#we saw it when he was struggling with keeping a distance with Mason

[fluffypotatey]

*staring deeply at my dr. geyer & liam fic* ........what if i just said fuck canon?

[voidstilesplease]

in another life

part one

"We have a bit of a situation," is what greets him when Stiles takes the call. Mason sounds winded on the other side. "Are you almost in town?"

His eyebrows shot up, "I'm perfectly well driving in the snow, Mason. Thank you for asking."

"Stiles,"

He rolls his eyes, "Thirty minutes tops. You guys are making me feel warm, huh." Stiles disconnects the call and almost regrets his decision to come home early for Christmas, but it's too late to turn back now.

~•~

He parks outside of Scott's house - the official pack headquarters even if Scott himself has not returned from college yet. He promises to arrive in four days while Lydia has scheduled a flight for next week. Malia is stuck with papers and can't fly until the 23rd. For now, Stiles is responsible for the pack until Scott returns - he resents that. He should've gone home first and changed into comfortable clothes, but Liam has rung him up, frantic, two more times after Mason's call. They won't tell what the problem is. Stiles figures if it were a life-and-death thing, they wouldn't delay information. They are vying for the drama is what's going on.

Melissa opens the front door and beams when she sees him. She opens her arms wide for a hug, "Hey! Looking good, Stiles. FBI been taking care of you?"

Before he can reply, Liam appears from behind Melissa. "Stiles!" his face looks so harried, splotches of red appearing. "Sorry to interrupt, but you really have to see this."

Liam hurries back without checking if Stiles follows, but he scrambles after him with an apologetic smile to Melissa. The beta leads him upstairs to Scott's old room. From the hallway, Stiles can already hear two voices talking, sifting out of the open door.

"Look-"

"No, you look. I don't know why you guys took me here or why you seem so wary about me. But, Jesus Christ, for the hundredth time, I don't know you."

Stiles frowns, confused. One of the voices belong to Mason, the other-

He stops short by the doorframe, startled at the unexpected sight of Theo Raeken sitting by the foot of Scott's bed. 

They haven't seen the guy since Gerard's plan to start a war between the supernaturals in Beacon Hills and the residents -and the subsequent flop. He left town less than a month after Tamora Monroe and her hunter lackey's escaped. They haven't heard from him since, and that had been two years ago.

Theo looks almost the same when Stiles last saw him. His hair is long, fringe falling to his eyes, and he has the same stocky build. His face scrunches in annoyance and impatience, and that's also not new. The only difference probably is his five o'clock shadow, reminding Stiles that he has also grown since then. He has always been clean-shaven.

Theo catches sight of Stiles by the doorway and his expression shifts to that of relief. "Oh, thank god, Stiles." He gets to his feet and crosses their small distance in two strides. Without preamble, Theo takes Stiles into his arms, clutching him firmly, as he buries his face in Stiles's neck.

Stiles is too stunned to push him away -and he should because there could be a dagger poised to pierce his guts any second now- but even Liam and Mason freeze in their spots. Liam snaps from his daze, and his eyes begin to glow yellow in a warning. Theo leans back and takes Stiles's face between his hands, ignoring the low growl coming from Liam. What's even more baffling is that he smiles. Theo Raeken smiles - not smirks, or frowns, or grimaces, but smiles. "You're here."

Mason finds his voice, "Wait. I thought you had amnesia and didn't know any of us?"

Liam retracts his claws and fangs when Theo turns back to them, seemingly unarmed. The beta scoffs, watching the way the chimera presses himself close to Stiles. For his part, Stiles is still recovering from the onslaught of uncharacteristic behavior from Theo and his blatant cluelessness of what's going on. It looks like the snow has given Stiles brain freeze from the long drive because he's only gawking instead of asking questions. The FBI should not hear about this. 

"Of course, he forgets all of us, but not Stiles," Liam crosses his arms, a little bit of condescension dripping in his tone. "The ghost riders took him and basically erased him from existence, and Theo still remembered him, anyway."

Theo looks lost, trying to follow Liam's words, "Why wouldn't I remember Stiles?"

"Hm," Liam curls his lips. "Those were even your exact words before."

"Okay," Stiles says, having enough of this. He steps away from Theo, raising both his hands in a gesture of stop. He fixes his gaze between Liam and Mason. "What is going on?"

"I've been trying to ask the same thing," Theo interjects, scowling at Mason and Liam. "But they hardly speak to me and refuse to let me go."

Liam exhales, sounding exasperated. "He woke up in the hospital," he starts, ignoring Theo. "making a scene, insisting he shouldn't be in California, and that he was just in New York seconds ago."

"Liam's dad recognized him," Mason offers. "So he told Melissa who called us. Then, we collected Theo and brought him here."

Liam shakes his head, eyes on Theo. "But he keeps saying he doesn't know us, or even Scott."

"I don't," Theo steps forward again and tugs at Stiles's clothed arm. "Let's just leave, babe-"

Stiles promptly plants his feet to the floor and halts Theo, blinking rapidly. "Wait, wait, wait," he withdraws his arms and puts his hands in between them to establish distance. Theo has been evading Stiles's personal space like friends would, but Stiles draws the line at endearments. They're not friends, and he isn't a babe. "What did you call me?"

Theo frowns at him, a hurt look crossing his features. "Babe," he answers like it's not a questionable thing at all. "I called you babe."

"Wow," Liam scoffs, blinking in disbelief. "Not only are you amnesiac. You've also apparently gone mad."

Theo turns to Liam, getting a more violent shade of red in the face. He would've stepped towards him in a challenge had Stiles not intercepted him with a hand to his chest. Stiles is surprised that Theo even concedes. There's only a slight force in his touch that a chimera with superstrength like Theo can strike with no problem.

"I'll tell you what's crazy," Theo grounds his teeth, nose flaring at Liam. "I don't know what the fuck is going on or who the hell you two are. I don't know how I'm here. Some kind of-" he delays, struggling, and then spits out, "magic plucked me from New York, and put me on the other side of the goddamn State. I thought I was dreaming, but the nurses keep claiming to sedate me." his hands gesture back and forth at the two. "Then you strangers keep coming at me, saying my name like we knew each other, telling me I live in a car - I don't, okay? I have a fucking apartment in Manhattan. I live with my boyfriend, and Stiles and I were having a stupid snow fight when I lost consciousness and woke up in that damn hospital. That's what crazy is!"

Silence follows Theo's outburst. Stiles can feel Liam and Mason's eyes -and even Melissa's from where she's standing outside the room- on him. He only gapes at Theo's flushed face and heaving chest.

"Did you just call me your boyfriend?"

Theo transfers his eyes on him, looking gutted. "Of course, I did." His expression quickly morphs to worry, "Has something happened to you, too?" then his face falls in dread when he asks, realizing the situation. "You don't remember me?"

It sounds like Theo’s remembering the wrong things, but Stiles's only response is to stare. What's happening is too bizarre for his exhausted mind to process. He's glad that there's no maiming involved with this little reunion with an old nemesis, but he doesn't know what to do with all the touching and intent looking and the sudden selective amnesia.

Theo looks crestfallen for an awkward while before his face lights up again. "We have to call Tara. She-"

"Tara?" Stiles echoes loudly, rearing back and cutting him off in shock. "Your sister?"

He beams, nodding his head. "Good. You remember her. That's progress, I think."

Stiles blurts out before he can think to stop himself, "You think she's alive?"

Theo pauses. His smile slowly flattens out, until he frowns, eyes reflecting a little bit of alarm at the crass question. "Why wouldn't she be?"

And yeah, Stiles doesn't have enough brain cells to start explaining that.

Theo's confusion has to straighten out as soon as possible.

~•~

title from: The One That Got Away by Katy Perry

[guigz1-coldwar]

"Facing the truth" : New chapter of 'Redemption of a Spirit in a Cold War" out !

'Facing the truth'

Chapter Summary :

Bell is getting ready to face Adler in person after he left her for dead in Solovetsky

Words : +3000

To read it on AO3, click here !

--------------------------

It was feeling so good to be back again after all these years in a coma. I knew in advance that if I was to return along with Park, that would also mean that I couldn't have left like that. I needed to fight back against Perseus himself. It was my fight for years now, a fight that started since a long time and something I would never back down before his threat on the world is no longer here, including everyone who is in his private circle. Park saw that I was willing to help and once she see that, she offered her hand to give me a chance and I accepted it !

At first, she decided to update me about the whole situation about Perseus and his organization after 3 years. At first, she prefered to talk about what happened after Solovetsky, explaining that he went back to the shadows again, avoiding the CIA, the MI6 and every other organizations to have a proper lead against him because the intels they got after the cleanup at Solovetsky ended up either to be a dead end or something that Perseus canceled, fearing to get further exposed. Everything was feeling so quiet but Adler preferred to keep the team on alert.

Then, it took more than 6 months until Perseus started to reappear under the West's radar but this time, he was making small operations around the world, not something like Greenlight or anything big enough to change the course of the Cold War. It were something like helping the drugs cartel in South America or by supplying the Soviets in Afghanistan. In September 1981, Park explained that Perseus tried to create a second Korean War but they succeeded to foiled his plan by getting rid of a rogue North Korean colonel that was planning to take over the country.

It didn't happen so much in 1982 as Park exclaimed to me but she was not sure to talk about this year like if something was troubling her and I decided that it was just some stress about telling me all of this. Perseus was more silent but still making his moves in South America and in 1983 at the end of the year, Park and the others were successful into getting rid of an operation nicknamed 'Goldeneye'....the same one Belikov mentioned days earlier to me. Apparently, Perseus planned to use satellites to 'send England back to the Stone Age' as Park told me as it was the man leading the project who told that to her.

After that and again Perseus was back into the shadows until he tried to eliminate everyone in an ambush in Afghanistan but he failed and unfortunately for him, he exposed himself back to the West. Once I've got everything in my mind and fully updated of the situation, Park admitted that their actuals leads on Perseus were very small and nothing can help them at the moments, meaning that only time can help us to find more on Perseus. And she was right, when I checked up the intels the team got, they were nothing that could help me too. Nothing to decypher and nothing very useful.

That was meaning that we needed to wait for further intels to arrive and even more to actually give us something concrete and when everything was done, the evening was falling on the city meaning that a new day passed.....and that Adler was going to arrive with the others.

"So, you're sure about this ?" Park asked me after we discussed of our plan....well, my plan to face Adler alone. I was leaned on his desk while she was looking at me near the dashboard.

"Of course I am." I replied, sure "I need to know why he did this....why he lied to me and to you."

"Adler lied to everyone of us, you know ?" She crossed her arms, looking around the room "Mason, Woods and even Sims about your death."

"Wait." I step away from his desk, curious "How is it possible that he succeeded to have lied to Mason & Woods ? They were with us that day !" That wasn't possible at all for me to hear that, I looked at her surprised.

"They told me that you & Adler went to find out about some intels and that you took a bullet for him from an hidden Perseus soldier before leaving the monastery." She explained to me, now understanding how he succeeded to lie

"Well, I took a bullet." I started trying to joke "Except that it was from Adler himself and on a cliff." Then, I stop trying to be funny because I realized that it wasn't so fun.

"I lied to them too, Yirina." She sniffed, looking and sounding serious. "They never knew your real identity : they're still think that you are Jess Blackwell, a MI6 agent."

"But why ?"  I asked

"Because...." She took a breath, cutting her "It's hard to talk about this to Mason." She looked at the dashboard behind her, precisely at the picture of a man where it was marked 'Dragovich '68'  "Mason suffered the same thing and that's not something he would like to talk in public about."

"He was brainswashed too ?" I looked away, shocked to hear that

"That Dragovich along with others, he did this, he tried to make him assassinate Kennedy but he struggled with all of that and he succeed to kill Dragovich." She responded before getting close to me, leaving some distances between us "Even after what will happen this night, it's better to not open up on this subject with him."

"Everyone....them....they need to know about who I am." I affirmed, narrowing my eyes.

"I agree with that but with Mason, it would be better to take it easy."  She locked eyes with me with an reassuring voice "I will understand all your anger you will maybe have against Adler."

"I only need to be sure that you will be able to control the others in case." I said, wanting to be sure of everything in case "I need to know."

"Yirina, I will." She first said before getting her hands on my arm "I said that I will help in any occasions." Then, she started to get closer until we started to hear some loud noises coming from outside, mainly car doors getting shut.....meaning that Adler arrived and by the multiples sounds, he wasn't alone. "Quick, go hide !" Park whispered to me, pointing to the direction of the dorm and I complied.

She started to walk at the garage door as I was walking to hide next to the dorm entrance as the the door of it wasn't visible from the middle of the main room. I get myself against the wall, now awaiting for the right moment for me to intervene and maybe beat the hell out of Adler himself. More I was awaiting for that moment to happen, more my anger and my rage was getting stronger inside of me and I was slowly realizing that I couldn't be really soft with Adler after what he has done to me and the others.

You got this, Yiri....you got this ! I thought to myself at each second inside my head before I could hear the garage door opening behind the wall. I was only able to hear and not to look, avoiding me to get spotted. Adler was the first one to talk and then I could tell who was with him : Woods, Mason and Sims. Each one of them greeting Park as they entered the safehouse before the garage door was finally closed behind them. I hear them putting something on the ground before I could hear them approaching the dashboard.

"So, anything news since the last day ?" Adler was the first person to ask.

"No, the MI6 didn't find anything about the woman who escaped your old team custody." Park replied in an serious "Where are they, by the way ?" She added

"Got them a new job somewhere else in Asia." Adler responded before I could hear him blowing smoke

"I hope we didn't come here without having any leads." Woods said in a harsh voice as I could feel his voice getting closer to me but not so close "Alex wasn't so pleased to come."

"I've got a kid, you know, Adler ?" Mason admitted, taking a breath

"I know !" Adler told him "But it's better for us to stay as a team to have better chances to find something on Perseus."

"Yeah, like what happened days ago ?" I could hear Woods joking about it

"That was not supposed to happen like that, Woods." Sims intervened, defending Adler "We were trapped but everyone got out of here alive."

"Everyone ?" Park was sounding shocked "We lost some of our agents back there." She added, offusqued

"Hey, better for everyone to calm themselves down." Adler tried to say in his usual authoritarian voice "We have better things to do than to attack ourselves on that." I tried to maybe have a look by peaking my head but I retracted seeing that Mason was near Park's desk, so almost next to me....Almost get caught, Yirina !

"We could try to find......" Sims started to said before I could hear Mason,

"What's the hell is this ?" He said, confused, grabbing something on Park's desk......Aw shit, I forgot to remove my KGB records file from her desk and he saw it. "Wait, is that..." He stopped himself as footsteps came near him.

"Wait, let me see !" It was Woods who came and after some seconds, I could hear him also shocked. "Is that Bell ?"  He asked

"What ?" Adler was confused "Give me that file !" He ordered and Woods complied to it, walking back towards Adler "Wait, how did this end on your desk, Park ?" He asked her

"I don't know, I saw it first for the first ti-...." She tried to say before something stopped her to talk and I decided to look....Adler.....was having his hands on her throat.....no more way for me to stay calm

"Don't bullshit me, Park." He exclaimed as Sims tried to intervene to stop him but with no avail "How ?" He added, reinforcing his grasp on her.....I had to intervene right now, I need to save her. A deep breath....breathe....you can do it, Yirina. I clenched my fists and then, I got out of my cover

"Because of me !" I shouted, coming out of the cover and in a second, everyone was looking at me except Adler, still with his hands on Park's throat. I was so nervous right now inside of me but mixed with my anger, it was.....hard.

"Jesus..." Woods couldn't believe it at seeing me "Bell !" I looked at him with an fake smile,

"Woods...." I looked at Mason, having the impression to have seen a ghost "Mason." Then, at Sims "Sims."

"We thought that you were dead." Mason exclaimed, sounding stunned "Jess, I can't...."

"I'm not Jess !" I said with a loud voice before focusing back to Adler "Remove your dirty hands off her." I added to him but he was still holding her as he started to look at me.....with an smirk

"You....." He said in a low voice "Bell, we have a job-" He was then stopped by Park who decided to give him a punch right in the chest...thanks, Park !  That caused him to release her as she was catching back her breath as now, it was my turn to deal with him. I arrived next to him and I landed the biggest punch with my right hand on his face, losing his precious glasses on the ground....and falling on it too.

"You took 3 years from me, Adler !" I grabbed him on the ground before getting him close to me "And now, I'm gonna make you pay !" I then looked at the medical room, the same one where I learned the truth about me before I looked back to Park "I need to discuss with him, tell them everything about me."

I started to drag Adler by force, leading him to the medical room as Park was behind me, making sure that no one was going to disturb me with Adler. I think that only my anger was controlling my whole body right now as I wasn't going easy on him. He was maybe more built than me but now, I was easily dragging him into that room without any problems at all. When I arrived with him, I saw a stretcher and....I decided to put him on it like he did to me 3 years ago.

"You're crazy, Bell !" He said as I was getting him attached to the stretcher "I thought you were dead !" He shouted

"No, I'm well alive." I replied, having finished before I closed the door of the room while Park was keeping it on guard "It was your mistake to not finish the job." I added before getting next to him.

"What do you...."

"I know that you were aware of my state !" I exclaimed, cutting him "I know well that you preferred to let me in a coma in Moscow, why ?."

"I realized...you were better in a coma than dead." He said....before spiting on my face, I cleaned up his mess with my hands before I gave a big nudge on the chest, making him groan

"And now, I think you realized your mistake, right ?" I asked before I put my hand above his mouth, avoiding him to talk "Do you see how does it feels ?" I was getting myself acting like he did three years ago on me "To be....tied up....and to face your demons ?" I added in a low voice, next to his ear before I nudged him back with my other hand, making him scream in my hand "Do you see how it feel ?" I said loudly before I remove my hand from his mouth and turning my back against him "Why ?.....why did you do this ?"

"It's....the CIA wouldn't take any risks to have you around." He responded in a sincere voice, trying to recover from my previous punchs on him "You were too dangerous to be kept alive because of your affiliation with Perseus." He tried to struggle with his links but I made sure that he couldn't escape "Having an Perseus agent in the wild wasn't going to please the CIA and they never wanted to respect their deals with the MI6."

"What deal ?" I asked

"Park....she wanted you to have a new chance by letting you work with the MI6 but....me & the CIA, we preferred another way." He replied as I closed my eyes "You were too dangerous !" He repeated again

"I never believed in Perseus's ideas." I affirmed with all my might, putting my hands next to him "I despited him long before someone decide to dispose of me on that airfield."

"Bullshit, who told you that ?" He told me, he couldn't believe me

"Me, I'm getting my memories back, Adler." I sniffed at his sight

"Impossible, MK-ULTRA is supposed to have erased everything from your past except for the crucial parts." He exclaimed, looking for the first time worried

"Do you realize that I could have helped more and bring down Perseus maybe in a matter of weeks or even months ?" I said, realizing that Perseus couldn't be a threat anymore if I was still 'alive' at that time "Is everyone in the CIA this stupid to have the idea to dispose of me ?"

"I never thought...."

"Yeah, yeah, you never thought that !" I scoffed at his face. "I never wanted to follow Perseus in his steps, I wanted just to help innocents." I affirmed to him, looking at him with deadly eyes but he laughed

"Are your hands clean ?" He asked

"Are yours too ?" I told him before I took a seat from a chair that wasn't so far from me "No, you are a big liar and manipulator, Adler. Why I should have trust you when you brought me into that cliff ?"

"Me....a manipulator ?" He rolled his eyes at the ceilling "You should tell this to Park !" He exclaimed and my eyes went wide "She manipulated you and you fall in her trap."

"Was she the one who left me for dead and the one you lied saying that I died at Solovetsky ?" I asked him, crossing my arms "She was the only one to be sorry with me.....the only one in that damn safehouse with Lazar who believed me in every ways."

"You just stupid !" He added and I got up from my chair, getting my hand on his mouth

"I saw them as a family, Russ' !" I yelled with all my anger going out of my mouth"Lazar was like an brother to me, Park....I love her !" I reinforced my grabbing on his mouth "You took me away from her !" I removed my hand to let him speak again

"She really had an impact in you." He said, raising an eyebrown "How I couldn't believe that Park was going to fall for you too ?" He shook his head, trying to look at the door "It was obvious and I did everything to break you apart."

"I know : you literally broke in my room in Moscow the day before we got inside the Lubyanka and then.....you shot me." I make him look at me.

"So, you remember, right ?" He looked at me, an smirk on his face "I couldn't see with my own eyes when I saw you that day when I found you two, sleeping in each others arms after East-Berlin on that couch......just like two fucking lesbians." I hit him in the face and my punch make him finaly bleed from the nose.

"You've got an problem with that ?" I asked him, putting my hands on his throat "I was just an robot for you, something that shouldn't get attached to anything."

"Like an 'loose end'." He affirmed and then I closed my eyes, thinking about what I will do. Once I was done thinking, I got away from him....and I decided to take my M1911 out of my jacket "What are you doing ?" He asked me as I was checking the mag of the gun

"Something that I should have done 3 years ago." I responded and he was looking scared.....just another lie from him. I know him too well to know when and where he lie. "You took me my chances to redeem myself....and I'm taking it back." I pointed the gun to his head against it

"If you do this...." He said before he stopped himself "Fuck you !"

I was ready to shoot him as he was closing his eyes and me too, I was ready to do it, giving me back what I wanted to three years ago. I could still see myself back on that cliff when I closed my eyes. Seeing him telling that I was an hero before drawing his gun to me and gave me an scar and 3 years to spend in a hospital. I was going to take my revenge from him but then I realized that....it was not worth it at all.

He maybe did bad things on me but killing him.....is it going to make things better for me after that ? No ! My situation would be much worse as I would maybe get pursued by everyone and I couldn't think of that possibility anymore. So, when I opened my eyes, I wasn't willing to do it anymore and then, I moved the gun away from his head.....and I shot a bullet right in the ceilling, trying to get my rage going away.

I could see him move in fear before he slowly opened his eyes to saw me trembling and closing my eyes again, thinking of why I didn't do it ? I looked at him, still angry.

"Give me just an chance to fight Perseus !" I asked him and he nodded "Let me live....let me redeem myself." He nodded again before I started to slowly walk away from him, letting him, tied up "If you're harming anyone of my friends or Park, I will do it !" I opened the door, leaving him like that as I left the room.

"What happened, Yirina ?" Park said, having heard the shot, panicked, standing next to the door

"I didn't do it." I replied with a low voice before I walked to open the garage door with the commands, I just needed fresh air right now. Sims was the first one to move inside the room to see if Adler was okay as Woods and Mason were still shocked. I opened the door and then, I walked a few steps before I fall on my knees, just looking afar as I could hear Park coming to me. "I didn't do it."

"I know." She put herself in front of me, kneeling before she put her arms around me as I didn't move at all, looking in the horizon, my M1911 still in hand, I was feeling so empty right now. I didn't killed Adler and it was, I think, a good decision to make but still, I was feeling so strange about this,

"I'm not an monster."

[anavakarian]

A tipping point

Adam + Eve (Female detective)

Rating: explicit. Smut, fluff and angst ahead!

The night is clear and chilly, just enough to form vapour clouds in front of my mouth with my exhales, and the absence of moonlight turns it into the perfect setting for a horror film. The twinkle of the carved Jack O'Lanterns watches over the scarce souls that still wander the streets, close to the witch’s hour of midnight. Trick or treat time is far over and only lonely passer-by are still out on the streets.

And that is exactly my case. Except for the small detail that I am not alone and someone else - tall, broad-shouldered, grey pea coat - walks next to me immersed in an annoyed - and annoying - silence.   

“Oh! C’mon Adam... You have to admit that the irony is funny. Just a little bit?”

