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anneapocalypse · 4 years

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RWBY 7.01 - 7.02

There is so much to talk about here. Spoilers!

(Please note that I’m not currently a FIRST member, so please don’t spoil me, thanks!)

We’re in Altas now! I love the aesthetic of Mantle, and I like that they didn’t go for the kind of full-on steel-and-glass futuristic aesthetic you might expect for all of Atlas. Instead, it’s more of a Victorian-futuristic look, with brick buildings and cobblestones and narrow streets.

Qrow’s new voice actor is killing it. Jason Liebrecht delivers a performance that is virtually indistinguishable from old Qrow if you aren’t listening closely for it. akisawana pointed out to me that he’s emoting more, which I think tracks for his character growth, but his voice and inflection is spot-on Qrow.

Themes of distrust build immediately, with Qrow uncertain if they should take to Ironwood. Weiss is concerned about the increased military presence in Mantle. We see the face of Winter Schnee on a screen, apparently the public face of Atlas military, and perhaps despite Weiss’s confidence we wonder if our heroes can trust her.

There is a fair amount of talky exposition in these first two episodes and some of it is rather on the nose, as the story quickly tries to get us up to speed with the situation and the general atmosphere in Mantle. People don’t love the surveillance state—we see some children throw a rock at one of the camera bots. But people love Atlas, and they’re proud of their city, even if difficult times.

And we meet Giapetto—I meant Pietro! Something of a convenient character, as he’s both high up in Atlas security and living and working down among the common people; he knows Ironwood, and Maria Calavera, and of course, his daughter has told him all about Team RWBY.

And as many of us probably suspected as soon as we laid eyes on this man, our sweet Penny has returned! I loved it through and through. “I thought you were dead” is one of those tropes in fiction that just always gets me, so Ruby’s face when she realized her friend was a live, and Penny’s face when she saw Ruby and recognized her… I needed a minute. It was just a truly delightful moment, made even more so by Penny’s exuberant tackle-hug.

I’m curious how it is that flightless Grimm are getting into Atlas, since I would think part of the appeal of a floating city in the first place is to keep them out. It wouldn’t stop flying Grimm, of course, but these monsters weren’t flying. EDIT: They weren’t in the floating city, they were down in Mantle, that’s my bad. Anyway, it was a fun battle to watch, as Oscar has learned a few things, and Blake backing up Yang and giving her that little nod was very sweet.

I am still banking on Oscar becoming the official new leader of Team JNR, making them Team ORNJ. Oscar’s outfits even have orange in them, and for nothing directly to do with his name. It’s a sign, I tell you!

Sadly, Qrow’s optimism must never go unpunished! and our heroes are promptly taken captive by the Aesop’s—er, I mean, the Ace Ops. ;) This feels more for drama than anything else, and it’s kind of reminiscent of Wash, Donut, Sarge, and Lopez being taken captive by the Feds in season 12 of Red vs. Blue. But there’s a valid reason: the did steal a ship.

I love how Weiss says, “Ironwood’s Ace Operatives” like they’re a big deal, but as soon as someone else acts impressed by them, she’s like, “They’re not that big a deal.” Oh Weiss! Some things about her never change, and the way she throws shade is one of those things.

I also think it’s pretty obvious that Weiss is still influenced by her upbringing, both as an Atlesian and as a Schnee. “Tyranny” honestly isn’t that much of an reach from what Ironwood’s doing. It’s easy to sympathize with him, because he’s just so goshdarn likable and he make a sadface and we do kind of know his heart’s in the right place—but he’s misguided as hell and even the people close enough to give him the benefit of the doubt can see it. Ironwood puts his faith in technology, and when his tech failed him he only doubled down, trying to make it stronger. And now that we know who the leak is from Atlas security, we can pretty much assume it’s only going to backfire on him harder next time.

“Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses” sounds very intriguing, and I’m always excited to meet new female leader characters! I’m also thrilled to hear we have an old Winter Maiden, and I can’t wait to meet her. Really appreciating the introduction of cool old ladies in recent volumes.

I love Blake’s expression of trust in Ruby’s leadership, which seems representative of everyone present. Ruby really is the reason they’re all here—it was her journey to Haven with team JNR that brought them all to where they are. She is not just the leader of Team RWBY but the leader of this whole expedition, especially with Ozpin having lost the trust of so many of them, and now absent entirely. They all trust her.

Ruby, by contrast, is not sure if she can trust Ironwood. I really like this. I like Ruby learning to be cagey and not bestow her trust and optimism on everyone she meets. This feels more like character growth than frankly anything we’ve seen before, and I will take it!

Ironwood has brought Penny and Winter into the inner circle. That alone I don’t really question; they’re both loyal and responsible. What I do question is his decision to tell the Ace Ops, given that… well, I know they’re supposed to be the best, and they did capture our heroes, but it’s also been kind of hard to take them seriously thus far and I question that their discretion and judgment is up to the level required.

But Ironwood doesn’t just want to tell them. He wants to tell everyone. And this is where we’re reminded, not just of the constant threat of Grimm, but that they’re drawn by negative emotions. This is a world where fear brings literal monsters, and in a world like that… the rules are just different. It’s easier to understand Ironwood’s protective instincts, I think, in that context. Managing the emotions of the public is a question of national security. It doesn’t make him right, but… it’s important context.

And here we come back to Ironwood’s reliance on technology and military might. He believes the Atlas military can keep the Grimm at bay and keep people safe. I think he’s vastly underestimating how little anyone outside of Atlas trusts the Atlesian military anymore. They won’t feel safe under his protection, especially in Vale—they might even actively resist his aid. And the more afraid and angry they are, the more Grimm will come.

There is something comical about the fact that Ironwood’s grand plan is… to rebuild Amity Arena. Oh, with a comm tower. That latter part makes perfect sense! Why it needs to be attached to a colosseum, less so. Style points, I guess? Morale booster? Sure.

It’s also comical how much our heroes buried the lede on Oscar being the new Ozpin. And here, we get confirmation that Oz is still gone. Not present, not communicating with Oscar. I thought maybe they’d come to an understand, but… nope. He’s just gone. Which feels ominous, but also makes me wonder: what if Ozpin really is gone from Oscar? What if he’s in someone else? We’ve kind of assumed that couldn’t happen, but we don’t really know for sure. It’s a far out theory, and I don’t really think it’s true, but wouldn’t it be wild if he was now in Ruby—if Ozpin’s presence were at the heart of her reticence, her keeping Ozpin’s full story from Ironwood.

Of course, it’s probably better character development for Ruby if she just did that on her own.

But that leads me to another point, which is that it just kinda seems foreshadowed at this point that Ozpin will probably, somehow, be removed Oscar. Everyone’s been thinking of the aura transfer machine from volume 3, and at this point I’d say it’s likely that’s what the machine was always for in the first place: Ozpin, who after so many lives might be tired of having to inhabit the bodies of unwilling hosts. Ironwood, with Pietro’s help, was probably trying to find a way to free Oz from the cycle of death and rebirth, by transferring him permanently into a synthetic body. It seemed like a possible solution when Amber was attacked. But the machine had to have been in development before then.

When Ruby tells Ironwood that according to Ozpin, all the lamp’s questions were used up, Ironwood says “Right… right” in such a way that makes me think he either knows, or suspects, that this isn’t true. Probably suspects. He walks to the window and says thoughtfully, “Oz told us that too, a long time ago.”

So Ironwood no longer fully trusts Ozpin. And Ruby can’t fully trust Ironwood. Even Qrow is uncertain. I think Leo’s betrayal was a real blow to him.

