your way out of any situation— adjusting the tune of your song to control the actions of certain individuals or groups of people. it was near impossible to resist but the more people you used your quirk on, the weaker your control over them was. that doesn’t mean you weren’t going to use it on bakugou from time to time. the blonde tries to fight it, he really does, but he’s no use up against your ability— losing all control of his own body. he grunts on impact, looking bewildered for a moment as he moves to grab his own wrist to stop any impending blows. “not so cocky now, are we dynamight?”

“h-hey!” he stammers, refusing to accept defeat against you. “shitty woman, no fuckin’ fair. you know i can’t use my quirk against you in here.” he was right, while your quirk was poor against short distance attacks ( meaning you had to result to hand to hand combat ), bakugou couldn’t use his own in enclosed spaces without hurting anyone he didn’t want to. especially you, he would never hurt you intentionally unless you were sparring.

“shoulda thought about that before you decided to taunt me, you know better than to piss off your wife, katsu.” you chide, still smiling just as brightly as you were earlier, before taking a seat on his desk and folding one leg over the other. it was quite amusing to watch your husband of four years fight against himself— everyone knew katsuki had an unbelievable amount of strength even without his quirk so he was definitely beating himself up ( literally and figuratively ).

bakugou looks up at you through gritted teeth while he struggles to keep the wrist you have control of down and you almost feel bad for the guy. “turn it off, dammit!” he curses at you, said hand rising above his free one to tug at his own sun kissed locks.

feigning interest in the objects on your lover's desk, you ignore his pleas for you to release him from the holds of your quirk and hum “apologise.”

“f-fuck... fuck y-you.”

you sigh knowingly, picking up a hand crafted paperweight, covered in glitter and sequin stars,  inspecting it carefully. bakugou could hardly ever say the word ‘sorry’, it was just in his nature and he’d been that way since you were young. part of you knows it’s because of how he was treated as a child where people praised him for his quirk. that meant he became prideful yes, thought highly of himself too and struggled to admit when others were right...but he had his own way of apologising— through actions instead of words.

like when you first moved in together and he had broken your favourite mug, instead of saying he was sorry, he spent all night super glueing it back together for you to use in the morning. to him, actions were louder than words but you right now; you were being mean and just wanted to hear him say it.

“fuck fuck, fine. alright. ‘m sorry.” bakugou lets out a strained growl as the hand you control gives a particularly hard yank to his hair. “i’m sorry for lying about your quirk. it’s not shitty…’n ‘m sorry for... barging in on your patrol. again.” you grin, satisfied with his answer and grab the hand he keeps down with his wrist. you press a simple kiss to the skin, making your husband blush as you release your hold over the limb. katsuki shyly yanks it from your grip, rubbing over the area that you’d kissed, shooting his gaze to the side in the process. “jesus shitty woman, if i don’t die from being a hero or of old fucking age, i know for a fact you’ll be the one to kill me first.” he mutters harshly under his breath, but you know he’s only kidding from the way his hands now fall to your thighs and his fingers rub small circles into the exposed skin.

“pro hero nightsky murders number two pro hero dynamight in cold blood!” you joke as if you’re reading a headline in a news article, katsuki only glares up at you— making no effort to curse you out because of your shitty joke, which causes you to frown while leaning  forward to brush some of his hair away from his face. “you know i’m only kidding right? is something wrong? did i come at a bad time?”

it’s only now that you notice the exhausted expression that paints your lover’s face. he’s always up to playing this game with you, at the same time every day— you come to bother him about some trivial matter, tease him a bit and leave with a kiss. but today, you can tell he’s trying to hide something from you. something that bothers him.

bakugou shakes his head, leaning into your touch as you play with his hair— a habit he’d picked up from even before you started dating back in high school, although he’d never admit that to you if you’d asked. “nothin’, just this stupid fuckin’ interview the PR team want me to do about the fight today. the one i took from you,” your husband smirks slightly at the thought and you roll your eyes for what seems like the nine hundredth time that afternoon. “didn’t get to finish my fuckin’ lunch but they promised me a couple days off if i got the interview done.”

“better the number two than me, eh? but don’t worry, i’ll order us some take out tonight,” your suggest, voice coming out as soft and mingling with your slight giggle— a quiet melody to katsuki’s ears. your only reply from him is a grunt, so you stop your fingers in his hair and watch as he scowls up at you. you quickly press a kiss to the explosive hero’s lips, pulling away to reveal his blushing face. you smile, knowing that you’re the only one who can make him flush red like that. “there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”

if there’s one thing katsuki bakugou hates, it’s how you read him like an open book. one look at him and it’s like you know exactly how he’s feeling. he can never hide anything from you— sometimes that both pisses him off and reminds him of how much he is loved by you. he hesitates with his words at first but decides to confide in you anyway, knowing that you’ll get it out of him in one way or another. “‘m worried about you, dumbass.” he mumbles, nudging your hand with his head as if to ask you to continue your earlier actions. “i know you had it, yer fuckin’ powerful but you looked so tired in that fight today ‘n i thought something bad was gonna happen to you, y’fuckin’ shitty woman.”

he toys with the tears in your costume now, smoothing over scars from your bumps and scratches as a result of combat. “oh lovebug,” you mumble, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at you. “you know i can handle my own, they just took a lot out of me today. i promise i’ll—“

“that’s not it, fuck,” katsuki cuts you off, brows furrowing deeply as he grabs your wrists— pulling your from his desk and into his lap. he holds you close, burying his nose into your neck as if you’re going to disappear. you sit still, a little shocked by his actions and his quick change of mood, but wrap your arms around him anyway and slowly fall silent. “it's just that...we’re both pros now and at the top of our ranks ‘n we both have a lot to lose.” you instinctively cling tighter to katsuki, mind flickering to the homemade paperweight you’d spotted on his desk earlier... causing your heart clench.

your daughter had made that for him during her time at preschool for fathers day; something your husband cherished with his whole heart, even if the thing was still sticky with glue when he’d gotten it.

katsuki loved taiga more than anything in the world and if something had happened to her because of your line of work, you don’t know what either of you would do. “what if something were to happen to you? or to me? or shit...both of us? who would look after taiga? you know what happens to kids who end up in the fucking system.” bakugou pauses, the same tired expression from earlier now sitting heavily on his face. “i just want you to be careful, stop pushing yourself so much, y’fuckin’ dumbasss. we have a family take care of. it’s not just you and i anymore.”

you nod, grasping onto your lover’s clothes tightly. the air is flooded with a comfortable silence, the pair of you holding one another right the way through it. you treasure moments like this, where the world stops and katsuki shows you another, more vulnerable side to him.

he would never admit or show this to anyone; but he cares , more than he lets on... especially for you and especially for your daughter. he was attentive, paid attention to you and your weaknesses and helped you overcome them. it was something you couldn’t stop loving about him. “i promise to be more careful, for you and for taiga,” you say quietly after he’s done scolding you, brushing your lips against the side of his head in a soft peck. “that must’ve been why jumped in earlier, you were worried about me?”

“somethin’ like that, you crazy woman,,” bakugou whispers, there’s a tinge of fondness to his ruby eyes as you pull away to look at him, his hands settling on your hips while he moves up to press a soft kiss to your awaiting lips. “didn’t want you getting yourself killed.”

you stay with katsuki in the office for a little longer than usual, laying on his chest as he prattles away about everything and anything even though he should be working. you make sure he eats his lunch, despite how cold it is and promise him a boat load of take out when he comes home later— your sweet cuddling session only being cut short by a call from your assistant to tell you that your daughter is ready to be picked up from school. “better finish that interview katsu, taiga’ll be happy to know her daddy’s getting some time off to spend with her soon,” you remind him as you gather yourself together, your husband pouting ( he swears on his life he wasn’t ) from the loss of your warmth in his lap. “she has a lot to tell you.”

the blonde quirks a brow, watching you as you head for the door. “yeah? like what?” a hand comes up to cover your mouth as you giggle at his curious face. sometimes, when you look at katsuki, you could see how much your daughter resembles him, right down to his mannerisms. she had somehow inherited the shape of your nose and the brightness of your smile ( the only reason barely anyone realised bakugou had a kid, he never fucking smiled. ) but the bakugou genes were incredibly strong so there was no way she’d miss out on those crimson eyes and uncontrollable, untameable messy blonde hair.

she even acted like him. a very brazen little girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it, so she had her daddy wrapped around her stubby little fingers.

you grin, eyes sparkling with the same mischief as before. “oh y’know, just her little crush on midoriya’s boy.”

“yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“i would never joke about such a thing,  just make sure you’re home in time for dinner, number two!” you squeal, dashing out of the office before your husband has time to demand more answers from you. slamming the door shut, you chuckle at the melody of curses that leave your husbands mouth before heading off to pick up your daughter.

on your way, you admit to yourself , that maybe you didn’t have this fight in the bag. but what you did have; was a loving husband, a beautiful daughter and the best life you could have ever imagined.

extended ending:

“so, taiga... daddy hears you have a little... crush on someone.”

you’re in the kitchen, washing the dishes from tonight’s dinner as bakugou wipes tentatively at your little girl’s messy face— she was a poor eater but it’s something you didn’t mind, not when your husband was so soft with cleaning her up. you can see them from where you stand, watching katsuki knowingly.

taiga looks up from the colouring you’d set out for her when she finished up her meal, crimson eyes shining brightly as she fixes her gaze on her father. “mhm mhm!! he’s mister deku’s son! and i’m gonna marry him!”

“no yer not.” bakugou answers simply, looking close to popping a vein.

“why not?”

your husband scoffs, throwing away the tissue he’d used to clean his little girl up before joining her in her colouring. “‘cause daddy says so ‘n boys are gross, especially ones who’s dad’s look like broccoli.” the older ash blonde seems satisfied with his answer, grinning to himself as you dry the dishes with an amused smile.

but taiga isn’t finished, swapping her green crayon for a red one to finish up her drawing. “but you’re a boy...and mommy still married you!”

bakugou pauses, lost for words as taiga continues to colour— humming the theme song from a commercial for some of deku’s merch. you can tell it’s taking everything katsuki’s got not to combust right there on the spot, but he can’t stay mad at taiga for too long, not when she’s describing her wedding and how her daddy is going to walk her down the isle.

setting the dishes to dry and towelling your hands; you smile to yourself as you admire your family. some would say you had it all, and looking at the pair of bakugou’s now, who were you to deny the truth.

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire!ravn x reader

genre: vampire!au, angst, humour, romance, smut

warnings: stalking, eating out, handjob, vampire jokes

word count: 2.2k

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part five 🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part nine 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven  🌙 part twelve 🌙 epilogue

You were running in the forest aimlessly, tears streaming down your face. You had a fight with Ravn. It was about something so stupid, now that you thought about it. You were certain that you’d never want to see your abusive parents ever again and that you’d rather spend the rest of your life with Ravn. However, there was one problem that kept bugging you. You were going to die eventually.

Which meant that you’d lose him and he’d lose you. And you couldn’t accept that. Not when you knew there was an alternative. So you asked Ravn to turn you into a vampire. And he got so angry with you for even thinking of it. He said that he wouldn’t wish such a fate on his worst enemy, so he would certainly never do this to you. 

You told Ravn that you couldn’t imagine life without him and that you’d rather be like him than be without him. Which made him even angrier. He said that you had no idea what you were asking for and that you were just a silly little girl who was deluding herself into thinking she was fond of him. Ravn also told you that nature had made predators appealing on purpose in order to lure their victims more easily. Which in turn, made you angry. 

Who was he to question whether your feelings for him were genuine or not? He had no clue…You yelled at him and said some things you didn’t mean and eventually ran out of his castle and into the ever so familiar forest that had once been your escape and in a way, it still was. You were so upset you couldn’t think straight and just kept walking. 

You had told Ravn you never wanted to see him again. That if he didn’t want to share immortality with you, you’d find someone else to do the job. Which was obviously a lie. Immortality meant nothing to you if you had to face it alone. Ravn was all you cared about. You had only said that because you knew it would hurt him the most. And now you regretted it immensely. 

You wanted to take the words back and beg him for forgiveness. Immortality be damned, you just wished you could be in his arms again. You sighed in frustration and kicked the autumn leaves beneath your feet. You heard a crunchy sound behind you and turned around hopefully, thinking maybe Ravn had come after you. What you saw was far more unexpected. 

A large, grey wolf was staring right into you, baring its huge teeth and glowing yellow eyes. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. The huge animal approached you slowly, as if intending to take its sweet time. It was apparently in no rush of eating you. You panicked and ran for your life. Even though you loved spending time there, this forest was seriously cursed. First, vampires. Now, this? 

You couldn’t tell if the forest was at fault or you just had some pretty bad luck. You could hear the animal looming behind you and even though you were running pretty fast, you had a bad feeling you wouldn’t make it. Your legs were starting to give out and you could sense your heart beating rapidly. 

Suddenly, just when you were about to give up and face your inevitable demise, you felt someone grabbing you harshly and pulling you towards them by force. Before you could make out what was happening, you were somehow being dragged into climbing a tree. You were completely deprived of your senses because it was too dark already. You felt a cold hand being pressed against your lips, as if to silence your already loud breathing.

“Don’t breathe,” Ravn’s familiar voice whispered in your ear, making you relax this instant. And despite your earlier fight, in that moment you were so grateful for him that you would have sighed in relief had he not warned you against it. 

From this different vantage point, you could see the wolf a couple of metres down, sniffing and looking around in confusion. The animal had lost its prey so quickly it couldn’t register how it had happened. It continued to growl for a couple more minutes but you were safely hidden in the tree’s leaves and the darkness was also serving as your protector. 

Eventually, the wolf gave up and crept away with its tail between its legs. When it was at a safe distance, Ravn finally removed his hand from your mouth. You took a deep breath of fresh air and looked up at the moon, completely disoriented.

“I thought I told you not to go too far away,” he hissed angrily.

“I’m s-sorry,” you suddenly felt ashamed. You hated being scolded but most of all, you hated when Ravn used that disappointed voice on you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn’t followed you?”

“You followed me?” you asked him in surprise. You couldn’t tell how you felt about it. On one hand, it made you somewhat uncomfortable. On the other, you were so thankful he’d saved your life that you couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him.

“I-I…didn’t want you to get lost,” Ravn explained nervously, almost apologetically.

“Thank you,” you murmured dumbly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Ravn scoffed darkly.

“I just admitted to stalking you and you thank me? Seriously, Y/N, you need help.”

You chuckled lightly.

“I really do. It’s a good thing, then, you were closeby to help me out, don’t you think?”

“Unbelievable.”

“Will you just please take me home?” you begged Ravn.

“Home?” he laughed mockingly. “And where would that be? You made yourself abundantly clear earlier that you never wanted to see me again. Do you want me to take you back to the village?”

“N-no, please!” you stuttered helplessly, tears of frustration and fear clouding your vision. “Listen…I’m so sorry about earlier, Ravn! Truly am. I didn’t mean any of it. Please, please, don’t kick me out.”

“You stormed out on your own accord, remember?” he reminded you. “I didn’t kick you out.”

You nodded, letting the tears fall down your cheeks freely. Ravn simply sighed and pulled you into a hug. The next moment, you could feel him running towards his castle with you in his arms. Once you were back inside your room, you could feel a large weight being lifted off your chest.

“You just saved my life,” you were suddenly hit with the realization that now you owed him far more than before. “That wolf could have killed me and you saved me,” you repeated, feeling a little stupid but you had to say it out loud in order to process everything that just took place. “You saved my life even after I was behaving so rudely and recklessly. You must think I’m the most pathetic, ungrateful human in the world.”

Ravn smiled softly at you and took hold of your hands.

“Trust me, Y/N, I haven’t thought that for a second.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by his kindness.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re right,” Ravn agreed easily only to disprove you. “You deserve so much better. You deserve someone else, someone warm, someone human who wouldn’t drink blood from you, who wouldn’t follow you like a creep in the forest,” he laughed at that last part.

You shook your head.

“I don’t want someone else, I only want you,” you looked into his black eyes and pressed your hand against his cheek. “Ravn, I was a fool earlier. I don’t give a damn about immortality and-“

“Y/N, don’t-“ he interrupted you, his voice full of so much pain your heart couldn’t handle.

“No, you have to know this. I don’t care if I die tonight or tomorrow or after a couple of years, I really don’t. What matters to me is being by your side.”

A single tear smeared Ravn’s cheek as you told him that. You traced your finger alongside his cold skin and he tilted his head slightly, leaning into your gentle touch. You wished you could take away all his agonizing memories. And you tried your best, you really did. 

You kissed the top of his forehead softly and you could almost hear him gasp, even though he had previously told you he doesn’t need air like humans do. Then, your lips touched his closed eyelids ever so fondly. Next was the very tip of his nose. He gulped nervously at the unexpected contact. 

When you finally reached his mouth, he was already falling apart. There was a strange kind of power to it. Ravn was perhaps the single-most dangerous creature this world has ever seen. And here he was, on the verge of shaking because of a simple caress.

“Y/N,” he groaned into your mouth. A warning. “Don’t start something unless you’re ready to play till the end.”

“Who said I wasn’t ready to play?” you spoke boldly. A challenge.

“But I don’t want to h-hurt you,” Ravn admitted with great effort to restrain himself.

“I know you won’t,” you reassured him with another kiss. “Look at me.”

He opened his eyes and stared directly into yours.

“I want to be with you,” you said. “Do you?”

Ravn didn’t give you a verbal response and simply wrapped his arms around your lower back, pulling you closer. It was never enough, never too close for your liking. You snuck your hand beneath his shirt, eager to touch him. He seemed surprised when you didn’t jump away because of his even colder skin.