My tone is easy and hopeful, and I grin at him, trying to ease the mood. A pointless effort, I’m afraid, as the blonde vampire just scowls even further, stubbornly quiet, while we arrive at the door of my apartment block. 

So I just give up, rolling my eyes and looking away from him. “Well, at least Felix thought it was hilarious…”

The constant and assured sound of his steps behind me come to a halt while I retrieve the keys. In the corner of my eye, I perceive that Adam is giving me a hard look, narrowed icy green eyes even cooler than before, if that’s possible at all. His jaw is clenched, shoulders tight and I am nearly sure that his hands are fisted into balls in the pockets of his coat. 

And I know he’s about to chew me out once we walk in and I know it's about my costume. Not that he scares me, as it’s not the first time he barks at me and we end up headbutting. In preparation - and foreseeing the storm coming - I feel my moodiness skyrocketing at the same time my brow sinks, mirroring his own.

Although, being completely honest about it… Perhaps I’ve been pushing this whole dressing-up joke a bit too far… 

This whole situation began 4 hours ago, although it had been lurking in my mind for quite a long time already. As a joke. 

Halloween has always been my favourite festival and this year, as a Detective, I had the dubious privilege of being invited to the private and exclusive party at the Town Hall. There was alcohol, music, snobs, representatives of the city services and, of course, Mayor Friedman. And, as a whole novelty this year, Agent Rebecca Greene and her squad had also been invited: the sexy vampires were still the talk of the town even after the passing months. Besides, the mayor was still trying to bang my mum, to my disgust... 

As I fully expected, only Nate and Felix dressed up for the party: a rather good looking mummy and a zombie. And, as I also fully expected, Mason and Adam didn’t. Fair enough… To be honest, I couldn’t really picture them in any supernatural costume different than their own skin. 

I obviously dressed up, as I already said, on a smashing costume and I thought it was the best and funniest idea ever. Felix cackled the loudest guffaw when he saw me, that bad that he had to bend over himself to keep breathing. Nate chuckled, shaking his head in amused disbelief. Mason wolfishly smiled at me, although I think it was more about the outfit than the actual costume idea. Thought confirmed after he gave me a clear pick-up line. But Adam…

Well, I would have never thought I could gather so much coldness in a glare as I received from him at that instant. 

And just for a stupid costume! Black leather trousers, victorian corset, a black velvet cape, some fake blood and, the final touch, a cheap set of fangs that kept falling off my mouth every time I opened it. 

I was a vampire!!!

Honestly, I found it hilarious, working with four of them. But it was quite clear to me that Adam didn’t share my amusement…

After four hours of mingling with authorities and a bunch of snobs, dealing with the Major and keeping my mum at distance, the party was over and I was not even drunk. And, to my surprise, Adam was the only one who volunteered to accompany me home, even if my gaze screamed at Nate for help…  

In other circumstances, I would have really wanted Adam to walk me home, but not today. Not when we have barely exchanged words at all during the whole evening. During this year we have had our sweet moments together, mostly holding hands, long deep conversations over a glass of wine, understanding a bit better why he acts the way he does with me. And I’m being patient, Gods know I am because I think he will be worth it. But I’m just a bit fed up with his pissy behaviour lately. 

 In the blink of an eye, we are both in front of my apartment door.

“What is what you find annoying about my costume exactly? I mean… I was the one bitten and everything, and the only one with no supernatural powers. Haven’t you considered that this might actually be sort of therapeutic for me?” I reproach at him with a matter-of-fact tone, fumbling with the keys to open the door. Perhaps I should have just remained quiet and wait for him to speak, but I’m quite pissed at his pissiness , if that makes sense. 

In response, Adam’s brow bottoms down his face as if I have just said the most stupid thing in the history of humanity. “Therapeutic???” He asks in bewilderment, following me inside and pushing the door closed after himself - not hard enough to break it, though.

“Ok! Ok! I’ll carry on being a miserable human and having nightmares as I had before…” I retort, scowl now patent on my face, gesturing excessively with my hands in a very dramatic way, I reckon. 

And my line and acting only makes his frown sink deeper - if that’s even possible - and ball his hands into fists on his sides. “Do not twist my words, Eve. Besides, are you seriously telling me that this... charade feels therapeutic in any way to you?” he insists, signalling my outfit with a hand in disbelief.

“Yes! This means I’ve reached a point where I can make fun of Murphy’s attack… So yes, it’s kind of therapeutic, Adam.” I’m fully aware that my tone is far from being quiet at all, but he’s getting on my nerves and this argument is overly stupid. 

We both pause to glare at each other on opposite sides of my dining room. The setting is great: giant spiderwebs and a new set of plastic pumpkins lighten my apartment up gloomily. There's distant music on the next-door flat’s party that seeps through mine.

“Make fun? You nearly died! That’s the most reckless statement…” He gives two steps forwards but stops himself on going any further, nearly choking with the intensity of his voice that echoes in the walls like a drum roll and I hold my ground in front of that man that is scolding me as if I was a child. Once Adam speaks again, he has lowered his volume considerably. “This is not a thing you should be making fun of. We are far from being the romantic characters every novel painted, but monsters, Eve,” he grunts, his tone sharp and cold as the winter wind.

My chest tightens and my blood boils at his statement and his patent stubbornness. I stride towards him, bridging the distance between us, my finger pointing at his broad chest. Menacing. Threatening. I actually snarl at him when I speak. “No, you’re not. You’re as far of being a monster as you are of being a fucking romance novel character. So stop saying it!” 

The words leave my mouth definitely harsher than I intended. At least, harsh enough to quieten him momentarily. Despite his silence, Adam glares at me because of my outburst. However, it only lasts for a second. It quickly changes into something softer, with a hushed hint of gratitude at the meaning of my words, and a hint of something else that neither of us has been brave enough to name just yet.

And, suddenly, the world stops spinning and I become hyper-aware of our proximity, the broad frame of his body just a few inches away from me. The annoying music of my neighbours muffles in my ears and our agitated breaths are the only sound perceivable. I suddenly realize that he smells... well, nice.

We stare at each other for a while, icy green eyes meeting my sapphire blue ones, still challenging and proud, but not cold anymore. 

His gaze lingers on mine, boldly but hesitant, before gliding down slowly to my lips. We had found ourselves in situations like this before, longing pulling us together as the most potent magnet. But he always runs away from me nevertheless.

Adam swallows hard, and I can see and feel his struggle. 

My breath hitches. My heart stutters. I’m not sure if it's because of the prospect of another disappointment or because I do really need whatever might happens next.

No. This time won’t be different than many others before... The longing will persist. He cannot be thinking of doing it for real this time, can he? 

But, to my surprise, he does.

His hand, slightly trembling, reaches out to cup my chin and tips it up. And he leans down and kisses me gently, just a light contact lip to lip. Insecure. Fleeting.  

I freeze. 

Adam pulls away and I blink confused, not believing what has just happened. The kiss has been so soft and brief that I am not really sure I didn’t imagine it. 

I let out a breath I don't know I am holding, and look at him, wondering for answers. Wondering what that meant.

The raw emotion in his eyes strikes me hard: a mixed desire for more and fear. I cannot think, our gazes are locked on each other. My body reacts before I do, getting on my tiptoes and circling his neck with my arms carefully slow as if he might vanish if I go any faster. 

I pull him down for another tentative kiss and he doesn’t resist. 

Unhurried, languid, but firmer than his, trying to figure out if this is just a dream. And to my delight Adam responds, his lips moving on mine shyly.

And I sink back on my heels, parting from him.

He nuzzles my nose with his and rests his forehead on mine, eyes closed, both our breaths ragged. The next thing I feel is his hand cradling the back of my neck, fingers caressing my scalp, while his other arm wraps around my waist, pushing me closer to his firm body as if the distance between us hurts. 

He seeks my mouth this time, his tongue teasing my bottom lip with the slightest touch. And I concede, parting them. I'm completely lost in the taste of him, in the silky strokes of his tongue and in the delicacy of each of his movements. 

But it only takes seconds, or perhaps minutes, before the kiss grows. Thirsty. Starving. From unhurried to needy. From subtle to determined. Full of contained emotion.

I tighten the grip of my hands on the collar of his shirt, desperately searching for support, as I’m not sure if I’m awake or dreaming. His scent, the need and the heat of his mouth… I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to wake up. His other hand tangles on my short hair and tugs tentatively, tilting my head to the side. He kisses my cheek, my jawline and descends a trail of nips and kisses down my neck and I moan, desire blooming in my core. His mouth reaches one especially sensitive spot that makes me gasp and he suddenly freezes, taking a dark deep inhale over my pulse point. 

My eyes snap open. A thrill of danger descends down my spine.

“I wouldn’t mind if you…” I breathe out with a husky voice, meaning clearly implicit in the unfinished sentence. And I surprise myself realizing it is the truth indeed.

However, he cuts my words short. “I won’t,” Adam claims, although I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to himself.    

Before I can think of it any further, he goes back to my lips and I drink his kiss with fervent desperation. My hands go back to life, running over his shirt, untucking it from his trousers and undoing buttons as I find them. When I finally pull it open, I trail the soft skin of his torso and his hard muscles and planes and I sigh in awe. Hot perfection, like one of those roman statues that the museums keep in their insides. Timeless beauty. 

The bare rake of my nails over his sensitive abs make him moan and I chuckle when his usually clever fingers, unable to undo the tie of my cape, rip it open instead. 

Adam stops and huffs, but I don’t give him time to speak or to apologize. Or to overthink about it before I’m tugging at his shirt. “Take this off,” I mumble, so close to his lips that I’m sure he can feel the words. 

And he immediately complies, getting off the shirt and tossing it onto the floor. I pull away just for an instant, just to admire the exquisite perfection of his body, how his chest rises with an agitated breath, how the slightest blush of pink has grown on his cheeks and how he’s looking at me with unconcealed want. 

The colossal barrier that Adam had put between us during this whole year is not there anymore. The wall has collapsed. The dam has burst. And we are being dragged away by the strongest and most primal need I’ve ever felt before.

Desire strikes me so hard that makes my knees buckle.

I gasp in surprise when he lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his torso. Entangled on kisses, he paces until the wall makes us stop forcefully. It feels frozen cold against my back in heavy contrast with the burning heat of his body embracing me. 

Gods, I feel him whole, hard against my core when he rocks between my legs and I moan. The pressure feels good, far too good. But it’s not even close to what I need. What I want. I rock my hips in response, eliciting a groan from him that sounds delightful in my ears. 

And, suddenly, he sharply breaks the kiss, panting heavily. Adam rests his forehead on my bare shoulder while I’m still wrapped in his strong arms, helplessly wondering why the reason for his pause is. Even when my fingers comb his scalp gently in an encouraging way, I can still feel his hesitation. 

Is it because of my blood? Am I really that overwhelming ?

“Adam, we don’t have to continue. It’s ok,” I mutter, resigned but understanding. 

He sighs and pulls away, just enough to meet my gaze. His mouth opens, but he stumbles with the words and that’s so unusual in his normally secure endeavour that makes me hyper-aware that this is a highly unmapped ground for him. He takes a deep breath before trying to speak again. “I do want you, but it’s been a long time…” To my surprise, he smiles thinly, shyly - just a bit - and a red blush crawls onto his face. “I’m a bit overwhelmed and this could be a rather disappointing experience if we keep up this pace...”  

Oh!... Ah! Ok… 

It seems that I was quite wrong about the blood and I do wonder for an instant what “a long time” exactly means for a 900 years old vampire, but I hold the question for another day, perhaps. However, I’m still against the wall, lifted up and feeling him hard and pushing against me. As much as I want to be fucked right here and now, I could also do with a change of pace. 

“We can slow down a bit, perhaps?”

He nods and leaves me back on the floor delicately, his fingers caressing my cheek immediately after on a dreamy promise and I realize that I’m more than willing to hurtle towards whatever abyss he wants to take me with him.

Before I can react, his lips are on mine again, but this time sweetly and delicately again, and his hands are scouting over the corset, sliding down towards my hips and back up, unhurriedly caressing the sides of my torso. His touch is feather-like over the side of my breasts and sends a thrill of desire straight to my core.  

“As much as you look stunning in this, I would appreciate if you take it off.”   

I have to chuckle at his polite ways, but I comply. He spins me around and pulls gently at the laces, this time without ripping anything apart. Still with my back to him, the next thing I feel are his hands mapping my skin and tracing my arms and shoulders, caressing my neck and my scalp. I gasp when he finally steps closer to me and embraces me from behind, being his chest flushed to my back. 

Adam kisses my neck again as lingers his hands over my body. I moan and squirm in his touch when he finally - finally - outlines my breasts with his fingers before his thumbs caress my nipples. Before I realize, one of his hands has slipped into my trousers sneakily and I feel myself dying in anticipation, holding my breath. 

He perfectly knows what he’s doing when he parts my folds to damp a finger into my moisture before going back to caress my clit. The moan that leaves my mouth is obscene and my knees decide is a good time to give up, that bad that Adam has to hold my waist to avoid me to drop on the floor.

“Is this good?” he whispers in my ear with a bit of smugness, cradling me closer to his body if that’s even possible at all.

I stutter something incoherent as lost as I am on the feeling of him, on his unhurried strokes on my sex, on his strong arm circling my waist, on the warmth of his naked skin on mine and on the feeling of his lips, claiming my neck with tender kisses. 

My pleasure is building way too fast, probably out of anticipation and pure need. At the end of the day, it has been nearly one year craving him. My nails dig into his biceps and I find the strength to put words together at last. “Adam, you’re doing quite a good job, but I want you...”

“But I don’t know how long...” he whispers in a veiled excuse.

The steady rhythm of his finger fastens just a bit and I feel the tension coiling up in my core. 

“It doesn’t matter, please… I want you,” I insist.

But he carries on. I’m already at the edge of my climax when he finally slows his relentless pace and pulls his hand out my trousers. I complain with a muffled groan, my whole body twitching, desperate to reach the denied relief. However, my frown and my frustration soften when I see his focused expression and his thin smile. Adam holds my hand and walks me into my bedroom. We kiss again, hard and passionate and I melt into his embrace and his doing.

Our remaining clothes are off on a blur of motion that I cannot clearly recall, and we map our bodies, lingering touches over flushed and heated skin. But I know he’s stretching the moment out and I just wonder if it’s because he’s really enjoying the caresses or he’s really that adorably shy for not wanting to ask. 

“Are you sure of this, Adam?” 

He doesn’t reply - he’s quite busy exploring my lips - but he nods fervently, cupping my face with his hands.

I grin a little because he is broad and stern, pig-headed and scary sometimes. But I got to see that part of him that is not the common one: his vulnerability, his insecurities and his fears. The next question is probably the most awkward thing I’ve ever asked during foreplay, as the flow of the moment usually leads to it naturally. However, despite our clear intention of ending this whole experience in bed, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Would you like to be on top or shall I?”  

He takes in a shaky inhale before answering. “Whichever feels best for you, Eve.”

I smile at the consideration of his answer and push him back a little so he falls on the bed. Adam shuffles back to rest his head on the pillows and I climb up onto his hips but he seems to be reading my mind and sits up immediately, circling my waist with his arm, fingers splayed over my bare back, anchoring me. 

He groans with pleasure when I hold his thick erection to line him up with my body. Then, I lower myself down slowly, sinking him inch by inch in me. Fireworks, or perhaps a million galaxies, begin to cluster behind my eyes at the sensation and completion never felt so intense, so good and so right at the same time. 

The righteous feeling of belonging overwhelms me when I begin to rock very slow in his lap. When his hands clasp my hips with unexpected strength. When his lips find mine just to let out a shaky exhale.

After the first deep thrust of my hips - which makes him moan and shiver, to my delight - his thumb reaches straight away to the point we are joined together to caress my clit. I ride him unhurriedly, kissing, drinking his pleasured sounds with my mouth and focusing on angling my hips for him to reach that sweet spot inside me. After all the meticulous foreplay, my climax strikes me really fast and with the weight of one year of contained feelings and longing. With the asphyxiating pressure of words that haven’t been spoken between us yet. 

And immediately after, Adam's hips stutter and I feel him come, leaving muffled groans and heavy pants on the crook of my neck. His teeth tease my tender skin without breaking it and I’m amazed at how much self-restraint he actually has.  

The world blurs on the edges and tiredness makes its way into my bones. We kiss for some minutes, sloppily and tenderly, before I move away from his lap and into the bathroom to clean myself. 

Looking in the mirror, I see the marks on my skin, slight bruises and love bites that will tell the story of our passionate night to everyone that would be curious enough to notice. But he hasn’t bitten me. Not at all. 

I smile goofily at my reflection and try not to put words at the feeling that blooms in my chest, thinking of what a huge step forwards this actually has been. For him. For us. 

To my surprise, Adam is fast asleep in my bed when I come back to my bedroom.

 ***

 The weight of his arm has been a consistent leitmotif during the night and, even if disruptive after such a long time sleeping alone, it has been welcomed. 

However, there’s nothing there anymore. I can’t feel the warmth of his body. The bulge of blankets on his side. Just nothing. 

I open my eyes and, as if waking up from a dream to fall into a nightmare, I realize Adam is not in my bed, but just an empty cold space where he should be. 

I don’t fully understand what is going on but, once I do, I panic. And, then, I dread, taking his disappearance as regret. It’s suddenly obvious that he feels guilty about what happened between us and fled. 

And that I’m alone once again. 

Perhaps this shouldn’t have happened in the first instance... Perhaps this has all been a mistake... 

But it’s too late to take things back as they were before. In what sort of vulnerable position this leaves us now?

“Shit!” I mutter, upset and worried, scrambling out of bed and putting on an old oversized t-shirt that is meant to be my pyjamas.

I decide to get my phone and call him right away to figure out whatever is going on in his mind. Or, at least, to try to. My phone’s in my bag, in the kitchen.

But, as soon as I pull my bedroom door open, my heart nearly stops at the shock. Adam is in the dining room, fully dressed and standing in front of the entrance door. As still as a statue.

He looks up at me, full of regret and I froze.    

“I thought you had left...” I barely say, my throat tightening painfully.

“I… I tried to.”

Bitterness spreads through my body at his confession and, after what happened between us, after my dreamy high expectations, I have to swallow hard to keep the tears at bay.

Has this meant anything to him at all? What is he running away from?

“What has stopped you?” After a year of battling with him and with his emotional constipation, I’m truly tired. I’m just exhausted. And I don’t think I can bear with the disappointment of whatever he is about to say.

But his expression is not stern, neither stoic as it usually is. He looks worn out. As exhausted as I am. And mostly troubled. “I can’t… I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of lying to myself and to everyone. To you...”

“I don’t think you are as good a liar as you think you are, Adam…”

My snarky but sincere comment makes him smile sadly. 

There’s a tense silence. A whole minute of staring at each other, seizing each other. Until he breaks the silence once again to tell me out of the blue, “I’m in love with you, Eve.”

But he looks so troubled at that beautiful line that my heart dreads and I can’t find the wits to answer back. I feel like crying and, even so, I pull a smile on. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Can I ask… What are you so scared of?”

“Loss. Guilt...” he replies without hesitation. “I love you but, whatever happens, I don’t want to drag you along with me. To this darkness...”

And, suddenly, everything clicks. Adam has suffered loss with mortals, with friends and family, for over 900 years. I’m sure that the last thing he intended was to fall in love with one. We, mortals, are… brief. Fleeting lives. Shooting stars. He just doesn’t want to lose me. To suffer another loss. But, most and foremost, he doesn’t want to drag me with him to his curse. 

He considers himself a monster. He doesn’t want me to become a vampire in order to be together.

I can’t help but feel sorry for him and for his experiences. For the complex situation that we find ourselves into and because there’s no way we will both be able to come out of it intact. And I’m fully aware of it when I lock my eyes in his icy green ones, reddened by worry and hesitation. Anxious. “You’re not dragging me anywhere I didn’t think of before you and me ever happened and, even so, it wouldn’t be your decision to make Adam, but mine. If anything has to be, we will figure it out once it’s time. The only thing you are to decide now is staying with me or leaving. That's it..."

The words leave my mouth on a rushed blurt out that is barely a whisper before the pain in my throat forbids me on carrying on talking and I’m fully aware of how ultimate it sounds. My eyes are wet, far much of what I intended, but I also understand that this will be it. A tipping point. After what has just happened between us, there’s no way we would be able to go back to what we had before, that platonic and patient relationship. And, if he leaves now… I don’t even want to think about it.

I go back to my bedroom under his attentive and aching stare, and into my bed, laying on my side and covering myself with the blankets. 

Nothing happens.

Five. Ten. Or perhaps thirty minutes just focused on my breath. I’m not sure of how long I remain awake, listening to every sound, wondering if he will choose me over his doubts. 

But, as the minutes happen and nothing else matters but his absence, the tears I’ve been stubbornly keeping inside burst free and slide down my cheeks, dying in the fluffiness of the pillow. 

He’s left. He’s made his choice and he’s left. 

And he’s taken my heart with him.

I’m so deep in my misery that I startle when an unexpected weight sinks the left part of the mattress down. Adam shifts closer, flushing his chest against my back, and wraps his arm around me tightly. Then, he drops a single kiss on my shoulder that means the universe to me. 

“I love you,” he whispers quietly against my ear.

I dry my tears, wriggling around in his embrace to face him. To kiss him.

“I love you, too.”

Read it on AO3

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Tourniquet - Part 1

Jim Mason x Named Reader/OC

(Jim is in his 20s on this fic. I know most people prefer Y/N or second person, but this one is hard for me to write and hits very close to home, so I gave the reader a name in order for me to feel some distance when writing. It also didn't feel right to wish any of these feelings on "you". Adding it under a Read More because of the possible triggers.)

Summary: While in an appalling rehab hospital, Jim sees another person struggling to deal with life, emotions, and the crushing desire to leave it all behind. She ends up adding a little spark of excitement to his usually mundane day and drawing his interest.

Word Count: 1, 888 (is a baby intro chappy!)

Warnings: SO. MANY. WARNINGS. Please heed the warnings, loves, and don’t read if anything will upset you or make you uncomfortable. If I have missed anything, please let me know so I can add it as soon as possible. Thank you!

Angst, Poor Medical Practices, Rehab Setting, Trauma, Drug Use, Drug Overdose, Withdrawal Symptoms, Suicidal Thoughts, Attempted Suicide, Severe Depression, Self-Harm, Scars, Language, Violence.

Tourniquet - a device which applies pressure to a limb or extremity in order to limit – but not stop – the flow of blood. It may be used in emergencies, in surgery, or in post-operative rehabilitation.

It had been a while since he’d been brought to this place. The plain walls and terribly uncomfortable cot of his room greeted him day after day. Jim had lost count of how many days that had been. He remembered there were at least a couple days where Medina had come to visit and wished him a happy birthday. It should have been a day for them to celebrate together, and instead she was here with him in this awful place.

“I’m so sorry, Medina,” he would whisper as they laid on his cot together, nearly nose to nose. A slight burning sensation tickled his nose every time, but his eyes were too tired to release any more tears. He simply stared at his twin, or through her more like, and let the guilt eat him inside.

“Jim, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you. You’re my best friend, my other half. It’s just you and me, remember?” Medina always pulled him close and whispered comforting words to try and quell the storm inside of him. It just made him hate himself more. She should have been outside, free and living her life, enjoying the waves she loved so much. Of course, that wasn’t something he would ever share with his loving sister. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

Jim was just...confused. His best memories of the place were the days Medina would visit. She would bring magazines and articles on surfing or the places they had talked about visiting someday. Envisioning a life beyond this mundane and monotonous existence always brought him a fleeting joy, but that feeling always left with his sister. It was exhausting to have his emotions swinging back and forth inside of him like a tangled yo-yo. He wanted to see her, to feel happy for even the smallest moment, but was it worth the inevitable and painful crash that followed? The guilt that he was holding his sister back and the fear that she resented him?