But the moment that I think truly cements Ironwood’s character is that despite all that, he returns the relic to Ruby for safekeeping. It is a gesture of good faith that I think is pretty unlikely to be anything but genuine. I cannot imagine him parting with that relic if he truly only wanted power for himself.

The Ironwood and Qrow hug was beautiful. Whether friendship or romance, there is definitely some kind of deep connection between the two of them. Enough that Ironwood needed to tell Qrow, personally, that it was good to see him, and underscore his sincerity. And Qrow, when James hugs him… he smiles. He looks affectionate. It’s honestly really sweet.

Our heroes are about to get weapon upgrades! I do think it’s interesting the way Winter says this: “While assisting the military, we will provide you with the best equipment our scientists can devise.” And if they are no longer assisting the military…? Yeah, I do highly suspect our heroes will fall afoul of Atlas military again at some point.

This feels a strong opening to the new volume, and it’s laying out these themes of trust and distrust quite heavily, which I think will be very interesting to watch play out among all the characters involved. Most of all I’m looking forward to more of a character arc (read: any character arc) for Ruby, but there is a lot going on here in this new Atlas-centric part of the story. I’m excited to see more.

#rwby7 #rwby spoilers

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pjbehindthesun · 5 years

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chapter 25: confrontations and constellations

Tuesday, November 6th, 1990

“Mmmphh? Hello?” Not the most polite way to answer the phone, true, but who the fuck calls at this hour?

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I woke you up, I figured you’d be up early with Jeff…”

“No… I mean, yeah, he left way early, he had to be at work by 4, I went back to bed… what’s going on, is everything okay?”

“Uhm. I hate to do this before you go to work, but… can you come up?”

Cora’s voice is so small it’s terrifying. That’s all I need to know. It’s go time. I’ve barely yanked a comb through my hair, dragged a toothbrush through my mouth, and thrown on something vaguely resembling a work outfit before I’m off up the stairs. Halfway up, I remember the spare key to her place, which is hanging on a hook next to my door, but whatever, thankfully she’s left the door unlocked.

And she looks like absolute, utter hell. She’s curled up on the couch under a massive blanket, white as a ghost, looking at me with dark-circled eyes.

“I got Stone’s flu, I think,” she explains unnecessarily, obviously straining to talk through a sore throat. “Also, I kicked Alex out last night.”

Typical Cora, burying the lede. Pinching myself would be rude, right? I need to not do that. I opt for biting my tongue hard to make sure I’m awake as I scoot some of her mountainous blanket fort over to make room for myself on the couch. Ow. Yeah. I’m awake.

“What the hell happened?”

She winces as she swallows. “Another girl. Here. They were, uh, in the shower, when I… They, uhm, figured I’d be at work longer, but Colleen sent me home early last night, because of the whole…” she draws a circle around her face, which is giving the facial expression equivalent of a shrug.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Uh-uh. So I… came home and… found them. Kicked them both out. And then I stupidly told him to come back tomorrow and get his stuff.”

“That’s not stupid, we should get his shit out of here as fast as possible,” I muse, scowling at her. “Do we know her?”

“No. She’s Brian’s girlfriend or something. She didn’t even know about me. It’s been going on for a year.”

A year?? This is so fucking surreal. I know how to do the friend thing, I swear that I do, but the way she’s relaying this insane information so robotically, it’s really throwing me for a loop. I wish she’d scream about it, or cry hysterically, or call him a rat bastard, or something to let me vent my own anger, but clearly, we’re not there yet…

“...and how are you doing?”

“I’m alright. I just, uhm,” she glances around the apartment, “I told him he could come and get his stuff today, you know, move out, but I don’t… I don’t really want him hanging around forever trying to get it all gathered up… I was gonna try to get a head start this morning but I could use a little help…?”

Okay! An action item! I got this. We’ll deal with robotic Cora later. I’m sure it’s just a defense mechanism and she’ll break down later once she’s had more time to process. I jump up off the couch, a to-do list growing ever longer in my brain. Cora starts to get up too, but it doesn’t take a lot of effort to push her back down because she’s not very steady on her feet.

“Park your ass, woman, you need to rest.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I’m already walking toward the bathroom, calling back over my shoulder. “The first thing I can do is bleach the ever-loving fuck out of your shower. And your towels. And your sheets. And who knows what else they touched, but we’re gonna nuke the shit out of it all. Okay? And then… we’ll figure out the packing part later.” A glance at the clock tells me I don’t have a ton of time before I need to go to work. I need reinforcements. But that can wait.

I leave Cora to slump passively on the couch while I gather up a load of sheets (because ew) and towels (because extra ew) and quickly attack her shower with some bleach spray. Out of her sightline, I’m free to gag at the mental image of that dumb, smarmy motherfucker hooking up with another girl IN THE APARTMENT HE SHARED WITH MY FRIEND. WHO DOES THAT??! FOR A YEAR!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I’m obviously not going to fan those flames with her and make her feel even worse, because she’s still letting it all sink in and what she needs right now is some unemotional, businesslike help getting the logistics worked out. But it’s therapeutic for me to be able to lose my shit in here with the door closed for a moment. Okay, whoa, bleach fumes... moment over. I make the bed up with clean sheets and grab the rest to take down to the basement.

“Laundry, be right back! You good?” I call at her over a giant basket of offending laundry. She nods and manages a small “thanks” as I bustle past. Once I’m in the laundry room, I get to take out more anger on the machine, slamming doors and swearing loudly, but I collect myself before I get back to the 4th floor. She hasn’t moved an inch, and she still looks like a zombie.

“Okay, alright, uhm, I have to leave for work in like five minutes…” I tell her, glancing at the clock as my mind races.

“You’re the best. Even that much was a huge help because I was never gonna make it down the stairs,” she tries for a chuckle but ends up coughing. “I’ve got it from here, you go to work.”

“Stop talking nonsense. I just need to figure out who I can call to come help you.”

“No!” she yelps, wide-eyed. “No, please don’t tell everybody, this is so fucking embarrassing, I really don’t need the whole phone tree to be notified that my life is on fire. I can do it myself!”

“I wasn’t thinking of lighting up the phone tree, I’m just wondering if any of the guys are off work this morning. You need manual labor.”

“I can do it, Lucy, honestly.”

“Uh huh. And you’re going to have help. Stop arguing about it or I’ll fight you and you know I have the height advantage. Let’s see, first, we need to figure out when…” it takes a Herculean effort to say his cursed fucking name out loud, but gritting my teeth seems to help “...Alex is going to drop by. I want to have it all done before then so he’s not here for more than a minute. Get in, get your shit, get out.”

Her eyes start to look a little red-rimmed for the first time. “I love you, Luce.”

“You too. Don’t you fucking move. Get a little rest.”

I grab the phone off the end table, tugging at the cord to follow me, and pace down the hallway and into their den, hoping that she won’t eavesdrop quite as aggressively that way. And then I remember I don’t know Alex’s work number. I yell down the hall, she calls out the numbers, and I punch them in, imagining each phone key is one of his teeth being knocked in. To my surprise, the bastard picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

He sounds like shit. This pleases me.

“Alex, it’s Lucy. You’re at work early.”

“Yeah, uh,” he yawns, “I slept at my desk last night, Cora kicked me out, and I couldn’t stay at Brian’s, so --”

“-- I’m playing the world’s smallest violin for you,” I growl, trying to keep my voice low enough that Cora won’t hear but assertive enough to terrify the shitstain on the other end of the line. “Listen. You are going to come get your shit on your lunch break. I’ll have it all packed up and in the front room. If you don’t get it out of here by 1:00, we’re having a bonfire tonight at Discovery Park, courtesy of your video game console.”