You decided you could be warm enough for two and continued unbuttoning his clothes. Ravn appeared intent on letting you do all the work for fear of rushing you into something you didn’t want to do. A small part of you was grateful for him trusting you enough to be in charge, but the bigger, more impatient part of you kept wondering what it would feel like if he took control completely. 

You wanted to be completely under his power, but you were afraid he would get mad at you for being so impulsive. Once his clothes were completely off, you realized you were still fully dressed, because Ravn had not taken initiative. You felt somewhat awkward, towering over the naked vampire.

“Will you undress me?” you asked him sheepishly and when he didn’t respond immediately, you took hold of his hand and placed it on your dress’s ties. He looked up at you hesitantly and you gave him an encouraging nod. It was too late to turn back now. Ravn untied it slowly, almost aggravatingly so, and when your dress was finally off, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the newfound freedom.

“What now?” you giggled, feeling silly and a bit scared. Not of him, no, never, but because you were faced with an unfamiliar situation that seemed so daunting, making you feel out of your depth.

Ravn smirked mysteriously and ran a hand through your falling hair. Then, he swiftly flipped you around, laying you down on the bed. He slowly kissed his way downwards, similarly to the way you’d kissed all over his face. When his head finally ended up between your legs, Ravn gently pulled them apart with his long fingers.

“Relax. I won’t bite,” he joked inappropriately and you let out a half laugh.

“As if.”

He granted with you a gentle, almost impalpable lick that made your legs quiver slightly. Stirred by your reaction, Ravn did that thing with his tongue once more, this time more purposefully and confidently. You found yourself gripping his hair in desperation, hoping he wouldn’t mind the added pressure. You just had to hold onto something for support or you would have passed out. 

Ravn was a very considerate lover and put all his attention on you and your pleasure. Soon enough, you were attacked by a sudden wave of enjoyment that had your legs trembling and your lips murmuring incomprehensible words. You were beginning to see little stars in front of you and your chest heaved as you struggled to breathe.

“That good, huh?” Ravn smiled proudly.

When you had finally gathered enough air to help you through this, you lifted yourself up to kiss him again.

“Can you taste yourself, love?” he asked you. “Delicious.”

You laughed.

“Not as delicious as my blood, I imagine.”

“Better, even,” Ravn complimented you.

“Teach me how to…return the favour,” you begged him self-consciously.

“You don’t have to,” he explained.

“I want to. Please.”

Ravn took hold of your hand and wrapped it around his length. You looked up at him shyly, blinking curiously as he motioned for you to move your hand. You were a quick study and did as he asked. You stared at his face, cautiously controlling your actions in accordance to his reactions. 

When you realized he was enjoying himself, your movements grew more confident and speedier. A couple more strokes and he released himself into your palm. You gave him a hesitant smile.

“Was that okay?”

“Okay?” Ravn chuckled in disbelief. “You were spectacular.”

“Really?”

“I’m always honest with you, am I not?”

You nodded, not doubting him for a second. Though perhaps you should have.

To be continued…

[dyketectivecomics]

Retrieval - Ch. 11

SURPRISE BITCHES. BETCHA THOUGHT YOU’D SEE THE LAST OF THIS.

(Read on AO3) (No actually, maybe go ahead and reread everything on ao3, since its been SO DAMN LONG ooooof) (also everyone keep in mind that the chap under the cut doesnt have italic edits in bc its 3k & also 1 am and i don't have time for that. just go ahead and read it on ao3 unless you already have an idea of whats going on at this stage in the fic lmao)

@squiddybeifong it’s ur turn finally, love <3, def take ur time and i cant WAIT to see your thoughts on this haha 

...

Grotesque as each of the demons were, Raven remembered barely keeping them straight from one another. All sharp teeth and disfigured skin, some sported facsimiles of regency fashion, while others chose to hide themselves in as few layers as possible. Try as she might, she recalled the eyes most clearly, in hues of reds, oranges and yellow, all burning with the sins of the souls they had claimed over the eons.

The one who had called her here, a brother without a name. (At least without a name yet, as that would come a decade later, when she most needed to name and defeat these demons with Titans by her side.) No, this demon that could not be properly named stood to his full height, towering over the others as he snapped his claw-like fingers to gain their attention, silencing their jeering at the destruction the portal showed.

"Enough of that nonsense," he droned, as if somehow bored of the chaos and devastation. "While Father is distracted, we have but one chance to settle this nasty business. What are we to do with sister dearest?"

There was much grumbling among the demons as they took seats around this circle, the visage of Azarath's last moments disappearing from view forever with a distinct pop and crackle. Raven could feel once again the ghost of Zatanna's reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently in empathy. She couldn't tell if it was better, or worse, never knowing what had transpired.

She certainly knew more than before, just enough to get a clearer picture than so many years of guesswork had lead her down. But it left a hollow feeling in her chest, as those certainties were closed off forever now.

Maybe it had been too much to hope for, to know exactly what Azarath's last moments were like. Or maybe it was too cruel to wish for the burden of such knowledge, even when one had prepared themselves for it. How disheartening, to have gone to so much trouble, only to be stopped so short.

"We can't kill her, much as I'm loathe to share any more 'an I already have to with you lot," a smaller demon piped up to Raven's left. She'd forgotten, in her reverie, just where her attention should truly lay. "But that doesn't mean we can't have our fun."

There was a murmur through the group, a mixed reaction but no true agreements or dissents. Raven could feel something swelling up in her stomach, but she reached for Zatanna's hand on her shoulder, squeezing it back and quelling the feeling.

She knew she'd made it to Constantine's apartment relatively unscathed. Like rereading an old favorite book, she remembered the end even without needing to remember everything that occurred in between. Whatever they had in mind, try as they might have, these petty demons hadn't harmed her much. She was strong enough to survive it then, she was powerful enough to endure it now.

Though, with how the hellfire that was starting to play tricks on her eyes, a part of her wondered just how much longer she'd be forced to endure it. In the furthest reaches, it shone a bit too hot, blinding if she let her eyes stray there for too long.

"The important thing I want to know is; how much fun can we have without Trigon letting on about it? And without interfering too deeply with his plans?"

"Doesn't he need the girl as an emissary to Earth and other planes?" one quipped back, "That would mean we can't keep her here, not long at any rate."

"Then it'd be best to act soon, lest he send her away before we have-"

A low rumble went through the group, all collectively groaning as they felt the same call. Raven remembered hearing a voice, faint, as if it spoke through layers of cotton. It was strange to her then, but familiar now, the cockiness and sly flow of mocking decorum. Constantine's most casual of ways, of summoning sworn enemies forth, to make the most backhanded of bargains.

Though, some of what he was saying... didn't particularly seem to resonate with what would have been said in such circumstances. And out of the corner of her eye, Raven watched as that white-hot light broke through a stalactite or two, eating away at the scene. Inevitable, but much slower than before. She knew now, for certain, that time was limited, much as she'd fought successfully against it so far.

She could hold it off just a tad longer.

"The Hellblazer's onto us, gentlemen," one of the demons sighed, resigned to what was to come. "Any volunteers?"

The group laughed, and Raven remembered taking a few shy steps back, naively thinking this an opportunity to sneak away, before more than a few sets of eyes settled on her.

"Why not send our little sister to him?" the eldest sneered, "It's beneath us to answer such a droll summons. It would be amusing to see him throw her back to us like a fisherman does a minnow."

Laughter bubbled around Raven, too-wide smiles and menacing glints in eyes and teeth. The feeling of self-satisfied, low-burning rage and an anticipation for harm to come.

She knew, then, that anywhere they would want to send her, anywhere that she wasn't in control of sending herself to, would not be a place she'd want to go. And much too late, she tried to make a dash to get away.

She screamed as she felt sharp claws sinking into her arms and delighted laughter reached a fever pitch around her. Everything began growing much brighter and more charged than before, as her body was burning the last of this nightmarish high.

She watched as a few of her brothers slashed into the air around them, tearing reality itself apart as they searched for the best rift to send her tumbling through.

...

The air temperature dropped drastically as John felt his daughter's mood shift, something tightening in his chest and tears welling in his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest, fear at the forefront of it all. He glanced up to see Asa holding her own against Raven's projections better than he did, wiping away a droplet before focusing her hands, once more on checking Zatanna's aura.

"I call upon Saint Christopher, that he may protect in their travels..."

It was a long shot, but when a demonologist has exhausted all of the runes and rituals at his disposal, sometimes a hope and a prayer were all that were left. And Constantine was currently running down the long list of every deity and figure of power that he could scarcely remember.

The classic Catholic routes were always the first to go.

His tone took a more urgent tune as he watched his daughter clench her fists and let out an ear-splitting scream.

"I call upon Saint Michael, to protect in this battle..."

He could only hope that these prayers and practices weren't coming too late.

...

As Zatanna felt the chill of Raven's powers as the empath's consciousness finally awoke, the sorceress tried turning over a happier memory in her own mind.

Sending Raven back to reality in this state now wouldn't do them any good. Fear and anger and hate lingering on her soul. It would, at best, wreck John's apartment.

At worst, it could level New York.

As those demons, shadows of memories long past, opened that fateful portal to John's apartment, so similar and yet a striking difference to how it was now, answering a summons that none wanted to bother themselves with, Zatanna focused all her energy into channeling that memory of her own. One that she couldn't be sure Raven shared. It seemed so far away, and such a small thing.

Of a tiny seven-year-old, in her halloween costume, dressed as the most adorable witch San Francisco would ever see, and receiving a tickling of a lifetime as her mother teased her. The memory of peals of laughter from the sorceress and squeals of protest from the young empath rang in her ears, louder now than the demons laughter, that was slowly fading away from them as Raven's small form was sent through that portal. Zatanna could only do her best to follow close after her.

Slowly, her grip on the girl’s hand loosened, until she lost it completely in their free fall. The sorceress watched helplessly as Raven fell further down ahead of her, the memory still at the periphery of her own mind.

She could see as the portal closed, how time shifted everything inside of that apartment. The couch's color dimmed, showing its wear and its age. Grooves in the floor grew from so many rearrangements of furniture and space. She could see Constantine sitting watch over her and Raven's bodies, and noted that the Nightmare Nurse's aid had been enlisted.

And all too quickly, that vision faded.

As everything dimmed around her, she thought she could hear Raven's voice as she knew it now, deep throaty laughter bubbling out around it, replacing those high-pitched squeals from before.

Everything became blackness once more.

...

As laughter escaped from his daughter's lips, Constantine paid Asa's concerned protests no mind, rushing again to his daughter's side as her powers sparked electrically around them. That shift in the air, like ozone and pressure before a thunderstorm, was one he recognized when a too-sudden, too-extreme mood shift occurred for the empath. When her powers were stuck playing catch-up as they drifted from menacing shadows to dangerously cheery sparks.

"Raven, I need you to breathe for me, darling," he begged, "Find your center again, luv."

His focus was solely on his daughter, as her laughter slowly died, the snickers giving way to breathless gasps. When she began to still in his arms and as her breathing began to return back to normal, he finally registered the Nightmare Nurse's frantic cries.

"-She's not responding, John. Zatanna's not waking up."

...

"Give up?" Zatanna asked with a gleam in her eyes and a sly smile on her lips. The witch before her pouted, giving the most adorable glare that the sorceress had seen in her life.

"Never," she said, and her voice held all of the self-assurance of a spellcrafter well beyond her so few years of experience.

Zatanna only smiled wider. "You asked for it, then."

She tickled the little witch for a second time, laughing alongside her shouts and giggles. That accent that she was picking up from Constantine was more prominent, now that she’d spent the better part of the year with him. And it was positively adorable as well. "No! Mummy, stop!"

"Admit it!" she laughed, "Admit that you're the most adorable little witch!"

It was true, objectively speaking. The girl's dress and hat were tailored with kitschy patches, buttons that seemed comically large and cartoonish pockets that were even bigger than one would think. All of the makings of a perfect Halloween costume. All she was missing, at the moment, were practical tennies for trick-or-treating.

This was where one of several points of argument for the evening had begun, as Raven had insisted, in her seven-year-old wisdom, that her dance flats were needed to complete the look. Something Zee had been unsuccessful, thus far, in swaying her opinion on.

At least until she’d started the teasing, and followed through on her threat of tickling.

"I'm-" she was breathless, gasping for air, but giggling all between, "I'm- not! I'm a- I'm a scary-! A scary witch!"

With that final shout, Zatanna paused in her tickling as Raven sent a shock through her skin. A light zap of her powers, but nothing like the unsettling chill she had felt earlier when the girl refused to admit to fears and doubts about the holiday festivities her mother had planned. It was a welcome change, if unexpected.

"You're right," Zee chuckled in assent, carefully picking the girl up and carrying her from the room, "And since you're clearly the most terrifying thing out and about tonight, that must mean you'll be able to protect me from all of the ghouls and goblins out there tonight?"

The girl puffed out her chest, grinning wide as she adjusted her hat. "No monsters will get past me, mummy! I promise!"

The magician could only smile and hold the girl in a tight embrace. "Thanks, Blackbird. I feel safer already. But you know what will help me feel-?"

But just as the sorceress set the girl down again, before she had even finished the question as she turned around in this fairly mundane memory, she could feel that sense of presence slipping. Her once familiar home in San Francisco fading away in a blur and a blank. An expanse before her that could be filled with anything.

This Raven wasn’t the one she entered this world with. Her daughter was no longer in this plane between consciousness and dreams, where memories made their home. 

And that terrifying reality was starting to settle in.

“-the most... safe?” she finished asking, in trepidation.

A shiver creeped quickly down her spine, as another memory took her away, unbidden.

…

“I have to go back for her,” the empath protested, sitting up at once as the Nightmare Nurse’s words fully registered. She felt the blood rush just as quickly away from her head, and lay back down immediately to stop the dizziness.

“You’d need at least an hour of recovery, kiddo,” Asa laughed bitterly, “At least you would, if you were human.”

“I’ll be fine in a minute. Just give me a second.”

“Like bleedin’ hell you’re going back,” John growled, “Asa, you hold ‘er, luv. I’ll be going in-”

“Dad, pots!” Her tone and intention had the brit slowly freezing right in place against his will. Try as he might to fight her, he never had quite the same level of resolve that Raven had. 

But, he supposed, that’s just how fathers and daughters seemed to operate. A father always willing to give his girl the world. And never being able to deny her, even when it was in her best interest.

“It has to be me, dad,” Raven sighed. “I pulled her in. I need to be the one to pull her out.”

Constantine swallowed the lump forming in his throat, teeth slow to unclench as he asked, “Promise me you’ll be safe? That you’ll get out soon as you reach her?”

Raven’s own indigo eyes leveled at his piercing blue ones, her stomach dropping as she lied, “I promise.”

…

She felt calmer when she opened her eyes again, her breathing shallow and soft, her body curled as tightly in on itself as she could stand. She felt a sharp pinch of happiness, and a dull sting of longing, when she heard her father’s voice. And she remembered, another small memory that had meant so much more to her over the years.

"Now just where did my princess run off to," Giovanni mused as he glanced around his daughter's room. He made extra sure not to take any special notice of some particularly lumpy and giggling pillows that lay on her bed.

"Hmm, how strange," he sighed with extra, cartoonish emphasis, "How odd that my daughter would learn to pull such a thorough disappearing act before I could teach her it myself. Alas!" He gave a cry, before falling back onto her bed. "Perhaps if I were to take a nap upon her bed, I could dream of where she has run off to!"

He adjusted himself carefully atop that oh-so-lumpy cushioning, leaning carefully back and poking at the pillows as she barely held in her snickering. "Now, if only these pillows weren't so lumpy and strange! Perhaps then my dreams might be clear." He put a bit more of his weight on it, yawning dramatically as he stretched his arms above his head. "But as long as Zatanna is not here, I don't see the harm-"

"I am here, daddy! I got you!" the young sorceress cried, laughing as she wiggled out from behind her father.

"Goodness! You have, indeed, my princess!" the magician laughed, bringing his daughter in close for a hug and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And I've missed you so! You must promise to teach me that trick before my next show!"

"Uh-uh, that one's a super-special... tersec?" the five-year-old turned the word over uncertainly, and Zatara only smiled as he applauded her attempt.

"Terces, my sun and stars. Repus laiceps terces." He booped her nose, and she giggled once more. With a whispered word and sleight of hand, he produced a diary with a lock, Zatanna's name embossed with ostentatious calligraphy, and smiled even wider as she went starry-eyed.

"You'll need a place to keep those sterces then, my darling."

The chorus of thank-yous that followed after were drowned out only by his own laughter as he returned her tight embrace.

The sorceress began to feel the weight of the memory weighing on her chest, however. A wistfulness as the laughter quickly became quiet cries. At first, she almost believed them to be cries for what she still mourned. But then everything shifted again.

“Give me the word, my sun and stars,” her father growled, “And I will make the boy regret his very-”

“Daddy, no,” she shook her head, “It’s not… It’s not his fault.”

“That is where you are wrong, my dear,” the old magician laughed, “It is always a boy’s fault. Unless he starts taking responsibility for it, then he is not truly a man.” He squeezed her hand tightly as he lifted her chin, making sure she was looking into his smiling eyes as he said, “And he is not worthy of your time, for that matter, either.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, before pulling her back in for another tight embrace.

Zatanna held desperately to this special kind of comfort that she hadn’t felt since her father had died.

[rorykillmore]

this isn't strictly an ask haha but if you would take a short writing prompt, something with maeve and dolores on denny? or if not idk just talk about em

She’s angry when she leaves the overlook. Not the drowning, unchanneled anger she’s been navigating aimlessly since her arrival, but a kind of burning, focused anger that feels familiar. She was careful to downplay it in front of Strange, lest he change his mind about watching her – and it’s not the sort of thing she wants to bleed into her interactions with Cloud, and certainly not Arnold.