“Perhaps we should limit your sister’s visits. We could see if that helps improve your mental state.” The doctor had made the suggestion one day after one of Jim’s episodes following Medina stopping by. He’d bruised his hand and nearly punched a hole in the wall in his frustration as he’d spiraled once again. Jim did not take the suggestion well. Orderlies were called in to restrain him while he cursed out the doctor, screaming that his sister “was all he had left”, and he’d been put under heavy sedation for at least a day until his mind and body were too numb to fight back anymore.

Rehab. A place where he was meant to heal and recover and lose his dependency on drugs and stolen medication. All he found was that they used his problems to load him up with all new drugs and all new problems. Most of his day was spent laying in the same spot on his cot, as close to the wall as possible, and counting the flecks of dirt that had gotten stuck in the paint on the wall. He found it hard to sleep after the episodes requiring sedation. His hands trembled and his heart raced. More often than not, his nights consisted of pacing the short distance of his room and clutched his chest in fear that his heart would burst through his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe and swore he was suffocating, panicking, crying for someone--anyone--to help him and make it stop. Please!

It was a day like any other the first time he saw her. They’d forced him into the common room where some patients played games together or watched whatever sitcom rerun showed on the shitty cable tv. Jim sat by the window, tired, empty eyes staring at the palm leaves swaying in the breeze as he dreamed of the ocean waves he’d surfed with Medina. He wondered if she was out there at that exact moment. His thoughts were interrupted by an unusual silence filling the room. Everyone turned to look at the doorway where a nurse was giving a tour to a slightly smaller young woman. Her hair curtained her face as she stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. A sense of holding the shattering pieces of herself together, most likely. Not once did she look up to see who else was stuck in this place with her.

Jim didn’t blame her. Most of them came and went, only to come back again if they didn’t manage to find the eternal freedom they all chased at some point. Jim knew the mark of defeat she wore so obviously; it was identical to his and everyone else that was forced to be here. “Danger to themselves or others” they called them. Her shoulders tugged her upper body down to the ground, her steps slow and aimless as she shuffled over to sit at the far end of the window. Her legs tucked up to her chest and she shrank into the chair in an attempt to disappear. Jim’s eyes widened at the slow droplets of tears slipping down her cheeks. The dark circles beneath her eyes mirrored his own. She was sedated, too. He wondered what had happened to her, why she was here, and then he noticed the thick gauze bandages wrapped around her wrists. Oh.

Her eyes caught his staring at her forearms, and she quickly tugged the sleeves of her sweater down. He couldn’t tell if the look in her glassy eyes was hurt, embarrassment, or anger. Maybe all of the above. She wasn’t sure either. She curled in on herself and turned sideways to rest her forehead against the window. Her chest rose and fell with the jagged breaths she tried and failed to control. Jim forced his gaze back to the world outside, but the quiet sniffles from the armchair a few rows away brought his eyes back to her. She looked tired. So tired.

And she felt tired. So tired. It hurt to feel her heart beating. Each miserable thump inside of her chest continued to pump blood and forced her to keep breathing when all she wanted was for it to stop. Why couldn’t it just stop?! A soft sob parted her lips, and her distress only made her heart beat stronger. There was no more room for her to hide within herself. The muscles in her body shook for exhaustion and the effort she put into trying to will her body into an implosion. Weren’t the meds supposed to help them feel better? Now the guy across the room was staring at her like he didn’t have the same dead eyes and weight inside his soul. Asshole. Fuck him and his gorgeous crystal eyes that shone like the ocean in the sun.

One of the other patients that had been playing cards came over and sat down in the chair next to her. Her eyes remained glued to the outside, and that didn’t seem to sit well with her visitor. He wanted to know her name, why she was so sad, why she was there. Jim knew the guy, Harry, meant well, but he just didn’t know when to leave things alone and call it quits. It wasn’t going to end well for Harry. You never made someone already on edge feel interrogated and pressured. The biggest mistake came when he reached for her arm to see the bandages peeking out from under her sleeves. She jumped up quickly, ripping her arm out of his grasp, and cradled her arm protectively against her chest again.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Her scream filled the room, and she let loose a right hook that landed on his nose. 

“Oh, shit!” Jim’s eyes widened in surprise and an unusually bright smile lit up his face. The crunch of bone on bone let anyone within earshot know the guy’s nose was broken. He crumpled to the floor with a cry, holding a hand to his bleeding face, while she stood and panted over him with panicked eyes. A nurse rushed over quickly and looked between them, and two orderlies came running in. one of them bent to help Harry while the other held the girl firmly by her shoulders to keep her back.

“Samantha! What did you do?” The nurse glared at the young woman, Samantha, who opened and closed her mouth while trying to calm herself enough to form words in her defense. Her arms were wrapped around her middle again, and Jim could see her nails digging into her palms from where he sat. Large, fearful tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked up with wide eyes at the nurse towering over her.

“Harry grabbed her arm. She was just defending herself--I saw it. It looked like it hurt a lot.” Jim decided to help her out. Seeing her knock Harry on his ass had been the best thing he’d seen in months, if not years, and he still had a lazy smirk on his face from replaying it over in his head. Samantha stared at him in confusion. He had no reason to defend her, and yet here he was, trying to get her out of trouble. There had to be some ulterior motive, and that made him dangerous. She shrank back against the burly orderly holding her upper arms, even more so when the nurse reached forward and pulled her hand to move her sleeve up. Small patches of red had begun to blossom on the gauze, and the nurse sighed.

“Thank you, Jim.” The nurse nodded at him and quickly turned her attention back to the girl before her. One orderly was already taking Harry to get cleaned up and away from everyone else. “Come on, Samantha. Let’s get you looked at. You know you won’t be allowed to socialize with others if you can’t control your outbursts.”

“What a fucking loss,” she muttered under her breath.

“Samantha! Language!”

They walked past Jim, and he watched her go. Her eyes were trained on her slippers until she stepped next to him and gave him a sideways glance through her hair. He smiled softly only to be met with a teary glare. Jim lifted his hand in a weak attempt at a salutation. Samantha’s brow furrowed and she quickly turned away. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed him for stepping in on her behalf. The orderly pushed her forward and broke their eye contact. 

Jim wondered when he would see Samantha again, if she was going to be punished. Samantha hoped she didn’t have to see Jim’s blue tourmaline eyes peering into her ever again. It felt like he could unravel her from the inside out, and she didn’t need any help in that department. She glanced back at him once to see that he was back to looking out window, tired, empty eyes staring at the palm leaves swaying in the breeze as he dreamed of the ocean waves he’d surfed with Medina.

------------------

This one is a bit different and not for Michael. If you’d like to be removed from the taglist for this fic, please let me know!

@guiltyfiend @drasangel @michaellangdonstanaccount @jimmlangdon

[ampleappleamble]

---

It was a lovely sound, the sound of carpenters and masons plying their trades. Engrim found they sounded even lovelier with a drink in his hand and cool shade under his arse, so that's how he had elected to enjoy the afternoon while he supervised the renovations.

Now that the storm clouds had finally shoved off-- and the Little Mistress was back home with her companions, mucking about in that endless dungeon of hers-- the crew was hard at work clearing the last of the rubble and overgrown foliage from the eastern barbican's arched gateway and portcullis. By tomorrow evening, at long last, Caed Nua would have a beautifully restored barbican, allowing access to the Woodend Plains and Defiance Bay beyond. And in the meantime, Brighthollow was bustling with carpenters and porters, bringing freshly cut lumber and large, fine beds and bolts of cloth and rugs. Prettying up the Great Hall, restoring the barracks, hiring guards and posting patrols-- the fuzzy little thaynu and her stone steward had a plan for this place, and that meant that these laborers could look forward to quite a few more of these jobs and their generous pay.

Engrim smiled his gap-toothed smile, swirling his tankard of cider. It had been a gift for the Little Mistress, sent by a brewery newly under Kolsc's protection, and she had kindly opted to disperse it among the work crews before she and her party had descended into the depths under the castle.

Could get used tae this, me. If Ye'd allow fer a wee bit o' idleness, O Magran. Engrim chuckled to himself. He knew he ought to know better at his age than to press his luck with his goddess, but he just couldn't help himself, sometimes.

It took him a while to realize where the sound was coming from, because he wasn't expecting it to be behind him-- after all, he'd specifically chosen to sit in a place where he could keep an eye on all the work that he was supposed to be helping with. But then Engrim heard the scraping and scratching on the eastern side of the ruined chapel, heard the muffled shouts and the banging of fists against solid wood, and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as quickly as his skinny old legs would carry him. He'd had to help dispatch some of the beasties and spirits that had managed to wander up from the depths of the Endless Paths once or twice already, but they'd always crawled up from the dungeons, inside the keep. That these old bulkhead doors were connected to anywhere, let alone to the Paths, hadn't occurred to anyone.

Until now. Engrim squared his shoulders and planted his feet, readied his staff, whispered a prayer to the Lady of Battle. Waited and watched as the heavy wooden doors shook with the force of a mighty blow from within.

Thump. "Harder, damn it! Or, no, wait-- is there a mechanism holding it shut? Give him some light, Aloth!"

The old priest felt his eyes bug out of his head. 'Tis 'erself! The Little Mistress' voice was unmistakable.

"Certainly, just a moment, please..." And the sound of her elf lad kissing her arse all but confirmed it. Engrim rushed forward, dropping to his rickety old knees in front of the doors, his hands scrabbling at the weathered, graying wood.

"Watcher! Mistress!"

Shocked silence hung in the air for a moment, then: "Engrim!? Thank the gods! ...We have reached the surface!"

"There is a mechanism," her aumaua rumbled, his voice thunderous even behind the thick doors. "A... surprisingly simple one, actually. If I had some light--"

"I said I'm working on it," Aloth snapped, and a moment later the cracks in the doors lit up from within. Engrim squinted against the glare, laid his hands on the twisting, smothering ivy and the dried-up, half-dead rose bushes choking the splintering planks. He furrowed his wrinkled brow, concentrated, began to burn the vegetation away with a care and precision that betrayed his years and level of sobriety.

And before long, the doors were flung wide for the first time in hundreds of years, and the Watcher of Caed Nua and her loyal allies emerged from the Endless Paths.

"Engrim, please tend to Edér; he needs healing badly." Kana gently lowered the farmer to the ground, his blond hair streaked brownish-red with blood, head rolling loose on his shoulders, and Engrim rushed to meet him with a powerful restorative blessing on his boozey breath.

"By the ricketin' Wheel, yer lot's flame's lookin' half-snuffed yerselves!" In truth, all four of them were bleeding and bruised, clutching at their various wounds and limping, although Edér was easily the worst off of the lot. "What in Hel did ye find doon in them depths?"

"Ogres. There were crazed, violent ogres," Axa rasped. "And looters who attacked us on sight. And a tribe of xaurips. And their drake." She glared at Kana, anger smoldering. "And you wanted to press on?"

No one present had ever heard Kana speak so softly. "I-- I only remarked on the changing architecture, I didn't mean to imply we ought--"

"Spirits, too. Ghosts only I could see, only I could hear." The little woman carried on, her voice rising steadily in pitch and volume. "A pool of blood and viscera. Ancient catacombs full of giant insects and... and animated corpses. And an enormous adra-and-copper statue of a man."

"Or at least th' head," Edér mumbled, now fully conscious again though still bloodied and reeling. "Copper mustache. Heh."

Axa was at his side in an instant, kneeling next to the farmer, taking one calloused hand in between her own. "Don't speak, Edér. Save your strength."

"...'M not that bad, am I?" He managed a weak smile, tried to look at her eyes, but couldn't seem to get his vision to focus. Multiple images of the orlan danced and swam in front of him, and he found that the more he tried to get one of her to stand still, the harder it became to concentrate on staying awake.

Looking at him in full light, Axa felt her stomach drop: his dilated pupils, his unfocused gaze. He's definitely concussed. Gods, we're lucky we found that Master Staircase when we did. "Perhaps," she smiled softly, "I'm being a little hyperbolic. You just look half dead, is all."

The farmer huffed a short, sharp laugh as he let his eyes slide shut. "Work that charm on me, Watcher."

"Kana." Her ire toward the aumaua had receded, but not entirely, and her sharp tone reflected it. "Help Engrim get Edér inside. Stay with him and keep him talking. I'm... I think I have to stay out here for a bit. I kind of need to see the sky right now."

The huge man tried to smile at Axa but found the attempt futile, turning to her only to see her lying on her back in the grass, staring listlessly into the zenith. So he smiled at Edér instead, gently lifting the man by his armpits and guiding him toward Brighthollow, Engrim loping alongside.

He watched them go, and once he was sure they were alone, Aloth slowly, cautiously drew up beside the prone woman. He knelt, rolled his ankle, stumbled, recovered, decided to sit on the ground instead.

"Axa, are you... are you going to be alright?" He winced. What an insightful, intelligent question to ask, Corfiser; my, you're good at this--

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" she croaked, although the sharpness that was in her voice for Kana was replaced with a gentler tone for Aloth. He noticed, and the resulting burst of self-satisfaction tinged with guilt made him think of his school days, his teachers who played favorites, how he feared them and craved their approval both.

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm-- I'll apologize to Kana later, too, I'm just... tired right now. Scared." She tried to smile, grimaced instead. "Cranky."

"Well--" Aloth twisted his fingers together into tight, trembling knots of knuckles and sweat-- "Well. You've been under some... significant stress as of late, it's true, but I can't help but notice you sometimes... struggling. S-seeming to have some difficulty coping." He glanced from his hands in his lap to the ground to his hands to the woman on the ground. "I... I just want to make sure that you're alright to... continue this."

Axa sighed as deeply as her little lungs would allow, her half-lidded eyes still fixed on the heavens. "I don't know," she said at last. "I don't even really know what this is, this... new path I'm on. By the Visions, two weeks ago I was living an entirely different life! Now I'm a Watcher, a member of the Dyrwoodan gentry, I'm Awakened..."

"You've a lot on your plate, to be certain," he murmured, hoping he came off as compassionate and not dismissive. He scooted along the ground as delicately as any kith could scoot, until he was sitting alongside the supine orlan. They still had a decent amount of distance between them, but at least now he could see her face. She did not look at him.

"I feel like I don't... know who I am, anymore." Her usually robust, confident voice quavered. "Like this is someone else's life in which I've had to take up residence. None of this feels like it's truly mine, but it definitely feels like it's all my responsibility. None of which I ever, ever asked for."

"Aye, I conne the feelin', lass." Aloth felt the words slip out, and then immediately regretted allowing them to, grimacing and squeezing his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, Axa was sitting up. "You can't help it, can you."

His heart, his stomach, his brain-- all felt as though they'd suddenly been submerged in ice water, and as she turned to him with her piercing fuchsia gaze, he half expected her to simply state aloud all of his deceptions and treacheries like some Woedican judge, her Watcher abilities having allowed her to see through all of his pitiful excuses and flimsy lies.

But instead of anger or accusation or judgment, what he saw in her eyes was... relief, almost. Wonder. "The Hylspeak. You can't help it. That's why you keep doing it, even when I've asked you to quit. Or when it's gotten you in trouble. That's why you want to go to Defiance Bay with me. With us. To find someone who can help you stop. Isn't it?"

"I-- I don't-- I was just trying to--" He sputtered and stammered, subconsciously drawing his limbs in close to his torso in an anxious, defensive hunch. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to this. He was caught, it seemed, but... not? Somehow? He fidgeted and trembled and averted his eyes from hers, unable to bear the little woman's gaze, her sad little smile as she rose to her feet and stood next to him.

And he jumped, much to his chagrin, when he felt her hand on his back. "Aloth. You can trust me. I want you to trust me. And you don't have to explain anything to me. We all have our reasons for... keeping certain things to ourselves." She gave him a knowing smile. "However, it seems that the skeletons in your closet are a bit... louder than most others'?"

He knew, of course, what she was really trying to say. How long did you think you could keep it a secret from me? I'm not stupid, and you're not exactly subtle. "It's... a problem I've had since I was a child." He sighed shakily, sagging with fatigue as he shrugged off this small portion of his heavy burden at last. "And in Aedyr, that's not the kind of thing you take your child to a healer about. Not unless you want him institutionalized... or worse."

Axa gave him a hard look, as though he had set the policy in place himself. "I see. That explains why you came to the Dyrwood for a cure." She perked up abruptly as a thought struck her. "...You know, it's a rather gratifying feeling, figuring all this out about you. It explains so much!" She smiled again, and he found himself feeling annoyed and charmed simultaneously. He'd expected either pity or disgust, and when he got curiosity instead, he felt oddly slighted.

I'm not a puzzle to be solved...!

A lascivious chortle. 'She gettin' ye all fired oop, laddie?'

He shut his eyes again, curled himself up tightly. "Axa, while I am grateful for your patience with me, and your understanding regarding my... condition, I would truly appreciate it if we could keep this between the two of us. I'm... it's been a long, long time since I've really talked about this with anybody, and I don't think I'm quite ready for a full roundtable discussion regarding my mental health just yet." He glared in the direction of Brighthollow. "Not with those two, anyway. And not anymore, at all, today. Please."

"I had a feeling you were starting to reach your limit of how much you're willing to talk about it." She relented finally, lifting her little hand from between his shoulders, and he felt the weight of her scrutiny lift off of him as well. "And I'm reaching my limit of how much time I'm willing to waste feeling sorry for myself on the lawn. Come, let's get inside, get our wounds tended. We'll take a day and a half to rest up and get ready, let them finish working on the barbican. Then we'll set off for the city."

Aloth rose to his feet, brushed dirt and grass from his trousers. "In my official capacity as your advisor, I wholeheartedly approve your plan, my Lady." She scoffed, laughing, and he didn't try to suppress his victorious grin. "And... upon arriving?"

She started off toward her busy little manse, the carpenters and masons gawking at the bloody, dirty little orlan with alarm. "I'll know what to do when I get there, I'm sure," she called out to the elf over her shoulder.

He sighed, picking up the pace in an effort to catch up with her. "I was afraid you'd say that."

---

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Beauty Chooses II-Chapter 11

                 A special thanks to @statell​ for your help and wisdom

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Eleven- 1747

We welcomed the second spring since our arrival, and it was so much sweeter this year. Faith was growing and strong, Glavia and Misses Crook were happy and busy planting the garden which had grown to double its original size. Murtagh and Jamie had built a reputation as Carpenters and laborers, so once spring melted the snow they were in constant demand in the area. I would sit and talk with them in the morning until a pickup truck swung into the yard and they jumped in the back. Jamie would stare at me with a half-smile until I could no longer see his eyes.

Misses Crook took up exercise after watching a Doctor Phil program where he preached the merits of cardiovascular fitness. After that, she would tune into an exercise program Monday through Friday from seven to eight in the morning. Baritone would do it with her when he was here, looking like a chiseled Greek god in his shorts and muscle shirt. Misses Crook would look at the back wall blushing crimson if he spoke to her. He figured it out after the first week and switched to a sweatsuit that covered every beautiful inch.

Glavia would go to the library with me or Baritone once a week and check new books out. She was a voracious reader and loved fiction set in earlier centuries as well as history. I pulled her into the community center in Edinburgh to watch a woman weave a basket in the old tradition. Glavia shook her head back and forth grabbing rattan shavings and weaving an intricate design with steady, fast hands. At first, I was horrified that she would start talking about the eighteenth century like she had lived in it, but Glavia understood we were living on the down-low and winked at me as the women gathered closer to her to learn her pattern. She was a social butterfly when given the chance and the women loved her. Soon she was asked to teach her own class and I would spend Saturday mornings window shopping until she was finished.

As summer warmed the growing fields, Jamie’s skin turned a gorgeous bronze and I could not keep my hands off of him. Any room with a door, be it a barn, or the laundry room was fair play during the day. The game of seduction would start when he walked naked through the bedroom to grab his clothes for the day. He would nuzzle my neck and his hair would drip cold water on my shoulder making my eyes slam open and kiss him good morning. If he came home for a snack he would linger in the barn, knowing I would follow him for a sweet kiss fest. He would grind his erection into me and promise me a slow trip to the angels after dinner.

It was the happiest I ever remembered being, maybe in my whole life. There was not a thing to stress us and cause argument, emotional distance, worry, or fright. All we felt was love and happiness. It was magical.

The daily energy and flow of the household stayed the same in this century. After dinner, we would find our own rooms to read, sew, talk, or make love before a restful eight hours of sleep. They all knew the television worked around the clock, but no one had any interest after supper. It was part of what made these people strong and resilient, twelve hours of work and twelve hours of rest.

I wasn’t thinking about the future or leaving this century. Not when the long days of summer were warm, we were healthy, and Lallybroch served all our needs. Midway through August, we were harvesting the last of the vegetables, ready to prepare and process all of it in Mason jars for storage in the basement. Faith was playing nearby and clapped her hands jumping up and down pointing.

“Mutagh! Mutagh!”

I walked to Faith and looked in the direction she pointed as the bottom of my stomach fell away. His face was bright red from running and I could see he was panting. I shouted at Glavia to take Faith and started running toward Murtagh. The closer I got to him the more dread I felt. Something was very wrong, I could feel it.

“Claire! They took Jamie!”

“Who took him?”

“The man said the police, right after Jamie hit him.”

“What? Why did Jamie hit someone?” I could see Murtagh was struggling for breath and waited with my questions for several minutes.

“Jamie stepped between the owner of the house and his wife, who he struck right in front of us. The man took a swing at Jamie and, well ye know how that went. Jamie dropped him with a punch to his jaw and the wife ran in the house and called the police. Said we came up on them and beat up her husband. They are still there and Jamie is in the back of their car.”

I was running now, as fast as I could. Murtagh pointed the direction of the house and I jumped in the jeep and sped toward the house, picking up Murtagh on the way. There were three squad cars in the driveway with blinking lights and I rolled my eyes at the show of force. I saw Jamie in a closed squad car with his hands behind his back and felt my blood boil. In the fifteen feet it took me to reach the front door of the house I pushed back on my anger and took several deep breaths.

An officer opened the door and I could hear the man telling his side of the story, about two men that walked into their yard and accosted them. We were escorted inside and the conversation hushed as we walked into the kitchen. I could see the man was drunk and I looked around for the wife.

“I am Claire Fraser, this is my uncle, and my husband is in the squad car. This man hired Jamie and Murtagh to build his pasture and fence. They have been here daily for a week.”

When I took a breath, I noticed the officers were listening to me and the man was just blinking in my direction. So I pressed on.

“This man got drunk and started beating on his wife. Jamie stepped between them and punched this idiot to make him stop swinging. Where is your wife, sir? I think it’s important to get her side of the story.”

An officer called up the stairs for her to come down. It took several minutes and a second call, but she finally walked into the kitchen. Long sleeves and a scarf knotted at her neck seemed overdressed for the warm day. An officer asked her to explain what happened and she stuck to the story of two drifters coming upon them and beating on her husband.

I had enough of this situation and stood in front of the woman asking why she was lying. When I grabbed her arm and pushed her sleeve up, she tried to jerk away from me, but it was too late. Dark bruising up and down her arm was ample evidence of spousal abuse. I asked her to remove her scarf and she refused.

“Take your scarf off!”

The woman tried to run out of the kitchen only to be blocked by officers. They kindly asked her to remove her scarf revealing bruises in the shape of fingers around her neck.

“Jesus Christ. How did that happen?”

An officer was putting handcuffs on the man and leading him outside. This poor woman was strangled by her husband and by the looks of the bruising, fairly recently. I followed them outside and saw Jamie being released, I ran to him pushing him and Murtagh toward the jeep, and politely avoided any questions from the officers. I shook my head yes at them and drove away hoping they would not be pounding on my door in the next hour.