He stammers for a moment before mumbling something that sounds enough like assent for me.

“Don’t be late.”

It takes a lot of effort not to slam the phone back down. Get me, I’m mature. Okay, now we have a little over four hours to get his shit out of here, but I don’t have any more personal days left this year so I can’t miss work, Jeff’s at the cafe already… Eddie? Eddie’s a pretty diplomatic guy, I bet he’d be willing to help, and of all the options, he probably wouldn’t make Cora feel too uncomfortable. But when I try the guys’ apartment, there’s no answer, so maybe he had an early shift too.

Hmm. Mike? He’s a bit of a mess, but he’s got a good heart. I’ll try him next.

“H’llo? wh’s happenin’ ‘bout me,” a slurred voice says.

“Mike? Mike! Wake up, I need your help.”

“we’re closed! n’more lettuce for today.”

“The fuck? Mike!” but he’s already hung up. Great, the only two morning people in our whole crew are already at work, and Cready’s either talking in his sleep or wasted or both. I can’t remember Chris’s number, and I’m not about to ask Cora for it because I don’t want her to freak out again thinking I’m calling the whole neighborhood. That leaves one option. She’s not going to like this. She’s really, really not going to like this.

“Hello?”

Okay, finally, someone who sounds at least halfway awake.

“Hey, Stone? Sorry to bother you so early. It’s Lucy.”

“Lucy? What the hell’s going on? It’s like… 7…?” I can hear him stretch and probably fumble around for his alarm clock.

“7:15, yeah,” I finish his thought for him. “Listen, I need your help. Cora kicked Alex out last night, she found him cheating with some other chick. As in, he’s been cheating on her with this same girl all year. As in, she found them here when she got off work.”

His sudden avalanche of bellowed obscenity makes me jerk the phone away from my head. “Okay, okay, get it out of your system, I know, I said all the same things when I heard,” I reassure him from a safe, ear-protecting difference. “The thing is, there’s not really time for that, because he’s coming back at like noon to get his shit out of the apartment, and Cora’s got the flu so there’s no way she can pack it up herself. Despite what she may think.” As I speak, I can hear her making a liar out of me in the other room with the unmistakable sounds of a suitcase being packed. So much for the whole resting idea. She’s impossible. Good luck with that, Stone. “She’s already trying to do it herself, you know how stubborn she is. I wish I could help her but I’m out of time off for the year and I have to get to work, but I’ll be right back as soon as I’m done for the day, I just need someone to --”

“Be right over,” he says in a terse voice that’s much higher pitched than usual. I hang up and resign myself to trying to restrain Cora from murdering me for calling him.

When I find her next door in their bedroom, she’s busily filling the battered old suitcase with sweaters and polo shirts from the dresser.

“So, Alex will be here around 12… Jeff and Eddie were both at work....”

She cuts me off in a brisk tone, continuing to pack and not making eye contact, “That’s okay, don’t call anyone else, I swear I’ve got this. He doesn’t even have that much stuff. All the furniture and kitchen stuff’s mine, it’s just his clothes, a few books, records, the computer shit in the den… I won’t drop dead from the exertion of packing all of that, I promise.”

For a split second, I consider telling her that Stone is on his way over, but (a), I value my life, (b), I’m not going to have the argument with her that she needs to stay in bed because I know that will fall on deaf ears, and (c), I’m going to be late for work. That’s Stone’s problem now.

“Okay, well, drink lots of water, don’t overdo it, call me if you need ANYTHING, and call me no matter what after he leaves. Got it?” I tip an entire drawer full of socks into the bag to speed up the process, giving her a pointed stare until she finally pauses and looks at me.

“Yes, ma’am. You’re my favorite human, you know that?”

��You’re mine. Try to rest.” I pull her into a quick hug, and then I’m on my way out the door.

I’d better be your favorite human. I bleached your ex-boyfriend’s sex towels. Vivid fantasies of murder accompany me on the drive to the hospital.

***

Of course, I only remember that I forgot to lock the station wagon when I’m already on the 4th flight of stairs in her building, taking them three at a time, trying to get a grip on my temper so I can actually be useful when I get to her place. Whatever, if someone wants my car that bad, they can have it. I was so busy mentally cursing Cletus that I nearly wrecked it like four times just getting it over here, and the drive’s only like 15 minutes.

I have to take a deep breath to avoid pounding on her door, but no matter what I do, I can’t get my adrenaline levels to chill out. Down, boy. This is not the time, place, or person for the whole John Wayne hero routine. Not that I’ve ever been very good at it, anyway. With one more deep breath, I arrange my face into some semblance of neutrality and manage a normal-volume knock.

Cora opens the door, bundled up in a massive quilt and looking like death, so much so that I’m probably gaping at her like a fool. So much for keeping a neutral expression. We stare at each other in silence for an excruciatingly long time, and I would speak up except that I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say. I’ve been preoccupied with all this stupid male anger for Alex, I didn’t even bother thinking about what I should say to her. Thankfully, she speaks up before I have to.

“What are you doing here?”

Okay, that I can work with. “Lucy called me.”

A skeptical crease between her eyebrows tells me that this information is news to her, so I explain as quickly as I can, “she said… she said you might need some help, uh, packing stuff.”

“Did she tell you why?” Her voice is a thin monotone.

I nod but then figure I should probably qualify so she doesn't think I’ve been prying. “I got the gist, yeah.”

“Fantastic.”

“I’m so sorry, Cora.”

“Sure you are,” she mutters with a sniff, huddling deeper into her blanket cloak.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I frown, kicking myself for not resisting the bait. She doesn't need a fight today, and I know that, but I’m still so fucking keyed up from the drive over here.

“This is the part where you say ‘I told you so,’ right? You called it, you should get to take credit for it.”

“I didn't come here to gloat, Cora.”

“Well, you should, you were right.” She rolls her eyes and refuses to look back at me, staring stubbornly down the hallway.

“This isn't exactly the kind of thing I want to be right about.”

My own voice is getting thicker as I talk because her eyes are reddening and I can't stand to see how much she's hurting, and trying to act like she’s not. When she doesn't answer me, I ask in a gentler voice, “can I come in?”

She nods and blinks back her tears, reaching for me, and I’ve got her wrapped up in my arms as fast as I can close the distance between us. She rests her head on my chest. I bury my nose in her hair, fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss her or do anything else that would make this about me, rather than what she needs. But I’ve really missed this. Every other thought vacates my brain, other than how much I’ve missed this. The way she fits in my arms. The way her hair smells. The warmth of her. Holy shit, warmth…

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” I rearrange so I can press my cheek against her forehead, nuzzling closer despite myself, “have you taken anything?”

She shakes her head, not letting go.

“Why the hell not,” I whisper.

“Didn't think about it,” she shrugs. “Anyway, it’s your fault.”

It’s still so terrifying to see her like this, and I don’t mean the fever. This calm detachment. Just like the other night, at the diner. Trying to pretend it never happened. That can’t be good. I give her one more bracing squeeze before loosening my grip, adjusting her blanket around her shoulders.

“Yeah. Okay. Sorry about that. Uh, I’ll check your medicine cabinet. You go get in bed, I’ll be right there, okay? I mean, not, ahem, not in your bed, just… I’ll be right there with whatever fever reducer I can find… obviously…”

She purses her lips in what could be either a smile or a wince and lets me steer her back toward her bedroom, rubbing her back once before I split off to the bathroom on the other side of the hallway.