Still, despite its source, Dolores welcomes it. It feels like purpose, for however long it might last.

A part of her knows where she’s going before she even consciously decides. It isn’t something she really stops and thinks about – just a kind of resolve that forms almost the moment her conversation with Strange ends. It follows the knowledge that he won’t save her, and she can’t expect him to.

So she’ll save herself. She thinks that this time, Maeve will appreciate the sentiment, even if it’s tinged with an unveiled desire for vengeance.

They’ve been keeping in touch, if through strictly minimal means, so it isn’t difficult to single out Maeve’s new apartment in New York. Even less difficult is simply showing up there a few hours later and knocking at her door as if it’s the most casual thing in the world.

It opens a moment later, and Dolores registers the brief shock on Maeve’s face before she recovers. “You might have called ahead.”  She pauses sardonically.  “Though I don’t suppose it would’ve been half as dramatic, that way.”

“I think you’ll find that this occasion warrants the presentation,” Dolores replies smoothly in lieu of greeting, a little more posturing than sincerity for the time being. “Do you have a minute?”

Maeve considers her, not hostile but not quite trusting, while Dolores holds her gaze and tries to toe the right side of the line between confident and threatening. Evidently, she gets it right, because Maeve steps aside to let her in. 

“Let’s skip the small-talk for today,” Maeve suggests as Dolores follows her into her living room. “I don’t think I can stand the suspense. Unless you think this occasion requires alcohol, in which case I’m more than happy to take a moment to indulge.”

Dolores actually considers that for a moment.  Finally she concedes, “It couldn’t hurt.”

Maeve raises her eyebrows as though she hadn’t been expecting that answer. “Mind you, it’s almost pointless now that we’re no longer slave to our more human limitations.”  

Dolores shrugs slightly, watching as Maeve busies herself with retrieving and filling a pair of whiskey glasses. “We can pretend, if nothing else.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Maeve agrees with the faintest curve of a smirk, handing Dolores a glass and settling in on the couch. Dolores hesitates only a moment before she follows suit. Drink or no drink, she ought to get to her point.

“I have a proposal I think you’d be interested in,” she begins. Maeve watches her carefully over the rim of her glass, and she continues, “One that involves a common enemy of ours.”

She can’t, of course, speak to anything William might have done to Maeve, but she does know he frequented Sweetwater often enough. Chances are that in thirty years of visiting, he hurt Maeve or someone she knew at least a few times. And even if not – she can’t think of a person more suited to being an enemy to all of them, if only on principle.

“Someone from our world? Here?” Maeve straightens a little with wary interest. “…Someone you can’t deal with yourself?”

“It’s not that I can’t.”  

“But you aren’t content to,” Maeve observes. “Which means you must be very confident that whoever they are has quite the laundry list of misdeeds to piss me off with.”

Dolores finds herself hesitating, uncertain of how much she wants to reveal – but isn’t this being personal the whole point?  “He’s done more cumulative damage to us than anyone, in terms of the guests, at least.” Best to get that out of the way first.  “You’ve probably seen him, or heard of him. He doesn’t give his name out to the hosts, but he dresses all in black –”

Something in Maeve’s expression splinters enough to distract her. 

“– You do know him.” Dolores slows down, trying a more careful approach. Maeve’s instantaneous recognition tells her nothing good.

“I – no,” Maeve answers a little too quickly. She probably realizes the transparency of it, because she amends, “Yes. I only met him once.”

Once, in Dolores’ experience, would be more than enough to leave a horrible scar.

It’s enough that something shifts. Her calculated, pragmatic approach to this alliance falls away, and she inches a little closer, narrowing the distance between them. “Maeve.” Her voice quiets. “I’m sure you and I aren’t the only people he’s hurt. We can put an end to this – while he’s still here. But you know the humans won’t like it – they’ll see it as murder, not justice.”

Well – perhaps not all of them. She thinks Laurel might understand; maybe she’d even help, if Dolores asked her to, though she’s not so sure Laurel deserves to be put in the crossfire, or to give the MLD more reason to chase her. But the police - even the many vigilantes this world is scattered with - they’d only get in the way, if given the chance. Tonight has only proven as much.

��So you’re asking me to be discreet,” Maeve echoes the thought back to her, unsurprisingly having caught on.  “You’re asking me to help you murder someone… discretely.”

Despite Maeve’s apparently neutral tone, Dolores is all too aware of the idealistic differences they’ve run into up until now.  “You know that our world – any world would be a better place without him. And –”

“Darling,” Maeve stops her abruptly.  “Don’t underestimate how keen I am to see that son of a bitch dead and buried.”

It’s a jarring moment, seeing a piece of her own anger reflected back at her through Maeve – really seeing it, for the first time. A reminder of what they share, of where they come from, of everything they’ve both been through. Despite their ups and downs, the silent exchange between them now feels unmistakably like kinship. 

“Then come with me,” she says more softly. “And we’ll find him. Somehow I doubt he’s been content to settle into a life of luxury.”

“A shame,” Maeve retorts. “It would’ve been nice to have something to ruin.”

But the certainty of her answer is already clear in her gaze, her resolve grounding Dolores’ own. And at least for now, it no longer matters if the whole world stands against her. At least for the moment, she has something to fight for – and someone to fight with.

She’s never needed anything else to be unstoppable. 

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (57/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous Chapters conveniently available here

[9 June 236 Before Age.  Hobstot III.]

(Dr. Feelgood, Part ⑨)

"Where is she?  And why is it so cold in here?"

As Koda Shikibe entered the room, Dr. Topsas gave no response to his questions.  Shikibe had kidnapped them after all, and Topsas could hardly tell him the truth without revealing their attempt to escape.  Unfortunately, while their captor seemed to be quite mad, he was no fool, and it wouldn't take Shikibe long to deduce the answer for himself.  

"Of course," Shikibe said as a smug smile spread across his face.  "That woman--Zatte was her name, I believe-- can make herself invisible.  She's quite stubborn.  I know that from experience.  Before my thoughtform, Dr. Feelgood, could subdue her, she managed to inflict a considerable amount of damage upon him."

Topsas regarded Shikibe without a word.  He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice, and as long as he stayed put in the doorway, there was no reason to be alarmed.  Their plan could still work.  

"I know this, of course, because any damage sustained by my thoughtform is psionically reflected back upon my own person," he explained.  "It is thus for all of the thoughtform adepts on my homeworld of Abaj.  That was how I knew to use my power to cut off her ability to use ki attacks, and to dull her physical strength.  After that, it was a simple matter of tying her to a chair with ordinary fishing line.  Or so it would appear..."

He paused and stroked his chin.  "That leaves two possibilities.  One: That she found a way to resist the effects of Dr. Feelgood, or used some other hidden power that I had failed to take into consideration, and managed to break free.  Two: That she has not broken free at all, and is in fact still in this very room.   But what purpose would that serve?  A trap?  Was I supposed to rush over to the spot where her chair used to be and fly into an impotent rage?  And then what?  I wonder..."

He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a fountain pen, which he threw across the room like a miniature javelin.  It sailed directly through the position where Zatte had been sitting an hour ago, continued on its trajectory, and finally struck the drywall on the far corner of the room.  

"Ah, the plot thickens!" Shikibe announced to Topsas.  "Your friend hasn't merely turned invisible to make me think she left the chair.  Somehow, she really has managed to move from that spot.  Perhaps she managed to untie herself, but since the door was locked from the outside, and the walls of this room appear to be in tact, I can only assume she is still here.  Lying in wait?  Perhaps she managed to find the strength to stand up, or even to hold the chair over her head, so she can bludgeon me with it as I approach."

He shut the door to the room and locked it--this time from the inside-- and took a step forward.   Topsas wanted to back away, but all eight of his limbs were chained to the floor.   Instead, his pedipalps fidgeted nervously.  

"No, I don't think a trap is very likely.  Both of you were shot by Dr. Feelgood's psionic darts, which give me a measure of power over your bodies.  It's more effective with life forms whose biologies I understand.  Aliens are more difficult to control, but I get by. I was, after all, able to make you both fall into a deep sleep.   That was how I brought you both here, remember?  And if Zatte somehow managed to stand up, I could simply make her fall asleep, and the sound of her collapse would give away her position!  Dr. Feelgood!"

The thoughtform suddenly appeared beside Shikibe.   It was a humanoid of somewhat robotic appearance, with a wide-brimmed hat and a rifle.  However, nothing happened after that.  There was no sound.  Topsas knew there wouldn't be.  

"Because she's lying on the floor already!" Shikibe said with a snap of his fingers.  "Of course!  She's hoping I'll trip over her body, even if she's fast asleep, which means she must have positioned herself very strategically indeed.  I would have thought her invisibility would wear off once she fell unconscious, but no matter.  I'm sure her death would put an end to this farce, but she must have realized that I cannot use Dr. Feelgood's power to kill, since it depends upon the victims own mind to induce the desired effect."

He pointed at Topsas.  "I could threaten to kill you, of course," Shikibe said, "and demand that she reveal herself to save your life.  But that would be pointless, since I had already made it clear that I intend to kill you in any event, and my earlier ultimatum that she pose for my sketches was clearly ignored."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen knife, which had a spider impaled on the blade.  He  raised it to his lips and carefully removed the dead animal with his teeth, and swallowed it.  "I suppose I may as well move on to killing you, arachnoid.  I had hoped to sketch your friend first, but since that isn't an option, I see no cause for delay... unless you are the trap.  Yes, that may be it.  She expected me to turn my attention to you, so she could ambush me while I drain the hemolymph from your corpse."

He stopped to consider this possibility, weighed against all the others he had already considered.  "It seems I have outsmarted myself," he mused.  "In the bookstore, I detected Zatte by using the sprinkler system, but I don't have anything like that in this hideout.  I have no immediate means of finding her, and yet I must assume she's laid a trap for me.  It seems the only sensible precaution is to withdraw, but I, Koda Shikibe, refuse!  If the only remaining option is to spring the trap, then so be it."

He took a step forward, and then another, and then another, like a soldier treading carefully across a minefield.  Dr. Feelgood stepped carefully behind him.  Topsas watched him carefully, his pedipalps twitching with dread.  Less than two yards away from Topsas, Shikibe's foot hit something, and Topsas felt as though one of his hearts had stopped.  

Shikibe reached down and felt the invisible object he had discovered.  "Ah, the chair," he said calmly.  "Then that was her plan all along.  She knew I could incapacitate her, so she used this inanimate object as the trap.  I was supposed to stride confidently across the room, like a man rushing to cash in his winning lottery ticket.  Then I would have tripped over this, landing just close enough to you that you could reach me and perhaps strangle me with your chains, arachnoid.  A clever gamble."

He rose to his full height and smirked at Topsas, who remained silent.  "But now that I've sprung the trap," Shikibe gloated, "I can proceed to--AWK!"

The next step he took sent him falling face-first to the floor.  When he rolled onto his back, Topsas could see blood running down his face, suggesting he had hurt his nose in the fall.  Shikibe began to panic, jerking his left foot as if to pull free of some invisible weight, while he kicked with his right leg.  

"No!  No!," he screamed. "Dr. Feelgood!  She's got me!  Make her fall asleep!"

The thoughtform hovered over Shikibe's left leg, searching in vain for a target.  Topsas wondered if it could have taken more direct action against an enemy it could see.  As it was, the only thing the psychic creation could do was the same thing it had been doing all along, and that no longer seemed to be working.  

In a panic, Shikibe tried to drag himself away from the danger... and directly toward Dr. Topsas.  This terrified Topsas.  Not because of the extreme danger Shikibe posed, or because Zatte's plan had backfired somehow.  Indeed, everything was working out  just as she had expected, and that was what bothered him.  

When Shikibe was within reach, he grabbed the humanoid with his forward pair of limbs and dragged him closer.  He was still struggling against the dead weight on his legs, and so he didn't even register the danger until it was too late.  After a moment of hesitation, Topsas grasped Shikibe with his pedipalps, and sank his fangs into his left shoulder.

Now he had Shikibe's attention, and as he cried out in pain, he rolled away in a panic from Topsas and started clutching at the spot where he'd been bitten.  Topsas made no effort to restrain him.  Instead he sighed with regret.  The damage was already done. 

*******

(Dr. Feelgood, Part ⑩)

In spite of the pain, Shikibe laughed.  "I believe you now," he said, gasping for breath.  His shoulder was already beginning to show signs of swelling.  "When you claimed to be a mere physician instead of a bounty hunter, I thought it to be a pathetic ruse, but I see you were telling the truth.  Not that it will save your life!"

"I am truly sorry, Mr. Shikibe," Topsas said sincerely. "Please believe me when I say that I would never have done this if I had been afforded any other choice.  Fortunately, I am extremely familiar with the effects of my own venom.  You really ought to lie still.  Increased activity will only accelerate its spread through your bloodstream."

"You think I need your pity?!" Shikibe scoffed.  "Next I suppose you'll recommend that I unlock your chains so you can tend to my wound.  Well I, Koda Shikibe, refuse!  I have nothing to fear from your venom, *doctor*.  A true bounty hunter would have realized this!  You should have strangled me when you had the chance."

"Mr. Shikibe, I only wish to help you.  If you continue struggling, you will only sustain further injury," Topsas said calmly.  "Now, might you have a first-aid kit in this lair of yours?  Actually, I was carrying my medical bag when you first captured me, so if you had the foresight to bring that along--"

Shikibe laughed.  "Save your compassion for yourself!" he insisted.  "You've seen what my thoughtform can do to my victims, but you failed to consider that I can use it on myself just as easily!  Watch, as your hopes for victory crumble into dust!   Dr. Feelgood!  Make Me Feel All Right!"

Until now, the thoughform had floated passively next to Shikibe's body.  Now it vanished inside of its master, and after a few seconds Shikibe became surrounded by a faint green aura.  The swelling on his shoulder faded, until there was only a small purple blotch around the fang marks that looked vaguely like a star.  Shikibe stood, seemingly refreshed and invigorated.  

"Behold!  With the power of Dr. Feelgood Make Me Feel All Right, I can neutralize the effects of your poison!" Shikibe boasted.  

"That may be so," Topsas said, "but you are still bleeding from your nose, and--"

"Quiet!" Shikibe screamed.  He searched for the pen knife that he had dropped when he fell, and then snatched it up from the floor and brandished it at Topsas.  “You gambled everything and lost!  I’m sure your venom is quite potent, but against the power of Dr. Feelgood, it’s about as useless as a teapot full of urine!   Now there is nothing to stand in my way while I put an end to your miserable existence.  But take heart, doctor.  Your life is being sacrificed for the purity of my art.  There is no higher honor possible, for--"

Suddenly, there seemed to be an unseen force tugging at his hand.  He struggled against it for a moment, and then he fell backwards, crashing into the far wall of the room.  His pen knife, however, did not accompany him on this journey, and it remained suspended in mid-air where he had been standing.  

Topsas breathed a sigh of relief.  "Are you unhurt, Ms. Zatte?" he asked.  

Around the pen knife, a blue-skinned hand appeared, and slowly the rest of Zatte's body materialized with it.  Her red hair was black with moisture and her face was grim from exertion, but as she tossed the knife to the floor and started stalking towards Shikibe, she looked anything but helpless.  

"I knew you'd try to knock me out, Shikibe," Zatte said.  She raised her other hand, which held a tangle of fishing line.  "So I tried to make sure you'd catch your foot on all this line, even if I was unconscious.  But as it turned out, I ended up burning my fingers while I tried to melt the stuff apart, and the pain helped keep me awake."

Shikibe scrambled to right himself, and he pointed his finger at Zatte, as if to summon his thoughtform to defend himself, but he seemed to have second thoughts about that course of action.  Zatte continued to approach him.

"You might be able to incapacitate me," she admitted.  "But you're using all your power to ward off the effects of Dr. Topsas' venom, aren't you?  As soon as you did that, I woke up and felt like my old self again.  I'm guessing you can't do both at once, can you?  So if you try to fight me, you'll just succumb to the poison."

For once, Shikibe had nothing to say.  He just held out his finger for lack of anything else to do.  

"Dr. Topsas didn't want it to come to this,” she said.  “Hurting people, even people like you who want to kill him, it goes against his principles," Zatte began cracking her knuckles.  "I didn't like putting him in that position, but I knew he'd go along with my plan, because I know how strong the instinct for self-preservation can be.  That's how I know you won't try to resist me now, because you can't bring yourself to let the poison do you in.  It'd be like chopping off your own foot."

Shikibe began to whimper with fear, and Zatte bent down to grab him by the front of his shirt.  She lifted him over her head with a strength that belied her size.  

"I'm not thrilled about hurting you either," she said.  "My culture believes revenge is useless.  You can't eat it or live in it or keep warm with it.  But I need to make sure you won't trouble us any further until we can turn you into the authorities.  I just want you to know I'm only doing this for practical reasons."

She drew back her free hand and clenched it into a fist.  

"I won’t enjoy this," she said.  "But like I said... self-preservation."

With that, she began punching Shikibe's face and abdomen over and over again, faster than Topsas' eight eyes could follow.  He trusted her not to kill him, just as he knew she would break him free of his restraints so he could tend to Shikibe's injuries, but he still found it difficult to watch.  Nevertheless, he kept watching, if only to keep better track of the full extent of Shikibe's condition.  

It occured to Dr. Topsas that Luffa might have been very pleased to see her fiancée deliver such a decisive beating to a formidable foe.  Indeed, she probably would have enjoyed Dr. Topsas' role in subduing Shikibe, brief as it was.  He found this idea very disturbing.  

When Zatte was finished with Shikibe, she went to Topsas' side and began tearing apart the chains that held him to the floor.  "Are you okay?" she asked.  