Catastrophe averted, barely. They asked for Jamie’s ID and he told them it was at home. It bought enough time for me to get there and set the story straight. But it scared me. All of these people in my charge were vulnerable because there was no record of them, no identification, they didn’t exist in this century. It concerned me for the rest of the day, and by dinner time I was deep in my head.

“Come Sassenach, Faith is asleep and I am needin a walk with ye.”

We walked the dirt roads for thirty minutes without saying a word. I realized Jamie was troubled also and broke the ice.

“That was a close call this afternoon, but it ended fine and I am so proud of you for standing up to that man.” I squeezed his arm and looked up at a troubled face.

“What are we doin here Sassenach? I am grateful for a safe place to heal and rest, but it has been long enough. Can we talk about what is ahead for us?”

I tried to think of all the reasons we should stay in this century and realized I didn’t want to stay. I was ready to go back to a safe place in the eighteenth century and resume our lives. I didn’t offer any opposition and encouraged Jamie to express his wishes for going back.

“Before I was taken, I planned to bring you all to the plantation owned by my aunt Jocasta in the new world. North Carolina is what she called it. She wrote to me sayin we were all welcome. There are Scottish immigrants flooding into the country and we would find our people there. She mentioned there would be work for me, possibly managing the plantation.”

“I’m sorry we can’t go back to Scotland Jamie. I’m sorry you won’t see your home again. As it is, we are risking our lives going back to find a ship for America.”

I shivered at the thought of popping back into Scotland and an army of redcoats wanting Jaime with a rope around his neck. I thought about taking Faith into that horror and stopped dead in my tracks. I could not catch my breath suddenly and Jamie instinctively reached behind me for my corset laces, instead feeling just my skin under my light t-shirt.

“What is it Sassenach, what’s amiss?”

“Even if I could get us right to the docks I am terrified, Jamie. I don’t want to bring Faith into that kind of danger. No, we can’t.”

He held my hand as we walked and reaching Lallybroch, we had not spoken again. When we laid in bed, I was too preoccupied to notice how silent we both were. It wasn’t until I was drifting off to sleep that my mind snapped to a thought and I sat up, pressing Jamie to wake up.

“What if we can avoid Scotland altogether and go straight to North Carolina in 1747?”

“Can ye do it mo chridhe?”

“It has to be a place familiar to me, I think because I always concentrate on the place and time when we travel.“ I thought for a minute. “It’s time to get acquainted with North Carolina before we go back. Not to worry love, I almost have it figured out.”

I kissed Jamie and let him empty my mind of scary things and take me to the angels. I didn’t want to think anymore tonight, so I didn’t.

“I’m going alone the first time Jamie.”

“No, lass.”

“Please Jamie, I won’t risk anyone else until I can navigate our landing in America. I have a plan to help me do it.”

Jamie was decidedly unhappy about the idea and I hoped his desire to go back would help him accept my going alone. We spent the week in the library, looking at pictures of North Carolina and studying the land and riverways to Jocasta’s plantation. I looked at so many pictures I started to feel I had been there and that was precisely what I wanted. I checked out as many books as I could and continued my study at night when the house was quiet.

North Carolina was in my mind almost every waking hour before long. I found a perfect place to pop into and I was ready to make my first attempt. I mentioned during dinner that I was ready for a test run. When dishes were done, I climbed the stairs to our room and found Jamie standing in front of our closet with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I think tomorrow is a perfect time to pop into North Carolina Jamie, but I will need my rocks that are in that closet. Could they be the reason you won’t budge from the door?”

“No, lass, ye wilna be goin alone. Take me or dinna go at all.”

“Well,” I teased, “you can’t stand there all night.”

He dropped to the floor and curled up, his back to the closet door. The stubborn Scot would be there until the snow fell this winter, that I knew. With a deep sigh, I promised him we would go together, tomorrow, and coaxed him to bed.

I greeted the new day with trepidation and uncertainty. What if we materialized in the middle of the ocean or inside a volcano? I kept my thoughts on the pictures of North Carolina and prayed. I hugged everyone extra-long and went outside to join Jamie and my sack of rocks. He looked calm but I could tell he was shaking inside. Jamie never traveled when he was conscious, or alive for the matter. I assured him we would be fine. Behind the barn, we held each other, and I put a rock in my hand while I concentrated. I heard the wind rushing in my ears and felt the pressure on my body as we hurled through space.

I gripped Jamie’s middle and looked up to see his eyes closed and his face pale.

“Jamie, are you alright?”

He opened one eye to look at me. “It’s alright Sassenach, we can try again tomorrow.”

“Jamie, I think we’re here.”

He was already moving his head from side to side looking at landmarks we had seen in the books. He was still pale, but his smile was a relief to see. We found a good place to hide the rocks and set out for the rental place right across the street to rent a car. We told everyone at home we would call the cell phone when we got here so they wouldn’t worry. We planned to be exploring for several days so I could find something common to both centuries to use for navigation.

I never figured we would have so much fun driving through the North Carolina countryside, staying at quaint bed and breakfast locations, and generally living life like we had no responsibilities except to each other.

We found Jocasta’s plantation, now a historical museum that boasted furnishings of the original family. Jamie pulled me aside to warn me against looking at any dates. Knowing the year someone died is not a burden we should bear. When I stopped to read a bio on the original family Jamie whisked me away from it before I saw the date of his aunt’s death.

We found the perfect place to land our little family. A large rock outcropping that was surely unchanged for the past two centuries. We bought chicken in a bucket and lazed on the rock for the afternoon. When the sun was setting, I looked at Jamie and told him I was ready. We returned the car and found my rocks in the dark before hugging for the trip home.

We went back two more times during September and landed on the rock on both occasions. It was time. When spring chased the winter away, we would go back, and I would leave my birth century for the second time.

During Hogmanay, I considered at this time next year we would be back in 1747, hopefully, happy and busy building our new life and Faith would have forgotten her time spent in the future, God willing.

I bought bolts of fabric, cotton, and wool to make dresses and suits common to the time. During the cold winter months, we sewed by the fire and spoke of home. Our corsets were retrieved from drawers where they had laid for the past two years and the only one who smiled was Misses Crook. Try as she might, the future held no happiness for her.

Joe and Baritone spent two glorious weeks with us in the spring and he told me all about what he was doing, who he was treating, and the remarkable equipment he had made for clinical trials. I was bursting with pride in his accomplishments and knew he would lead an extraordinary life. The time with them was bittersweet and there were several mornings I crawled in Joe’s lap so I would remember the sound of his voice, the way he smelled, and the way he calmed me.

We cleaned the house thoroughly while Jamie and Murtagh did the same in the barn. Jamie led me outside to say goodbye to Donus and Brimstone and I held them and cried until he pulled me away. We each had two outfits and wore them both taking one string bag with necessities. When we gathered in the yard I held onto Joe like I would never let him go, and I cried like my heart was breaking because it was.

“Be fierce and happy in your new life Pet. I will think of you every day for the rest of my life.”

I thought I would chatter on and on before letting him go but I couldn’t speak at all, so I just looked up at his handsome face. “I left you something on your bedside table, Joe. A part of me will always stay right beside you, don’t forget that.”

A lingering hug for Baritone and then I joined my group linking arms and praying. I pulled the big rock from my sack and closed my eyes feeling the sensation of movement, hearing the roaring wind in my ears, and squeezing those arms I was linked to. I concentrated on a picture, an artist’s rendering, of the immigrants disembarking in North Carolina in 1747 and our landing rock. I had no sense of time or space, just pressure against my body, like I would imagine G force would feel, and the loud rushing in my ears.

When the party disappeared, Baritone led Joe back into the house where he quickly went to his room where a small box laid on his side table. He lifted the lid and saw writing on the inside. My dearest Joe, Do not touch this stone until you want to find me. Just close your eyes and think of me then hold the stone. All my love, Claire

Joe tipped the box at Baritone. “In case we ever want to find her…”

It felt like we were flying through space and time for much too long. When the pressure lifted, I finally felt the solid earth under my feet and opened my eyes. I blinked several times as the image of the others was blurry and started spinning. The last thing I remember was hitting my head on the rock.

“Sassenach! Sassenach open yer eyes lass!”

I looked up at Jamie noticing I was now in the shade near our landing rock. I searched for Faith and was filled with terror when I couldn’t see her.

“Where is Faith?”

“She is over there Sassenach, exploring.”

Jamie helped me up and pointed at Faith picking wildflowers and chasing butterflies. I was shocked that Jamie would let her wander like that until I realized there was no threat to her safety here. No water to fall into, no hills to hide her, no vehicles, no dogs, and no people other than us. Just nature’s embrace that thrilled this little girl at the moment.

Once we had our bearings, we set off to find Aunt Jocasta’s plantation and begin the next chapter of our lives. Jamie walked on one side of me and Murtagh on the other, taking turns holding Faith. I smiled at them both, feeling safe, excited, and something else I could not put my finger on.

I recognized the big house that now stood on a vast expanse of land with dozens of people working in the fields as far as the eye could see. All this land had been consumed by a growing population and a modernized world in 2019. I decided it looked much better in this century. Aunt Jocasta opened her door and her heart to all of us. She was overjoyed we had survived the clearances and risky sail from Scotland. I smiled and said little when she talked of our journey and with no one offering any stories of our crossing she would drop the matter in favor of something else.

There were servants throughout the house ready to fetch or assist with whatever was needed. I mentioned to Misses Crook and Glavia that I wouldn’t mind if they preferred to stay in the employ of Aunt Jocasta. They both went white-faced and shook their heads before they vaporized. I thought that was odd. Perhaps they heard the pay was not enough for them to leave us.

I have never seen Faith so happy. She is free to roam where she wants, always within eyesight of an adult. To Faith, it felt like no constraints and she explored her surroundings with great interest. This life was idyllic and civilized. I was so happy here.

One afternoon I passed through the kitchen when the cooks were getting dough ready for pies. I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows and rinsed my hands in the water barrel before grabbing a round ball of dough to roll flat. The cooks were wide-eyed, almost frightened by my actions and shook their heads rapidly. One of them held my hands down and thanked me but rushed me to the door leading into the parlor. That was odd, my being summarily dismissed from the kitchen.

When Faith was napping in the afternoon, Jamie led me outside to a delightful bench swing that hung from a low branch. We sat in the dappled shade and talked about how lovely it was on the plantation.

“My aunt has asked me to stay on as her manager. We would live here in this house and be at her beck and call I imagine.”

“Maybe we could view it as a place to start Jamie, not forever, but until we know what we are looking for.”

“I know what I’m looking for Sassenach. It’s somewhere in those mountains. A large piece of land where we will gather the Highlanders to us and build strong homes for our families, plant fields we clear and cultivate. Invest in our community and heritage.”

His eyes were on fire when he talked, and I could see and hear his conviction. I would not block his way to this dream no matter how wonderful life was on the plantation. I sighed deeply and squared my shoulders before looking at my love.

“Well, I hope I can hire quality help like Jocasta has when we finish our big house in the mountains.”

Jamie cleared his throat and looked at me strangely. “Ah…they arna hired help Sassenach, they dinna work for Aunt Jocasta.”

“Who do they work for then?”

“No one, love. They are owned by my aunt. They’re slaves.”

“They’re what?!” I was standing suddenly, feeling the air evacuate from my lungs. “All these people are slaves? Oh dear God. How could she?”

I looked from person to person or rather slave to slave, puffing to get enough air to feed my ramming heart. I watched them toil in the fields, carry large bunches of tobacco leaves to a waiting wagon. Their shirts were soaked with sweat, torn and filthy and I wondered if they were allowed to stop in the shade for a minute or get a cool drink.

Jamie had said something so foreign and discordant with my reality I was trying to force it into my brain. And then I heard it, like a bolt of lightning to my spine. The sound was a loud crack from a bullwhip that surely delivered a payload of pain. I felt Jamie’s hands around my waist, pushing me back to the bench swing, talking softly in my ear, holding onto my hands, holding me down, forcing me to accept this horrific scene.

“This can’t be! Aunt Jocasta is a sweet woman who would never own people and force them to work. She…she wouldn’t do that Jamie. You’re mistaken!”

“Sassenach, listen to me. They are slaves, purchased by my aunt to keep this plantation thriving. It is not a pleasant thing, but I am sure she cares for them and provides for their needs. Mo chridhe, you look about to burst at the seams and ye worry me, breathe and relax.”

I looked back at the field where the man was whipped. There was blood on the back of his shirt, and he winced in pain but kept working. I scanned the other bodies and came to rest on a fat white man with the whip in his hands.

“Over…over…overseer, cracker, forced labor, no value, servitude until dead.” I knew I was babbling and stood up suddenly telling Jamie I was ready to leave. “I need to leave this place, now Jamie. I will not spend another moment in that house with your aunt. Let’s go.”

He tried to push me back to the swing, but I avoided his hands and stood my ground. If I had one of my rocks I would have vanished from this horrible place and gone anywhere without slavery.

“Sassenach, we will go but I need some time to speak to my aunt. I think we should leave Glavia, Faith, and Misses Crook here while we scout for land. Claire, it is a terrible thing but we canna run away. There’s nothin to run to.”

He finally talked me into the house where I stayed upstairs with Faith or read in my room giving Jamie time to speak to his aunt. I felt miserable about escaping this place when the slaves never would and prayed they would not be harmed or killed by that wicked man with the whip.

Jamie and I waved goodbye three days later from a borrowed wagon climbed into the North Carolina mountains. Murtagh rode alongside of the wagon and occasionally rode ahead or cut into the woods to see a homestead. We went higher and higher and the temperature cooled enough for me to grab a shawl aunt Jocasta gave me. By afternoon, the air was thinner and cooler. There was so much to see that reminded me of Scotland, but Jamie continued up the mountain and I wondered if we might find the tree line soon.

When the wagon finally stopped Murtagh looked at Jamie and smiled. Jamie looked like he found the garden of Eden and I frankly, could not see the difference in this land and the miles below we had traveled through.

“Come Sassenach.”

Jamie led me through the mountainside, pointing out the rich black soil, a healthy flowing stream, areas easy to clear for building houses and planting fields.

“Jamie, can we just settle here without permission or purchase?”

“Nah, I’ll make a deal with the devil for it Sassenach, and we will prosper here in spite of it.”

That didn’t sound good at all I decided but I would stick to my resolve and not stand between Jamie and his dream. I stayed quiet and supportive when he looked to me for that.

I didn’t know who he would sell his soul to, but he knew about the Revolutionary war that was coming and would surely avoid any military commitment in exchange for the land. I was anxious to get back to town so Jamie could claim this property and I could make peace with what he promised in return.

[wooflesthatwoof]

day 7 | sleep

day 7 off of @31daysofwayhaven!!

Pairing(s): Mason x gender neutral!Detective Warning(s): None that I can think of, but please let me know if I missed something!! Words: 1883 Summary: Mason and the detective visit a café on the edge of town due to an increase in supernatural activity in the area. Neither of them really had any idea just how close they were to the source of this activity until it’s affecting one of them directly Notes: This was based off a daydream I had that I remembered when I saw the prompt, which is why it’s a lot longer than the other ones sksdghj

 The detective sits by a window in a small— recently reopened— café, enjoying the sweet smell of pastries and coffee as they wait for their own to be made. Mason sits beside them, though his wrinkled nose and sour expression imply that he’s enjoying it much less than they are. 

 His expression shifts to something more neutral— they swear they may even see a hint of a smile on his face— as they rest a hand on his arm. Despite his change in demeanor, his next words almost have tangible sarcastic intent. “Worried about me, sweetheart?” 

 “Always, sunshine.” They reply, with nowhere near his level of sarcasm. “It’s not too much is it?”

 Mason gives a light chuckle at their concern, “I’m fine.” 

 “You didn’t look it.” 

 “I’m fine,” he repeats, “doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.” 

 They give a small sigh at that, partially relieved and partially annoyed at his refusal to be completely honest. 

 For the most part, the two of them have just been sitting in silence. Mostly due to Mason’s refusal to start a conversation and vague answers that make it difficult to hold a conversation once one does start. They aren’t really annoyed about it, really, but it definitely is frustrating. 

 “So,” The detective tries again, knowing full well what the most likely outcome is, “what do we know about this new supernatural surge?”

 Mason shrugs, which is about as much as they expected. “Nothing much, the agency is still working on finding the source. We know it’s in this part of town, but that’s about all.”

 “What do you think about it?” They ask, while they’re definitely genuinely curious, they’re also only asking to take advantage of a conversation topic he didn’t shoot down immediately.

 Mason glances over to the counter at the front of the café, the detective follows his gaze just in time to catch one of the staff turning away and hiding their face. 

 The detective takes a second to wonder just how long they had been staring before Mason pointed it out. 

 “They’ve been eying you since we walked in,” he explains almost as if they had asked the question out loud, “I thought it was just you looking like that.” 

 “Like what?” They ask, not giving him time to respond as they immediately hold up a hand to cut him off. “Do I want you to answer that?”

 “I think you’d like my answer.” He chuckles, though he shakes his head as he does. “I think they can smell you. Your blood, anyway.” 

 They think about it for a moment, quite honestly completely unaware that they had been stared at in the first place. “What do you think they could be?” They watch the staff member they caught staring disappear into a back room, and notice that the subtle scent of pastries and coffee from before quite suddenly gets stronger and sweeter. 

 “No idea.” Mason says simply, blinking slowly as he notices the change as well. There’s a mumbled curse as Mason stands up suddenly, almost immediately falling back down again.

 The detective shoots up instantly, resting their hand on his shoulder and offering their arm to lean on. “Mason? What’s wrong?”

 He bats their arm away, glaring up towards the same back room the two of them watched someone disappear into a second before.

 They insist on helping him up, and with how hard he’s leaning against the table, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to let them drag him outside.

  “Was anybody else there?” Mason asks as soon as the two of them are out the door. He manages to stand a bit more on his own away from the overwhelming scent of the café, though he looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

 The detective struggles to process the question for a second, they aren’t sure what makes him think they were focused on anything other than getting him out. “What?”

 “Were we alone in there?” Apparently, looking like he’s half a step away from passing out doesn’t take away any of Mason’s ability to snap at them.

 “I didn’t see anyone except you and the staff.” Their answer isn’t a lie, though they aren’t sure if there was no one else to see, or if they were just a bit too distracted to see anyone.

 Regardless, Mason seems to think it’s a good enough response. He gives a quick nod, immediately whipping around at a sound the detective can’t hear.

 He grabs them by the arm, and they barely have time to hear his “We have to go” before he starts running, dragging them behind.

   Their legs feel heavy enough to fall off by the time Mason stops sprinting, they can only imagine how much worse it must feel for him. 

 “What’s going on?” Their voice is barely above a whisper. 

 Mason doesn’t answer, apparently far too busy glancing around the surrounding forest to respond. 

 “Mason?” 

 “I don’t know!” He hisses, shooting a sharp glare along with his words. It doesn’t quite pack the same punch when they can see absolute exhaustion weighing on every inch of his expression. They swear they see his glare falter as he looks them over, though they don’t have time to confirm it as he immediately starts scanning the trees again. 

 They try to look around as well, not that they exactly have better eyesight than he does, but more because they weren’t falling asleep standing up.

 He squints at one spot in the distance, taking a second to glance between it and the detective, before mumbling a curse under his breath and grabbing their arm again.

 “You can’t keep running.” They can see how much whatever it was in the café is affecting him, not that it’s hard to spot. 

 He either chooses to ignore it or is too high on adrenaline to care. “We don’t have a choice, unless you’ve got a brilliant plan you wanna share in two seconds or less.”

 “Mason—“

 “I wasn’t asking permission.” He cuts them off, though he doesn’t start running the way he did before. Instead, he stumbles.

 A branch snaps at the same spot he kept glancing towards.

 Mason falls.

 The detective kneels beside Mason, desperately trying to shake him awake. They know they aren’t strong enough to drag him, most certainly not faster than a supernatural can run, and so hoping that he wakes up is the only choice they have.

 They only look away from him as footsteps approach, glancing up to be met with the sight of three people— all clearly supernatural, with blood red hair that seems to float in a small puff around their heads and bright white freckles dotting every inch of their skin— slowing to a stop a few feet away.

 “How are you not affected?” The supernatural in the front of the group asks, crouching down the same way the detective was. 

 The detective hesitates for a second, and at their silence, another one of the supernaturals speaks. “Are you not human?”

 “I am human.” They answer, seeing three equally confused glances in response they add, “I’m human, but I have some powers.

 “We see.” The one in front says, genuinely sounding impressed. “Do you care for him?” 

 “He’s a vampire.” Another sneers before the detective can answer, though they’re quickly silenced by a glare from the apparent leader of the group.

 The detective nods slowly.

 The supernatural nods in response. “We apologize, we were unaware.” They glare at the one who sneered earlier, a look the detective had seen Adam give more than enough times to know exactly what it meant. “Please don’t worry for him, he won’t take longer than a day to wake up.”

 They can’t say they exactly take comfort in those words, a day was still a long time, but they nod regardless.

 The supernaturals all give a nod in response, eerily in sync, as the one in front stands up and they turn to leave. 

 The detective calls Felix immediately afterwards. 

 They find it hard to sleep that night, waking up before the sun is even close to rising after going to bed near midnight. They can’t help but worry, despite the supernatural’s reassurance that Mason would be fine.

 They try to fall asleep again for maybe thirty minutes, though quite honestly it could have been a lot less with how fast their thoughts made time feel, before giving up entirely and standing up. They had decided to stay at the warehouse for the night, the excuse they used being something about how they and Mason had walked down to the café. It certainly wasn’t too late to walk home by the time they got to the warehouse, and there was no doubt that the others were fully aware of that, but no one commented on it and so in the warehouse they stayed.

 The detective shakes their head to clear their thoughts, not that it helps much at all, walking along the wall as they make their way down to the kitchen.

  They find themself drawn to a stop in front of Mason’s room. There’s a thump against the door after a moment of them just standing there, followed by Mason’s voice, “Either keep walking or open the door.”

 They chuckle lightly, reaching to open the door and leaning in the doorway for a while— waiting for Mason’s quick nod— before stepping in and quietly shutting the door behind them. 

 “What do you want?” Mason asks, moving to stand up as he does.

 The detective makes it across the room faster than they thought possible, gently pushing him back down as they sit on the edge of the bed. “You should rest.” They smile softly.

 Mason rolls his eyes at them. 

 “I’m serious, Mason, we still don’t know what that even was.” They insist, carefully brushing a bit of hair out of his face from where it had fallen in his attempt to get up.

 He lets them do it, though he pushes their hand away the second they’re done. “I’m fine.”

 “You are not.” The detective says plainly, glancing at the exhaustion still blatantly visible in Mason’s expression. 

 He gives a small huff in response, “I’m not made of glass, falling over isn’t the end of me.”

 “What is it going to take to make you get some actual rest?” The detective asks. That heavy tiredness in his eyes worries them, they’re sure he can see that. 

 “I don’t know.” is the only response he gives. Extremely helpful, as he always is when they ask questions.

 The detective hesitates for a second, slowly taking Mason’s hand in their own— smiling softly when he allows the touch. “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep.” They see Mason open his mouth, and quickly add “I really do mean only sit with you.”

 He pauses for a second, before nodding without another word. And so, the detective sits on the edge of the bed with his hand held carefully in theirs, and provides silent comfort until Mason falls asleep again. 

 Eventually, just sitting with him turns into the detective settling down and drifting off to sleep themself. With how Mason sleepily pulls them closer, they can’t say they think he minds all that much.