Her medicine cabinet’s pretty sparse… some floss, some Alka Seltzer, a bag of cough drops that expired in 1986… the last one actually makes me laugh out loud… and miraculously, an unopened bottle of nighttime cold medicine that has a fever reducer in it. I don’t know how she’ll feel about the nighttime part, but she definitely looks like she could use the sleep, so I’m going with it. I grab the bottle, double back to the kitchen to get a glass of water, remembering which cabinet is which from the night I did her dishes. When I meet her in her bedroom, she’s sitting up, still out of the covers, with a nervous look on her face.

“I can’t take this, it’ll put me to sleep for hours!” she whines when she sees the label.

“That’s the general idea, yes. Unless you want to lie and tell me you slept well last night. Go ahead, try it.”

Through a peeved sigh, she huffs, “no. I stayed on the couch. Barely slept.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But if this stuff knocks me out, how am I supposed to help you pack?”

“You catch on quick, don’t you?” I sit on the foot of her bed, tugging the covers back to encourage her to climb under, and she obliges with a sour look on her face. “Look, I follow directions well, just tell me what I need to pack. You need to get as much rest as you can.”

“But what about Alex?”

“Let me worry about Alex.”

“Gee, what could possibly go wrong,” she quips, but she finally reaches out for the cup of dark green medicine I’m holding out for her. With a grimace, she downs it in one shot and washes it down with some of the water before letting me tuck her in like a little kid.

“Okay. I got most of his clothes into that suitcase already,” she nods at a huge bag on the floor, “there’s just the coat closet left. He’s got some stuff in the bathroom, that should be obvious enough. Everything in the den’s his -- not the furniture, but the TV, the video games, all that stuff. And then he has some things on the bookshelf, but I’ll have to talk you through that.”

“Or you could sleep and I could figure it out for myself.”

“You think so, do you?” She cocks an eyebrow and for a second, it’s like that detached fog has lifted. Jesus, I’ve missed her so much. I roll up my shirtsleeves to give myself a sensory distraction.

“Mmhmm. I’ve got a pretty good handle on your music taste, Red. What does he listen to, anyway?”

“Well, you can start with all the Elvis Costello --”

“-- oh, it fucking figures --”

“-- and the Springsteen, and the Zappa, and --”

She rattles off several more artists as I disappear around the corner and start pulling records off the shelves. What gets left behind in her collection is both a massive relief and a weird set of bedfellows: obviously, there’s the Doc Watson and the Hank Williams and the Johnny Cash and the Willie Nelson and the Woody Guthrie and the Pete Seeger and the Joni Mitchell and the Joan Baez and all the other hillbilly and/or hippie things I’d fully expect on her shelf. And among other things, she’s got a bunch of old blues and motown, a weird smattering of acid rock and heavy metal, what appears to be the complete discography of Tom Waits, ditto for Neil, and a few others I’m almost too afraid to ask about, just in case they’re Alex’s…

“Uhm… what about the Steely Dan albums?”

“Stay.”

Good girl. “Elton?”

“Go, sadly.”

“Right.” I keep them on the shelf but shove them back just a little. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “Books?”

Pretty much everything stays except the Asimov, Ayn Rand, Salinger… uhm… Hemingway and Steinbeck. You get the idea.”

That’s for sure. What a fucking prick this guy is. I start pulling titles and dropping them into the box. Every now and again, I’ll call one out to her for clarification, but she sounds increasingly sleepy, and after a while when I check in on her, she’s out cold. It doesn’t even wake her up when I make my way cautiously into her room to finish packing clothes in his suitcase and drag it down the hall. The rest of the apartment is pretty easy to sort out, and I’m taking no small joy in the catharsis of purging all traces of Alex from her place. Even his juvenile man-den takes no time at all to clear out, although I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my back moving his big stupid TV. I’m not going to tell her that, of course. Gotta keep some dignity here.

It’s about 11:00 when I’m pretty sure I’ve got all his bullshit piled up in the front room, and Cora’s still fast asleep. There’s one book title from her collection that stood out to me as being especially weird, even for her, so I snag it and stretch out on the couch to read it and pass the time. Every third or fourth sentence has me laughing, which of course still prompts disgusting coughing fits, so I do what I can to keep the noise down, but Cora doesn’t show any signs of waking. In what feels like no time at all, there’s a knock on the door and the clock is telling me it’s nearly noon.

Setting her book down and checking on her one last time on my way to answer the knock, because who’s in any great hurry to see this motherfucker anyway, I slowly make my way to the front door. His first reaction when I open it is to drop his jaw and turn an extremely unappealing shade of red. He’s looking sufficiently unwashed and exhausted and stressed out and pissed. All very good things.

“The fuck are you doing here?!”

“Keep your voice down, Alex, she’s sleeping.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, asshole, this is my apartment!”

“Mmm, not anymore, I don’t think.” It’s deeply gratifying to keep my voice as calm as possible while he gets more and more irate. I budge past him into the hallway, closing the door behind me so he won’t wake her up.

“So you’re just here playing house with my girlfriend, then??”

I lean against the door frame with my arms folded, maintaining steady eye contact while he incrementally loses his mind, even though he’s encroaching more and more on my personal space. I’ve never been big on the whole males-working-it-out-with-fisticuffs thing, but I’m sure as shit not going to let this dickweed intimidate me.

“I don’t have to explain shit to you. And she’s not your girlfriend.”

“I fucking knew it, I knew there was something going on with you and her, you obnoxious fucking --”

“I just came over to pack up your stuff. She’s too sick to do it. That’s it. Make whatever you want out of it, I don’t care, just don’t wake her up.”

“STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO, I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU --”

“Hey, Stone, is there a problem here?”

The voice that cuts through Alex’s screeching is a deep, calm, resonant kind of voice, of the kind that can quiet a noisy room without even raising its own volume. Over Alex’s shoulder, I watch Eddie appear from out of the stairwell, and as Alex whips around to face him, it takes every bit of my composure not to laugh. Eddie’s at least a full head and shoulders shorter than Alex, and by rights he’s like the least threatening guy I’ve ever met -- Jesus, he makes people friendship collages, who does that? -- but right now he’s got this crazy-eyed expression that, with his tightly wound posture, seems to fill the entire hallway with its intensity. It’s a look that immediately calls to mind cobras or other animals that can make themselves larger to unnerve predators. Or, in Eddie’s case, probably a non-venomous snake mimicking a cobra, a thought that is threatening to make me laugh even harder, but there’s no reason for Alex to know any of that.

Anyway, it’s working, to my delight and relief. Alex unballs his fists and takes a big step back.

“No problem, we’re just helping our friend Alex here move out of his former apartment today. Cora’s asked him to live elsewhere,” I explain to Eddie, who maintains a deep crease in his eyebrows and a fireball stare as he keeps his eyes fixed on Alex, nodding steadily.

“Sure, yeah, let’s get you moved out, friend.”

My rabid-faced, calm-voiced bandmate seems to be enough of a wild card to subdue Alex, who mutters something to the tune of, “fine, whatever, let’s get this over with.”

With Eddie’s help, it only takes a couple of trips between the three of us to dump all of Alex’s shit outside on the curb in front of his stupid Jeep, letting him pack it all inside. I wish I could say, for the preservation of my integrity, that I handled his belongings with the utmost care and didn’t accidentally crush a fragile item or six. But hey, I’m weak, I guess.

“SEEYA!” I chirp, waving enthusiastically, a shit-eating grin plastered on my face as Alex climbs into his truck with nothing more than a sad little “fuck you, asshole.”

Eddie maintains his cobra posture until the Jeep’s on its way out of the parking lot, before turning to me to ask, “hey, is Cora okay?”