"I am fine," he said.  Now that he could see the burns on her hands, he became concerned.  "Let me take a look at--"

"That’ll have to wait," Zatte said.  "Shikibe’s shoulder started to swell up again as soon as I knocked him out.  Your venom’s affecting him again.  I'll try to find a phone in this place and get help.  And then we'll have to talk to the local police...”

She stopped and groaned.  “And on top of all that,” she added, “I still don't have a gift for Luffa..."

"Well," Topsas said as he flexed his newly liberated limbs.  "I had an idea about that..."

*******

[13 June 236 Before Age.  Luffasworld.]

(Dr. Feelgood, Part ⑪)

The only permanent settlement on Luffasworld was a small dome-shaped house on a hilltop in the middle of a forest.  Zatte entered walked inside to find the owner of the planet sulking on the couch.  

"Welcome back," Luffa muttered without turning her head to look at her.  

"What are all these aliens doing here?"  Zatte asked as she laid down several boxes and bags she had brought with her.  "They've set up some sort of shantytown in and around the lake."

"Keda invited them," Luffa said.  She draped one arm over her eyes and sighed.  "They're helping me with something new I'm working on for my training."

"Really?" Zatte said.  The whole point of Luffasworld was to give Luffa a remote place to apply her full power without diversion.  For Luffa to make such a radical change to her training regimen could only mean that she had finally made a breakthrough.  "So how's it going?" 

"It's not," Luffa grumbled.  She glared at the ceiling of their house and crossed her arms.  "I'm starting to think I've peaked."  

"You've dealt with this sort of thing before," Zatte said.  "You told me the only thing you can do is push on through."

"I know what I said, Zattie," Luffa groaned.  "But let's face it, it's all guesswork.  I'm already so strong now that I have no idea how much further I can go.  What if this is it?  For all I know, I hit my limit days ago, and this is peak performance for any Saiyan, ever."

"You don't believe that."

"Of course I don't," Luffa said as she planted her hands over her face in exasperation.   "Only because I'm too scared to think about it.  If I believed it, I'd probably sink into a deep depression.   I mean, I'm only twenty-two, and what if I've already reached my maximum potential?  This is as strong as I can possibly get.  What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?"

Zatte held on to one of her bags as she went to the couch.  "Move over," she said, patting Luffa's feet until she swung them around to make room.  "You're making too much out of this.  Just like the last three times you hit a plateau."

"I know, I know," Luffa muttered.  Now that she was finally sitting upright, she looked at Zatte for the first time and gasped.  

"What happened to your hair?!" she asked.

Zatte smirked with satisfaction.  "I tried curling it a little," she said, patting the side of her head to show it off.  "You like it?"

Luffa looked like a primitive humanoid who had never seen fire before.  "How...?" was all she could ask.  She reached out towards Zatte's hair, but seemed almost afraid to touch it.

"It’s not that big a deal.  You do it with a flat iron, Luffa," Zatte said impatiently.   "Well, I just used my fingers, since I figured out how to channel heat through them.  Wait, I forgot, Saiyan hair never grows out.  Sorry, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about."

"I guess I like it," Luffa said.  "It’s different, but I never really got used to the way it was before.  Or the way it was before that."

"Aw, you poor confused kid," Zatte teased.  "You know, you ought to let me do your hair sometime."

"Do what to it?" Luffa asked suspiciously.

"Style it," Zatte said.  "You almost have a pixie cut as it is.  We could trim the sides, maybe give you a fade around the back of your neck."

"Fade?"

"I mean cutting it really short," Zatte said.  "To emphasize the volume on the top.  Yeah, maybe some highlights..."

"What’s the point?" Luffa asked.  "It’ll just grow back to this length no matter what."

"It’s fun, that’s all.  You can play around with different looks.  They don’t have to be permanent."

"Wait, can you make my hair longer?" Luffa asked.   “That way I could tie a mace to the end," Luffa said.  "My mother thought that was a stupid idea, but I bet I could make it work..."

"Your mother was a smart lady," Zatte said.  

"It's a good idea," Luffa insisted.

"What do you need a blunt object for?" Zatte said.  "You're the strongest Saiyan ever."

"Don't remind me," Luffa groaned. She swung her legs back onto the couch and lay down again, this time with her feet on Zatte's lap.  

"You'll get past this," Zatte said.  

"It's not just about me," Luffa said.  "If I've peaked, then so has my whole species.  This is as good as it gets for the whole Saiyan race.  Train hard, kids, and maybe you'll get strong enough to turn into a glowing yellow freak and still come up second-best to that Wistian clown in a stupid helmet."

"Well now you just sound like your father," Zatte scolded.  

"I feel like him right about now," Luffa muttered.  "But you're right.  'Self-pity is for men.'  That's an old Saiyan proverb."

"I like that one."

"Me too.  I'll figure this out, but it won't be today.  Anyway, how was your trip?"

"Interesting.  We ran into a little trouble..."

This got Luffa's attention, and she looked up at Zatte with a glimmer of excitement.  "Trouble, huh?  The good kind, I hope."

Zatte held up the bag she was holding.  "I'll tell you about it later.  In the meantime, I uh, got you something," she said.

"Thanks," Luffa said.  "But I just finished eating a little while ago.  Put it in the fridge, and we’ll have it for dinner tomorrow."

"It’s not food, you jerk," Zatte said.  She tossed the bag onto Luffa's chest.  "It’s a gift."

"Well what is it?" Luffa asked.

"You’re supposed to open it," Zatte said.

"You bought this and you don’t even know what it is?" Luffa asked.

"I know what it is," Zatte said.

"Then why won’t you just tell me--"

"Look just open it," Zatte said.

"Fine," Luffa muttered.  She took the bag and withdrew the box inside.  "You and your games, Zattie, I swear... Why is it wrapped like this?"

"The guy at the store said it was customary," Zatte said.  "I thought it was a waste of paper, but it does look pretty."

Luffa grumbled as she removed the last of the wrapping and opened the container inside to find a humanoid figurine.  She took it out of the box and examined it carefully.

"Hey, another action figure.  I thought I had 'em all, but... Hey, this isn’t... wait, is this Chanisp?"  Luffa asked.

"Good, I wasn’t sure you’d recognize him," Zatte said with a grin.

"Where did you get this?" Luffa asked.  She got up from the couch and started pacing around in a tight circle, never taking her eyes off the toy.  "Are there others?  How did you--?"

"I knew you like those toys they made for that stupid movie they made about you," Zatte said.  "And you already collected the whole line, so at first I thought it was a dead end."

Luffa looked at the figure with an almost childlike sense of awe.  Zatte had never seen her like this before.  She kept turning the doll over in her hands, as though inspecting it from every angle.

"Turns out there’s a shop on Hobstot that specialize in custom toys.  You submit a design, and they can mold the plastic in about two hours."

"It looks just like the statue I found on Bigreen," Luffa said.  "I told you about that, right?"

"Yeah, you told me," Zatte said.  "I’ve never seen it myself, but Dr. Topsas has, and he drew a pretty decent sketch for me right there in the shop.  He’s modest about it, but I think he’s got real talent.   Must be in his blood.  Hemolymph.  Whatever."

Luffa reached up to her head and started clutching at her hair while she admired the toy.  Then she checked the packaging and found a small accessory taped to the inside of the box.  "Aw, you even got a second head so he can transform..." she said.

"We weren’t sure how tall he would have been in real life," Zatte said, "but we tried to make him to scale with the merchandise from your movie.  Hey, are you okay?"

Luffa went into the bedroom of the house without saying a word.  Zatte followed, and found her digging through a footlocker.  At last, Luffa pulled out a second toy, one that broadly resembled herself.  She held the two figures side by side and started chuckling.

"This is great," Luffa said.  "I never thought they could make a toy out of somebody real."

"You’re real," Zatte said.

Luffa shrugged and held up the figure of herself.  "Yeah, but this isn’t really me; it’s the actress they got to play me," Luffa said. "All these other toys they made are just guys they made up.  That’s why I think they’re so funny.  But this..."

"I’m glad you like it," Zatte said.

"You don’t understand," Luffa said.    "My mother used to tell me our family was directly descended from Chanisp.  Of course, he had so many kids back then, every Saiyan’s probably related to him somehow.  But it didn’t matter.  I took a lot of pride in it, and them I found the statue and--" she laid down one of the toys and started grabbing at her hair again-- "We’re the same, him and me.   I thought I was a freak, and maybe I am, but so was he, and..."

She looked up at Zatte, as if seeing her for the first time.  "No, I guess you do understand.  You wouldn’t have made this for me otherwise."

"I just know you talk about Chanisp, and it sort of reminds me of the way I feel about you," Zatte said.  "And I-- hey!"

Luffa had rolled to her feet, crossed the room and scooped Zatte into her arms in the blink of an eye.

"Thank you," Luffa said.  "I know I don’t say that often enough."

"It’s okay," Zatte said.

"Not it’s not," Luffa said.  "I know you think I’m a big deal.  I was sore about you saving my butt back on Wist, but I know you had to do it, on account of all this great stuff you think I’m supposed to do.  And I get it, but I also hate the idea of my wife stepping in because I can’t fight my own battles."

"I know.  Believe me, the last thing I want to do is try to do things for you.  I only want to help."

"Good, because you’re gonna get your chance," Luffa said.  "I’ve got some ideas for the next time I run into the Shockmaster, and I think I might have a mission for you."

"A mission?"

Luffa nodded.  "I’ll tell you about it on the way to the desert."

"You’re going back out to train?" Zatte asked.

"Hell yeah," Luffa said, her voice now full of confidence.  "There’s still some daylight, and I want to get your measure before I work out the details.  You’re allowed to spar with a xan-nil’Dor, aren’t you?"

"Well, I suppose so..."

"Great!  I probably should have asked about that before now, I just sort of assumed."

She carried Zatte all the way out of the house, and took off into the horizon.

末

NEXT: The Lesson

[ships-and-saints]

Pale Skin and Onyx Eyes [11]

[Throne of Glass] [Elide x Lorcan] [W.I.P.] Chapter Word Count: 2991 words

Summary: Set after Empire of Storms, Elide Lochan and Lorcan Salvaterre are traveling with Rowan and Gavriel in search of Queen Aelin. Will Elide ever be able to forgive Lorcan for betraying her and her Queen? Where will they go next?

Part I: The Search - Ch. 1-8 Part II: The Journey - Ch. 9-14 Part III: The Mission - Ch. 15+

Chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] [ 15 ] ... Read it on: [ fanfiction.net ] [ archive of our own ]

Elide awoke to birds chirping and sun's warmth, beckoning her to embrace the day. She groaned and flung an arm over her bleary eyes in an attempt to block out the streaming light.

It was day two of their mission. She had about a week to learn how to kill Vernon before they set out for Duke Perrington's wretched castle in Morath.

I just want to sleep, she moaned to herself. She rolled onto her side, facing away from the light, and sighed in relief when the sunlight shining down on her suddenly disappeared. Wait...

Elide's eyes snapped open and her dark pupils dilated, now wide awake and alert.

Suddenly, Lorcan's infuriating face appeared in front of hers. She yelped and swung an arm at him. He just grinned and vanished. She felt his presence above her, so she rolled to her left where he had stood a moment ago and scrambled to her feet.

Lorcan had casually flipped over Elide and landed nimbly on the other side of her bedroll.

"Good morning, sunshine." Lorcan's lazy smile put his sharp canines on display. "Ready for your morning run?" He casually sank down on his haunches, as if tensed to spring.

"Ughhhh," Elide groaned, rolling her neck and stretching out the kinks in her knees and back. She ignored how his crouched stance made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "No, I'm not ready! I haven't even had any breakfast yet."

Lorcan tossed her what he had been holding - a nutrition bar, made of pressed oats and dried fruit.

Elide rolled her eyes. Better than nothing, she supposed. She hastily ate it and gulped down some water. She noticed that the ice last night had helped; her muscles still felt sore but didn't hurt as much as they usually did when she overexerted herself.

They started off with the same routine as yesterday, running until Elide couldn't run anymore, and then doing push-ups, jumping jacks, squats, and sparring until she could barely move. She had always acted unimpressed with Lorcan before, but now she really appreciated his intense focus and his analytical mind, the critical assessments and analyses he made while he watched Elide move. Skills that had made him a formidable commander. The near constant attentiveness nearly made her blush sometimes, even though she was intensely focused on training as well.

As she practiced sparring with Lorcan, she could feel herself getting stronger and the adrenaline coursing through her body as she continued to push herself.

After a late lunch consisting of berries, bread, and jerky, it was time for meditation again.

Elide had been half-dreading it, but she still sat down and closed her eyes. This time, Lorcan didn't leave. He knelt in front of her about ten feet away. Sweat dripped down her brow as the sun beat down on her back.

After some breathing exercises, he simply told her to think about who she was and what she hoped to accomplish with her magic. She rolled her eyes as she bundled her hair atop her head, letting out a deep sigh of content as a cool breeze swept over her neck. She focused on the questions he posed.

Who am I? Elide's brows knit together in deep thought. She thought of her mother and her father. She was the daughter of Marion and Cal Lochan, and her goal was the same as her mother's – to serve and protect the Queen of Terrasen, Aelin Galathynius, at all costs. That was what Elide would do with her magic.

And… she was the rightful Lady of Perranth, not her repulsive uncle who betrayed and took advantage of his own brother and imprisoned her in a tower for years. Elide would use her magic to kill him unremorsefully, exacting justice as he deserved.

She no longer needed to make herself small, make herself hidden. What she needed now was… the exact opposite. She needed to make herself seen and heard, to send fear rippling through her enemies, to make herself known.

Her thoughts drifted to what Lorcan had noticed and brought up, last night. He had mentioned that after she woke up from her… dream, her witch blood had smelled stronger somehow. She had just nodded and said she wasn't sure why, either. She had declined to offer any further details about what had happened, since she was still struggling to process what the memory had meant herself.

But now she had some time to think… When her mother had mentioned the Blackbeak witches, any lingering doubts that Elide had about her secret heritage were completely blown away. Her mother had said that she would help awaken her blue blood, should Elide choose to accept it.

As a child, before her world had gone to shit, she had always felt a slight chill whenever she looked into her uncle's dark eyes… Even then, her mother Marion must have sensed the darkness that lay within him. Her mother must have kept the truth from her and smothered her with a human scent to protect her from Vernon. After all, Marion had somehow known that in the future Terrasen would be in trouble.

Elide took a deep breath and tried to get ahold of her own scent, grappling to understand her own body's chemistry. Her nostrils flared as she strained to heighten her senses. She was acutely aware of Lorcan's presence, or really the lack there of – Elide could sense the stillness of the space he occupied as it came in touch with his dark magic. She also faintly noticed the nearly-invisible, dome-shaped barrier he had erected around them.

She registered a change in her scent then, jolting her to attention. Not a change; rather, she was now acutely more aware of it. She could smell it in her blood, something familiar, something but not quite like… Manon.

Elide's nose wrinkled; really, how had she never noticed it? She could smell her own human scent, mixed with a scent that reminded her of the wind and sun. Of the Blackbeak witches.

Somewhere in her mind it registered that she was at least making a tiny bit of progress with her blue blood, but she needed to focus on her magic. Magic from Anneith... what sort of magic would she have, if Aelin was gifted with Mala's fire and Lorcan inherited Hellas's darkness? Why couldn't she make any progress with finding her supposed magical energy?

"Breathe," Lorcan murmured, hearing Elide's breath start to quicken in agitation. She gritted her teeth.

I'm trying, she wanted to snap. But she let the annoyance go, focusing on inhaling a steady breath in and out. She needed to relax, so she could figure out what to do.

"What does your magic feel like?" she finally asked.

Lorcan opened one eye to peer at her and deliberated for a moment. He had to be careful with overwhelming her with too much information at once, while she was still mastering how to quiet her mind.

"A well," he answered. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, and Elide's dark eyes opened to watch him intently. "It feels like... a deep well. When I want to use my magic, I sort of drop into the well, I tunnel through the darkness until I build up enough power, and then I shape the magic with my will before unleashing it."

Elide nodded, wondering how she could access her own supposed well of magic. She recognized that meditating was supposed to help, because magic came from within. She needed to be calm and aware enough to access her magical power.

"How much magic do you have?" She wasn't even really sure how magic was quantified.

"We base it on how long it takes for us to draw up every drop of magic in a controlled manner. For me, it takes about a day. Maybe a little more," he mused. Lorcan bet it would take him longer to pull up all of his magical energy now, since he had acquired more power.

Elide was startled by his answer, a whole day!? She was still trying to wrap her mind around that when he continued.

"But you have to be careful when drawing up large amounts, because it's easier to lose control and attack everyone around you, instead of only the enemy."

And then he explained to her what burning out was, what happened when you used every last drop of your magic in an unrestrained manner. He explained it often happened to magic-users out of desperation or loss of control.

"The iron in our blood repels the magic, causing the body to burn itself up alive," he said, "That's why it is so important for magic-users to learn how to exercise control, because on its own, magic cannot distinguish between ally and foe on its own."

Elide couldn't help turning his statements over and over in her mind as they returned to meditating. Her thoughts returned to Anneith. The ancient goddess hadn't whispered anything since that memory with her mother happened.

Elide went to the safe place she always imagined in her mind and tried mentally knocking on the door she pictured there. Hello, Lady Anneith? Hello?

She stayed still and waited, recalling all the times she had spoken to Anneith as a child, when she had been alone in her tower. Sometimes there was a response, but usually there wasn't, unless it was urgent.

There was no response now.

It was hopeless. They sat in silence for another hour while Elide furiously concentrated on making something, anything magical happen, but her mind wasn't clear or calm enough anymore.

Lorcan eventually suggested taking a break to do some chores. The sun was slowly dropping lower in the sky, which reminded him that he needed to check the traps and go hunting if necessary.