[helloalycia]

it matters // mason weaver

summary: communication was never mason weaver's strong suit, and it may just be the reason for your relationship's demise.

warning/s: mentions of drowning and implied death.

author's note: i don't know what this is lmao i'm sorry, it's literally been in my drafts for a year

masterlist | wattpad

"Do you even love me, Mason?" I asked, my voice hard and impatient.

"Does it matter?" she retorted, exasperated.

My expression softened hopelessly. "It's the only thing that matters. At least, to me it is. I guess I was wrong for thinking it mattered to you, too."

I turned around, swallowing down the lump in my throat because I was adamant on not shedding a tear in front of this girl who didn't seem to give a shit about me.

"Y/N, wait," she called, soon grabbing my arm and pulling me towards her.

"I don't have time for this anymore," I snapped, yanking my arm away from her grasp. "This constant back and forth. You don't care, Mason. You've made that much obvious."

Her hazel eyes darted between mine, lost and trying to keep up with my words. I hated that I couldn't stop admiring how beautiful she looked, even when she was unknowingly breaking my heart.

"I do care," she said, surprising me with her certainty. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"That's funny," I said, smiling dryly, "since that's all you've managed to do."

She frowned, her jaw clenching.

"I've gotta go," I said, breaking our eye contact. "I should check on Brooks' injuries."

She didn't try to stop me this time, as I turned around and walked away from her, trying my very hardest to ignore the ache in my chest.

Houston Brooks, my fellow geologist and researcher on the trip, was sat on a tree trunk, messing around with the bandage on his shoulder when I approached him. He caught my gaze, obviously about to admit defeat and ask for my assistance, but my face must have looked dreadful since his expression softened.

"Come on, I'll replace your bandage," I said, sitting beside him and grabbing some bandages from the rucksack beside us.

"What happened?" he asked, forgetting about his injury.

I shook my head, focusing on removing his bandage. He'd got a piece of shrapnel stuck in his shoulder from the helicopter crash, and since moving to the Iwi natives camp that Marlow showed us, we were able to properly take a look at it. Thankfully, there wasn't too much damage, but at this rate, if we couldn't get home soon, he could get a serious infection.

"It was Weaver, wasn't it?" he continued, making me swallow the lump in my throat. He seemed to take this as confirmation, as he sighed. "I knew she was trouble. You always looked so upset around her. Surely she can't think she can just waltz onto this expedition and hurt you like she is."

"I'm okay, Brooks," I told him, forcing a small smile. I finished replacing his bandage and sat back. "I'm keeping my distance. She's made herself very clear. I need to forget her and focus on trying to survive through this."

Brooks nodded, resting a hand on my lap and squeezing my knee gently. "It sucks. I'm sorry. I wish I could do something."

"It's minor compared to that," I said, nodding to his shoulder. "And to everything happening right now. It's stupid and I shouldn't get caught up on it. We might not even make it off this island and I'm crying over a girl. It's dumb."

"You're only human," he reasoned. "You're focusing on the less stressful things in times of panic. It's normal."

"Well, not anymore," I told him, standing up and clearing my throat. "Come on. I think we can help Conrad with the boat."

Brooks nodded and stood up, giving me a small supportive smile. I appreciated his kindness, returning the smile. The two of us headed through the camp, passing the many Iwi natives who were kind enough to let us ride it out here until we got our shit together.

Spotting the boat docked that Conrad and Marlow were working on, the two of us approached it, myself ready to accept the distraction. Only, that immediately backfired when a blonde head poked over the edge of the boat, staring across at me.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Brooks asked, glancing at me with a raised brow.

I nodded, licking my lips and straightening up. "Yeah. We gotta work together if we're to get out of here, right?"

"Right," he agreed, but he definitely noticed the hesitance in my words. I didn't blame him, because he was right.

As soon as my eyes locked with Mason's deep brown ones, I knew I was screwed.

–

"You're pretty quiet back here, everything okay?"

I looked up, tearing my eyes from the river, and saw Conrad watching me with a concerned expression.  

"Yeah, I'm just thinking," I said, before looking back out to the river we were sailing down.

Conrad invited himself to sit beside me. "We should reach Packard's location soon. Then we can get the hell out of here."

I nodded, leaning in the palm of my hand on my knee. "I know."

I could feel Conrad's eyes boring into the side of my head, so I turned and met his gaze, wondering what he wanted really.

"I don't want to pry, but I've noticed the... tension, let's say, between yourself and Weaver," he spoke quietly, since the boat was small and Mason was sat literally a few feet behind us. "I don't know either of you very well, but I feel like you have history."

"It's nothing," I assured him, though I didn't sound very convincing.

I looked back out to the river, absentmindedly following the way the water would flow towards the boat and lap against the wood with a gentle splash.

"You're in love with her," he spoke gently, certainly.

I clenched my jaw, annoyed because he was right. "I don't want to be."

"She's in love with you, too. We can all see it. She wants to be with you."

I shook my head, squeezing my hand into a fist to contain my anger. "She doesn't know what she wants. That's her problem."

Conrad sighed. "I think she knows. She's just bad at communicating it."

I rolled my eyes. "You don't need to make excuses for her."

He chuckled. "I can see that. You seem to have your mind all made up about her."

I didn't respond, instead opting to glare out at the water. He patted me on the shoulder before standing up and leaving me to my corner of the boat. I stayed there for the remainder of the journey to the other side of the island, until we had to get off so we could find Packard and the others.

"He should be here...," Conrad mumbled with agitation, looking around at the clearing where we had docked our boat.

"He could still be walking towards us," Mason said, before nodding to the trees. "Let's meet him halfway."

Conrad seemed unsure at first, looking between where we were stood and the trees ahead. But finally, he nodded and looked to us all.

"Everyone okay with that? Whoever wants to wait here can wait," he said, looking between us.

Nobody spoke, so he took that as an okay. His eyes lingered on Brooks before he moved forward and took the gun off him. He turned to me and held it out. I accepted it, though a puzzled expression was on my face.

"No offence, but you're most likely to shoot one of us than an enemy," Conrad explained to Brooks, who agreed with embarrassment. Conrad looked to me questioningly. "You alright using that?"

"As good as the average person is at shooting a rifle, yeah," I said, pulling the strap over my head and holding the gun to my chest.

"Er, Conrad, is that the best idea?" Mason spoke up, stepping forward and looking between him and I.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as Marlow jumped up and down beside us, stopping anyone from answering.

"Are we going or not? The longer we wait, the less time we have to get out of here!" he shouted impatiently.

"He's right," Lin, my other colleague and fellow biologist said. "I don't like this one bit, but we need to find the others so we can leave."

Conrad nodded, giving me a look of encouragement before looking to an uncertain Mason. "She'll be fine. Hopefully she won't have to use it. Now come on. We've got to find Packard."

He didn't wait for her to respond, as he raised his own gun before leading us all forward. Mason, who was trying to find my eyes with her own, stayed standing until I breathed out and walked right past her, ignoring the goosebumps on my skin as my arm brushed hers.

The air was tense as we followed Conrad through the trees, our attention dead set on our surroundings. The last time we voyaged this forest without concern, we lost a member of our expedition and one of Packard's soldiers. Kong and the Skullcrawlers weren't the only threats to us.

As we were creeping through the trees, Conrad raised his hand suddenly, making us all halt in our stance. It took a few seconds, but then I heard it. The crunching sound, like feet on sticks and leaves. It was hard to tell whether it was from people or predators, and my heart pounded in my chest the longer we waited.

Conrad waved his hand back, signalling for us to back up slowly. I realised I was holding my breath out of fear when I struggled to move at first. Gulping in a deep breath, I took a few steps back, lowering my gun and following Conrad's orders.

The crunching noise stopped, making us all pause. I looked around, trying to make out a figure or shadow of whatever was ahead of us, but I couldn't see anything. It was just trees and foliage disguising whatever was there.

A clicking noise sounded loudly before us and I stepped back out of habit, as someone stepped out in front of us. Mason, who was stood beside me, stepped back, too, but was still stood in front of me, her arm held out over me protectively. It was ironic, since I was the one armed with a gun and she only had her camera.

"Packard," Conrad breathed out with relief, lowering his gun and guard.

I released the breath I was holding and stood up straight when I saw it was just Packard and his men. Mason lowered her arm and glanced at me with concern, but I merely rolled my eyes and stepped away from her. She had no right.

–

"Weaver!"

My heart dropped when I heard Conrad yelling for Weaver, his voice strained with concern. I followed his gaze and saw Mason landing in the water, falling from the crumbling cliff she was stood on.

"No... no...! Mason!" I shouted, tears blurring my vision.

Fuelled by pure adrenaline, I raced towards the water, convinced I would do anything I could to get her back. She wasn't going to die like this, she couldn't!

By the time I reached the bank of the river, I stopped, looking up at the vast ape before me – Kong. The beast's eyes looked down to me and I felt my heart beating erratically in my chest. He kneeled down, stretching his hand out, to reveal Mason. I held my breath out of fear and amazement, watching as he lowered Mason onto the ground, before he stood up and walked away.

Not hesitating a second longer, I dropped by Mason's side and scanned her face, seeing the lifelessness she possessed. I leaned down, ear to her face, hoping to feel her breath from her nose, but I wasn't sure I could feel anything at all.

"No, no, come on, Mason, you have to wake up," I begged, swallowing hard before beginning the process of CPR.

I did three chest compressions before giving her mouth to mouth. As I returned to the chest compressions, I felt my own chest squeezing together and my stomach curling up in pain. I wasn't prepared for the worst, and I was terrified it was coming.

I breathed air into her mouth again, before returning to the chest compressions.

"Don't leave me," I got out between sobs, eyes glued to hers in hopes she would open them. "Not like this, Mason."

I leaned down and gave her mouth to mouth again, only to feel her shudder beneath me. I moved back and watched as she spluttered carelessly, trying to breathe, but unable to because of the water in her lungs.

I helped her sit up, making it easier for her to cough out the water. I patted her back gently as she did, trying to blink out the rest of my tears so my vision was clearer.

"You're okay," I told her, smiling with relief. "You're okay. Just take your time."

She took some deep breaths carefully, clutching onto me tightly as she tried to regain herself. Her eyes found mine and I thanked God there and then that He brought her back to me. I didn't want to ever live another day without looking into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She looked overwhelmed, her skin pale and her wet hair stuck to her forehead, but she still looked beautiful. And I knew why she was apologising.

"Forget that," I told her, pulling her in for a hug. I closed my eyes, squeezing her tightly, afraid she'd be gone if I let go.

She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me close and nodding slowly. We pulled away when we heard Kong roaring in the distance, beating his chest loudly and shaking the ground. The two of us looked out, past the river, seeing him retreating back into the forest.

"He saved your life," I said, my voice shaking. "And you saved ours." I looked to her, to see she was already looking my way. "Thank you."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She still seemed startled at the fact that she almost drowned.

"You can't leave me like that," I said, shaking my head and squeezing her hand gently. "Please don't leave me."

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead before pulling me into her arms. I accepted the hug, closing my eyes as I realised that no matter what happened between us, I'd always come back to her.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I should have said it. It matters."

"I know you do." I pulled away, meeting her glassy eyes. "I know."

She smiled regretfully. "I should have said it."

"You just did," I told her, returning the smile, though it was with a heavy heart. "I love you, too, Mason."

She continued to smile, nodding her head as more tears rolled down her cheeks. I pulled her back into my arms, knowing we'd have to get up and get to the boat any minute. But not right now.

Right now, I had her back and that was enough.

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 14

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 14: My love.

It took a moment, in the saloon, like the clenching of a fist. The pianist switched songs, to something slower and darker. Albert shook Dutch's hand.

“I assume that, based on your acute sense of surprise, you have heard of me," said Dutch.

“Yes, I know who you are,” said Albert.

Dutch studied his knuckles. “I am surprised to find you alone,” he said, “without Arthur.”     

Albert placed his hands in his pockets under the table. He raised his chin but continued to look down at the filigree of the place mat beneath his newspaper. “He’s not here,” he said. “He was out, on a job. He hasn’t yet returned.”

“That’s right,” said Dutch, nodding, admiring the end of his cigar. The smoke filled the air between them. “The Rhodes bounty. How did it go?”

Albert didn’t answer. He just stared, waiting.

“I asked you a question, Mr. Mason.”

“Yes, I am aware,” said Albert.

"I just thought that, given the opportunity, I should meet you,” said Dutch. “I wanted to meet the man who has…somehow convinced my partner to leave his life, everyone and everything he knows, behind. Many have tried in the past, and failed. It is truly magnificent.”

“For what it’s worth,” said Albert, “I gave him every out. He did not take much convincing.”

This struck a nerve. Dutch’s eyes got dark. “How much has he told you?” he said. “About me?”

“Some,” said Albert. “Mostly good things.”

This seemed to confuse him. “Good things?”

“Yes,” said Albert. “He told me how you saved his life in Jackson when he was a teenager, how you helped him and gave him a second chance. He told me you were like a father to him for a long time. He told me that he thought you had lost your purpose in recent years, something that worries him, but that he relates to. He told me that you would be okay, as long as you have your partner, Hosea, by your side. He also told me that you would try to find us, and that you would succeed if we were not careful. I have to ask, how long have you been keeping tabs?”

Dutch was leaning now, way over the table, his face at less than a foot of distance. He looked intrigued. His voice was quiet. “I have not been keeping tabs on you,” he said.

“How did you know I would be here.”

“I didn’t,” said Dutch. “I followed John, out of Rhodes. He led me here. He is not as smart as Arthur. Never was. I know that Arthur is at Shady Belle. Or, that is where I assume he has gone, to see Mary Beth, or to pick up his belongings.”

Albert blinked rapidly. He tried to calculate the best way to proceed. “If you knew Arthur was at Shady Belle, and you wanted to see Arthur, you should have gone to Shady Belle. As it stands, you followed John.”

“As it stands.”

”Your use of subterfuge is advanced, Dutch,” said Albert, “but I’m well-versed in the verbal acrobatics of sociopaths. I come from money.”

Dutch took a deep breath and smiled. "Pretty goddam bold, Mr. Mason."

“I’ll pay you off,” Albert continued, adjusting his sleeves. “Arthur wouldn’t like it, but if that’s why you’re here, for my money, just say so. I have little use for it. Perhaps I should have just started there.”

“I know all about your money,” said Dutch. “I know all about you, now that I’ve met you. You need not say anymore. I would wager you are from the eastern coast. Philadelphia, or New York.”

“That’s correct.”

“Modest wealth,” continued Dutch. He leaned back and looked at the ceiling, holding his cigar in the air. “You’re not a Rockafeller, but it’s always been silver spoons in your mouth, hasn’t it now?”

“More or less,” said Albert.

“I don’t want your money, son. The only thing I want,” said Dutch, running a hand over his hair, “is to understand what you want with Arthur.”

“What do you mean.”

“I mean, he’s an outlaw.” He placed his hands back on the table, forcefully. It shook beneath the impact. “He’s got a price on his head in two states, Mr. Mason. The federal government is willing to pay for his apprehension, dead or alive. He’s dangerous. Isn’t that what your people would think?”

“I’m not sure,” said Albert. “Most of my people are unaware that men like Arthur even exist.”

“How did you become aware of men like Arthur?”

“I met him, randomly, one day in West Elizabeth. He helped me on a project for many months. You can see the fruits of our labor in the St. Denis Art Gallery, if you are so inclined.”

“I understand that,” said Dutch. “The two of you became friends?”

“That’s right.”

Dutch studied him. “You must be pretty close, if he’s leaving the gang for you. Getting on a train with you, going west.”

“We are very close friends,” said Albert.

“The kind of friends who…see the night through with one another? Who welcome the morning light from the comfort of one another’s arms?”

It was a strange way of putting things, almost pretty, thought Albert. He knew enough about Dutch not to lie. “Yes,” he said. “In a most poetic sense, yes. That is true.”

“Arthur’s done well for himself then.”

”Whatever you say.”

”Why so coy, Mr. Mason.”

“Because I don’t trust you,” said Albert.

“Smart man. I can understand what Arthur sees in you. You're more assertive than you look."

“You don’t have to act this way," said Albert. "You can just approach men, normally, and have conversations, even awkward ones, without attempting to intimidate, or manipulate them into saying something unwise, which you’ll then use against them later.”

“Excuse me?”

“Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Albert. He folded his hands on the table. “You may talk with an affect that rings of the prairie, but your methods of persuasion remind me of the eastern coast.”

“I’m from Philadelphia,” said Dutch, squaring up with him unexpectedly.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” said Dutch, almost like he was proving a point. “A lucrative dairy farm, outside the city line. My mother came from some money, but not like yours. My father was in the Army of the Potomac. He fought and died in Gettysburg when I was a boy. After I came of age, I left that place. I have never returned.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” said Albert.

"Thank you.”

“My father is also dead, though he died on no such heroic terms. Still, he was a good man.” He wiped his forehead again with his handkerchief. Then he tucked it neatly into his pocket. “I just want you to know that this is not about you, Dutch.”

“What is not about me.”

“Arthur leaving. I think you care about Arthur, and that is ultimately why you are here. You need to make sure, on no uncertain terms, that he is not making the mistake that you are sure he must be making. But please realize that he is not trying to hurt you, and I am not trying to hurt him.” Albert looked away. He was not ashamed, but he didn’t know how to say it, what he needed to say. He was never lost for words. He told the truth.

“You love him,” said Dutch.

Albert took a deep breath. He said nothing.

“As do I.”

"Fine,” said Albert. “But you should know that he came to me, after he was tortured by one of your enemies. He was injured and alone, and he needed to be cared for. Why is that? You’re supposed to be his family, aren’t you?”

“We cared for him,” said Dutch. “His life was saved. I cared.”

“You may think that,” said Albert. “And I know there are people in your gang who care deeply for Arthur. I’ve met them, but in my detailed observation, and based on the information I’ve been given and have gleaned for myself, those people are not you.”

“Do not presume to know anything about me, boy,” said Dutch, growing cold with suspicion. He brought his face in so close now, Albert could smell his cologne. It was expensive. This surprised Albert, though it made sense, now that he knew more about him. “Do not presume to know anything about me, or my relationship to Arthur."

"I apologize."

"I’ve known Arthur for twenty-two years," Dutch went on. "How long have you known him, Mr. Mason? Five months? Maybe six? You are but an infant in the grand, roaming scheme of our lewd and licentious lives. You abide your privileges, your tasteful living of the upper crust, achievement without struggle. You lust freely in and out of the filth that lurks beneath your immaculacy, for kicks, taking what you desire, and leaving the rest to decay.” He scooped his hand through the air between them, abruptly, snatching an imaginary prize. Then, he proceeded to point. “Arthur is not your pet, or your project. He has struggled his whole life simply to survive, dear boy, and I have been there, every step of the way since he was barely more than a child. Do not tell me whether or not I care.”

“With respect to my relationship with Arthur, I have undertaken no such actions, and certainly never for kicks."

“Arthur will say anything to defy me," said Dutch, ignoring him. "He is full of drama for this life, and he always has been, even as he has managed to excel. You know so little.”

Albert cleared his throat. He realized it was a mistake, as it sounded like he was trying to interrupt, but he didn't care. “I saw what happened to him,” he said. “A close-range gunshot wound in his shoulder. He had to remove the bullet and cauterize the wound himself, which left so much scar tissue, it still hurts him sometimes. He had so many broken ribs, it took him weeks to be able to ride a horse again without significant pain. Did you know that?"

Dutch said nothing.

“I am not trying to—he is not a project,” said Albert, trying to understand Dutch's point of view, even as the night was getting long, and he was angry. “I can see how you might think that, but that is not what this is. And I may not be familiar with your way of life, but I know enough. Prove as you may that I was not a part of Arthur’s tragic teenage landscape, or that I am a product of privileged, societal hubris—a fact of which I’ll not argue, mind you—I know Arthur very well, as a man. He tried to hide it from me, what happened to him, as he hides so much. It took him a long time to open up, and he is still opening up. More every day. All of this is to say that Arthur is anything but dramatic. He never complains, nor does he exaggerate his ills. You claim to know him so well, and yet, it seems that every time you try to describe him, you are simply describing yourself.”

Dutch was staring now, his mouth hanging open, as if he aimed to catch flies. He looked nonplussed, having been done an egregious wrong. “What did you say?”

“I took care of him,” said Albert, “when he came to me that night. I will continue to take care of him, always. I will do it because I love him. But more than anything, at the end of the day, I just want him to be safe, unhurt, and while I believe that you may, in your way, love him, too, Dutch, I am not sure that you can say the same of the latter.”

Dutch changed then. He became dreamy and disconnected. You could hear the sounds of the piano and the dancing girls, almost distant. “You are right,” said Dutch.

It was a strange thing.

“What?”

Then, Albert watched as Dutch was dragged from the booth and tossed, violently, unsuspecting, to the flat of his back on the floor. Albert stood as soon as it happened. It was Arthur. He must have snuck in, snuck past them both, somehow, without being seen.

“What are you doing?” Arthur said to Dutch, shaking his head, with his hand on his gun. He didn't address Albert yet, not at first. He seemed too incredulous. “Dutch, what are you doing?”

Dutch looked up at him. Seemingly confused as to how he had gotten there, he held his hands up, in surrender. “We was just. Talking.”

“Just talking?” said Arthur. He glanced at Albert now, assessed his physical person, then back to Dutch. He seemed profoundly disappointed, verging on a kind of concentrated, past-protocol anger that Albert had not really witnessed before. “What else would you be doing?”

“You think I’d hurt your gentleman friend here?”

“Maybe,” said Arthur. “You’ve hurt a lot of other innocent people in these final months of our reign together. Why the hell are you here, Dutch?"

Dutch hauled himself off the floor, proceeded to dust off his pants in a gentlemanly fashion. He looked at Albert, and then he looked at Arthur. He said, "I came to see you."

Arthur took a deep, harsh breath in through his nose. He closed his eyes momentarily, as if gathering his will power. “Did you follow John?” he said.

Dutch sighed. “You know he can’t cover a trail to save his life.”

“Well I guess I shall keep holding out hope then.”

"Hosea told me you was leaving," said Dutch. He put his hat back on his head, still visibly shaken from having been tossed to the floor. "He let slip that he had seen you at a photography exhibit in St. Denis. All I had to do was ride into town, walk by the art gallery, and I had a name. The bartender pointed out Albert to me. With very little convincing, might I add. I believe he's inebriated. You ought to beat the breath from his lungs."

“I ain't gonna do that," said Arthur. "I ain't like you."

“I came to beg you stay, son,” said Dutch. "That's all."

“Why?" said Arthur. "Why on earth would you beg me to stay? You ain't shown me nothing but contempt since we fled Blackwater. You don't trust me, Dutch, and I don't trust you. Not no more. So just be rid of me. Let me go."

"How can I do that?"

"You just do it," said Arthur. "That's all. But I'll tell you what you don't do. You don't come here and threaten him. You threaten him again, that’ll mark the end of my composure, and there ain’t gonna be no glory in it for you, Dutch. No glory. Do you understand?”

“I did not. Threaten him.”

“You was raising your voice to him,” said Arthur. “You put your face pretty goddam close to his face. What am I supposed to think? Where I come from, that’s a fighting distance.”

“Where you come from?” said Dutch. He looked around, as if being met with an audience. The saloon did not notice them anymore, not really. There had been some attention paid, initially, when Arthur had put him to the floor, but that sort of thing was part and parcel in the saloon after midnight, even in St. Denis. “It seems to me you have forgotten where you come from, Arthur. Leaving, going back west, without us? Without me? We was partners. Partners. For twenty-two years. How can you do that, to us? How can you forget, after all we been through.”

“I ain’t forgotten.”

“All this…struggle. We was a family.”