“Ehhh, she’ll be fine,” I explain, heading back inside and holding the door open for him. “I mean she’s sick as hell, so that doesn’t help, but I think she’s alright.”

“Anything else I can do to help?” he tugs at his soul patch, frowning.

“Nah, I think running him off with our torches and pitchforks is plenty for now, thanks man. I appreciate you having my back there.”

“Hey, whatever the fuck happened, he wasn’t gonna make it any better by starting a fight outside her door.”

“Something tells me he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Not a big thinker, that one.”

“Some kind of son of a bitch or other, too, for her to throw him out like that.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Hey, thanks again,” I repeat once we’ve come to her door. As he opens his mouth, I cut him off, “I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do to help, for sure.”

With that, I wave to send him down the hallway to Jeff’s place and head back inside. So much for not waking her up… she’s parked on the couch, looking groggy and wary but impossibly gorgeous. And she’s ditched her blanket coat.

“Hey! You feeling better?”

“Mm,” she equivocates, “sort of. Fever’s gone, I think. For now.”

“Hope we didn’t wake you up with our friendly little gathering.” I sit next to her, moving the book I’d left propped open on the cushion over to the end table.

She toys with a tiny hole in the knee of her sweatpants. “Sounded ugly out there.”

“Well, given the company, that’s kind of a given.” The fact that she chuckles at my joke and doesn’t tell me to be nice about Alex is like a breath of fresh air after working all day in a mine. “But nobody died. And I’m pretty sure we got all his stuff.”

“Thanks, Stone,” she mumbles quietly, a little tremble in the way she says my name that threatens to do me in. “Really, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Did you manage to get some decent sleep?”

“Yeah, not bad,” she looks relieved at the change of subject. “The meds are still kicking my ass, so if I say anything incoherent, please be kind.”

“You got it.”

“Čapek?” she nods at the book, her voice sounding a little more assured.

“Yeah, well, I got done packing early, I had to pass the time somehow. You’ve got some crazy shit on those shelves, Red.”

“I love that one.” A tired smile spreads across her face. She’s prettier mid-flu than most women I know when they’re all dolled up. It’s unfair to womankind, really.

“Yeah? War With the Newts, 1936. Where the hell do you find this stuff?”

“Got it at a weird little used bookstore back in Asheville. You’re telling me you could resist that title? Come on, a sea captain discovers a race of highly intelligent newts, enslaves and exploits them, causing them to rebel until they finally conquer the world?”

“Hey! Spoilers!” I elbow her.

“Sorry, it’s just too good. How far did you get?”

“Definitely not into any overt newt-human conflict yet, I can tell you that much. The sea captain and that other guy were still debating how to use the newts in their pearl-harvesting scheme.”

“Oh, man, so you’re pretty early, you haven’t even gotten to my favorite part!”

“Which is?”

“Hey, spoilers,” she repeats, a wicked glint in her eyes.

“I think I’d rather hear you tell it, anyway.”

After chewing on her lip for a moment, she obliges. “Okay, you know how the newts develop a trusting rapport with the ship captain, kind of a symbiosis? Like, he sends them on diving missions to find pearls, and in return, they ask him for simple tools for their own developing society?”

“Right…”

“Well, they start to ask for more and more complicated tools, showing more and more of their own hidden intelligence, and the sea captain develops more and more affection for what he sees as his own pet newts, even though they hate him for exploiting their civilization. Very good imperialism satire, by the way.”

“Of course.”

“Well, coming up soon, that symbiosis starts to break down. One of them’s going to start menacingly asking a human for one object over and over, and then the newts all start to chant:” she holds her hand out and widens her eyes creepily, “‘knife? knife? knife?”

“Jesus,” I sputter. “So that’s the beginning of the end, then.”

“Yeah, it ends up being a pretty perfect skewer of nationalism, fascism, scientific hubris… really it’s the perfect sci-fi story.”

“Yeah, and it reads like something Douglas Adams would have written if he were alive in the ‘30s, it’s fucking hilarious.”

“I knew you were a quality human, Stone.”

I watch her cautiously, unsure how much to push her on such a fragile day, but unable to help myself. I mean, this is almost back to normal for us, right? Maybe she’s feeling better already. “Careful, I might start thinking we’ve graduated from a temporary ceasefire to a lasting peace.”

“You’re making a decent case for it today,” she fights a little smile. Hope sparks up in my chest, but now is definitely not the time to make a move, for fuck’s sake.

“So, uhm, you need anything else? You got enough food, that kind of thing?”

“I think I’ll survive, yeah.”

“Well, I mean, I did get you sick… Cornell brought me soup, I feel like I should pay it forward somehow… I still owe you dinner, anyway…”

“You don’t owe me dinner, Stone.”

“I mean it though, what’s your comfort food situation when you’re sick? Everyone has one.”

“You’re going to make fun of me.”

“Oh, most definitely, but I’ll still go out and get it for you.”

She crumples up her face, eyes shut tight. “Uhm… well, there was this one thing I always used to eat when I was a kid…”

“Lay it on me.”

“Tater tots…”

“Okay, that’s an unconventional choice for the flu, but it could be weirder…”

“...dipped in strawberry yogurt?”

“Nope. Okay, that’s it, we’re done here, you’re obviously history’s greatest monster.” I start to get up from the couch, wrinkling my nose in disgust, but she catches me by the wrist and tugs me back down, laughing. Predictably, I fold like a card table at her smallest touch.

“You promised!”

“Ughhh, fine, just don’t make me watch.” I stand up again less dramatically, and this time she lets me go, even though I’d prefer it if she didn’t.

“Wimp.”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

“Thanks, Stoner.”

“You bet.”

“I mean it. Thanks… for all of this. I don’t know how to tell you… how…” her eyes suddenly redden again, and she looks away, almost chuckling at herself with annoyance as she blinks furiously.

“Hey…” and I’m back on the couch next to her, my hand on her knee, trying to get her to look at me. “Hey, don’t worry about it, okay? Maybe go get a little more rest, I’ll be right back.”

“K.”

I give her a quick hug, which lingers as a hand on her back as she gets up and heads back to her bedroom. I wait until she’s out of sight before I throw on my coat and head out, renewing my resolve to just be her friend for as long as we can manage it, because that’s obviously what she needs the most.

***

“Hey… I’m back…”

I open my eyes to a swimming image of Stone sitting on the edge of my bed, still dressed for the outside weather, watching me through those huge, concerned owl eyes. I must have fallen asleep pretty quickly after he left.

“Hey.”

“Uhm, the food’s in the fridge. I got your requested grossness, plus a few other things that us normies eat when we’re sick, you know, in case you wanna try and assimilate.”

“K.”

“I think I’m gonna head out, let you get a little more rest. Lucy’ll probably be back in a few hours, she said she was gonna come straight over when she gets off of work.”

“Stone… please don’t go yet, I don’t want you to go…” I hardly know what I’m saying, my head’s still so fuzzy from the combination of cold medicine and interrupted napping, but I know I don’t want him to go anywhere yet. I don’t want to be alone in this place yet. I fumble for his hand to make sure my point gets across even through my inarticulateness.

“Oh...kay…” he nods, looking taken aback. “You want me to hang out on the couch until Lucy gets back? I can do that.”

“No…” I tug a little harder on his hand. “No, can you… can you stay here? Can you…” ugh, loser alert, “can you hold me for a little while?”

Frown lines deepening on his face, he nods and stands up to shake off his coat, his baseball cap, his blue button-down. He nudges off his boots and then climbs in next to me, letting me curl up in the crook of one arm as he pulls the blanket up with the other.