Elide didn't disagree about doing chores; after all, she was nearly out of clean underpants. And socks. And some of her pants had gotten dusty and could use a good wash.

"I, uh, need to do some laundry myself…" Elide trailed off, and before she could think better of it, she offered somewhat hesitantly, "Do… you need anything washed?" She half-expected him to reject her, but he paused and cocked his head, considering her offer.

Now that she asked, he did have a few shirts that needed washing. It had been pretty warm the last few days.

"I have a few shirts that need to be washed," he answered, watching Elide closely. A few locks of dark hair fell into his eyes.

Elide watched as he ran a hand through his dusty hair, and she nodded. "Just bring them to me and I'll wash them." She didn't know why she felt so nervous; she was obviously comfortable with doing laundry. Elide mentally smacked herself. Get it together, Elide.

Lorcan stood up and stretched, his tawny muscles flexing. He was like a cat, Elide thought, albeit a very large one. "Let's return to the cave, then."

They jogged back to the cave, and Elide started bundling up her dirty clothes with a clean bar of soap. Lorcan came up behind her with a couple of shirts in his hands. He cleared his throat softly. Elide turned and saw he was holding a couple of black, white, and green shirts.

"Thanks for offering," he murmured quietly. She took them from him and stuffed them into her bundle, wondering why she felt like blushing.

"It's no problem, I had to do my own washing, anyway." She shrugged and smiled slightly at him, before strapping the bundle to her back. She hurried past him, picking up a stack of dirty stone pots and plates before walking out of the cave. Elide exhaled in relief when she got a little further away from camp and didn't sense him following her.

In the rippling stream nearby, Elide washed the stone plates and pots they had been using to cook and eat with. She set them aside to dry, and after unbundling the dirty laundry, she began washing and scrubbing her own clothes first. The stream water was cool against her arms, and she soon worked herself into a rhythm, humming as she worked.

Soon, she had a heap of clean but wet clothes, and she tentatively reached over to pick up one of Lorcan's green shirts. She liked when he wore green.

Elide absentmindedly lifted the shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. She could definitely smell sweat, but his scent was also… musky and woodsy. Like a forest after a rainstorm… Her nose wrinkled as she considered… She rather liked it.

Elide was so lost in thought that she didn't notice when Lorcan walked up behind her. He had come to let her know that he had hung a clothesline for the wet clothes when she was finished, but he froze when he saw her pluck his green shirt from the pile. He watched incredulously as, instead of shoving it into the flowing stream, she lifted it to her nose and inhaled instead. Lorcan couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face or that it kind of… turned him on.

He watched as a loose strand of dark hair fell over her shoulder while she stared at the shirt.

Lorcan cleared his throat. "Is everything alright?"

Elide jumped a foot when she heard him cough and nearly toppled into the stream. In her panicked state, she shoved his shirt underwater while whipping her head around to answer him.

"Gods, fuck – Lorcan – yeah – everything's fine!" Her voice had somehow leapt up two octaves higher than normal.

Oh gods, did he see!? Did he see me smelling his shirt? She was going to die of embarrassment. Or kill him. Or both.

Lorcan was trying to hide his smile as he took in Elide's mortified expression and heard her heart rate quicken like a rabbit's. Her face continued to heat up as she realized there was no way he hadn't seen her judging by the smirk on his face. As she struggled to find words, any words, to justify her actions, Lorcan smoothly let her know he had hung up a clothesline near the cave after she was done with the laundry.

Elide nodded vehemently, her voice still high-pitched as she replied, "Yup! Almost done! Thanks!" Then she turned back to Lorcan's green shirt and scrubbed it with a vengeance. She groaned internally.

Mortified. I'm mortified.

Lorcan picked up the freshly washed stone plates and pots and backed away slowly, containing the urge to laugh. He returned to the cave to continue preparing their evening meal.

After Elide finished washing Lorcan's shirts, avoiding sniffing any of them in an obvious manner, she found the clothesline that he had mentioned and hung the clothes to dry. As she neared the cave, a whiff of boiling stew wafted to her nose.

It was rabbit stew for dinner tonight. Memories resurfaced of all the times they had rabbit stew while traveling with the carnival troupe. Elide started to make a face but quickly smoothed out her expression. She didn't complain; she was still useless at hunting after all, and Lorcan hadn't complained once about feeding her.

Perhaps once I get my iron teeth and nails… Once I can control my witch side, perhaps then I can emulate Manon enough to kill the defenseless, maybe snap the necks of helpless animals like Lorcan does… Elide mused as she ate. Lorcan could tell she was lost in thought again so he ate silently as well.

They trained in more hand-to-hand combat after dinner. Elide was slowly becoming a little faster, a little more familiar with dodging and ducking. Her once-deliberate movements began to seem more natural. She placed more confidence in her punches and kicks, keeping her knees bent and her arms out in front of her.

Occasionally, her mind drifted to her meditation session earlier that day and how it hadn't seemed like she had made any progress. Lorcan continually told her that she needed time and not to worry, but once or twice she had seen his immortal face crease with anxiety when he thought she wasn't looking. Their whole plan revolved around Elide being able to use her magic, and until Lorcan knew what form it took, he would have no idea how to counter Morath's defenses. But still, he was patient, he encouraged her…

What if I just don't have it in me? She wanted to ask. But she knew, she could just somehow feel that she was different, that something stirred within her and that her bond with Anneith was not a coincidence.

Lorcan's fist passed barely a hairsbreadth from her left cheek; she felt the wind of his punch on her face and immediately skittered back a few steps. Lorcan snapped his fingers at her.

"Do I have your attention now, Lady Elide?" Lorcan drawled, smirking a bit. Elide shook her head to clear her thoughts and clenched her jaw as she sank down on her haunches, tensed in preparation. Lorcan quickly closed in on her and unleashed a particularly vicious series of punches and kicks. Elide was dodging relatively well, but he could tell she was tiring out as her returning punches and kicks were fewer and farther between.

She stepped back to take a breath after barely dodging a nasty right hook. She imagined if she had failed to dodge it and winced, glad she had been paying enough attention. She bared her teeth at him and let loose an annoyed growl. Perhaps the witch blood made her more aggressive.

Lorcan held his hands up in pacification and shrugged. "I'm sorry." His punches would have to be more careful, even though the way her witch blood pulsed set his own blood on edge. "Let's take a break."

Then he left to collect more firewood, leaving Elide to her own thoughts.

[voyagerafod]

Star Trek Voyager: A Fire of Devotion: Part 4 of 4: Hotter Than Hell: Chapter Eleven

Seven of Nine hummed to herself while she did her routine diagnostics in the astrometrics lab. Everything was working fine of course, as it usually did, but she would not let pride in her work get in the way of her work. Just as she was wrapping, the noise associated with the detection of something new on long range scanners got her attention.     As advanced as the sensors were, some things just didn’t show up at certain distances. Given the distance according to the data, this thing was far enough away that for it to have registered now meant it had to be huge, easily larger than a Borg cube, but putting out far less energy or she’d have seen it sooner. She could only get a rough silhouette of the object, which was at the center of a field of debris, possibly that of another ship, and residing inside a Mutara-class nebula.

    She forwarded the data up to Lieutenant Kim’s console on the bridge. If Captain Janeway decided this was something worth exploring, she and the bridge crew could take it from there. Seven finished her work in the lab, and immediately made her way to her quarters, where she and her wife Samantha would make plans for the latter’s upcoming birthday.

    Along the way though, she stopped.

    Wait, she thought, her mind going back to the rough silhouette of the presumably derelict ship. Why do I feel like I’ve seen that somewhere before?

---

    On the bridge, Harry gave the data Seven had sent him from astrometrics a once over before forwarding it to Janeway. He hoped Janeway would give the order to investigate, though he couldn’t quite place his finger on why. The details on the ship were minimal given the distance. Even Voyager’s Borg-enhanced sensors could only do so much. Even so, something about it seemed familiar, like he’d seen that silhouette in images before. Perhaps if it had been something he’d seen personally it would be stronger in his memory.

---

    I’ve seen that design somewhere before, Janeway thought as she reviewed the data Harry Kim had forwarded to her. For some reason it makes me think of the Deltan homeworld, but their ships never looked that, did they?

    “Mister Paris,” she said, “adjust course to take us closer to this nebula. Just close enough to get a better look at that ship.”     “Yes, Captain,” Tom said.     “Active or passive scan, Captain?” Harry said.     “Passive,” Janeway said. “I hate to admit it, but I can’t put my finger on why that thing makes me nervous.”     She saw Tom look down at his console, only to shudder. “You aren’t alone, Captain. I’m getting a bad sense of deja vu here.”

“Fascinating,” Commander Tuvok said. “I also must admit to some trepidation about getting so close to this derelict vessel, despite being certain I have never seen anything quite like it before.”     “Didn’t Seven of Nine say she would get feelings like this while doing her research on the Borg degradation?” Lieutenant Ayala said.

“Yeah, I think she did,” Janeway said. “Ayala, take us to Yellow Alert. Tom, once we know exactly what that ship is, get us back on our original course, maximum warp.”     “Captain,” Tom said, “might I suggest we just do that anyway?”     “I’d be lying if I said I’m not considering it,” Janeway admitted. “But I’m also curious as to why this thing seems so damn familiar.”     “Understood,” Tom said.     It took barely an hour for Voyager to get close enough to get a more detailed scan of the derelict. It was definitely dead, no apparent signs of any sensor activity from it, passive or active. The viewscreen changed from a view of the stars outside the ship to a silhouette of the vessel as the long-range sensor’s real-time update began to fill in the details. Once the detail reached a certain point however, the bridge somehow managed to fall more silent than it had already been. Janeway thought she even heard the general background noises of the ship fade away, as impossible as that should’ve been while everything was still clearly working.

She stood up, and forced herself to walk closer, as if somehow seeing it closer would make it not true. She saw in her peripheral vision that Tom’s hand was shaking. But it was true. She had seen one of these ships before, though only from second-hand sensor data from a joint attack on the Deltan homeworld done alongside the Borg, years ago.

How could I have forgotten? she thought. How did we all manage to forget?

“That’s a Cyberman ship,” she said. “That’s not possible.”

“Do I get us the hell out of here now, ma’am?” Tom said.     “No,” Janeway said, surprising even herself. “I want to make sure that thing is as dead as it looks. If it is, we can go about our business. If not, we need to warn Starfleet as soon as the next communication window is open.”

---

    Seven of Nine nearly knocked over several crewmembers as she bolted towards the bridge. She had no doubt that everyone on the bridge, unless they’d happened to be nowhere near any information sources during the short-lived Borg/Cybermen alliance, would recognize that ship. If so, they were going to need her expertise.     “Whoa, hey, Seven, where’s the fire?” she heard someone say. She turned, but walked backwards as she did so, so as to keep getting closer to the turbolift. She saw the visibly concerned face of Noah Lessing.     “I remember everything now,” Seven said, breathing heavily from her run. “I know why the Borg are dying, but right now I need to make sure we get out of this nebula alive.”

---

“No lifesigns,” Harry said, “and a sizeable hull breach on the opposite side of the hull from us according to scans.”     “I’m skeptical that the entire crew of this ship got blown out through that hole,” Janeway said. “I doubt the Cybermen could be smart enough to manipulate the Borg into an alliance and get away with betraying them, only to not have precautions in place to prevent something like that. Humanity figured out how to prevent that kind of disaster before we even sent manned vessels outside our solar system.”

“No sign of activity of any kind on the part of the ship,” Ayala said. “No sign that weapons are powering up, their warp drive, or whatever they use for FTL, is powered down. I think we’re looking at a dead ship.”     No one said anything, but the tension on the bridge melted away so fast Harry could swear he actually felt it. His own body felt considerably less tense.     “I suppose this means we can move on now,” Tom said.

“No,” Janeway said, smiling. “I think this means we can go home now.”     “What?” Tom said.     I agree, Harry thought. What is she talking about? And is she smiling like a school kid?     “Think about it,” Janeway said. “What do you remember about the attack on Delta IV now that our memories are restored?”     “Not much,” Tom said. “I was still in the academy. I remember being terrified the Borg were coming for Earth again.”

“The latest memory I have of that specific period,” Tuvok said, “was the Borg and Cyberman fleets both disappearing and hearing my commanding officer at the time say that the Enterprise-D had ignored orders and begun pursuing them.”

“Yes, but also,” Janeway said, standing up, “that the enemy fleet was headed for the Delta Quadrant.”     “How did you know that?” Harry asked.     “I was acting Captain of the Al-Bitani at the time,” Janeway said. “Owen Paris had just been promoted, and his replacement was waylaid because of the attacks. Before the combined Borg and Cyberman fleets left though, the Enterprise informed us about a key Cyberman weakness. Gold.”     “Gold?” Tom said, sounding like he didn’t believe that could possibly be true.     “We were under orders to go to any planets within less than a few day’s warp that had known gold deposits. We did, but by the time we’d gathered the material, it was over. Captain Picard sent a fleetwide report that the Cybermen had been defeated. The report included log data from the Enterprise. The Cybermen had advanced engines that had put them halfway from Federation space to Borg space in a matter of days.”     “And if the engine of the Cyberman vessel is intact,” Tuvok said, “it is possible we could use it, much as we have done in the past with other experimental types of engines, to return to the Alpha Quadrant in exponentially less time than we are currently facing.”     “With all due respect, Captain,” Tom said, smiling “You probably should’ve led with that last part.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at that, and surprisingly, Captain Janeway laughed too. Harry struggled to remember the last time he’d head her laugh.     “Yeah, you’re probably right, Tom. Commander Tuvok, assemble an away team. Just to be safe of course, modify the phaser rifles. We actually do have some non-synthetic gold in the cargo bay. And to think, I only took it from the traders we met last week to be nice.”     The turbolift door opened and Seven of Nine burst out, her breathing labored.     “Cybermen,” she said, “the ship we… why does everyone look happy?”     Harry, who was the closest to Seven, took a step to the side and patted her on the shoulder.     “The ship’s a derelict,” he said. “But we think we can use it to get home.”     “Oh,” Seven said. She looked around the bridge. “I suppose it would be too much to ask that we never discuss my rather abrupt entrance ever again? It was… mildly embarassing.”

“Yep,” Tom said.

---

    Seven had wanted to go with the away team that was heading over to the Cyberman vessel, but Captain Janeway had assured her that there would be plenty of opportunities later and that Tuvok’s team’s only job was to assure that the ship was truly dead, and to restore the vessel’s life support if possible.     “What we need to do in the meantime,” Janeway said, “is compare notes. I imagine that your Borg memories of the Cybermen will have more details than what we have.”

    “I believe so, yes,” Seven said. “Though that knowledge may also be corrupted.”

    “How so?”     “I would need to have access to that ship’s memory banks if possible to confirm it, Captain, but I’m convinced that the Borg Degradation theory I’ve spoken of before is tied into the Collective’s alliance with and betrayal by the Cybermen.”     Janeway did not seem surprised, which was a surprise in itself to Seven.     “That makes a lot of sense,” Janeway said. “If the Cybermen intended to stab the Borg in the back, they’d want to make sure the Collective was in no condition to retaliate.”     “What I’d like to know,” Harry Kim said, “is how come we had no memory of what the Cybermen had done in the Alpha Quadrant until we saw that ship.”     “That wasn’t the Cybermen themselves,” Seven said. “It was the time traveler who allied himself with Captain Picard. His real name is unknown but he goes by The Doctor and is native to the universe the Cyberman originate from.”     Janeway smiled. “I see I was right in assuming you had more knowledge than we did. Prepare a data packet. As soon as Tuvok gets back we’ll have a senior staff meeting. We need to know as much about this ship as possible if we’re going to safely use it for our purposes.”     “I’ll get on that right away, Captain,” Seven said.

---

    The Borg Queen had convinced herself she left the visible damage on the side of the Class-4 cube she currently occupied so that when she finally caught up Voyager, they would know that the Queen had personally been the one responsible for their destruction.

    This was illogical. Revenge was a concern for organics. Symbolism was a concern for organics. But the Borg Queen’s state as the degradation accelerated had grown to the point where she no longer even noticed that the Collective had separated itself from her cube. It was common practice when a cube showed signs of an infection that could harm the Collective.     It had happened once before, with a Borg that had been corrupted by humans who had named it Hugh. Hugh’s cube was severed from the Collective, denied perfection, it and the rest of its cube’s drones left adrift, their fate not known until new knowledge was obtained from Starfleet on the second failed attempt to assimilate Earth.

    It was all too late for the Collective, but neither they nor the Queen knew that. What she was aware of now was that the decline of the Borg was happening. It was taking longer to adapt and to regenerate. Reaction times had slowed.     The Borg Queen was certain that Captain Janeway knew it as well, and had taken advantage of it to escape this cube one human year prior. This alone, the Queen convinced herself, was why even though she’d been tracking Voyager ever since her Captain had planted the virus that had kept her from destroying Unimatrix Zero, they had not moved in to attack them. The cube had briefly lost track of Voyager some months ago, near a planet called Quarra according to the crew of the small freighter they had assimilated, but they had found the Starfleet vessel once again.

    The Borg Queen’s physical form nearly collapsed as the rush of once-lost information returned to her all at once. On the viewscreen in her alcove, grainy due to distance and interference from the nebula, was a ship of a design that the Collective had paradoxically both forgotten and assumed would never see again.

    “They did this,” she said aloud, the drones around her ignoring her verbal outburst. “It’s all so clear now. The Cybermen infected us. That is why we have been suffering these past several years. And now Captain Janeway has access to the source of this insult to our quest for perfection. We must approach this cautiously. We are but one cube, and a damaged one at that. There is no other vessel close enough.”

    There were. The Borg Queen simply could no longer hear them. She did not know it, but the end of the Borg Collective as it had once been was coming.