“I will never forget,” Arthur corrected him. “Don’t you make that misunderstanding. I will always be grateful for what you gave to me. I’m just gonna make the most of it now. That’s all this is. It ain’t about you, Dutch. It’s about me this time. Me. That’s why I was leaving without saying goodbye. I knew you would not understand. I had hoped that Hosea would be able to convince you to see reason, but I can see now, with you here, trying god knows what with the person I love—that was foolish.”

“Arthur, please.”

Arthur turned toward Albert, ignoring Dutch, and his pleadings. He was looking at the floor, striving for calm. Albert could see it in his eyes, in his fists, clenched tightly by his sides, one of them lingering very close to the volcanic in his belt. In a plea to bring him back to stasis, Albert clasped his hand to Arthur's shoulder and shook him, just a little. Arthur looked right at him then, and Albert said, "It's okay, dear friend."

"You don't know him."

"I know," said Albert. "I know."

Dutch had backed away, a couple steps. He still had his hands up.

"You gotta go, Dutch," said Arthur, wincing like he was in pain. "I am finished. Tonight, more than ever."

"Arthur—"

"If you follow us," said Arthur, "or try to find us, at any point in the future, I swear to the holy that I will not hesitate to end your life. Now, go."

Dutch looked upon him as if teetering on the edge of a high cliff. Albert did not know what was going to happen. He did not know. But even as the room was still filled with voices and bravado, nobody cared. Nobody looked to see. The bartender had put on the gramophone while the pianist smoked a cigarette and laughed with a women in a smoky corner. The gramophone was playing something obscenely French. Josie, the saloon girl, came back around again, looking for orders. She stopped just before the stand-off, uneasy. She had long, dark hair that fell in a soft braid over her shoulder. She was very young and beautiful, probably only nineteen or twenty years old. She looked at Albert. She said, "Is everything okay?"

Albert nodded. She looked at Arthur. "Hey, Mr. Morgan," she said. "You look like you need a drink. Whiskey? You want water?"

Arthur realized then that he had become more familial with the saloon girls of St. Denis than he had with anyone from his former life. It snapped the moment in half, like a bone. He said, "Yes, ma'am."

"I'll be back." She touched his wrist, didn't go yet. She glanced to Dutch, but she sensed something now and stayed quiet. She didn't yield to him, like she had before.

Dutch cracked his knuckles, looked at her, sadly, his eyes as shell casings. He looked at Arthur, too. "I have lost you," he said, almost like he was talking to himself.

Nobody said anything else after that. Or maybe somebody was talking, but it was all static. Dutch reached into his pocket. He tossed a handful of coins onto the table. He staggered to the bar, where he stood for a moment, alone, with his head down, leaning on the counter. Arthur looked at Albert for just a moment, and when he looked back, Dutch was gone.

"Albert," said Arthur.

"Everything's fine," said Albert, after a moment. "He surprised the hell out of me, got in my face a little bit, but he tried nothing."

Arthur was silent, filled with regret for having separated from John, for having left the opportunity open at all. He wished away the fears that overtook him that night. "Okay," he said.

"Who was that man?" said Josie. "He looked so familiar. I think I seen him in the paper."

Arthur thanked her, and he tipped her generously, even as he cancelled his whiskey order.

The altercation had been bitter and upsetting. He and Albert went upstairs to where they could finally be alone. Arthur sat down on the purple sofa in the light of the Chinese lanterns, looking up at them, like they were gods. They knew all. They had seen all.

"You're sure you're okay," said Arthur.

"I'm sure," said Albert. "Did you find Mary Beth? Back at Shady Belle?"

"I did," said Arthur, holding his hat in his hands. "She is set to go."

"Where will she go?"

"North," said Arthur. "She wants to go to Wisconsin. Supposed to be nice up there, real free. I told her to write me when she was safe."

"Good," said Albert. "That's very good."

"Al, I'm so sorry," said Arthur. "I should've come back. I shouldn't've gone to Shady Belle without telling you first."

"I wish you would have," said Albert. "But it's all right, I understand. I wasn't afraid of Dutch. Not really. I see how he could be extremely dangerous, but tonight he seemed...disorganized. Unhinged. I almost felt sorry for him. I was more worried he had done something to you, to be honest, and that that's why he was here."

Arthur smiled with a slight abandon, put his hand on Albert's knee. "You've come a long way, Mr. Mason."

"Have I?"

"First time I met you, you nearly fainted at the sight of a coyote," said Arthur. "I have saved you from alligators, O'Driscolls, wolves, ledges. Tonight, you looked the goddam devil in the eye. You weren't even scared. You sure you still need me around?"

Albert kissed him, softly. He lit a cigarette, his eyes tired, glazed. "You know that I love you," he said.

"Of course."

"You know that I love you," said Albert. "That I know your past, and that I accept it. That I'm not afraid of it, nor do I want to change who you are. You know that my only motive for being with you is just this, love."

"Where's all this coming from?" said Arthur. He held his arm along the back of the sofa.

"Nowhere," said Albert, happy. "I just wanted to make sure you knew. And of course I need you. I may have faced Dutch like a man, but I couldn't take him, not in a million years. Don't be silly."

Arthur laughed, kissed him in the dim light. It was very late. "You have eased my strife, Mr. Mason. We can talk more about it in the morning."

"Do you believe he'll stay away?" said Albert.

"I do. For now."

"All right."

It would be their last night in St. Denis.

[wtch-and-the-warlock]

Unlikely Team

Here is part two to “The Forest Meeting.” When the second pair for this unusual team form and the four get their relic, they must live with the final outcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don't panic. Do not panic. Everything is under your control. The young brained male ducked behind a tree as he slowed his breath while a pack of Beowloves were sniffing the air. He had run them around in circles till he found a place to rest and gather his thoughts. The sound of their growls brought chills down his spine. He looked down to his weapons around his wrists, remembering why he was there. He could not run from them. Face them... Face them! The man grit his teeth as he lept up the tree and aimed down The Queen's Servant's sights. Deep breath... In... Out... FIRE! He let loose a barage of bullets on the nearest beowolves, catching the pack off guard. Their glowing eyes turned to him as howls erupted, alerting nearby Beowolves of the attack. He had to silence them before it was too late. Leaping down from his safe spot, the blades on his wrists extended as he launched himself at the enemies. He swung his arms loosely as his body seemed to flow with each action he did. The grimm could hardly keep up with him as he bobbed and swayed from one to the other with slashing motions. They would snap and bite, causing his heart to jump. He had to block out the anxiety welling up inside. If he didn't then... As he snapped back to reality, one Beowolf was reared back, swatting him aside into a tree. This knocked the wind out of him as he wobbled to his feet, launching back into the fight. More beowolves trudged from the tree line, eyes beaming at the young man. He took a deep gulp of air as he realized he was beginning to get outnumbered. That is when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of gunfire. The grimm in the distance began to dissipate as the young man saw his opportunity to take out the ones he started with. Their throats were no match for his sharp blades. The boy leaned back on the nearby tree taking deep breaths of air as his eyes looked out to a young tanned man in golds. He was fiddling with a pistol, counting under his breath. "Five, six, seven. Down seven." The tanned boy looked over and rolled his eyes as he made his way over to the tree. "Well it seems I'm stuck with you. You need to know how to maximize efficiency when it comes to taking on enemies like that." "oh.. uh.. Thank you. My name is Tyrian Callows. Thank you for helping me. You seem to be quite the marksman with that pistol." The young man looked over Tyrian then let out a small scoff. "My name is Arthur Watts. Young genius of Atlas." "Oh! Atlas huh? No wonder your weapon is so advanced. Well I guess this makes us partners... Right, Arthur?" Arthur looked over to Tyrian almost as if he wanted nothing to do with him, but rules are rules. "I believe so. Just don't get in over your head again. I have limited bullets at the moment, so I can't save you all the time." Tyrian hung his head for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry for that." "Do not apologize to me. Just do better, got it?" "Got it." ------------------ Cinder and Hazel walked not too far from one another as they looked for the tell-tell signs of the relic holding place. As they walked, Cinder tried to make small talk. Emphasis on small talk. Hazel was not much of a talker, so she had to do her best not to be bugged by the silence. "So... How are you able to do that thing with the dust? It looks painful," she asked as she looked up his arms at the embedded crystals. Hazel made a grunt sound as his voice came out low and deep. "My semblance negates any pain that I feel, so this means nothing to me," he said as he gestured to his arms. To think there was a pain reducing semblance! "Hazel, that is amazing!" The young man looked down to Cinder, his eyes almost glazed with unfeeling. "If you say so." He continued to walk, leaving Cinder in his dust. Even in her glass heels, she was able to catch back up with him. He seemed focused on the distance. When Cinder went to ask him what he meant, Hazel spoke up. "There it is." Off in the distance stood the relic podium. Cinder felt even more excited as she rushed ahead of her partner to look at what was in store for them. Upon the podiums were different gemstones of varying colors. Which one should she choose? There were so many of them. Wait... "Hey, Havel. Which one do you think we should pick?" The lumbering man joined her side as he looked over the gemstones. He soon reached out to the purple gem and handed it to Cinder. "Amethysts are good." Cinder looked over the gem then put it away in her satchel. "Right. It does seem rather nice." Now was the time the two had to get a move on and look for the extraction point. ----------------------------- After half an hour of walking and clearing out grimm, the duo found themselves at the bottom of the cliff where they were meant to meet. There is no way they could make it up there. "Hey, Hazel. Any idea how we should make our way up?" Suddenly a familiar voice spoke up behind her. "So you are unable to think for yourself as well? You are two for two right now." Cinder whipped her head around to see the jerk from before and a young boy with a braid behind him. "Really? Don't you have anything better to do than be rude?" "Look, if you want to get up the cliff, you need a thought out strategy. Do you know anyone who can do that? Oh. I do. It's me." Cinder rolled her eyes at the nerve of this guy. "Oooooooooooooh okay mister higher-than-you. What do you think we should do?" Arthur cleared his throat as he looked up the cliff. "Well if we could find a way to make a make-shift staircase or trail up the cliff, we wouldn't have to worry about climbing." "Well how would you suppose we do that? Call in a stone mason?" "Sharp words as usual," Arthur scoffed as he looked at his scroll. "I have the ability to use hard light dust to construct simple platforms. If I had some assistance with altering the landscape a bit, I could use the dust to form platforms." Cinder went to complain before Havel stepped in. "I can use my dust and semblance to crack the surface. Would that help any?" The tanned boy raised a brow in thought before nodding. "That is a possibility. We can start there." Without a second word, Havel jammed two more dust crystals, this time earth, into his arms. The power surged through his veins as he began driving his fists into the cliffside. At first it didn't seem to be doing much, however cracks began to form as rocks soon tumbled down. Tyrian rushed forward and used all of his strength to pull Hazel away from being crushed. the girl in glass turned to Arthur looking none too pleased. "Way to go, smart guy. Now what is your big plan?" Anger seethed in Arthur's eyes as he began to spit out his words. "Well why don't you be useful and do something instead of running your mouth like a simple nuisance?!" She took that challenge and turned to the other two, looking at the cracks that had formed. "Hey, braid boy. Lemme ask you something. Are you a good climber?" The man looked to her and nodded. "It's Tyrian, by the way." "Okay, Tyrian. That works." She pulled a large pouch out and handed it to the boy. "If Hazel can give you a boost, do you think you can climb a good way up?" "I... I can certainly try. What is this?" he asked as he looked at the pouch. "It's sand. My semblance allows me to heat things up, so I can create glass with this sand. Once you climb up enough, toss out the sand. I will do my best to try and form platforms." Arthur, realizing this plan had some substance, took a step forward. "I see. Not useless after all. It will need stability. Once you form platforms, I will activate my dust and give the glass some extra strength. They won't last long, so we will have to be fast." Cinder rolled her eyes, but any help would do. "Fine. Let's make this work." Tyrian looked to the bag then looked over to the towering man. "Do you think you could give me a bit of a boost?" Havel silently nodded as he laced his fingers together. Tyrian got a running start as Hazel threw the scrawny boy into the air. His heart raced as her opened his blades in order to sink them into the nearest crack formation. Once well lodged in, he began to climb. The other three watched from below in anticipation of their next move. "This better work," Arthur muttered to himself, not missing Cinder's ear though. "If it doesn't I'm sure you'll think of something," she said, her voice full of sarcasm. Tyrain made his way to the final crack, several feet away from the top. His eyes glaced down as he fidgeted with the pouch. "Alright! I'm going to throw the pouch now! Get ready!!" Not a moment later, the bag was tossed into the air as sand spilled out like rain. Cinder focused on the are and began exerting heat towards the sand particles. Clumps of glass began to form close to the cliff while Arthur fired off what looked to be small pucks at the forming glass. Hard light dust erupted, forming a sor of makeshift frame work for the glass to follow. It wasn't perfect, but it was working. A simple set of thick glass stairs stood on the cliff as Tyrian set his feet on the top step. "All right, said Arthur looking to the two, "We don't have a lot of time. Let's get going." Hazel nodded as he went first, followed by Arthur behind him and Cinder in the rear. The climb was rather uneventful for a while as Hazel soon met up with Tyrian. Arthur looked to his watch as he turned his head to Cinder. "Let's go. Only a minute left!" Cinder went to say something snarky when she heard the glass beneath her feet begin to crack. She couldn't get a word out as she fell through the surface of the glass. She expected to fall to the bottom, but felt someone grip her hand. There was Arthur, holding her wrist and struggling to pull her up. "Damn it! Your glass was too thin towards the top!" "You're going to complain at me right now?! Really?!" Hazel noticed the stairs were beginning to crumble while the other two were left hanging on. He grabbed Tyrian and reared back. "Prepare to land," he said as he threw Tyrian to the ledge, watching him scramble to his feet. Once he knew Tyrian was safe, he went back to Arthur and Cinder. "Hold on." The boy reached down, making sure Arthur still had a grip on Cinder. Once she was safely out of the glass fissure, he grabbed ahold of her. With both Arthur and Cinder in his grasp, he ran to the top stair and used as much force as he could muster to leap. This man managed to launch himself enough to grip the cliff's ledge. Tyrian, waiting at the top, scuttled to help Arthur and Cinder off of Hazel so the three of them could successfully pull Hazel to safety. The four students took the time to catch their breath after that death defying stunt they just pulled. No arguments were had. No words were thrown. The four just sat in silence, realizing that this fiasco was going to be one of the many they would eventually get into.

This was not going to end well...

[flightfoot]

Couldn’t Hawkmoth take off ONE DAY?!

Ladybug dodged Catwoman’s beams, narrowly avoiding them. She winced as one of the stray beams hit a bystander, transforming them into a calico cat.

Catwoman - wow was Hawkmoth lucky no one knew who he was, or DC Comics would sue him into oblivion - had evidently been upset at someone mistreating one of her beloved felines. So naturally the akuma’s solution was to just turn everyone into cats. Because akumas are like that.

Marinette had just been minding her own business, strolling around the park hoping for fashion inspiration to hit her, when she saw Catwoman leap over a building and start firing laser beams from her laser gun (which she highly suspected was the akumatized object) at everyone in the park. She dove for cover behind a nearby tree, only barely making it in time.

“Tikki, spots on!”

Ladybug swung towards the villain, taking note of all the cats milling around where humans used to be. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what this villain’s powers were.

Which led her to the present. Catwoman was annoyingly fast and agile, taking after her comics counterpart. She was mostly a distance fighter and MIGHT be easier to defeat in close combat, but that was a moot point if she couldn’t REACH her. Plus Chat was more of the close combat specialist.

She groaned slightly as she thought about all the cat puns her kitty would fire off. He’d have a field day with this akuma. Still, she hoped he’d arrive soon. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up.

She dove behind a car as Catwoman fired wildly, attempting to hit anyone she could. Ladybug would be her first priority of course, but she wanted to hit anyone she could, she wasn’t picky.

Ladybug checked her bugphone and gave a sigh of relief. Chat was on his way. She only needed to hold out another minute-

A flash of light invaded her vision.

Ladybug had forgotten to account for something about lasers; they could be reflected off things. This included windows. One of Catwoman’s wildly fired beams had hit a nearby window, bounced off it, and hit Ladybug.

The small gray kitten blinked, overwhelmed. Where was she? What was going on? Why did everything feel so wrong?

She spotted a weird woman in a black catsuit jumping around, firing off light. Immediately she scurried under the car. Whatever this woman was doing, she wanted no part of it!

“I’m fe-line your anger ma’am, but I’m afraid your little light show is over!”

Marinette peeked out from the car. That voice sounded familiar.

She saw a second person in a catsuit, but this one was a young teenage boy instead of a woman. She meowed at the sight. This boy - he would help her! With what she wasn’t sure, but she knew that she HAD to get to him.

She dodged and weaved, making her way closer to the fight. The catboy was holding off Catwoman pretty well, pressuring her into close-quarters, forcing her to abandon offense in favor of evasion. But he was alone, and it was obvious he was used to some sort of back-up

He shouldn’t be alone. She had to help him!

She crept closer until she was only a few meters away from the fight. As Catwoman fired another beam at the catboy, she bolted towards the strange lady.

She jumped at the lady’s hand, knocking the laser from her grip. It clattered to the ground.

Marinette snatched it up, breaking it in her jaws. A small black butterfly fluttered out.

Alarm bells rang in her head. That butterfly could NOT be allowed to escape. She spat out the pieces of the laser pointer and jumped into the air, snatching the purple butterfly before it could escape.

She heard clapping coming from behind her. She turned around, coming face-to-face with the smirking catboy. Next to him was the woman from before who’d been attacking him, but her strange outfit was gone and she seemed confused.

Marinette ran up to the catboy, offering him the struggling butterfly. She didn’t know why, but she just knew that he’d know what to do with it.

Catboy chuckled, taking the butterfly from her mouth. “Thanks little kitty. You were a big help! Now I just need to find Ladybug. It’s weird - I know she was here earlier.”

He looked troubled for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe she had to detransform. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. In the meantime...”

The catboy poked his head into a nearby shop. “Hey, do you have any mason jars? It’s kinda urgent.”

A minute later the catboy had forced the akuma into a glass jar where it fluttered helplessly against the glass.

“Now we just have to wait for Ladybug,” catboy said, plopping down on the grass.

Marinette felt weird about that. Ladybug wouldn’t come. She was sure of it.

She sat vigil with him in the meantime, feeling very reluctant to leave him for some reason. She inhaled his scent, frowning. He smelled strongly of something. Something almost rotten, but mixed with a sweet scent, as if trying to cover it up.

Well at least she didn’t have to worry about losing him. His scent was so strong she could track him halfway across the city.

After a few minutes of waiting, he frowned, checking his stick. “Still nothing,” he murmured, sounding worried. “Where could she be?”

Sighing, he started talking into it. “Hey Ladybug? I defeated Catwoman with some help with a feline friend, but now I have an akuma, a ton of cats, and no way to fix things. Where are you? Please call me back. I have the akuma trapped in a jar, I can take it to you. And... please. Let me know you’re alright.”

He put the stick away. “Where could she be?” he murmured.

Marinette bumped her head against catboy’s legs, rubbing up against him and purring. She didn’t want him to be sad. She didn’t want him to worry.

He chuckled, stroking her head. “Yeah, she’ll be alright. She’s Ladybug! Nothing can keep her down for long. She’s just a little delayed, that’s all.”

He stood up. “But in the meantime, I need to help take care of this. I don’t know how long Ladybug’ll be tied up, and in the meantime, I need to wrangle some cats.”

---

An hour later, Chat Noir (Marinette had heard his name said by several humans during this whole debacle) had all the stray cats in the area quarantined in a large pen some helpful civilians had created. It wasn’t certain which of the cats were actually cats and which were simply transformed humans, so until the Miraculous Cure could set everything right again, the city had deemed that all the cats in the area be treated as if they were Catwoman’s victims unless an owner could come forwards with proof of ownership of the cat in question. They weren’t taking on faith that a person was the owner just because they say they are; too high a risk of human trafficking in this instance.

Chat collapsed on the ground exhausted. “Phew! I hope that’s all of them.” Then he frowned. And groaned. “Okay, I give up. How do you keep escaping?!”

Marinette waved her tail smugly. He thought that little pen would stop her? She just jumped out the top whenever his back was turned. For some reason the other cats didn’t, which she found a little weird. It was only about twice as tall as Chat himself, she could jump that high easily.

Chat shook his head. “Look, I don’t know if you can understand, but it’s for your own good. The city will make sure you’re safe until Ladybug comes through.”

She meowed and headbutted him. She was NOT going to just wait around locked in some cage. She wasn’t sure what she should be doing, but that was definitely NOT it.

He picked her up, carrying her gently as he leaped into the pen and let her go again.

“Stay here,” he told her. “This will be fixed soon, I PROMISE, but I can’t do it while worrying about you - whoever you are. I’ll be back as soon as I find Ladybug. It’ll be okay.”

He extended his stick, vaulting into the distance.

Marinette jumped out of the pen, running after him.

---

Luckily Chat had a very distinct, strong scent. She had no trouble following his scent trail, even with it extending into the sky, him touching down on the ground only momentarily. She raced after him, going as fast as her legs would carry her, jumping over cars and people when necessary. She felt a small niggle in the back of her mind - should I really be doing this? I’m not supposed to know - but ignored it. Chat needed her. She didn’t know much, but that? That was an incontrovertible truth.

In a few minutes, she arrived at a massive mansion. She stalled, trying to figure out how to get inside. Following the scent trail, she leaped onto the small ledge by one of the windows, meowing and bumping against the glass. The boy on the other side startled, staring at her with slack-jawed amazement. She meowed and bumped the window again, which seemed to startle him out of his stupor. He opened it.

She leapt in, immediately sauntering over to him and rubbing against his legs. This was definitely the same boy as before, she could smell it.

“What- how- you should NOT be here!” he whispered to her quietly. “You can’t be here! How did you get from there all the way to here? The park’s a few miles away!”

She just chuffed. So what? He managed to get here fast enough, no way was she gonna be far behind him.

He groaned. “Is there any point in taking you back?”

She shook her head.

He froze. “You can understand me.”

She nodded.

He flopped onto his bed. “Ladybug. Is. Gonna. Kill. Me.”

“Yep! You’ve really done it this time!” a new voice called out.

Marinette’s ears flattened against her head. What was that?

A small black cat - even smaller than herself - floated out from a cabinet. She stared. On closer inspection, the... creature looked more like the IDEA of a cat. It had the cat ears and tail, but its proportions were all wrong. Still, it was cute, if weird-looking. Her ears pricked up a bit. She had a feeling that this was a friend.

“Plagg!” Chat called out.

“What? If she made it all the way here then she already knows who you are. And I’m not gonna hide if I don’t have to.”

Chat buried his face in his pillow again.

A moment later she heard his muffled voice. “So what do I do with her? If I take her to the pen she’ll just break out again, and I’m worried about her getting hurt coming here. And she’s one of the transformed people so...”

He froze. “Oh god... you’ve got people missing you, don’t you? Parents, siblings, friends... they probably have no idea whether you were caught up in the akuma attack, or were kidnapped, or what! And even if they figured out you were in the akuma attack, they don’t know that you’re okay now! Well, mostly okay,” he corrected, looking her over.

Parents, siblings, and friends? Faces flitted through her vision. A small woman with raven hair helping her wither her schoolwork. A large mustachioed man teaching her how to roll out dough. A girl with brown hair and glasses laughing at a joke with her. And...

She took a closer look at the boy in front of her. His blond hair, emerald eyes, his soft expression... she knew him. She knew him well.

He handed me an umbrella to protect me from the rain.

Adrien.

She purred loudly, a warm feeling glowing in her chest.

Adrien muttered, frustrated. “Where IS Ladybug? She’s never out of commission this long! Not when there’s an akuma attack to clean up!”

“Maybe she got hit,” Plagg said.