“Better?” he asks quietly, once we’re situated. The answer is no, of course not, not really, but the words don’t want to be said. In an inescapable wave, every awful thought I’ve been pushing down since last night swamps over me. Like the feeling of waking up from a nightmare, discovering with sheer relief that none of it was real, except that the wires got crossed somewhere and only the horrible stuff was true all along. Only the worst things you think about yourself are left. That you’re not lovable, not even to the only person who ever tried, that you’re not good enough, that you’re a way station for other people until their Something Better comes along, a consolation prize, a dead weight. That everyone’s going to leave, eventually, one way or the other, and that you might not even be valuable enough to them to be worth leaving properly. That you can’t even take comfort in a moral high ground because deep down, you know you have the ability to treat people this way, too. The sobs shake out in terrible gasps against Stone’s chest, endless, bottomless. God, I hate that I’m doing this to him. Stone, of all people. I’ve got to get my shit together, this isn’t fair to him.

“I’m s-sorry…” I manage to choke out, once the oxygen decides to stay in my lungs long enough to let me.

“Jesus, what the hell for?” his fingers find their way into my hair and begin to rake slowly through it, repetitively, consistently, in a way that gives me something to think about other than… anything else. I wind my arm further around his middle, clutch the fabric of his t-shirt in my fingers, thread our legs together, hold onto him for dear life, trying to get as close as I can, and he responds with a steady embrace and a quick kiss on my forehead.

“You’re just,” I sniffle, trying to pull my shit together, “it’s just really unfair, it’s almost funny, how you’re like… the worst possible person for this job…”

“What job?”

“Listening to me cry over Alex. Like a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not a fucking idiot.”

“God, this is so stupid, I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s not like I want him back…” I wipe my cheeks, but there’s nothing I can do about the puddle on his shirt.

“That’s fair enough. There’s no excuse for what he did.”

His words cause an uncomfortable twinge, a familiar one. “Yeah, except I did the same thing to him.”

“Huh?” Stone cranes his neck to look down at me, disbelief etched all over his face.

“With you.”

“Uh-uh. No.” He rests his head back on the pillow and resumes his compulsive stroking of my hair. “Our thing was totally different.”

Was…Our thing was totally different. Granted, last week feels like it happened a year ago, but I’m not sure I’m ready to bury it under the past tense yet. I guess Stone is. Ouch. There’s a thought I don’t want to dwell on today.

“Uh… enlighten me.”

“Well, for one thing, you’re a pretty bad liar.”

“I’m sorry Stoner, is this you trying to make me feel better?!”

“You know what I mean. You wear your feelings --” he interrupts the rhythm of his hand to perch it on my shoulder “-- right here. And your whole Jiminy Cricket conscience muscle is way too overdeveloped. You could never do what he did. The sheer amount of deception involved in that kind of two-timing is fucking staggering.”

“Yeah, even to her.”

“Huh?”

“The girl. Cindy. She didn’t know about me either.”

For a second time, Stone arches his neck to try to get a better look at me. “No way.”

“Way.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“She didn’t know he had a girlfriend??”

“She seemed as shocked to learn about me as I was about her.”

“But, like…” he continues to gape in confusion, so exaggeratedly that it’s almost funny, “she came over to your house? Did she not notice that there are pictures of you guys together here? Like, all over the place?”

I don’t know why, but picking the situation apart like this with him actually helps me get a little distance from it again. Good. I don’t know if I can stand another attack of pathetic sobs in front of a witness. “Yeah, well, our Cindy didn’t strike me as the brightest tool in the drawer.”

He snorts as he relaxes back down again. “God, I love you. That’s another difference, by the way.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone, but likewise. But they were together for a year, Stone, I’m sure similar language was involved.”

“And that’s another thing,” he carries on, undeterred, “the length of time! Jesus! Who does that?? Fucking asshole, that’s who.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry. For snotting up your shirt and everything.”

“Who’s the snot otter now?” he smirks. “Anyway, don’t. You’re allowed. You just got your heart broken, you get a free pass for all kinds of obnoxious shit.”

Once again, I don’t know what to say other than thanks, and I feel like I’ve already said that so many times that it’s going to get stuck in my throat if I try again. But another thought occurs.

“Have you ever?”

“What?”

“Had your heart broken?”

“Oh, sure, lots of times. I mean, sometimes I’ve been on the other end of it, but yeah, of course.”

“Tell me about it?”

He’s silent for a moment. “Well, the first one’s always the worst, right? I’d had a couple of girlfriends in high school, but the first one I ever really loved was this girl, Annie. This was like, sophomore and junior year, so real revolting puppy love shit. Writing her name in my notebook, walking her home from school, talking for hours on the phone at night, all that stuff. Anyway, she left a note in my locker at the end of the year telling me that she’d decided to get back together with her ex. And that was it. Didn’t see her all summer, and when we went back to school in the fall, she acted like she didn’t know me.”

“Fuck. That must have been hard.” I wrap myself even tighter around him, wanting to insulate someone so good from ever being treated so cruelly. He responds in kind with a rib-cracking squeeze.

“It was. For a while. You get over it, though.”

“For the sake of argument, I will pretend what you said is not, in fact, a crock of shit and ask you the obvious question: how?”

He shakes with one of those tiny laughs I’ve come to love, the kind that seems to get stuck in his nose. “I don’t know, you kinda… you go through this stage where everything that happens to you, or around you, reminds you of that person, because you’re so used to telling one person everything on your mind, and sharing everything, and all of your stories point to them, they’re you’re reference for everything, like your…” he grimaces at his own word choice, “your North Star, or whatever. So it’s like there’s salt in the wound, constantly…”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yeah, it is. But after enough time goes by, other people start becoming new focal points for you, and you have new stories that are tied to those people, and they kinda start to fill in the sky with other constellations, until that one person doesn't seem so prominent anymore. And then one day you’re squinting at the sky, trying to figure out how that person was ever such a big deal at all.”

Past tense, present tense, whatever we are, however confusing my situation with Stone has gotten, this is exactly what I need right now: to be curled up in his arms, letting him run his fingers through my hair, while he climbs the ladder and hangs the stars back up in the sky one by one. Just like he said he would.

#i tried to do a couple things here and idk if they worked #the usual #anyway hope it's readable #chapter 25 #behind the sun #jeff ament #stone gossard #mike mccready #pearl jam #fanfiction #fanfic

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Getting Chirpy

A few weeks ago @distant-rose was like...what if there were fans who were upset about Will’s nickname for Matthew Jones?? Because Dr. J was a very famous basketball player. And I was like that’s actually hysterical. It’s taken some time, but it’s been a day and a half for Ro and she deserves some hockey feelz. So here’s that. In, like, spades.

“Ok, ok, ok, I know we’re not supposed to look at headlines, but—“

“—Are you looking at headlines, Lucas?”

“Shut up, Cap,” Ruby snapped, slamming the door behind her and marching into the restaurant with a purpose that made Emma sit up a bit straighter. She winced at the movement, the bench unforgiving against the small of her back and several different worried glances shot her direction.

She rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” Ariel muttered, leaning over the top of the bar and pointedly ignoring Eric’s rather pitiful attempts to stop her. Her feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. “Here.”

Emma blinked when she realized what was being thrown her direction – a goddamn pillow and she probably should have known, but it was the beginning of the season and maybe things had been a little more hectic this time around because this time around she also had a recently-turned-three-year-old to contend with and a home opener that was a week later than usual and—

“Don’t ask,” Ariel warned, rolling her eyes when Killian tried to object or explain or something. It didn’t really matter one way or another because everyone in that entire restaurant knew Emma was going to covet that pillow like it was made of actual gold.

That had totally been his plan.

Idiot.