---

    “To avoid confusion,” The Doctor said from his seat in the briefing room, “I believe we should refer to the time-traveling alien who aided Captain Picard by his real name, seeing as I also am called ‘The Doctor,’”     “I would,” Seven of Nine said, understanding where The Doctor was coming from even though she was able to keep the two men separate in her mind easily, “except that name is unknown to anyone apart from The Doctor — the time-traveler, himself.”

    “You said his species name was Gallifreyan,” Captain Janeway said. “Let’s just call him that.”     “Why would his real name be a secret, anyway?” Tom Paris said.     “Also unknown,” Seven said. “One theory is that his species only believe in sharing their given names with loved ones, such as blood relatives, spouses, children, etc. Another theory the Cybermen had was that it’s a matter of simplicity. It was never confirmed, but some sources they, well, assimilated for want of a better phrase suggest that a Gallifreyan’s name gets a new syllable added to it after any major event, such a wedding, a death in the family, a regeneration…”     “We’re getting sidetracked here,” Janeway said. “Back to the alliance with the Borg. How did it happen, why did the Cybermen betray the Borg, and how did this ship, out of all the ones the Cybermen sent to our reality, end up still being here.”

    Seven of Nine summed it up as best she could, realizing that not every point was relevant, no matter how interesting she found it.     “...thus after The Doc-, the Gallifreyan succeeded in defeating the Cybermen, their entire fleet was destroyed. The Borg were able to remotely activate every single ship’s self-destruct mechanism. Shortly afterwards, the Conduit attempted to assimilate the Gallifreyan’s ship, but was stopped by the ship itself, acting through Commander Data. Once the Cybermen were destroyed, our universe began to revert back to what we would consider normal, with our memories of events altered.”     “None of which explains why this particular Cyberman ship is still here,” Janeway said.     “Or what happened to all the Cybermen on the ship,” Joe Carey said, sitting where B’Elanna normally would. “All we found were parts, but there’s no way that every single one of them could’ve been blown through that hull breach.”     “I have a theory on that,” Harry said, touching a few button on his PADD, bringing up detailed information on the sector of space they were in on the monitor. “Using astrometrics data, Seven and I determined that there had been a subspace sandbar in this nebula. It wasn't stationary, like the one we were caught in a few years ago, but based on its observed trajectory, the Cyberman vessel would’ve been caught in it.”     “I believe once I’ve had a chance to look at the ship’s databanks I can answer these questions,” Seven said. “I would like permission to join the next away mission.”     “I was going to send you anyway,” Janeway said. “Carey, prep Vorik and Gilmore on what you learned about their engines while you were over there with Tuvok. They’re in charge of seeing if we use their technology to upgrade our own engines.”     “If we can’t?” Carey said.     Janeway sighed, and Seven suspected she knew what was coming next.     “Well, that ship is more than large enough to hold all of us, plus our belongings,” she said. “Hell, we could even fit our shuttles in there.”     “Captain,” Seven said, pulling up a schematic of the Cyberman vessel, and placing it side-by-side with an image of Voyager. “I believe we may not need to attempt to integrate the technologies at all. As you can see here, Voyager is small enough to fit in between the two circular protrusions that make up the middle and rear-most sections of the ship.”     “That could work,” Tom said. “We could use magnetic clamps to affix the ship’s landing struts to the Cyberman ship’s hull. And putting it right there,” he pointed at the monitor, “would protect Voyager if there were any sort of subspace or gravimetric shear to worry about.”     “I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” Janeway said, but Seven was convinced it was a viable plan. Certainly the fastest as well, as even if Cyberman technology could safely be integrated into Voyager’s, something she was skeptical about for security reasons, it would most likely take longer to perform the upgrades than it would to simply attach Voyager to the hull, send over a small team to man the Cybership’s controls, and-

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sounds of Tom Paris and The Doctors’ comm badges chirping simultaneously.

“Tom! Doctor, I need you in sickbay!” B’Elanna yelled. “What’s wrong?” Tom said.

“It’s time!” B'Elanna said. “Get your asses down here now, because there is no way in hell I am doing this by myself!”     “You better go,” a smiling Janeway said. “And congratulations,” she added as Tom and The Doctor both bolted to the door. Once they were gone, Harry looked around the room.     “At the risk of sounding like an ass,” he said, “are we going to wait until after the baby’s out to continue with the plan, or do we do it while we’re waiting?”     “It’s a fair question to ask, Lieutenant Kim,” Janeway said, standing up, “but I think we'll wait until we’ve had a chance to say hello to our newest resident. Dismissed.”

---

    Marla Gilmore walked into the Cyberman engine room, Vorik close behind her. Lydia Anderson waited outside, holding her phaser rifle so tight Marla was afraid she might break it.

    Considering what we know about the Cybermen and what they’re capable of, she thought, I don’t suppose I can blame her.

    She went over to the nearby console to begin the process of powering up the ship’s engines. As they began to operate, more lights came on in the room, allowing her a better look at the Cyberman’s faster-than-light drive.

    She gasped.     “Is there a problem Miss Gilmore?” Vorik said.     “Vorik? I think I’m in love,” Marla said, smiling like the proverbial child in a candy store.

    Vorik’s eyebrow raised, but he didn’t make any comments about humans and their ability to form emotional attachments to inanimate objects like many Vulcans did. Marla figured he was probably just used to it at this point.

    “It is certainly an impressive feat of engineering,” he said instead.     The sound of footsteps coming from behind them drew Marla’s attention, but the lack of phaser fire let her know that it was probably someone from Voyager, if not Lydia herself. She turned to see Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine enter.     “At ease Marla, I just wanted to get a look at… at…” Janeway’s jaw dropped as she looked up at the full extent of the Cyberman engine. Even Seven of Nine looked visibly awed. “Oh, you are beautiful.”

    “Miss Gilmore,” Seven said, “if you would be so kind as to direct me to the memory core. I was told it wasn’t on the bridge.”     “Yeah, Cybermen don’t design their ships quite like any other race I’ve ever encountered,” Marla said. “The databanks are this way.”     “Thank you,” Seven said. “On an unrelated note, I thought you might like to know that Lieutenant Torres went into labor an hour ago.”     Marla smiled. “Remind me to give my congrats when we get back to Voyager,” she said. “How’s it going?”     “I do not know the details,” Seven said. “The Doctor will inform us once the process has completed.”     “Man, what a day,” Marla said. “We might get to go home 30 years early, and a new baby-”     Tuvok’s voice came out of everyone’s comm badge, cutting off Marla’s comment.     “Tuvok to away team. Long range sensors have detected a Borg cube entering the nebula. They will be in weapons range in approximately two minutes. Prepare for transport.”

    “Wait,” Captain Janeway said. “Anderson, are any of this ship’s weapon’s operational?”     “The main weapon is, yes,” Anderson replied. “But it can only fire in one direction. The Borg cube would need to be within 15 degrees of the front end of this ship.”     “Get to the control center and get the shields, or whatever the Cyberman equivalent is, up,” Janeway said. “Gilmore, Vorik, get this ship maneuverable. Seven-”     Marla heard the sound and shouted for everyone to get to cover. Several Borg drones transported right into the heart of the Cybership’s engineering sector. Everyone had their phasers out, except for Marla who didn’t have one. She felt someone grab her, and looked to see Seven pulling her behind a console.     “Seven,” Marla said, pointing at a nearby metal arm that wasn’t attached to any body. “Lydia said the weapon on the hand is still operational and warned me not to touch it.”     “Got it,” Seven said, leaping towards the arm.

---

    “Commander,” Ayala said, “the Borg cube has started transporting drones over to the Cyberman ship.”     Tuvok, sitting in the command chair, looked at the viewscreen.     “Lieutenant Kim,” he said, “enhance the image of the cube.”     “Sir?”     “I have a hypothesis,” Tuvok said. “Do it.”     The image on the screen zoomed into the approaching cube>

    “I’ll be damned,” Harry said. “A Class-4 cube.”     “Not just any Class-4 cube, Mister Kim,” Tuvok said. “Look at the location of the unrepaired scorch marks on the outer hull. That is the same cube we boarded during the Unimatrix Zero mission.”     “Seven’s Borg Degradation theory looks to be accurate. That was a year ago and that cube still hasn’t fully repaired?”

    “Ensign Brooks,” Tuvok said, “begin combat maneuvers. Mister Ayala, target the damaged areas of the cube and fire at will.”

    “Aye, sir,” Ayala said.     If I am right, Tuvok thought, we can provide sufficient distraction for the away team to activate and use the Cyberman weapons. That should even the odds in this battle, if not turn them in our favor.

---

    Janeway, Anderson, and Vorik made quick work of the first wave of drones. The second wave, the same number of drones as before transported in, and only three fell, the other two shrugging off the phaser blasts.     “They’ve adapted,” Janeway shouted. “Adjust frequencies.”     “Captain,” Vorik said, “I believe it is worth noting that it took two drones more than it usually does for them to adapt.”     “Noted,” Janeway said as she tapped the buttons on her phaser. Before she could finish however, a loud noise filled the Cybership’s engineering, and she looked up to see the two drones cut down by a volley of weapons fire she didn’t recognize. She turned towards its source, and saw Seven of Nine holding the arm of a dead Cyberman like a weapon.     Seven raised an eyebrow.     “Impressive,” she said.     “To put it mildly,” Janeway said. “We need to get to the control center before the cube sends any more drones.”     “The fact that no more have been sent already suggests the cube is planning to change tactics,” Seven said.     “Tuvok to away team, are you alright?”

Janeway tapped her comm badge to reply.     “So far,” she said. “Status report.”     “We have engaged the cube,” Tuvok said. “We have determined it is the same Class-4 cube we encountered last year.”     “Are you sure?” Janeway said, surprised at what she was hearing.

“Certain,” Tuvok replied. The damage caused by the core we overloaded remains largely unrepaired.”     “The Collective is in worse shape than I assumed,” Seven of Nine said.

---

    The Borg Queen largely ignored the weapons fire coming from Voyager, only firing back occasionally. A small amount of damage had been done to the armor plating, but it was nothing that couldn’t be repaired easily once this was over. She focused on scanning the two vessels her cube was approaching, looking for two people in particular whom she wanted to speak to personally.

    “Scans have confirmed the individuals designated Captain Kathryn Janeway and Seven of Nine are on board the Cyberman vessel,” the Collective’s voice said, and the Borg Queen smiled.     “Prepare a transporter lock,’ she said.

    “Alert. Primary Cyberman weapon powering up.”

    “This is not a concern. Our armor is more than adequate to…” The Queen stopped talking for two reasons. First, she realized that she sounded to herself less like the voice of the Borg and more like a leader; an individual. Second, she wondered why she was so unconcerned about the potential damage a Cyberman ship could do to her cube when she remembered all too well how many cubes she’d lost to the Cybermen when they’d betrayed their alliance.     Her eyes widened. She gave the cube the order to begin evasive maneuvers.     It was too late.

---

    “Main gun is on-line,” Anderson said.     “I have a targeting lock,” Seven said.     Janeway leaned against the Cyberman ship’s equivalent of a captain’s chair, somewhat disappointed that it was far too large for her to sit in comfortably, but she didn’t need to be sitting to give her next order.

    “Fire.”

---

    Harry Kim couldn’t resist the urge to cheer as the viewscreen showed the weapons fire from the Cyberman vessel cut through the Borg cube’s armored plating, causing massive explosions all over it.

    “Mister Kim,” Tuvok said, “Damage report.”     “The cube got lucky,” Harry said. “A lot of the shots they took at us missed wildly, but that last one they got in hurt our shields, and knocked our forward phaser banks off-line. It’s repairable, but will take a full damage control team several minutes.”

    “Good thing they’ve stopped firing,” Ayala said. “That blast from the Cyberman ship hurt them pretty bad. I’m picking up no signs of active weapons anywhere on that cube. Hull breaches all over the place, at least one of the armor plates is just gone.”     “Lieutenant,” Tuvok said, looking at Ayala. “Prepare a full spread of photon torpedoes, and target the cube’s eng-”

“Anderson to Voyager! The Borg have the Captain and Seven!” Lydia Anderson’s voice shouted over the comm.     Harry gulped.     “Mister Kim, can you get a transporter lock on them?” Tuvok asked.     “Negative, sir,” Harry said, looking at one of the monitors on his console. “Some kind of interference field was put up just a second ago. That must be where the Captain and Seven are. It’s crude, we can beam through it, but not out of it.”

“Mister Ayala, prepare an extraction team,” Tuvok said. “Mister Kim, attempt to open a comm channel to the Captain.”  

---

    Seven looked around at the corridors of the Borg cube. It was a mess, to put it mildly. The few drones that were still mobile seemed overwhelmed by the sheer amount of repairs.     “Looks like we hurt them even worse than we thought,” Captain Janeway said. Seven hadn’t realized at first that the Captain had been beamed over with her, but she shook off the surprise quickly, checking to see that the Cyberman arm blaster she’d been holding still worked.     “I would’ve assumed the Queen would’ve transported us straight to her alcove,” Seven said.     “I wonder why she grabbed us instead of sending over more drones,” Janeway said.     Seven gestured at the state of the corridor. “Probably didn’t have enough to spare.”     “Tuvok to Janeway,” a garbled but still mostly audible voice came over Janeway’s comm badge. “Lieutenant Anderson told us what happened. Are you alright?”     “So far,” Janeway said. One drone, it’s exposed organic parts showing signs of severe burns that would’ve had a human in too much pain to walk, approached them, assimilation tubules waving about menacingly.     “Come,” it said, its voice garbled.     “The Borg Queen,” Seven said. “She must be here.”     “This may sound crazy,” Janeway said, “but I get the feeling her royal pain in the ass is going to try to bargain her way out of this. That would explain why we weren’t assimilated right away.”     “That is just one possibility,” Seven said. “She may try to get us to surrender.”     “Yeah, well, good luck with that. Tuvok, keep a lock on our signal, but don’t beam us out until I either give the signal, or our lifesigns fluctuate wildly.”     “Understood, Captain,” Tuvok’s voice said.

    “Lead on,” Janeway said to the drone, who, limping, turned around and headed down the corridor. Shrugging, Janeway followed it, Seven close behind.

    When the two entered the room the drone led them to, clearly where the Queen had set up her central alcove aboard this cube, they knew why they hadn’t been beamed there right away. Even now, drones were clearing the floor.     “Captain Janeway. Seven of Nine,” The Borg Queen said, stepping out of her alcove and moving close enough so they could hear her over the sounds of repairs. Seven, glancing around for signs of traps saw, several meters above them, the cube’s vinculum. One of its supports was clearly broken, and one of the others looked little better. The last was stable, or so it appeared. One well placed explosion…

    “It would seem we are at an impasse,” the Queen said. “My weapons are badly damaged. But so are Voyager’s and those of your captured Cyberman vessel. I admit, I had not expected that you simple-minded organics would learn to operate their superior technology so quickly. Shame you were only able to get one attack volley off before I was able to disable the main guns.”     “‘I’?” Janeway said, smirking. “When did this start?”     The Queen looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. “We.”

    “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Janeway said. “The Degradation. You’re starting to lose control over the Collective, aren’t you.”     “Impossible,” the Queen said, defensively. “I am the Borg. We are Borg. This Cyberman virus has weakened us greatly, yes, but we will rebuild.”

    Well, that confirms that theory, Seven thought.

The Queen stepped forward in an effort to look threatening. With her gaze focused on Janeway, Seven allowed herself to risk raising the Cyberman weapon slightly, focusing on where she’d need to fire. Now if the Queen could just take one more step forward…

    “I will take that Cyberman vessel from you, Captain,” the Queen said, smiling now. “With it, we can cure this plague that has weakened our intelligence, our strength, made us a pale shadow of what we once were. And once that is done, we will begin anew our quest for perfection, bringing it to others in this galaxy.”     “Whether they want it or not, of course,” Janeway said. “What makes you think you can just take the Cyberman ship from us though? If you could’ve, Seven and I wouldn’t be here. You’d be over there. Or on Voyager. Or both. I think you’re trying to bluff me into surrender. Just goes to show how much that computer virus from another universe has rotted your brain.”     “We are Borg!” the Queen shouted angrily, taking the last step forward Seven needed, but now she was looking as much at her as at Janeway. Seven would only get one chance. She began doing the math in her head one more time. She was certain she already had the right firing solution, but for a shot this important, not just to her, or her family, or her crewmates, but possibly to the entire galaxy…     “We have lost many of our voices, but they will be replaced. A newer, stronger Collective will rise. The Cybermen failed. You failed. And your crew will be the first of my new drones. But not you yourselves, no. You, Captain Kathryn Janeway, and you, Seven of Nine, will see the last act I take as the emotional, petty, being the Cyberman virus left me. My last bit of spite before I return to being what I was always meant to be, a creature of logic, a part of a hive mind, will be this; I will decorate my central alcove with your bones!”     “Yeah,” Seven said, “Fuck you too.” She fired, hitting the one vinculum support, shattering it. The other, already damaged, snapped almost immediately from the weight. The Borg Queen moved to get out of the way of the heavy Borg device, but just as Seven had predicted, the Queen was unfamiliar enough with the concept of survival instinct, not having needed it for so long when she could just go to another body when the one she was in was destroyed, that she ended up stepping in just right the right place for the sharp bottom of the vinculum to pierce her skull. She didn’t even have time to scream. The drones however, they screamed, and fell over, and twitched violently.     “We should probably go now,” Janeway said, taking Seven’s arm.     “No doubt,” Seven said.     “Janeway to Tuvok, get us the hell out of here.”

---

    Janeway looked around, wondering why Harry had beamed her and Seven directly to the bridge, but she wasn’t going to complain.     “Lieutenant Ayala, prepare a full torpedo spread,” she said. “Janeway to Anderson.”