“That’s...” Adrien’s face went slack. “That... that would explain everything! Why she was there at the start and then vanished. Why she hasn’t reappeared. And...”

He turned towards her, wonder on his face. “My Lady?” he asked breathlessly.

She tilted her head and meowed. That seemed familiar. Not her name exactly, but something close to it.

A wide grin spread across Adrien’s face. “Plagg! My Lady helped take down the akuma as a cat! She stayed with me the whole time I was waiting for her, then followed me home!”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “There’s no guarantee that this IS Ladybug. Cats meow sometimes.”

He floated over to his cheese stash. “Well whoever you are, you can’t have any of my cheese! It’s mine!”

She turned around, sticking her nose in the air in distaste. Why would she want some of that smelly old cheese? Especially when there was something MUCH more interesting to pay attention to. Namely Adrien’s face.

Adrien seemed to think for a moment, then headed over to the computer. “I know! Let’s see if she can type stuff. If she can, she can tell us who she is for sure. Maybe even how to get in contact with her parents.”

He pulled up some sort of mostly white screen. He plopped her on the desk. “Can you type?”

She looked at him for a moment. Then curled up on the keyboard and meowed at him to pet her.

He sweatdropped. “I guess not.”

He turned to Plagg. “If Ladybug WAS hit, how can we fix this?”

Plagg shrugged. “Dunno. This is the kind of thing the Guardian would know about.”

“Great,” Adrien muttered. “I’m not set to have another Chinese lesson with him for three more days.”

Plagg gave out an exaggerated sigh. “But I SUPPOSE I could head over to his place and ask him about this. If I really have to. I’m not heading out until night though. I’m exhausted and hungry, it can wait that long.”

Adrien grumbled, but assented.

He turned towards Marinette, frowning. “Now what am I supposed to do with you in the meantime? Father would have a fit if he knew I was keeping a cat - even one that used to be human.”

She purred and headbutted him. He should pet her. Now.

He chuckled, stroking her head. She collapsed into a puddle of goo. “I know I should hope you don’t remember any of this so that my secret identity isn’t compromised,” he observed, “but I sorta hope you do - at least, if you really ARE My Lady. You are just too adorable.”

She just purred some more, eyes closed, soaking in the affection.

After several minutes, Adrien stopped stroking her. She got up unsteadily, blinking. “Sorry kitten,” he apologized, “but I’ve got a test to study for, and I really CAN’T stroke you all day, as much as I want to.”

She made a slightly annoyed sound, but relented.

She took it upon herself to explore the room instead. It was large - VERY large - with two stories and a lot of parts to explore. Yet while she wandered around, sniffing at everything (not that it did much good, most of it was covered up by the stench from that... substance the strange not-cat had been eating) she felt something niggling in the back of her mind. There was a bigger house to explore outside of the room. She knew Adrien didn’t want her to leave his room though. But... it was important. She had no clue why, but she needed to investigate.

Her instincts had led her to finding and helping Her boy. She would follow her instincts again.

But how? She knew that before, when she wasn’t a cat, she could just grab the handle and open the door. But she couldn’t do that now with her paws, and even if she could, she couldn’t reach the handle. She’d have to find another way out.

Her eyes wandered upwards. Maybe... ah! There!

She scrambled up one of the bookcases on the second story, reaching her objective. But how to open it?

Carefully, she grabbed the metal grate with her jaws. It tasted kinda gross and part of her protested at how unclean it was, but it was drowned out by the curious part of her that NEEDED to know where this mysterious passage leads. She tugged, the grate coming off with a BANG, then leaped into the now-open vent.

Adrien startled. “What was that?!”

Plagg flew over to the disturbance. “Looks like your little kitten friend has flown the coop again,” he observed.

Racing up the stairs, Adrien observed the damage. The grate that covered the vent in his bedroom laid on the floor, visibly dented by tiny toothmarks.

“How- cats can’t DO that!” Adrien protested. “They’re not that strong!”

“Huh. I think you were right,” Plagg observed. “Normal cats aren’t. But a superpowered cat is.”

“A superpowered...? So she really is Ladybug! Wait, she still has her powers?!”

Plagg shrugged. “Well, her super-strength at least. She can’t speak, so Lucky Charm and Miraculous Ladybug are out of the picture, and she doesn’t have her yo-yo. But she should have everything else.”

“So My Lady’s wandering my house as a cat WITH superpowers, while having the mind of a cat?!”

Plagg yawned. “Seems like it.”

Adrien went pale. “Oh no. Father has cameras inside the house. He might see her! I’ve got to find her before Father does!”

He raced off through the house.

-----------

Marinette slunk through the ventilation system. These things were PERFECT for letting cats move about!

She soon came upon another vent, this one evidently in the ceiling. She pushed, sending it clattering to the ground.

-----

Elsewhere, Adrien heard a loud clanging sound. His stomach dropped. “Oh no, if I can hear that, then Father-!”

He raced off towards the noise, praying that somehow, his father won’t have found his feline partner.

-----

Marinette jumped down from the ceiling, landing gracefully on her feet. She looked around.  A large monitor stood in the middle of the sparse room. The main other focal point being the large, somewhat abstract painting on the far wall.

She stared at it, enraptured. This woman... she was Adrien’s mother. She was so beautiful. Adrien looked so much like her.

A door opened. Marinette jumped.

-----

Adrien rand down the steps, his heart falling. That noise had come from his Father’s office. He’d locked himself in there all day, there was no WAY he could miss that noise!

Adrien tested the knob. Locked, like he’d figured. Which meant that LadyCat (ooh, that was a good one, he was sticking with that!) was trapped in the office with his Father.

“Plagg!” he hissed quietly. “Can you take a peek and see what’s going on with LadyCat and Father? Make sure she’s alright at least.”

Plagg sighed. “If I have to. You owe me SO much cheese after this.”

He flew up, slowly sticking his head through the wall so as not to attract attention.

There LadyCat was, staring at the painting of Emilie. But...

Plagg retreated, returning to Adrien. “Ladybug’s fine, but your father isn’t in there.”

Adrien frowned. “That’s strange. This door only locks from the inside. Unless he climbed out the window, I don’t know how he’d manage that.”

He shook himself. “I can’t think about that now. I need to retrieve LadyCat. Plagg? Can you open the door?”

Plagg flew into the lock, opening the door. Adrien quickly ducked in, closing it and locking it behind him. If his father DID come back from wherever he was, best he didn’t know immediately what Adrien had been up to. If he got into trouble later due to the security footage, fine. At least Ladybug would be safe by then.

Ladybug jumped slightly at his entrance.

“You can’t run off like that,” Adrien told her. “You could get hurt, or lost!”

She rubbed up against his legs and meowed, staring up at him soulfully.

“Oh no, that won’t work on me,” he said. “I practically invented the kitten eyes, I’m immune to their power.”

He picked her up. “Come on, I’ll get you out of here.”

As he was about to leave, he saw a panel open in the floor. He quickly ducked behind the nearby curtains.

Internally he was panicking. There was a secret passage in the floor?! Since when? WHY?! He could sorta understand the painting-vault, wanting to hide that so thieves couldn’t find it, but why was something in the floor?!

He heard the mechanical whirring stop and a noise like two metal plates coming together. Then footsteps.

“Failed again,” he heard his Father’s voice mutter. His Father walked to stand in front his Mom’s portrait. Adrien prayed that he wouldn’t glance down at the bottom of the curtains. They were long, but they didn’t quite cover his shoes.

“But I will keep on trying, Emilie. I must. Adrien... he needs you. I need you. I will keep our promise. Just wait a little longer. I may have failed today, but Ladybug and Chat Noir did not totally succeed. Ladybug has not set everything right yet. The time for my success may be close at hand.”

Gabriel walked out of his atelier, unaware of the stunned boy, cat, and kwami he had left behind.

------

“Plagg?” Adrien whispered as he extricated himself from the curtains. “I- I didn’t just hear that. That didn’t mean what I thought it meant. Right?”

[takaraphoenix]

The Tale of FD, Scottie and Gucci

(For @sterek - because your enthusiasm about the headcanon I pitched made me want to actually write it. I hope you like it!)

Foxes weren't pack animals. But her mom used to say that, if something ever happened to her, they should go and seek out another fox. Follow their noses and hope for the mercy and compassion of another fox. This wasn't a fox. Not really. He was walking on two legs and he was way too tall and he had not enough fur, but he smelt like fox. And fox was meant to be protection and safety. And she was really very hungry and so were her brothers – and her youngest brother was hurt. So she gathered all of her bravery and approached the human-shaped fox. She chirped at him pleadingly.

/break\

Sometimes, Stiles still had a hard time to grasp just how much Beacon Hills had changed over the past years since him and Scott had literally stumbled over the body of Laura Hale. Very slowly, one pack had gathered, just to be split up into two different packs. The Hale Pack and the McCall Pack.

The Hale Pack, with Derek who had worked hard to become an alpha, with Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Cora and Peter in it. Stiles had been right there, with Derek, had watched Derek fight tooth and nail to protect this pack, to keep this pack safe – and oh, there had been close calls, when the Alpha Pack had come and they barely found Erica and Boyd in time, or when Jackson's parents in their infinite wisdom decided it'd be good to remove the boy struggling with his identity from everything and everyone he knew, including the place where his biological parents were buried, or when the Mexican hunters had come for the she-wolf and Derek had feared for Cora. But they had prevailed. Through all of this, by fighting together, they had prevailed. And Stiles had come to appreciate Derek in a whole new light, he found himself being... proud of Derek.

Though Stiles knew, deep down, that the Hale Pack wouldn't exist like that without its strongest allies. The McCall Pack. Scott, who had become a "true alpha", who had gathered a small pack of his own over the years, with Lydia, Kira, Malia, Liam, Corey and Mason.

And then there was Stiles. Stiles, who wasn't a wolf or a banshee or a kitsune or a chameleon, but Stiles who was something. The boy who ran with wolves. The one whose loyalty laid with two alphas, the human who belonged to two different wolf-packs. He had been the one to broker peace between the two head-butting alphas, he had helped both alphas build up their packs.

Somewhere along the way, he had lost himself. Had lost himself in the void. The nogitsune. But both packs had come together to help and save him and as traumatic and nightmarish as the experience had been, it had pushed Derek – pushed Derek to admit what he truly wanted. Even before they knew Stiles was possessed, when they had been in the hospital, thinking Stiles was sick. Derek had been so worried, had been so angry. Angry because he couldn't keep losing the people he loved. And oh. Oh. So Stiles was someone Derek loved? Like... pack, right? Stiles' back had connected with the wall as the angry alpha pinned him against it with a very low-hissed no. No, not like pack. It had been their first kiss, one filled with fear and anger at circumstances beyond their control. All Stiles could do was cling onto Derek, cling onto that moment.

Soon after, Stiles' life was rattled once more when it turned out he wasn't actually sick. He was just possessed by an evil dark fox-spirit. Easy that one. No, seriously! Supernatural catastrophe? Villainous monster-creature? Those were things both Stiles and Derek could deal with. Those, they knew how to fight. They knew they could fight. A deteriorating brain? They wouldn't have been able to fight that, they would have been helpless. So yay, possession!

And they did. They did fight it and they did win, all of them together. Hale Pack and McCall Pack coming together to fight for the human who ran with both packs. They defeated the nogitsune and Stiles was free. Exhausted, traumatized, confused, but free.

He had a lot to deal with afterward, mentally speaking. The possession had taken its toll on him, but it wasn't just that. Remembering his mother, facing this deeply seated fear that he might have what she had, it had been a trauma all on its own. So Stiles manned up, acted like a responsible adult, seeking an actual doctor for counseling, for sorting through his issues.

At least all but one issue. The issue of a certain brooding wolf who now kept his distance, because he wasn't sure if the moment they shared had just been a I-might-lose-you moment or more. Stiles had rolled his eyes, very slowly and very exhausted, before pinning Derek to a wall – yeah, yeah, he knew he could only do that because Derek was letting him, but whatever – and kissing him.

Life went on after that. The McCall pack grew, while the Hale Pack settled. Most of them graduated and sought out a future. Stiles left for Quantico, Derek was being a miserable, mopey large puppy-dog (that was how Erica put it, with Boyd smirking knowingly in the background), but Derek and Stiles actually made it work. They made the long-distance thing work, until Stiles finished his training and got back to Beacon Hills as an official FBI liaison. A bit like Rafael McCall, just... actually wanted and also actually useful. Granted, working with his dad was sometimes frustrating, but for the most part, Stiles loved his job. He loved his life. Because after moving back to Beacon Hills? He redecorated the loft to make it actually look like a place someone could live in instead of... whatever Derek had been going for in there, because yikes to his interior design abilities.

So he was living with his boyfriend, he was still overseeing two packs, having a lot of fun at Scott's expense (seriously, Scott trying to be a wise mentor to the younger teens who kept gravitating to Beacon Hills, seeking out to be a part of his pack, it was hilarious to watch for Stiles).

Life was good. Life was... really very good. That was the thought occupying Stiles' mind when he was walking through the woods, feeling a bit like little Red Riding Hood (well, he was on his way to be devoured by his Big, Bad Wolf, so—o...). An odd chirping sound interrupted Stiles' thoughts though and caused him to look down at the – huh. There was a small baby fox sitting right in front of him on the path, staring up at him and chirping at him. It looked very thin and very dirty and – was that blood? Yeah, that was blood. Stiles had gotten exceptionally good at spotting blood on fur (he blamed his stupid, big wolf for that). A little lost, Stiles paused and knelt down.

What was he supposed to do now...? He had heard somewhere not to touch wild baby animals because then their moms might not recognize them again, or something like that. But the little one was clearly hurt and – a rustling sound interrupted Stiles' contemplation. Behind the small fox, the bush was rustling and, looking more closely, Stiles spotted two more foxes. Both also small. He approached the bush very carefully, keeping eye-contact with the fox that had first chirped at him. When he pushed the leaves out of the way to properly look at the other two, he saw that they were just as dirty, ruffled and malnourished as the third. Something told Stiles that there was no mom. Or dad. Or great-cousin twice removed. Those three were on their own.

"Okay. Okay. Okay", whispered Stiles to himself. "Okay. You know what we're gonna do? We're gonna go visit uncle Scott. He's a doctor, he'll be able to tell if you're okay. Okay?"

/break\

Half an hour later had Derek barging into the vet clinic, looking wide-eyed. "Where's the baby?"

"What... baby?", asked Scott slowly, looking from Derek over to Stiles, who just shrugged.

"Our baby!", exclaimed Derek, pointing from himself to Stiles and back.

"I... what?", was all Stiles could muster, slowly approaching his boyfriend.

In way of explanation, Derek lifted his phone to show Stiles and Derek a message from Lydia – Congratulations on fatherhood, Derek. They have your eyes. It took Stiles a few moments.

"Your... grasp on biology troubles me", muttered Stiles and pinched his nose. "You and me, we... can't physically have a baby. And even if, don't you think that there would have been some stages, like a pregnancy, before you get a baby with your eyes?"

"Stiles", growled Derek deeply. "This is Beacon Hills. You could have been hit with a spell, some weird experiment gone wrong that results in a baby-aged clone of us-"

"You're not Superman. I'm not Lex Luthor. We didn't make a Superboy", snorted Stiles amused. "There is no baby. Well. No human baby. I... found three baby foxes in the woods, I called Lydia to drive me here so Scott could check them and make sure they're alright."

Stiles took a step aside to show the two small foxes sitting huddled together on the table in front of Scott. Derek furrowed his brows. Oh. So Lydia had just... joked. Derek heaved a relived sigh.

"Wait. You said three foxes", grunted Derek. "And... Lydia... did she imply that you want to keep the foxes? Stiles, we're not keeping three wild animals-"

"That hardly seems fair. Stiles decided to keep you too, after all", commented Scott dryly.

Derek threw a half-hearted glare at the other alpha, while Scott just smirked. Though then Derek's attention was drawn toward something moving in the hood of Stiles' dark-red hoodie. A fox, the third fox, poking its tiny head out of the hood and peeking over Stiles' shoulder.

"De—er", drawled Stiles, making a miserable little sound. "Scott says they're malnourished and the state of their coat is suggesting they don't have anyone. They're just... babies. Look at them."

Stiles stepped back to the table and easily picked the two other foxes up, even though Derek wanted to protest – don't just pick up wild animals like that, Stiles – but the protest died on his tongue when Stiles gently cradled the two fox babies against his chest, the third one still poking out from the hood, resting its tiny little paws and head on Stiles' shoulder.

"Stiles says he just... picked them up from the forest floor, carried all three of them to the car and they stayed well-behaved until they came here", explained Scott at Derek's look.

"And since they seem so fond of you, you want to keep them?", sighed Derek.

"Yes? Ple—ease?", begged Stiles with the largest, most impossible to deny eyes. "They're really cute and sweet. Please, Derek. I promise I'll take care of them. I already named them."

"...What did you name them, Stiles?", asked Derek wearily.

Stiles smiled brightly, lifting one fox-baby a little. "This one is FD. Fox Derek. Because he's grumpy and growly but he really likes when I pay attention to him. Clearly a Derek."

Derek made an offended, displeased noise, before Stiles continued. "And this one is Scottie. Because he's clumsy and awkward and an absolute disaster, but also so adorable."

It was now Scott's turn to make a small noise, before Stiles pointed at the one sitting in his hood. "...And this one is Gucci. Look. I wanted to name her after Lydia, but she said 'over my dead body' in the car already, so... she got to name her and she decided on Gucci."

Derek took a deep breath as he looked at FD, Scottie and Gucci. He... now had three fox children.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Choices (Chapter 4: Goodnight, Princess)

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!Reader x Jim Mason

Words: 1,381

Summary: Palos Verdes was the place to be for a fresh new start. It would be hard to adjust with such a change, though it was all too perfect. The families here seemed vibrant and happy, although it’s only when Y/N comes across Jim and Michael Langdon, that she has to make a choice…

Warnings: nothing really...just angst? 

A/N - tried to make this chapter interesting, but it probably isn't...BUT it does set the tone of the relationship between Michael and the reader for later ;) 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 

It was silent, dead silent. There was some distance between yourself and Michael, was just instinct. Although, it seemed Michael was unphased by it, rather in fact, he was respectful of your space, as he continued walking ahead, hands buried deep in his pockets, occasionally his head from would turn to the side near you, as though checking from the corner of his eyes, that you were still there. It was getting cooler as the minutes passed by, as night began to gradually settle in the sky, but still you tried earnestly to memorise the empty streets you’d both passed, scanning for anything out of the ordinary that would help you to remember, although most of the houses looked identical. In your mind, however, you were uncertain of Michael’s intentions still: uncertain if he now had regretted his offer to walk you home. However, you took his silence, as a warning to not disturb him...Obviously, he had something on his mind.

In the meantime, you tried desperately to suppress your heavy breathing. Your time so far into the walk was little, however everything was uphill, and trying to keep up with Michael proved to be more of a challenge than you had anticipated. You were growing tiresome, although you wanted nothing more than to get home… Done with the Langdon’s for the evening. Keeping your head low, hoping that by any means that would dampen the sounds of your deep breaths, were you only then caught by the sudden halt of Michael’s heavy footsteps.

“You want to rest for awhile?” He bluntly exclaimed, as he turned to face you directly, his eyes glued to yours.

There was no denying that you were intimidated by his look, uncertain if he was being sincere.

“No, no I’m fine. How much longer is this walk going to be exactly?” You insisted, as you took a couple more steps towards him, making sure you’d completely caught up with him.

Cocking his eyebrows, he still seemed unconvinced.

“Just another 15 minutes I’d say, but you sound like you need a break. Am I walking too fast for you, need me to slow down?”

Another grueling 15 minutes you thought, Jesus. You didn’t want to delay the walk, nor did you want to anger Michael with your heavy breaths. You felt selfish in asking him to slow down, but it was the only option you had, or so you felt he was expecting. By the way he looked at you, unimpressed in some way you felt, along with his monotone voice...You were convinced this walk irritated him, as much as it irritated you. He made sure now that he walked beside you, and that his pace was as steady as yours.

“So why’d you and your family decide to move here?”

You weren’t at all expecting him to be the one to strike up a conversation: the sudden sound of his voice caused you to whip your head up towards him, only to find that he kept his eyes fixated on the road ahead. Not wanting for him to return the gesture, you turned your head back down towards the pavement, and for some odd reason, you felt a little smirk smeared across your face..You didn’t want him to see.

It wasn’t the question that made you smile… It was the sheer sound of his voice, the fact that he was asking you a question, and much to your surprise a personal one of that.

“Well, uhm- We just that our old home wasn’t a home anymore. As cliche as it may sound-” You chuckled, raising your head, you noticed he instantly turned his gaze towards you and felt your own meeting his.

“We needed a new start, somewhere far,” You smiled, and there it was. That was it.

He smiled. It was faint, but it was there. No matter how few of light there was blazing through sky, you’d caught him. And it seemed as though, he knew you’d caught him, as he instantly tore his face away from you before you had the chance to take it all in.

“Fair enough,” He groaned, before directing you to turn into the street on the right. Still nothing looked familiar to you.

“So as a resident who’s lived here longer, would you recommend this be a good place to make a fresh start? Or do you think us moving here was a mistake?” You question, your smile ever so slowly beginning to fade.

“I guess, it’s a little too late to say now, considering you guys have already moved in. As for if it were a mistake. That’s for you to decide… Let’s just hope you don’t make any decisions, you might regret.”

By the end of his reply, your smile had completely vanished, and instead you were left somewhat disappointed and reminded of how frightened you’d first felt when you;d met Michael. It was as though you’d said something that caused him to become disinterested in you like that… You weren’t expecting that answer at all, and moreso, by the sour look on his face, you knew better but to bite your tongue.

And to make matters worse, it was as though Michael suddenly had disregarded that whole ordeal of you struggling to keep up with him, that he continued to persevere through the walk at his own pace again. Leaving you out of breathe by the end, even if it shortened the duration of the walk...That, you were grateful for.

“I can walk the rest of the way from here-” You insisted, as you instinctively grabbed Michael’s forearm, as you both had just turned into your street.

You saw his face grow enraged as he looked down at your hand on his arm, and back up at you, though he didn’t utter a word. At this point, you didn’t care. You just wanted to be as far away as possible from him and as quickly as you could. He was acting childish: one minute he was fine, intrigued by you, you thought, and the next, completely unbothered. Although, you wanted him to know who the bigger person was.

“Thank you, for walking me home. Much to your luck, next time I might just do it myself, saves you from the walk-” As you slowly felt your grip loosen around his arm, you noticed his facial expression beginning to turn wide-eyed, as if he’d only then noticed that his behaviour was unnecessary. Although still, you looked at him expressionless.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

Just as you’d taken a couple steps passed MIchal, exhaling a deep, relieving breath out, as you looked ahead towards the familiar lawn of your house, that once more, the sudden eruption of his voice booming through the crisp night air, that your body instinctively stopped.

“Who’s to say I didn’t enjoy myself?”

It was as though, through some sort of intuition, that you felt his smug smile piercing through the skin of your back, causing you to face him again. You looked at him, puzzled, as if he really didn’t pick up on his odd behaviour, though no words escaped your mouth in defence… You just continued to stare. As he inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, his chest expanded as his posture straightened, he looked as though he was somewhat impressed with himself. And for what you thought?  And yet, despite wanting to have the last word, you were still nonetheless, more frightened by Michael than agitated enough to talk back. You’d persuaded yourself to let him have just this one.

“Goodnight, Princess...” He aggressively exclaimed: his voice was low, though audible enough for you to hear between the distance. He turned away, hands still in his pockets as he retraced his steps, disappearing into the corner of the previous street.