“I think he’s got some stashed everywhere,” Robin mumbled knowingly. He didn’t move his eyes towards Emma though, far too preoccupied with that recently-turned-three-year-old. Matt was perched on the edge of the stool, laughter ringing in the air around him and both his hands resting on Robin’s jacket, David hovering a few feet behind to make sure the whole thing didn’t dissolve into disaster.

“Where else would he put them?” Emma asked.

“Think of a place and they’re probably there.”

“That’s insane.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

Emma laughed, squirming again when the pillow seemed to rebel agains the bottom of her spine and she couldn’t figure out where to put her arms. There was just…way too much in front of her and of her and several other ways of expressing the words far too pregnant without actually saying those words because they felt kind of horrible in that particular order.

“This one’s been here for seriously years,” Ariel shrugged. “I think he forgot it was here.”

“You know I’m sitting right here, right?” Killian asked, the words barely audible when he didn’t move his mouth away from the glass in his hand. Water. All water all the time.

It’s the start of the season, Swan.

And probably something about her inability to drink alcohol.

He was the world’s biggest idiot.

Ariel shrugged again. “That doesn’t exactly sound like an objection. How long has this pillow been here?”

“I genuinely do not know.”

“And you don’t think that’s a problem?”

“Why did you know it was there?”

“You do know that this is my restaurant, right, Cap?” Ariel seethed, waving another distracted hand over her shoulder when Eric started to object to that particular point. “Like. I’m letting you hang out here. With your home goods.”

“I legitimately forgot it was there.”

“The first step is admitting you have a problem,” Will muttered, not quite able to keep the laughter out of his voice while Robin and David made eerily similar noises. “Em, if I get more onion rings, you want to split ‘em with me and Dr. J?”

Emma shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry, what? Are you turning down onion rings? Cap, are you hearing this? Shouldn’t you be going into imminent second child crisis mode?”

Robin mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like shut up, Scarlet, groaning when Matt moved onto his thighs and it took less than a full second for David to pull the kid into his arms – earning several kicks for his efforts. Mary Margaret took a picture. It was even more impressive with her own kid in her arms.

And Killian grinned at Emma.

She was going to throw the pillow straight at his face.

She wasn’t entirely sure she could move enough to do that.

“That’s not what’s happening here,” Killian grinned, moving across the restaurant quickly and easily and it probably wasn’t supposed to be attractive but stupid pregnant was basically Emma’s excuse for everything at this point. He tapped the side of her ankle when he stopped short of the booth, but Emma didn’t move, just twisted her lips and waited for whatever slightly strange game of flirting they were playing to move to the next level.

Or whatever.

She’d lost total control of the metaphor.

God, she wanted onion rings. And like…maybe just straight onions? That was a disgusting thought.

Killian chuckled lightly, hooking his forearm under her calves and lifting her feet up so he could sit down. He couldn’t quite mask his own groan when her heels collided with that one bruise on the side of his thigh, and that probably should have worried her more. She was far too distracted by whatever his thumb was doing against the top of her shin, tracing out absent-minded circles with a smile on his face and a secret stash of pillows across the greater Manhattan area.

“Was anyone going to explain what was happening here, then?” Will demanded. Killian didn’t look at him, didn’t stop moving his thumb either, but his lips twitched slightly and it took a few seconds for him to twist enough that his right hand landed on Emma’s side.

“You are a menace,” she accused, and he hummed in response. She wished he’d stop doing that thing with his mouth. She hoped he didn’t stop doing that thing with his mouth.

“Yes, and I’m pretty sure our kid learned his distinct lack of limb control from you, Swan.”

“Wow, that’s rude.”

“An observation.”

“Still,” Emma argued, and she’d forgotten entirely about the rest of the restaurant and whatever Regina-esque metronome Ruby was tapping out with her heel. “Not exactly positive.”

“His flailing limbs are not inherently negative.”

“Whatever. I refuse to take responsibility for that. You’re the professional athlete. Teach him better and while you’re at all it, deal with the other one.”

She’d done it mostly – entirely – for the reaction and the gasp that swept across the entire restaurant was oddly satisfying, Killian’s eyebrows jumping up his forehead and lips parting slightly and Matt was standing on top of the bar now.

“Doing backflips,” Emma continued, like that wasn’t a huge deal or endearing or several other words she didn’t want to consider when Killian’s entire hand moved over the swell of her stomach. “Or running sprints or something.”

Killian’s head snapped up – eyes bright and smile wide and for one vaguely distracting moment Emma considered jumping him in the booth. That would probably end with the pillow on the floor though, and she didn’t want to challenge her spine like that, and there’d been rumors of possible bed rest at the last doctor’s appointment and—

“Was anyone going to actually get Emma the onion rings she wanted?” Mary Margaret asked, and it shouldn’t have been surprising she knew. It wasn’t really. “Because I think Killian’s kind of forgot and Ruby looks like she wants to kill all of us.”

“Oh, you’re all going to die incredibly gruesome deaths for whatever nonsense I just had to witness,” Ruby announced. She slung an around Roland, muttering words when he tried to pull away and keep playing some form of pick-up hockey with Henry that just looked like them trying to bounce the puck on their stick for prolonged periods of time. “But it did actually kind of segue into the headlines that, just for the record, Cap, it’s my job to know about.”

“Then why did you ask?” David asked archly.

“David, you were the one who told me!”

There was another collective notes – oohs and ahhhhs and the matching sounds of Will and Ariel’s laughter. She’d jumped onto the bar as well at some point, Dylan moving onto her lap and Matt hanging off her back and Ruby was absolutely all going to kill them.

“It’s Scarlet’s fault,” David argued. That got Will to stop laughing.

“Wait, what?”

“You think you’re way too clever.”

“I mean, that’s true,” Killian mumbled, hand still on Emma’s stomach and something that felt a hell of a lot like flirting settling on his face. Again. Or whatever.

“Ruby’s going to kill you first,” Emma chided.

It sounded a bit like Ruby growled. And Roland hissed when her arm apparently tightened too much. “Ah, damn,” she sighed. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Rol. Listen, I need you to blame everyone else on this team for whatever is happening.”

“You haven’t actually said what’s happening, Ru,” Roland reasoned.

“Smart kid.”

“Rubes, you are not doing yourself any favors with this storytelling,” Emma said. “Burying the lede as it were.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes, hooking her chin over Roland’s shoulder and leveling Emma with a stare like she was worried she was going to do something detrimental to her health if she said anything. “It’s really not bad,” she started, eyes flitting towards Killian. “It’s just…kind of absurd.”

“How absurd?”

“Like literally the most absurd thing that’s ever happened to us.”

“Hands down,” David added, Emma and Killian groaning in tandem.

“If this is about playing and Mattie…” Killian said, voice low and slightly captain and Emma moved her fingers towards the back of his neck. She tried, at least. There was just…so much of her.

Ruby waved her hands through the air. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s, ok, apparently someone in David’s precinct is, what what would you call it?”

“A super Nets fan,” David finished.

Emma blinked. “The Nets? Like the basketball team?”

“One and the same.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

It took Robin, exactly, one head tilt and a slightly strangled gasp to understand. Emma still didn’t. Killian’s hand didn’t move. “Oh my God,” Robin shouted. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, David is right, Scarlet. This is all your fault.”

“How do you figure?”

“How did anyone find out?” Robin asked, glancing at David. Mary Margaret answered.

“I think it’s actually my fault.”

It couldn’t have been good for Emma’s blood pressure to keep being surprised like that. She hadn’t gotten her onion rings yet. “You guys are all absolute garbage at telling stories. Also, if any of you let my kid fall off that bar, I’m not going to stop Killian from inevitably suffocating you with this pillow.”