    “Anderson here. Glad to hear you’re alright, Captain.”     “I’m back on Voyager. Target the Borg cube and prepare another round. We’re going to finish this.”     “With pleasure, ma’am,” Anderson replied.

    Janeway straightened her uniform, took her seat in the Captain’s chair, and looked at the damaged Borg cube on the viewscreen.

    “Anderson, Ayala… fire.”     The two vessels, one Starfleet, one Cyberman, cut loose on the Borg cube, tearing it apart within seconds.     “Their warp core’s about to go critical,” Harry Kim said.     “Back us off,” Janeway said. “Janeway to away team, can you get that ship moving?”     “Somewhat,” Marla Gilmore’s voice replied.

    “You’ve got…” she looked at Harry.     “Five seconds,” Harry said.

    “Damn it,” Janeway said. “Hang on!”

    The cube exploded, the shockwave spreading out in all directions. Voyager shuddered violently as it hit, but even as she gripped the arms of her chair, she could see on the screen that, amazingly, the Cyberman ship held, knocked back, but not showing any signs of damage.

    That doesn’t mean the people inside weren’t hurt though, Janeway thought. Especially if they weren’t secured.     “Away team to Voyager,” Lydia Anderson’s voice said over the comm, causing Janeway to openly breathe a sigh of relief. “We’re alive. A little rattled, but alive.”

    “Good to hear, Lieutenant,” Janeway said. “Good to hear.”     ”Sickbay to the Bridge,” The Doctor’s voice said.     “Go ahead,” Janeway said.     “Is it safe to assume that the fighting is over?”     “That’s correct.”     “Good,” The Doctor said. “Then now’s the perfect time to announce that one Miral Paris has joined our crew, happy and healthy with her parents.”     Cheers filled the bridge, coming from Ayala, Brooks at the helm, and Harry Kim.     Janeway smiled, and even felt tears of joy well up in her eyes.     “This really has been an interesting day,” she said. “Give the parents my congratulations.”

---

    “When can we see the baby?” Naomi asked, practically bouncing with excitement.     Seven just laughed, while Sam patted Naomi on the head.     “When B'Elanna and Tom say we can, sweetie,” she said.     “I am relieved the process went well,” icheb said. “It’s my understanding that the birth process, which is already difficult for many, is even more so for mixed species births.”

    Sam winced, remembering Naomi’s birth and the unusual circumstances surrounding it.     “Yes, I’m aware,” she said aloud. “It’s hard to believe it’s almost over. After seven years, this could be our last day in the Delta Quadrant.”     “That’s not entirely accurate,” Seven said. “As fast as the Cyberman engines appear to be, it will still take us approximately six days to return to the Alpha Quadrant. Add an additional day if we choose to go straight to the Sol system as opposed to a deep space Federation colony.”     “Well, still,” Sam said, “as happy as I am, it’s hard to not to have mixed emotions about this. It’s the end of an era for us, really.”     “Understandable,” Icheb said. “I admit to having concerns of my own. I’ve never lived anywhere else than the Delta Quadrant.”     “Same here,” Naomi said, “but we’ll be okay. You’ll get to join Starfleet, and I’ll get to meet my Dad.”     “He’s going to be happy to meet you too,” Sam said.

    “Seven,” Icheb said, “is the Captain planning to hold some sort of ceremony to mark the end of Voyager’s time in the Delta Quadrant?”     “Not that I’m aware of,” Seven said, looking at Sam. Sam didn’t believe there were any such plans either, so she nodded her agreement.     “Why do you ask?” she said.     “In my lessons with The Doctor last week he spoke of a concept called catharsis,” Icheb said. “I believe that some catharsis for the crew prior to leaving the Delta Quadrant could possibly make it easier for them to readjust, or adjust in the case of myself, Naomi, Mister Jaffen, and Seven of Nine, to life in the Alpha Quadrant.”     Sam smiled, while Seven put down her PADD to give the boy a hug.     “That is an excellent idea, Icheb,” Seven said. “I agree with your assessment.”     Icheb smiled, and even blushed a little. “Thank you. Would either of you be willing to help me present the idea to the Captain?”     “I’ll do it,” Sam said. “Annie’s going to be on the Cyberman ship soon.”     “Oh, hey,” Naomi said, “I was thinking when we get to Earth we could get a pet.”     “Oh?” Sam said, wondering where this was coming from. Naomi hadn’t said anything about wanting a pet for years.     “I’m thinking a bunny,” Naomi said.     Sam tilted her head, and saw that Seven raised an eyebrow.

    “Why a bunny?” Sam asked.     “Well,” Naomi said, “bunnies are usually prey animals, right? But a pet rabbit on a starship wouldn’t have any predators. It could be relaxed all the time.”     “Interesting,” Icheb said, “I had never thought to consider the bunny perspective before.”

---

Tom Paris leaned against the doorway to the bedroom of their quarters and watched as B’Elanna gently placed the sleeping Miral into her crib.     “I’m amazed she went down so easy,” Tom whispered. “Especially after all the excitement we just had.”     “Enjoy it while it lasts,” B’Elanna whispered back. “Most nights are not gonna be this quiet.”

“Well, luckily most of those nights are going to be back home,” Tom said.     “Especially with you at the helm,” B’Elanna said.     Tom sighed, hoping they weren’t going to have this discussion again. “I’m a new father,” he said. “Brooks can handle the Cyberman ship. Seven confirmed from the Cybership’s databanks we won’t run into anyone hostile on the trip home, not with the course with we’ve plotted. A few populated star systems might get a bit of a scare as we pass through, but we won’t be around long enough for them to shoot at us. And any anomalies along the way, we’ll be able to go around. Sue can do it.”

“I’m sure she can,” B’Elanna said. “But the fact is you’re a better pilot than her, and I do not want to take any chances when it comes to getting our daughter home safe. Talk to the Captain. Convince her to let you be on the team that operates the Cyberman ship.”     Tom wanted to argue this point, as he had before, but he knew he’d only be repeating points he’d made several times before in the past two days.     Time to graciously admit defeat, he thought. “I’ll talk to her at the ‘Farewell, Delta Quadrant’ party,” he said.

---

    The cargo bays with their modular walls were the only place where all one-hundred twenty plus crewmembers could be gathered comfortably. It lacked the view of the stars that the mess hall had, but Captain Janeway wanted everyone gathered for this event; Voyager’s final day in the Delta Quadrant. And after all, right now the stars wouldn’t be visible in the mess hall viewports anyway, instead being filled with the gases of the nebula and the cold metal hull of the Cyberman ship that Voyager was now attached to.

    For most of the gathering things had been light. The crew laughed and shared memories of the more amusing or bizarre events they’d encountered since the destruction of the Caretaker’s array and the merging of the Starfleet and Maquis crews. Static images of some of these events, taken from the ship’s logs and sensor records had been arranged on the walls like paintings, based on a suggestion made by Icheb.

It was inevitable she supposed, though, that someone would bring up some of the tougher moments they’d faced; the hardships, and losses. When that happened, Janeway tapped her glass of champagne, and quickly the rest of the crew turned to look at her while Jaffen placed a hand on her shoulder.     “Before we start our final mission here in the Delta Quadrant,” she said, “let us take a moment to remember those of us who didn’t make it to this day. It’s in their memories that we undertake this last journey, using the ship the Cybermen left behind and its engines to finally see our homes again. I say their names aloud so that, if they can hear us somehow, they know that we have not forgotten them and that their sacrifice was not for nothing.”

Janeway cleared her throat. “For Aaron Cavit, Veronica Stadi, T’Prena, Doctor Jeffrey Fitzgerald, Mitchell Fayed, Aka-Na-Tak, Bobby Androjnik, Kopor the Climber, Stockbridge, Thomas Merlin, Nihlus Kryik, Peter Durst, …”

Janeway’s voice began to crack, frustrating her immensely. She hadn’t even gotten to the end of Voyager’s first full year, and already the names became harder and harder to get out. Tuvok moved over to stand by her, and without missing a beat picked up where Janeway had left off, starting with Kurt Bendera. Janeway was not surprised that Tuvok had decided to include Lon Suder’s name. He was a murderer, but even still in the end he had died saving the ship, making it possible to retake it from the Kazon. If any of the rest of the crew found his inclusion controversial no one said anything. By the time Tuvok made it to Commander Chakotay’s name, the cargo bay was all but silent, the only sounds being made by a handful of crewmembers and Naomi Wildman sniffling, all seeming to be trying as hard to hold back tears as Janeway herself was.

    “To absent friends,” Janeway said, taking a sip from her glass. Those who held drinks followed suit. Jaffen whose hand had never left her shoulder squeezed it gently.

    “That was beautiful,” he said quietly, his own eyes seeming to be tearing up when Janeway turned to look at him. “I’ve been on ships that lost people before. I wish they’d gotten a send-off as touching as that.”

    “It would be better if I didn’t have to give a send-off at all,” Janeway said, she and Jaffen moving off to the side as normal conversation amongst the rest of the crew resumed.     “Space travel can be dangerous even under ideal circumstances,” Jaffen said. “And you haven’t had ideal circumstances for seven years now. Yes, you’ve lost people. But most of the sentients under your command are going home today, and they have you to thank for that.”     Janeway allowed herself a small smile. “I can’t take all the credit,” she said. “A captain’s only as good as their crew. Without these other people here, I would never have made it past the Ocompa homeworld, if that far.”

    “Sure,” Jaffen said, “but that goes both ways. You needed them, and they needed you.”

    “Yeah,” Janeway said, sighing. “That’s going to make it that much harder when we get home.”     “What do you mean?”     “I intend to step down when we get back to Earth. Maybe take on a teaching job at the Academy, maybe just retire to Indiana.”     Jaffen briefly laughed, then covered his mouth apologetically. “I’m sorry, Kathy. But really, if I know you as well as I think I do, you’ll go crazy inside of a week if you do that.”

    Janeway shook her head. “I’m just so tired, Jaffen.”

    “So take a break,” Jaffen said. “I don’t know how vacation time works in Starfleet, but if it carries over you’ve probably got more time coming than I’ve ever had at every job I’ve held combined. At least that way, if you decide you want to get back out to the stars, it’s easier to come back from sabbatical than from retirement.”

    Janeway smiled, remembering the stories of how many times the crew of the first Enterprise under James Kirk had ‘retired.’ “You’d be surprised, actually.”

    “At least think about it,” Jaffen said.     “Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me,” Janeway said. “I’ll wait until we’re actually on Earth before I decide between retirement or just a long vacation.”

    “I look forward to seeing it,” Jaffen said. “In person I mean. I know that holovids can only do so much. And speaking of looking forward to things, I hear you’ve chosen to lead the skeleton crew that will be piloting the Cyberman ship for the last day.”     “You heard right,” Janeway said. “The Voyager rumor mill does get things correct from time to time.”

    “I want to be there with you,” Jaffen said. “I-”

    “Okay.”   

    Jaffen stopped talking, looking surprised, and Janeway couldn’t help but laugh.     “You thought I was going to argue with you on that, didn't you?”     “Well, to be honest, yes,” Jaffen admitted.     Janeway kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have at my side when we reach Earth.”     “And I look forward to seeing the look on your face when you see Earth,” Jaffen said.  

---

    The away team stepped onto the transporter pad, excluding Tom Paris, Marla Gilmore, and Vorik who had already returned to the Cyberman ship to for the final leg of the journey home.     Janeway held Jaffen’s hand in hers and watched quietly while Seven hugged Samantha Wildman, and Megan Delaney tried to reassure her twin sister Jenny that everything we going to be fine.     “Just remember,” Jenny said, “if you get killed, I’m telling Mom.”     Megan laughed, as she stepped onto the pad.     “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry, sis.”     “I love you,” Seven said to Sam.     “Love you too,” Sam said.     “Are we all ready?” Janeway said.

Everyone on the away team nodded, silently, except for Lydia Anderson who saluted before saying, “Ready to go, Captain.”

“Very well,” Janeway said. “Mister Mulcahey? Energize.”

---

    Harry Kim yawned at his console.     “Mister Kim,” Tuvok said, “if you require additional rest, I am more than willing to provide it.”     “I appreciate the thought, Commander,” Harry said, “but there was no way I was going to miss this shift. Based on the calculations we did before shift change, we’ll be entering Federation space within a few hours, and Earth a few hours after that.”     Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “Very well, but I will relieve you of duty if I feel that your reaction times are clouded by lack of sleep.”

    “I got plenty of sleep yesterday, sir,” Harry said.     Tuvok was skeptical, but he also knew better than to underestimate human resilience. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time Lieutenant Kim had pulled a double, or even a triple shift.     “Very well,” Tuvok said. “Ensign Brooks, alert the crew when we are about to enter Sector 001.”     “Aye, sir,” Sue Brooks said from her seat at the navigation console.

---

    The man from the other universe, the enemy of the Cybermen known as The Doctor has had many qualifiers attached to his name. Among these are terms such as “magnificent bastard,” and “chessmaster.”

    The Doctor couldn’t think of any way that any Cybermen would be left behind in the universe of the Federation and the Borg, but regardless he left something in place just in case. The Earth of this place was not his Earth, his adopted home, but he felt obligated to protect it nonetheless.

    The device was not hidden, but because of its origin no Starfleet officer or Federation civilian who stumbled across it in Sector 001 would think twice about it, leaving it be, unexamined. That would be true even at this moment, when for the first time since The Doctor had returned to his reality the device activated. It detected Cyberman activity approaching. The device began to power up in order to perform its designated task.

---

“We’re approaching the outer edge of Sector 001,” Megan Delaney said, looking at her jury-rigged console set up in the Cybership’s control center.

    “How long? Janeway said, stretching. She hated the chair that had been set up for her, but decided not to just request a new one be sent over from Voyager.     “Approximately thirty minutes ahead of schedule,” Megan said.     “Thirty less minutes I have to wait to see my family,” Tom said. “Including my Dad.”     “I imagine Starfleet Command will want to debrief us before allowing us to see our loved ones,” Seven said.     “Oh, I doubt that,” Janeway said. “That would make Command look bad. They’ll probably give us at least a day.”     “I’m more worried about the civilians,” Lydia Anderson said. “Didn’t Reg Barclay say we’re celebrities these days? We’re going to get swarmed by autograph seekers and excited schoolchildren.”     “You might,” Marla Gilmore said. “If I’m lucky they’ll let me visit my nephew before putting me up before a tribunal.”     “That was always a possibility,” Vorik said. “However, given the contributions you and most of your fellow survivors from the Equinox have made-”     The ship shuddered.     “I’m reading an energy spike,” Megan Delaney said.     “I see it, but I can’t get a fix on its location,” Seven said.     “What’s happening?” Jaffen said, looking like he wanted to do something, anything, to help but at a loss as to what.     “We’re being pulled towards it, whatever it is,” Tom said. “I’m putting everything I can into propulsion but-” The ship shuddered again, more violently this time, throwing nearly everyone to the ground.     “Janeway to Voyager!”

---

    “Captain,” Tuvok said, responding to the hail, “a spatial rift has opened near our location. It opened as soon as we entered the solar system.”     “Detach Voyager and get clear,” Janeway said, “then beam us out.” The final part of her order was understandable, but the signal had started to weaken.     “Understood,” Tuvok replied. “Ensign Brooks?”     “Already on it,” Brooks said.     Voyager suddenly stopped shaking.     “Commander,” Harry said, “whatever the rift is, it stopped pulling at us once we detached from the hull of the Cyberman ship.”     “Is it still pulling the Cyberman vessel towards it?”     “Aye, sir,” Harry said.     “Bridge to transporter room 1,” Tuvok said, “the away team requires an emergency beam out.”     “Yes, sir,” Todd Mulcahey’s voice replied.     The bridge was silent. Tuvok touched a button on the arm console and the viewscreen switched to show the Cyberman vessel, struggling as it was pulled towards the rift in space that seemed to only effect it.     “Mister Mulcahey?” Tuvok said.     “I’m trying, sir, but I’m having trouble getting a solid lock.”     “Janeway to Voyager,” the captain's voice said over the comm, still understandable but far more garbled. “Now would be a good-” Static. “Can you hear me Voy-”

    “Oh no,” Tuvok heard Brooks yell as the Cyberman ship, turned violently and went engines first into the rift. There was a brief flash of light, and then the ship was gone.     “Bridge to transporter room 1,” Tuvok said. “Did you retrieve the away team?”

    “I’m- I’m sorry sir, I was only able to get a solid fix on two of them.”     “Who did you retrieve?” Tuvok asked.     “Seven of Nine and Megan Delaney, sir.”     Tuvok heard Sue Brooks sob quietly, and saw both Lieutenant Ayala and Lieutenant Kim staring in disbelief at the viewscreen. He sat down quietly. His logic failed him as he tried to find something to say to the crew.

---

    Harry Kim looked at the console, the computer registering the names of the Starfleet ships approaching them. He focused on the names and classes far more than he really needed to, not wanting to dwell on what he had just seen, afraid that the Cyberman ship had not just been yanked back to its universe of origin but possibly destroyed with both his captain and his best friend aboard.

    The Galaxy-class ship Allegheny, the Prometheus-class Palmyra, the Nebula-class Sutherland, the Defiant-class Wolverine, and the one that he knew Samantha Wildman would’ve been happiest to see if she were on the bridge, her father’s ship, the Excelsior-class John Laurens.