You stood your ground for a couple of minutes still, your eyes still fixated on that particular corner he’d disappeared off into. A part of you simply wanted to make sure he wouldn’t sneakily try to follow you directly back, although you knew, deep down, you just couldn’t move out of fright.

There was something unsettling about Michael, that a part of you wanted nothing more than to avoid, and yet another, conflicting side, was curious to know…

Taglist (for “Choices” series) - @jimmlangdon @langdons-rep @bademliimagnum @tiny-ruby-seeds @gold-dragon-slayer @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @langdonswhoreprobably @apocalyptvc

[drunkcnsunlight]

---- JAIME DID CARE. gods, he cared more than he did anything else. the greatest joys of his life had involved the brief seconds that he’d been permitted to be joffrey, myrcella, and tommen’s FATHER. of course, those seconds were wrapped up in the times when each of his three children had been BORN. when the fat king was off hunting boars and fucking whores, jaime was by cersei’s side--- he never left her, not for a second. not even when the birthing wives and maesters insisted that he was not allowed in the birthing room. which one of you proposes to keep me OUT? his own words rushed into his mind then. the memories brought tears to his eyes, but what difference could they make now? he’d been disarmed--- by the one opponent--- perhaps the only one--- who could defeat him with reliability. for most of his life, no man could best him with a SWORD. like ser barristan selmy, ser jaime lannister had been a painter, who only used the hues of RED. but everywhere else? cersei was capable of putting him off of his guard, of making him drop his pretenses, his hopes, his dreams, his apologies. but gods, he’d loved her--- and he loved her fiercely, even now. not as he had, when myrcella’s newborn fingers curled around the scruff of his beard. not as he had, when joffrey wailed, and outstretched his nimble arms in jaime’s direction. not as he had, when tommen was so quiet, exiting his mother’s womb, that both parents were mightily fearful that some medical condition--- that had gone undetected--- must have plagued him.

it had taken years, and it continued to take TIME. but jaime was slowly learning to deconstruct all of the lessons that his lord father had shoveled to him, ever since his boyhood. anyone whose last name is not lannister is an ENEMY. gods, what a heap of royal horse shit that message had been. on the one hand, it was elitist and entitled and horrifying. on the other hand, it was all that he’d ever known--- he and cersei had been told as much, the second that JOANNA had given birth to them. but tyrion? tyrion had rarely, if he’d ever, fallen for it. maybe he escaped with his sanity because he’d been tortured, outcasted, and abused from the second that he first drew breath. perhaps if his little brother had been born NORMAL, then he, too, would have fallen for the lessons of lannisters. but he hadn’t been born normal--- he’d been born as a DWARF, and he’d been punished for this area of his difference for all of his life. as a result, he’d come to appreciate those who were different than him--- he valued the lesser and the greater. he valued the able-bodied and the differently so. he valued the people of the forests, and the stone masons, and the noble people behind their high walls. he was a man of the PEOPLE--- a true man of the people. and gods, jaime envied him for being able to escape in that tiny, obsolete way that he did.

if she called brienne a WHORE one more time.... jaime could feel his jaw clench, and he felt the most painful combination of emotions that he’d felt in perhaps all of his life--- he was angry. he was angry that cersei did not mind her tongue, that she pushed him--- that she did not care enough to consider what was good for HIM, what he wanted. as horrible as it felt to contemplate another man held between his sister’s arms.... part of jaime WANTED that for her, if it meant that she could experience happiness in her life.... if it meant that their children could experience a more positive--- PRESENT--- male role model. but she could never want an analogous situation for him.... she would sooner destroy the woman whom he loved, than to see him grow happy and old with her. gods, what had happened to the small children whom they’d been? confiding fears and hopes and dreams openly with one another? cersei’s nails had pierced harder than his, even back then... but she used to whisper to him, too.... that she wanted him to be HAPPY. she did not want him to be happy now, did she?

“i did walk away from you,” jaime returned, doing his best to keep his tone as diplomatic as possible, but he was struggling. he was losing his edge, his grip, his control. “but i did not intend to do so forever--- and you can swear that i am LYING to you, but i did not GO NORTH for her. i didn’t think....” he didn’t think that far ahead.... he couldn’t.... he knew that she was there, and of course, there had always existed that unspoken, magnetic PULL between them, but... his motivation had been far grander than cersei was composing it to be. “i went north to ensure that all of humanity did not join the dead. you will believe what you will believe, CERSEI--- i cannot control your perceptions, nor would i wish to. i would be a savage man to want for that. but my motivation is not as simple as you are suggesting it to be.” but her latter words.... he could not help but to SOFTEN at those--- she knew how to harden him. in more ways than one. but she also knew how to make his heart grow heavy with sadness, with remorse. it was one of the finest tools of her manipulation chest. “cersei, do you think that i did not consider how you were, high up in the red keep? i thought of you always. i struggled with myself--- always. for the decision that i made.” it was true, that he’d chosen to walk away--- in the most basic sense. but that did not mean that he did so without FEELING--- that he’d callously kicked his horse into action, rode into the deep snows, and forgot about his remaining family.

“does it bring you JOY to watch your twin WEEP?” jaime quipped back, finally losing his composure--- truly, deeply, finally, absolutely, jaime lannister began to CRY. he did not hold back now. he’d been defeated, and he knew it. he could overcome hoards of the undead. he could fight with only one hand still crafted of FLESH. he could defend the innocent and the guilty alike. but he could not outwit his sister--- he didn’t even think that he wanted to, it was not his AIM. all he wanted was for her to accept him--- to FORGIVE him for what he should be forgiven for.... to give him the chance to be in her life in a more healthy capacity, to co-parent their children, even if from more of a distance than either of them wanted. and if she could not be happy for him--- or accept how he felt about the maid of tarth--- then she could at least agree not to interfere. that is not CERSEI, his head insisted to him--- he knew that his thoughts were right, but just as he always had, he wanted to fight them. he wanted cersei to be more capable of moral growth than she was. it was much of what had killed him in the end. she is a DISEASE, you do know that, don’t you? olenna’s voice rang between his ears now. she’ll be the END OF YOU. “to call him nothing?” jaime took a step away from her--- and he hated himself for it. he should have punished her for calling brienne a whore. he should have smacked her for calling him all of the names that had chipped away at his well-being for all of his previous existence. but he couldn’t--- he didn’t have the STRENGTH to do so, nor the will. “you can celebrate happily--- your victory here, over your one-handed, oathbreaker, man without honor, pathetic-nothing of a BROTHER.”

she could have more WINE, he thought inwardly. he could smell it on her lips, he was always capable of that. but now, he could not blame her cruelty on alcohol. it was a scapegoat, and perhaps it always had been, but her habit had grown.... ever since the two, misshapen parents had lost their first child. “i was wrong about daenerys,” jaime continued, in reference to what he’d learned--- the same as every inhabitant of king’s landing had on that fateful day. “i can confess to that--- not that my confessions hold much weight to you, sister. but what would have been so terrible about KNEELING, cersei? about surrendering a crown so that our child could live? so that we could live? so that we could have found some island somewhere, and.... started over?” it was because that was not what cersei wanted--- she wished to rule, to continue her reign of terror, to spit on the little people, to make only LIONS grow stronger, and to instill the same rigid, immoral values into their next generation. well, if that was the case, then jaime was pleased that he had no part in it. “and she is NOT a whore--- you don’t know her, cersei. and you owe HER a great deal, too, you know. without her, i never would have made it home to you, after i was taken prisoner by ROBB STARK. she was the reason that we came back to one another.” perhaps it was something that cersei now regretted, but... she could not speak of brienne in such a foul way. she was right, he could not hold her tongue--- he’d never been able to do that. but he would not support her in it.

“i never gave a damn about my own children?” jaime growled back, and now anger was rising to replace his sadness--- although the mixture of emotions still swirled defiantly behind his emerald eyes. the man took a step closer to his sister, and he was SHAKING in the intensity of his fury. her victory was rooted in the fact that she could still shake him in this way--- that her poking, prodding, tearing words could still unhinge him--- and leave him exhausted, and teeming with self-hatred. “i was never allowed to be a father to them! i ran to my first son, and i could not save him. i held our baby girl in my own arms as she DIED! as the sand women exacted their revenge.... right after sweet cella told me that she was PROUD that i was her father!” jaime took in a deep breath, before he continued--- all he saw was the blues of his sadness, and the reds of his anger. “and tommen.... gods, you called him a traitor! i said no such thing. and our unborn baby? i would have died for them, the same as i would have died for any and all of our children.” how could he have ever been a father to them? it was as he’d told her, all of that time ago... if he acted as their father, each and every one of them would have been whipped through the streets. or KILLED.

“aye, i’ve done it BEFORE.” the anger in jaime’s eyes was becoming HATEFUL, and he did not like how he was feeling in the present moment, as he took another step closer to his sister. until they were only a few inches apart from one another. “i strangled our own cousin in order to get back to you--- because at that moment, i took him to be my enemy, rather than the innocent that he was.” he paused. “i gave lady olenna poisonous tears, because she rebelled against us. i did not speak against you, when you decided--- on your own--- what ellaria sand’s fate would be. i followed your orders, i went along as EURON GREYJOY brought his traitor sailors behind the safety of our gates.” the name-calling was one thing, and it was a horrible, unjustifiable thing. brienne had told him, how much she’d been wounded over the years, because of people’s INSULTS. but actions were another--- and cersei’s actions never failed to produce deadly consequences. “but if you hatch a plan to harm the KNIGHT of tarth....” jaime ducked his head downward, and his green eyes were serious and infuriated. “then YOU become my enemy, sister. and lose that battle as i might, i will not allow you to touch a single hair on brienne’s head.” his former lover did not need to want him back--- she did not need to lay with him again. his loyalties resided with her in this way--- she’d EARNED them.

“do you know what she told me?” jaime continued, and cersei’s plan was working. he’d cried so much that his tears started to dry the skin of his face. she’d wounded him so, that his legs wobbled, and he resembled a hurt child, more than he did the seasoned battle commander whom he was. “she told me that i was a good man--- that i was brave. that i’d redeemed--- and that i might have been trouble at times, but that i have never been NOTHING.” perhaps it was too much information that he was sharing--- he knew that cersei would stow it away for later use, that she would reflect upon it down the road, and that she could weaponize it against him. but in the midst of his GRIEF, his better judgment escaped him. “i commanded men who were loyal to you and to father--- you have been held hostage yourself, cersei! how can you call my involuntary capture.... voluntary abandonment?” jaime blinked, and it forever amazed him, how rules could apply to all others, but never to her.... fine, lancel was a means to an end, but she’d still laid with him. she’d still shared parts of herself with him that she swore could only ever be HIS. and jaime? jaime had been virginal for all of his life.... he must have been the only lord commander who did not lay with a woman in every brothel that his men happened upon. and he’d been so.... because he’d LOVED his sister. because he believed that she was the only one for him, that she would be the only woman for him EVER.

“i was not there for you,” jaime agreed, and it still pained him that... that was the case. “but you cannot pin the blame solely on me, cersei. we would have remained together, if i remained in king’s landing--- you are right about that. but we ALSO would have remained together, if you chose to come with me on my journey to the north.” they’d both denied each other. they’d both betrayed each other, to differing extents. the difference was.... that jaime was willing to admit his faults where they were due.... but that cersei was not willing to acknowledge hers--- if she did at all, she certainly would not speak of them ALOUD. “oh, gods, how wonderful for you.... a son to call GREYJOY. and you refer to ME as ‘low,’ sister?” the traditional lannister disdain for sea krakens was not lost upon jaime.... he hated the ironborn and their men, and he had for a long, long time... but theon and yara.... he liked them. admittedly, he did. and neither of the siblings deserved to suffer in the ways that they had--- even less so by the hands of their own UNCLE. the cackling, ugly fool. if jaime knew anything, then it was that he did not love cersei, and that cersei did not love EURON either.

“would you KILL ME, cersei? speak truly--- once now, if never again. would you kill your own brother?” no, he had to be more specific than that. the woman was more than willing to discard the littlest lion--- he had meant less than nothing to her. less than the common folk, who she was already willing to do away with, but when it came to TYRION? she’d actively tried to kill him. her and their father both--- and both of them would have succeeded, had jaime and varys not interceded, to prevent that horrible crime from happening. “would you kill ME? i am your twin! i am the man who entered this world with you--- not by his own choice, and who LEFT IT alongside you.... out of his own decision.” if that was not enough, then he knew what held a chance of convincing her... “i am the FATHER of all of your children--- perhaps not of any who might come for you--- and gods, cersei, i wish for you to be HAPPY! don’t you believe me when i tell you that?--- but for all of your past and current offspring. do you wish to tell little joanna and cerion of how you butchered their father?” it was the same as it had been when he’d walked away from her. “i do not believe you, sister.”

“CERSEI....” it hurt him--- it all hurt him. to know that she’d always hated tyrion. to know that she might have hated jaime now. but what wounded him worse was how HOT TEARS poured down her supple cheeks now. his eyes softened, they betrayed him, and his reserve, as they tended to--- whenever he saw her UPSET. jaime would have vanquished any enemy, real or imaginary, in order to make her sadness disappear. “i still love you.” they could fight, could they not? they could still fight, and find a way to overcome their differences... could they not? it could not be TOO LATE for them... it couldn’t be... this was not the way that their story was supposed to end--- and then, to start again. “i am still the brother who shall defend you... who shall come to your aid, when you call upon me... but we must make some concessions--- both of us, and for each other’s betterment.” he paused, wondering if she would meet him halfway on this--- but feeling disheartened to know that she might not. “i wish to be here for you. i wish for us to be HONEST with one another. i wish to have a role in raising our children, and in being life partners to one another.... in some way, even if the nature of that way must change.” jaime could not be her lover again--- he had much healing and reflection and growth to do still, but... he could not be that to her again. “i wish to be your BROTHER. to be your protector. to be your friend. to be the man i am meant to be for our children--- the man of HONOR that i am, and that you know that i am, too.”

the ugliest whore in the seven kingdoms. gods, why was she doing this to him? why was she forcing his hand in this way? euron greyjoy was not winning any beauty competitions--- and while jaime did not hold compliments for the man, he was not desecrating him as much as he could have been at this moment. and that was all for CERSEI. “how many times can i tell you to stop speaking of brienne as you are?” it seemed that the effect of words would fall short... but gods, he did not wish to spur himself into hasty ACTION. he did not even know what it would mean, or what it would look like, in general... but he would refrain. because he did not wish to harm her--- not as she aimed to harm HIM--- and because acting hastily may bring harm to brienne. he would not do that to her.

jaime did exactly as she commanded him. he listened attentively as she told him how things were--- and how they would be. his gaze softened, his heart melted, as cersei explained that CERION looked exactly like him. jaime held no way of knowing whether or not that was true, but... the idea of it was enough to bring both sadness and gladness to him. it filled him with joy, to think about his young son... growing up happy, and safe, and in a new world. “she must be a beautiful girl,” jaime said about joanna--- if she resembled their mother and CERSEI, then she had to be gorgeous--- a little, to-be heartbreaker. jaime even swallowed the words that he wanted to say--- that if cerion was like him in all ways, then he, too, must have been a boy without honor, in cersei’s eyes. wasn’t that JAIME was to her? nothing and no one, as she’d claimed? and then, the VENOM came... the venom that proved to him that he was RIGHT all along. the venom that showed him part of why he’d rode north in the first place--- although his motivation had been to protect the living, first and foremost. “you would punish your children... you would deprive them of a father... out of hurt? out of a perceived betrayal?” jaime stared at her--- he stared at her daggers, at what resembled a smile that was forming in her eyes. she was not smiling, he could see that--- but she was punishing him. and hadn’t that brought her contentment, if not outright gladness? “no, cersei....” he denied, in a tone that was both weary and pained. “YOU are the reason that i will not be allowed to watch my children grow--- to fuel their happiness, to hold them in my arms. YOU are the one who is keeping me at a distance..... brienne has nothing to bring about this result.” he looked at her--- her eyes matched his own, but oh, how they differed. he felt miles away from her, even if meager inches separated them. jaime wanted to curl up into a ball and.... well, it was not enough for him to CRY any longer. he’d cried what felt like all of his tears, but more would come tonight... when he retired to his lonesome bed, and wept himself into a restless slumber. “you are the bringer of that denial. and you can tell them that, when they are old enough to UNDERSTAND IT.” jaime had every intention of being around--- oh, he would be. for THEM--- and for her, too. somehow, and however he would come to be permitted to be. but if cersei wished to name herself the VICTOR on this night... then she could do so. “and for once, you’ve gotten her descriptor right...” there was no chill to his tone--- he did not wish to hurt her. not intentionally, not even when he was furious with her. “my BELOVED brienne of tarth.” jaime loved her. gods, he did--- with all of his heart. he should have TOLD HER THAT--- not once, but every day. “even if she would not describe me in the same way.... you’ve gotten that one descriptor RIGHT.”

@bcssbitchs​

[burgers-and-french-fries]

Sunsets & Whiskey Kisses: Chapter Five.

The next day, Ryleigh woke up with a huge smile on her face. She was glad that her and Jack had worked everything out and that they had come to terms with how they felt about each other. She was snapped out of her thoughts when her mother knocked on her bedroom door. "Come in mom." Ryleigh said as she stretched. "Honey, I'm off to work now. Your father is still asleep. He's looking a little pale so maybe check on him in about thirty minutes or so." Grace said as she peaked her head around the door. "Sounds good mom, I'll do that. Want me to call you if anything happens with him?" Ryleigh asked as she sat up. Grace smiled and nodded. "Thank you my love. I'd like that." Grace said with a smile. Ryleigh got out of bed and walked her mother to the front door. "I'll drop this to Dakota when I'm on lunch." Grace said to her daughter as she held up some supplies for her sprained ankle. "Right, sounds good." Ryleigh replied as Grace walked out the door. Ryleigh waved goodbye and went to make herself some breakfast. 

As the day wore on, Ryleigh did some hold chores and tried to make the most of the time she had to herself. At around lunch time, Ryleigh decided to make herself some toast. Just as she pulled the toast out of the toaster, she heard the sound of glass shattering coming from upstairs. She dropped everything and bolted to where her father was napping. When she reached the door, she heard her father struggling to breathe. She opened the door and tried to help him the best she could but when he started coughing blood and choking on it, she freaked out and started to panic. Ryleigh pulled out her phone to call 911. They assured her that help was on the way and that she needed to calm down and be strong for her father. Ryleigh tried her best to be strong but it wasn't working. Thankfully, Ryleigh could hear sirens in the distance. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Hold on dad, they're almost here." Ryleigh tried but it fell on deaf ears as David went into full panic mode. "No dad. stop please." Ryleigh begged just as the paramedics walked into the room. Ryleigh had tears falling down her face as she watched the paramedics helping her father. After a few minutes of assessment, it was decided that they would take David to the hospital and because of the situation, she would have to follow in the truck. That was the last thing she wanted to hear.

Scared and alone, she called her mother at work but had no luck. She tried again and still had no luck. She had pull over so that she could let the sobs consume her body. With shaking hands, she dialed Dakota's number after she remembered that her mother was probably at the mason household. "Hello sunshine." Dakota answered with a smile. Ryleigh froze, what was she supposed to say? "Ryleigh, are you ok? What's wrong?" Dakota said when Ryleigh didn't speak. Ryleigh cleared her throat in attempt to calm herself. "Is mom there? I really need to talk to her." She replied as best she could. Dakota could hear the fear in Ryleigh's voice and her heart dropped to her stomach. "Ryleigh, she left about five minutes ago to do another errand before heading back to work." Dakota said carefully before hearing the other woman break down. Dakota didn't know what to do. She just sat there and let Ryleigh have her cry. "Where are you?" Dakota asked as Jack walked through the front door. He looked at his sister with concern. She looked at him and mouthed Ryleigh and he nodded and sat next to Dakota at the table. "I'm heading to the hospital. Dad was rushed there but I had to pull over. I don't know what to do, I can't get a hold of mom." Ryleigh said through her tears. Jack saw the look on Dakota's face and that's when he motioned for her to give him the phone and she did. 

"Ryleigh, What's wrong?" Jack asked with concern. "Mom's not answering her phone and dad was rushed to the hospital. I had to pull over." Ryleigh explained. That was all he needed to hear, he passed the phone back to Dakota before rushing up the stairs to quickly change and meet his girlfriend at the hospital. "Just head to the hospital. I'm sending Jack to be with you until your mother gets there. I'll keep calling her." Dakota said with a warm smile despite the fact the Ryleigh couldn't see it. "Thank you." Ryleigh replied shakily. "You're ok. We're here and Jack is running out the door as we speak." Dakota said as both woman hung up.

When Ryleigh's eyes landed on Jack, she ran to him and threw her arms around him. "It's ok baby, I'm here." He mumbled as he kissed the top of her head. Ryleigh let more of her tears fall as jack held her in a protective yet loving embrace. It took everything in him not to kiss the crying woman. All he wanted to do was take away her pain. "Excuse me, are you here for David Jensen?" A doctor asked and Ryleigh moved away from Jack. "Yes, that's my father." Ryleigh said meekly. "He is responding well to the medicine we gave him. We have him on oxygen now and we will have to keep for a few days for observation." The doctor spoke as Ryleigh nodded. "Thank you." Ryleigh replied. "Someone will come and get in a few minutes and take you to see him." The doctor said once more before walking off. Ryleigh took a shaky breath and looked at the man in front of her. He smiled at her and held his hand out for her to take. "Thank you for coming to be with me." Ryleigh said as she took his hand and he pulled her into another hug. "Where else would I be?" Jack replied as Ryleigh looked up at him and smiled. "Is it too risky to kiss you?" Jack asked and Ryleigh shook her head. "Not too risky at all." She said as she leaned up to kiss him. 

A little while later, Grace rushed into her husband's room to find Ryleigh and Jack talking with a weak looking David. "Thank god you're here." Ryleigh said as she threw her arms around her mother. "Honey, I'm so sorry that I didn't pick up the phone. I feel awful." Grace said as her eyes focused on her husband. "It's ok now mom. Jack came and stayed with me." Ryleigh replied as she released the hug. "Thank you Jack. That was really sweet of you." Grace said as she took the seat that Ryleigh had been in. "That's what family is for." Jack said as he stood up and stretched. His shirt riding up just enough for Ryleigh to catch a glimpse of his hip bones. She looked at him and shook her head slightly. He just smiled at her. "Well, I think you three need some time to yourselves but Grace, if you need anything, please call." Jack said as he walked over to the door. "Thank you Jack, I'll keep that in mind. Would you mind taking Ryleigh home and I'll stay here for the night." Grace smiled. "Mom no. I'm staying here." Ryleigh protested. "Ryleigh Parker, you are going home. You need to go home and breathe. You have been here for hours with your father. Now it's my turn." Grace said as she hugged her daughter and pushed her and Jack out the door. 

Jack and Ryleigh stood in the hallway looking at the door. "Let's get you home." Jack said as he took hold of Ryleigh's hand. "I don't want to go though." She said as she felt the tears build up in her eyes. Jack looked at her. "How about we get some food and bring it back to your place and I'll stay with you for a little bit." Jack suggested as they reached their trucks. "I don't want to go to my place." Ryleigh pouted. Jack chuckled and kissed her. "Dakota's out of the house for the night and won't be back until tomorrow. Want to stay and keep me company?" He asked softly. Ryleigh smiled at him and looked into his kind eyes. "Sounds perfect." She replied. "Ok then. Why don't you go on to the house and get things ready for dinner and I'll get the food and I'll follow you home." Jack responded as he handed Ryleigh the key to the front door. "Thank you Jack." Ryleigh said as she hugged him. They got into their trucks and went their separate ways.

When Ryleigh got to the house, she got things ready and waited for her man to come home with food. She smiled at the fact that he was hers and she was his.

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