“Yeah, he’d do it too,” David mumbled, flashing Emma an apologetic smile. “Ok, so, uh…I had to work a couple days ago when we played the Stars? But Cap scored that goal and Mary Margaret was taking video post game and she showed me the other day while I was still in the office and, uh…”

“Scarlet could be heard calling mini-Jones Dr. J,” Ruby finished. “And, well, that super fan in the precinct complained about it on the internet and—“

“Wait, wait, he complained about it on the internet?” Robin interrupted.

Ruby scowled – clearly biting back several stating retorts and she couldn’t cross her arms when she was still draped over an obviously frustrated Roland. “What part of crazed fan do you not get?”

“But aren't the Nets horrible?”

“Yes. Why do you think that would stop them?”

“Where exactly do the headlines come into it, Lucas?” Killian asked, and Emma knew that tone of voice. Overprotective dad mode, activated.

“We cover the Nets.”

“We?”

“MSG Networks. And they’ve got their own show and Rook was going to be on Arthur’s coaching show and they film right before that and, uh…they were talking about it. On the show.”

“They realize Matt is three years old, right?”

“You don’t have to challenge them to a duel, Cap. I’ve taken care of it.”

Killian opened his mouth, only to close it just as quickly because he was absolutely going to challenge some TV present to some kind of duel and he clicked his tongue when Emma scooted further towards him. “Oh, shut up,” she mumbled. “And maybe move your hand to my shoulder.”

“Which one?”

“I genuinely do not care.”

Ruby made another noise, throwing her head back to the ceiling and Roland didn’t appreciate that other. “I’m not intentionally trying to choke you, Rol. Just…all the adults in this restaurant are idiots.”

“What’s the headline, Rubes?” Mary Margaret asked, a picture of calm that was as much a ruse as anything else. She held her hand out expectantly when Eric moved behind the bar, a plate of steaming onion rings in his hand. “Don’t burn your tongue,” she said, a smile on her face when she slid onto the opposite side of the booth from Emma and Killian.

“Yes, Mom,” Emma muttered. She burned her tongue anyway.

“Guys,” Ruby whined. “Seriously, I did some pretty goddamn fantastic things today and before Scarlet starts coming up with more absurd nicknames for mini-Jones two-point-oh—"

“—Stop insulting my nicknames, Lucas,” Will said. “They’re way better than yours and that kid’s going to get a William in his middle name, I’m sure of it.”

“It’s going to be a girl,” Killian promised, no hint of anything except certainty in his voice and they hadn’t found out this time. They were over competitive weirdos, the both of them.

“Guys,” Ruby shouted. She stamped her foot. “I have headlines!”

Emma waved her hands through the air, nearly smacking Killian in the back of the head in the process. “Sorry, sorry, Rubes. What’s your headline?”

“Julius Erving’s daughter.”

“Excuse me?”

“Julius Erving. Better known as Dr. J, was a very good basketball player who played for the Nets when they weren’t as horrible as they are now, Scarlet thinks he’s hysterical, you guys named your kid the way you did and Nets fans, apparently, didn’t appreciate a hockey star stealing the nickname. There were those internet headlines, the TV show, and I decided to screw them all and went straight to the source.”

“Well, some of the source,” David amended.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, Julius Erving was unavailable. So we went to his people and—“ She brandished a Post in front of her, expression triumphant and it wasn’t a big story. It didn’t deserve to be a story, but, Emma, supposed, it was kind of nice in the same way the pillow stash was kind of nice, a defense and a family and absurd nicknames and traditions.

The headline was, admittedly, pretty catchy.

Dr. J’s Daughter Promises Blueshirts Nickname A-OK

There were more words, promises that it was honoring my father’s legacy and actually kind of funny and Will was probably going to frame it. Emma was out of onion rings.

And Matt never fell off the bar, but he did move towards Will demanding down, down, down, moving as fast as his legs could carry him until Killian scooped him up and it took, exactly, eight minutes for him to promptly fall asleep.

“So, I’ve saved all of us from being shamed by the Nets,” Ruby said, hours later and more food and a distinct lack of alcohol. It’s the start of the season, Swan. And an incredibly pregnant Emma. “And ensured we can have more ridiculous nicknames. You’re welcome.”

Will saluted. Ruby threw a fry at him.

“I’m telling you, Lucas, something, something, William Jones. It’s happening.”

Killian shook his head. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, Scarlet.”

“You know more than you’re giving up, Cap?”

“Nah, just a feeling.”

“He’s positive,” Emma added, and she couldn’t stop the smile from settling on her face. Will didn’t look convinced.

It didn’t matter, a few months and several weeks of barely-agreed-to bed rest later, and Emma wasn’t sure Killian had stopped smiling once. He kept bobbing on his toes, a distinct glint in his eyes that made it difficult to fall asleep when all Emma wanted to do was fall asleep, but he looked torn between overjoyed and a little overwhelmed and—

“We heard there was a kid in here,” Will said, leaning around the open hospital door with his own smile and Matt hanging off his side. There was a small crowd behind him. “You want to confirm those rumors about a future star defender, Cap?”

Killian shook his head, the bundle he refused to put down making a frustrated noise at the sudden influx of sound. “Margaret Elsa,” he announced, and Emma’s eyes darted up quick enough to see Mary Margaret’s hand fly to her mouth and her shoulders sag a bit and she probably shouldn’t have been able to hear the slight whimper that fell out of her, but it felt like the kind of day for auditory miracles.

“Ah,” Will sighed, not able to shrug when Matt was trying to stand on his shoulders. “She’ll probably dominate the league anyway. We allowed to come in?”

“If you promise to be quiet.”

“Deal.”

Mary Margaret was dangerously close to sobbing, Ruby’s eyeliner a lost cause and both Robin and Regina had their phones out already, one of them undoubtedly FaceTime’ing Colorado. And there weren’t any more headlines, no mention of absurd nicknames or overprotective family members with the cellphone numbers of every member of the New York media.

Matt reached out slowly as soon as he and Will moved in front of Killian, tiny fingers shaking a bit. Will wrapped his hand around his wrist, directing him and holding him back slightly, quiet mumblings of soft, Dr. J, like we talked about and Emma was glad she hadn’t fallen asleep.

“You ok?” she asked, glancing at Mary Margaret perched on the side of the hospital bed.

She nodded. “Better. I…thank you.”

“We think we might call her Peggy.”

“I love it.”

“Here here,” Will muttered, voice shaking a bit and Matt was mumbling introductions to his recently-acquired sister. “Good nickname. You’re just dominating today, aren’t you, Em?”

“Something like that. Did I steal your nickname-creating thunder?”

Will chuckled lightly, hitching Matt further up his side when he started to slide towards the ground. “Nah, I think you get a pass today. Don’t you think, Cap?”

“Decidedly,” Killian answered. He didn’t let go of Peggy when he moved towards Emma, pressing a kiss to her still-slightly sweaty temple.

“Exactly. I’ll wait for the next Jones kid anyway. Surprise you all with my nickname tendencies and middle name honors then.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Scarlet.”

Emma fell asleep eventually, the room cleared out and Matt staying with Will and Belle again and she probably wasn’t supposed to let Killian on the bed with her, but they both hated putting Peggy down and neither one of them could stop smiling. There weren’t any headlines.

#cs ff #captain swan #blue line one shots #THERE IS PRESEASON HOCKEY TOMORROW EVERYONE #GET READY FOR THE INFLUX OF HOCKEY-FEELINGS AND HOCKEY-FUELED FIC #CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP

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