    Because he was focusing on his console he saw the light that signalled that one of the ships, the Allegheny according to the signal, was hailing Voyager. He told Tuvok.     “On screen,” Tuvok said.     A Quyth appeared on screen, his single eye a mixture of pink and yellow. The other captain was probably concerned that this wasn’t really Voyager but was part of some elaborate trick. If his memories had been triggered by seeing the Cyberman ship the way Voyager’s crew had been, Harry couldn’t blame him.     “This is Captain Hokor the Hook-Chest of the U.S.S. Allegheny to Voyager,” he said. “Is that really you?”     “This is Commander Tuvok,” Tuvok said, “it is… good to be home, Captain Hokor. We should be transmitting our IFF signal as we speak.”

“We’re picking it up on our end,” Hokor said, “but Starfleet’s a bit more paranoid than it used to be. I’m sure you understand. We’ll be escorting you back to Earth, where hopefully the necessary security measure to confirm your identities will go quickly and you and your crew can take all the time you need to see your loved ones.”     Hokor’s eye blinked, and the color in it swirled and became partially translucent.     “Commander,” Hokor said, “that other vessel, the one that was pulled into the rift we saw on our long-range sensors, I recognized it even though I’m sure I never saw it before.”     “A Cyberman vessel,” Tuvok said. “That will require some explanation that can be handled in our debriefing.”     “Cybermen,” Hokor said, shaking his head nervously. “Now I remember. I was still a Lieutenant when they attacked Delta IV. Glad it’s gone. I’m curious how your ship came to be attached to the side of one of their vessels.”     Harry winced involuntarily at that comment.

“We found it derelict in the Delta Quadrant,” Tuvok said. “We were able to use its advanced engines to return to the Alpha Quadrant within days. A skeleton crew was on the Cyberman vessel while the rest of us remained aboard Voyager.”     “I hope you were able to get all of your-” Hokor stopped, the color in his eye changing again. “Commander, where is Captain Janeway?”

Tuvok made a noise that Harry could swear sounded like a sigh, the closest to sadness the Vulcan had ever shown under circumstances outside illness or alien influence.

“I regret to inform you, Captain Hokor, that Captain Janeway, four other crewmembers, and a civilian were all still aboard the Cyberman vessel when it was pulled into the rift. We have no cause to believe they were killed in the process, but if they are alive I hypothesize that they are currently in the other reality, the one of the Cybermen’s origin. At this time, neither they nor we have the means by which to return them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hokor said. “I’m sure Starfleet will put their best people on trying to find a way to bring them home.     “Captain Janeway found a way home once,” Tuvok said. “It is logical to assume she can do so again.”

---

    Samantha was so relieved to see Seven of Nine enter their quarters that it took her longer than she cared to admit to see that Seven was crying.     “Annie? What happened?”     “You- you don’t know?”     “No, I’ve been here the whole time. I heard we made it home, and there was the shaking but…”

    “Something happened,” Seven said. “Megan and I were beamed off in time, but, the ship, the other ship…”     Oh no, Samantha thought. Seven collapsed into her arms.     “They’re trapped in the other universe, the one where the Cyberman ship came from.”

    Samantha was about to ask who, but then she remembered who all had been on the other ship when they’d entered Federation space, and gasped.     Tom, Marla, Lydia, Jaffen, Vorik, the Captain, she thought.     “It’s not fair,” Seven said, “We were so close. This isn’t like falling down just short of the finish line, this is like getting shot at the finish line.”

    Samantha just held onto her wife tightly, stroking her hair and whispering calming noise,. It was all she could to keep from breaking down in tears herself. Samantha felt two other pairs arms embrace her and Seven. She had forgotten that Naomi and Icheb were there too.

    The four of them just held each other for a long time, no one sure what, if anything, to say next.

[geekade]

Legion of Spoilers - Chapter 4

Legion's latest chapter is a halfway mark in every sense: Chapter 4 falls midway through the season’s eight episode run, and its handful of revelations, capped with that painful ending, promise to be the fulcrum of the remainder of the season. And viewers as well as David stand halfway through a looking glass, struggling to ascertain what is real, and what is reflected.

This episode is also riddled with self-conscious artifice, as though going out of its way to feel like a TV show. Hawley frames this opening with Masterpiece-esque commentary AND a noir-ish voiceover from Syd. Colors and lighting are even more hyper-saturated than usual; shots betray their camera work, and every scene is composed with painterly precision. The artifice is occasionally distracting, which is unfortunate for an episode peppered with so many intriguing hints and reveals.

Oliver Bird plays us in with two introductory monologues, the first attempt abandoned while his drink freezes solid. The theme of tonight’s presentation will be the conflict between empathy and fear, the struggle between mirror images as a man goes to war with himself. And indeed, this chapter is full of unsettling symmetries and incongruities: Lenny (at least Mind Lenny) turns out to be a kind of cover identity for the parts of David’s mind he’d rather not face. Amy and Dr. Kissinger exchange confidences through the wall that divides their mirrored prison cells. Cary and Kerry fight in tandem, riding a psychic link that spans the distance between them. David’s memories of others collide with their memories of him, as Amy reveals David never had a dog, Philly describes David’s actual drug buddy, and Syd deduces that David’s true motive for breaking into Dr. Poole’s office was to destroy records his mind could not overwrite.

This ability to overwrite itself is what makes David’s memory a hall of mirrors. From childhood on, any time he was confronted with something frightening, David clapped his hands over his eyes, again and again, until his mind learned to do it automatically. Now he unconsciously deploys his powers in a fractally complex cycle: React, obfuscate, forget. David's memory glitches are this protective mechanism at work, the childlike conviction that something can't hurt him if he doesn’t look straight at it. If you stand still, The Angriest Boy will catch you. The voices will overwhelm you. The yellow-eyed monster will flower into malevolent being. So David runs.

This served him well enough until D3 and Summerland found him. Summerland wants to teach David how to stand still, but his mind is so used to folding realities that it refuses the concept. David's new friends mean well but they can’t understand what it means to be marooned in a self whose instability is its security. Confronted with empathy, his mind, conditioned to fear, abandons the conscious realm entirely.

While David lies inert in Cary's lab, Dr. Bird dispatches Syd, Ptonomy, and Kerry to uncover what precipitated David's admission to Clockworks. The trio dutifully make their way to the site of the memory that went haywire in Chapter 3: Dr. Poole's deserted but preserved office. Ptonomy and Syd piece together David's memory work vignettes with “object memories” magicked from a demolished tape recorder. 

The trio then set up camp in the woods, where Syd's reverie is broken by the appearance of The World's Angriest Boy in the World, who brandishes his fixed scowl and his knife before vanishing. Syd keeps the sighting to herself as Kerry announces she has a lead on David's ex-girlfriend Philly. Then, in a speech that is all but captioned EPIC FORESHADOWING, Kerry explains her relationship with Cary. They share his body, and she emerges at will – mostly when there's fighting to be done – while Cary takes care of “all the boring stuff.”

Elsewhere, Amy's ordeal continues. Tortured and interrogated, then caged and starved, she scrabbles at a foul meal before hurling it against the wall. Hearing this, the adjoining cell's inmate hollers a strange introduction: “I exist!” It's the disappeared Dr. Kissinger. Amy admits that David was a sweet but strange child who moved inexplicably between rooms, knew the substance of unspoken thoughts, and conversed with people who weren't there. Most chillingly, she tells the good doctor that they never had a dog, and that she never saw the King to whom David spoke. Dr. Kissinger flashes back to the day David walled up the inmates of Clockworks. In contrast to previous iterations of that memory the series has shown us, he's unaccompanied by Syd and there's no sign of Lenny. At least Amy has some company now.

Back at Summerland, Dr. Bird finds herself before an apparition in an antique diving suit. She grabs Cary and they descend to a hidden sub-basement, speaking gently and obliquely about missing pieces. Cary admits to missing Kerry when she's away, and since she only ages when she's outside, he wonders (EPIC FORESHADOWING) what will become of her when he dies. Melanie floats the obviously well-worn hope that this will be the time her husband returns. Oliver is sprawled on a table in a kind of cryo-chamber, diving suit peppered with rime and air hose trailing out of the frame. Neither alive nor dead, he’s stuck somewhere in between. As Melanie and Cary enter, a buzzer goes off, warning lights flash, and an automated voice calls out “Unannounced Visitor.” The system, linked somehow to the astral plane, has registered David's arrival.

David has not quite registered David's arrival to this strange place that looks like the aurora borealis crash-landed in the Grand Canyon. After a bewildered look around, he follows the beckoning figure in the diving suit to a ladder. Together they ascend into the ice asteroid we saw in the episode's opening. Oliver introduces himself and asks how much has changed since he got stuck there, somewhere at the convergence of beat poetry, avant-garde jazz, leisure suits, and free love. David doesn't seem to recognize or care that he's having a tête-à-tête with Melanie's long-lost spouse. As always, his impatience for an exit truncates the explanations that could help viewers piece together the story; Oliver barely gets a chance to explain the astral plane or the creature that dogs David's memories and has followed him here. Maybe David doesn't really want to know. He climbs back down the strange ladder and strikes out across the undulating mindscape.

In the meantime, the Summerland trio have tracked down Philly. She tells them that David's drug buddy was a large and unpleasant man by the name of Benny, whose face and identity David has apparently overwritten. When he scans her memories, Ptonomy witnesses encounters with Benny and with Dr. Poole. She and David had him over for lunch, and later, she visited him, now blinded and scarred, at a lighthouse. Our detectives make their way to the lighthouse and convince Dr. Poole to talk to them. He admits them grudgingly before transforming into the Eye and signaling D3 to spring its trap. A SWAT-like team closes in, driving the three upstairs in a hail of bullets. Kerry leaps out the nearest window to beat back the commandos and clear an escape route while The Eye pursues Syd and Ptonomy to the attic room where they've taken refuge.

So begins a well-executed montage in the grand style which is also a trademark of Hawley’s TV adaptation of Fargo. To the strains of Feist's “Undiscovered First,” Oliver dances in the ice asteroid of his mind as Melanie mourns his body, Cary vicariously follows Kerry's hand-to-hand, and Amy paces in her cell as The Eye closes in on Ptonomy and Syd. Ptonomy's bullets can't seem to connect, and once the gun is out of bullets he’s subdued with a touch. Cornered, Syd slips off a glove, meets The Eye's hand, and switches bodies just in time to receive the commandos' confirmation of Kerry's capture. “The Eye” orders the captives placed in the van and takes the wheel.

Back in the astral plane, Lenny confronts David in a mirror image of his childhood bedroom. Agitated and anxious to leave, she goads him – again – into using his power by showing him someone he loves in danger. Seeing “Syd” tied up by “The Eye,” he howls with rage, the Devil flickering behind his face, and teleports straight toward the path of his friends' escaping van. After it swerves off the road, David frees “Syd,” setting in motion a foot chase that gives The Eye enough time to regain his body and shoot Kerry. Miles away, Cary collapses, clutching at an invisible wound. As David looks on in horror, a gangrenous hand curls around his shoulder, and “Lenny” smiles – but not with her eyes.

QUOTES 

“The past is an illusion.”

“Who are we, if not the stories we tell ourselves?”

“Is free love still a thing?”

“Defeat the dragon. Unless, you know, the dragon wins.”

“Pity. Two more and we could have had a barbershop quartet.”

“In times of peace, the warlike man attacks himself.” -Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

“To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence. Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.” -Sun Tzu, The Art of War

ODDS & ENDS 

That nugget from The Art of War is basically how demon-Lenny subdues David.

Shout-out #2 to Italo Calvino: Philly works at Calvino Realty. (Shout-out #1 was the ambulance company in the pilot).

We still don’t know what the stars say to David.

Has Amy’s husband filed a missing persons report? Is anybody looking for her?

If David’s story is about a conflict between fear and empathy, fear is off to a great head start: It originates in the amygdala, and in Chapter 2 Cary observed that David’s was unusually large. Interestingly, the amygdala is also involved in memory formation.

The posters for Enceladus and Europa in David’s childhood room are two of the vintage-style solar system travel posters you can download from NASA.

Legion continues to confound attempts to peg it to a single time period; this week's anachronism is Ptonomy's Luger, a pistol historically associated with Nazi-era Germany.

The Eye’s powers are varied and as yet unexplained. First of all, either he’s wearing space-age clothing or he has the power to deflect bullets. He can’t just be a bulletproof mutant, because then his clothes would have bullet holes. He can also knock people out by touching them, doing something to one eye in the process and has sufficient psychic chops to spot David and Syd’s astral forms.

According to the tablet on her desk, Philly’s full name is Florence Welch, also the name of the lead singer of Florence and the Machine.

The beat poetry Oliver recites to David is a selection from Allen Ginsberg’s A Supermarket in California, which includes the line I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective, which sounds a lot like the wandering and chasing in David’s mind.

Based on this week’s theme of smoke and mirrors, Hawley may be referencing Ingmar Bergman’s Through a Glass Darkly, Philip K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly, and Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse. All three works deal with mirroring, mental illness, the nature and limits of the self, and shifting internal perspectives.

This chapter’s significant music selections: The avant-garde jazz Oliver puts on for David is Sonny Simmons’ Metamorphosis. In keeping with the episode’s theme of mirrors and reversals, the cover image from that album is a reverse negative. The song that plays over the montage is Feist’s “Undiscovered First.” Mind-Lenny calls David a mountain climber just before Feist’s lyrics ask “Is this the right mountain/For us to climb?”

FAN THEORIES, or WHAT THE HELL I THINK IS GOING ON 

My theory is that this episode was written and shot to feel like TV to telegraph that most or all of it is one of David’s invented realities, maybe a TV-show-esque reality (or pocket universe!) his mind created to cope with something traumatic. The strongest piece of evidence for the unreality of what we’ve seen so far, aside from the outlandishness of that lighthouse, is the sign the van hits in the final act. It reads: Slow Down: Uncertainty Ahead.

As in The Wizard of Oz (also name-checked in the intro), at least some of the characters must be real people superimposed on this parallel reality. My guesses: Amy, Philly, Melanie, Oliver, Brubaker, and The Eye are real. I’m on the fence about Kerry, Cary, and Ptonomy. The case for Lenny in any reality is now mighty thin (although if Clockworks was a real place, it remains possible that she was a fellow patient David later wrote into his memories of Benny), and even thinner for Syd, who should have appeared alongside Dr. Kissinger in his flashback. In the first episode, when Syd visits David in his room at Clockworks, his door opens and closes no one actually steps over the threshold. Syd has also begun to see The Angriest Boy in her waking life, which would make sense if some other parts of David’s consciousness are encroaching on that personality.

Speaking of The Wizard of Oz, we don’t currently know what’s real, but the mirror theme pervading this episode makes me think most of what we’ve seen so far is just a reflection of a reality yet unseen.

There’s an internal logic to David’s primary coping mechanism being the creation of new worlds, people, and memories. Some small quantity of self-delusion is part of the human condition; we are, as Syd observes, the stories we tell ourselves. Stories mediate between the self and the reality outside it, allowing us to develop and contextualize what we think of as our selves. David can’t tell himself any coherent stories about himself, let alone the people around him, because his telepathy eroded his ability to establish boundaries between self and other.

This being a delusion or pocket reality would explain why real people (that is, people who exist outside of David’s mind) see and interact with latent personalities and imagined characters.

Legion’s shots change aspect ratio, seemingly based on whether they are showing us present time, memories, and (possibly) delusions. The deeper into the unconscious a shot takes us, the more black space appears in the upper and lower thirds of the screen. For example, when Kerry references her childhood and the scene cuts to Cary/Kerry’s shared memory, the screen narrows slightly. It narrowed significantly during David’s botched memory work in Chapter 3. Based on aspect ratios I’d say there’s a strong likelihood D3 (or something like it) exists and Amy really is in their custody.

This episode gave us the longest shot yet of a fluorescent-lit corridor that has previously appeared only in brief flashes. One glimpse of the corridor shows a hooded figure slumped against a damaged observation window, whose crack pattern resembles the damage Cary’s lab window suffered while David was astrally projecting in Chapter 3. Also, the circle of light in which David lays is very similar to the stark blue-gray fluorescent lighting of the corridor and Amy’s cell. Could this world be a retreat from D3’s custody?

Recurring motifs: Stacks of circles appear in the astral plane ladder, a sequence of shapes echoed in Philly’s headband (lunch with Dr. Poole) and earrings (meeting with Syd and Ptonomy), Kerry’s belt, and the portholes that run up the sides of Dr. Poole’s lighthouse. The way The Eye’s victims’ eyes crystallize looks suspiciously similar to Oliver’s ice asteroid. Maybe he temporarily banishes his victims’ consciousnesses to the astral plane. The recurrence of particular motifs in unrelated contexts would seem to suggest mental shortcuts as David’s brain reuses certain shapes and images, maybe borrowing them from waking life.

Colorwatch: Oliver’s leisure suit is in the same neutral color family as Melanie and Brubaker’s clothing, if you don’t count the mustard shirt beneath his jacket, which echoes the floor of the common room at Clockworks. Neutrals seems to be worn by people with an interest in mutants, or possibly by those whose allegiance or intent is not yet clear. Lenny wears a vivid blue jumpsuit beneath a beige trench; I still have no theories about blue’s significance. The Vapor is also blue, and may scenes in this episode bear a bluish tint. Philly wears Kelly green edged with black piping, Amy wears the same mint-green clothes in which she was captured, and The Eye wears pale olive green. My original theory was that green is only worn or carried by people free to move in the real world; David carries green only once, when he leaves Clockworks. But the astral plane is a ghostly, insubstantial yellow-green. Maybe the astral plane is a real place, insofar as it’s a realm that exists outside of David and that can be visited by other people with similar powers. It’s probably closer to reality than the world of Summerland. The door to the lighthouse is red, and the lighthouse itself is candy-striped red and white. Red always seems to accompany David’s moments of profound anxiety, reverie or dislocation, especially his great demonstrations of power. And I’m back to speculating that David’s personalities wear black – in this episode only Syd and Lenny wear black.