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#you’re a menace Rupert
julescarstairs · 2 years
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Still holding a teeny-tiny grudge from that one time ghost! Rupert upended Julian’s paint for no good reason
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vampcubus · 2 years
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So, like, out of nowhere, I got an idea and then I saw your requests were open so AAAAAAH I had to come and give you an ask. Anyway— Only if you can, could you write headcanons for DBH Connor, Markus, Rupert, Simon and Ralph with, like, different ways you make them smile? Gender neutral reader maybe? Obv you don’t have to include all the characters, I’d be excited just to see you responded to me, but I was just feeling a good vibe today and felt like popping in for a hot second LOVE YOU sorry if this was kinda all over the place, I’m running off of 2 hours of sleep, McDonald’s and a Pepsi.
HOW YOU MAKE THEM SMILE | DBH
characters: connor, markus, rupert, simon, and ralph.
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Connor (RK800)
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— Most humans are indifferent or straight-up rude to Connor because he’s an android, so he doesn’t have much basis for comparison. This means all you really have to do is be nice to him and he’s enamored.
— “Would you give the poor guy a break, he’s just trying to help.” You snapped at Hank when he was giving Connor a hard time the first day you met at the station, before going back to angrily typing on your terminal. 
— The Lieutenant waved you off but Connor’s curiosity was piqued. Most humans refer to androids as “it”, and the fact that you didn’t was intriguing to him.
— Treat him like he’s human. Even the little things, like asking if he wants a drink- even if you know androids don’t eat or drink, it’s the fact that you ask anyways that has him smiling stupidly. Tell him to get home safe, ask if he’s feeling alright, and invite him out somewhere. Making Connor feel wanted without him necessarily having to do anything to earn it is a surefire way to have him smiling in your direction—especially when you aren’t looking.
— Kissing him is a given since he’s obsessed with it. Peck his cheek or the corner of his lips as you pass by and you’ll have him smiling at you over his shoulder with that lovesick puppy dog look.
— It takes a long time for Connor to grasp jokes, so puns and humorous jabs will only get you a confused head tilt in response. But he likes your laugh so if you’re giggling trying to get your joke out he can’t help but beam at you.
— The first time you held his hand was on a case you were assigned together, a suspect veered around the corner and you tugged him by the hand behind a dumpster to avoid detection. You’d been too focused on the suspect to realize you were still holding his hand but Connor noticed.  You didn’t see the way his LED flashed yellow as he inspected your joined hands, fascinated by the sight of your pretty fingers laced between his own. And when you turn to find him smiling at you, you realize your mistake, apologizing profusely.
— So a big fan of hand-holding, please do it more often, the corners of his mouth can’t help but twitch upwards when you do.
— GRINS LIKE A MENACE WHEN YOU STAND UP TO PEOPLE FOR HIM. People are jerks and while Connor tends to just brush them off, sometimes you can’t and you match their energy right back at them. And Connor likes it very much, can’t help but get smug knowing he’s untouchable around you because you’ll gladly throw hands to defend his honor. Will hold you back if things get physical, however.
— If someone were to insult him too harshly he would just say “Y/n will be hearing about this 😌” 
— Everyone at the station knows to fuck off unless they want an angry chihuahua biting at their ankles. Gavin tests your patience and Connor is very entertained watching the two of you bicker over him.
— When you tilt his chin up to look at you when he’s overwhelmed, asking for him to talk to you. And when he can’t find the words, you pull him into your arms and let him press his face into your neck for comfort, telling him he’s gonna be alright. You hold him until you feel him smile against your clavicle and his LED flickers back to blue.
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Markus (RK200)
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— You were a big help during the revolution, hiding runaway deviants and sending them to Jericho. It was only natural that you ended up spending a lot of time together and eventually falling in love, despite your differences. Loves that you treat him like a person and are so kind to his people, they’ve suffered so much at the hands of humans, it’s you that reassures him that not all humans are incapable of being enlightened. 
— Smiles at you from a distance as you care for the damaged androids in Jericho, knowing they’re safe in your caring hands. You do what you can with the supplies you’re able to swipe and offer comfort to those who are too far gone.
— Markus likes to share his interests with you. If you ever wanted to paint with him, he’d be overjoyed, just being in the zone and then being able to look over at you and see you so focused on your creation. Sit down next to him while he’s at the piano and lean against him while he plays, let him teach you to play, let him move your hands to the correct positions, and listen to his soft voice guiding you through keys and their correspondences.
— Loves when you cook together, though the majority of the time you’re distracted by one another and doing more smooching and dancing than paying attention to the stove. Say hello to slightly overcooking stuff because you were too busy tongue-wrestling with your android boyfriend.
— Markus smiles the most when you somehow exactly when he needs comfort, and do so without hesitation. It’s like you’re able to see his stress levels, which he knows is impossible, but it makes him no less impressed with your emotional intelligence. You really are his grounding force, when he’s ever uncertain or lost, he knows he can come to you.
— You two have a bit of a habit of lovingly bullying one another at every opportunity, and he loves that you can keep up.
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Rupert Travis (WB200)
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— Rupert doesn’t trust humans easily, but showing affection for birds will draw him to you. Maybe you frequent the same park and he often sees you feeding birds—maybe you even have a bird of your own! His Pigeons are his babies, so if you’re kind to them, you’re being kind to him by extension.
— When you finally get past that defensive wall of caution Rupert uses to protect himself from being detected and deactivated, he’s very sweet. Still quiet, but you can see that he wants to be close to you. If he catches you baby-talking to his birds he can’t help but grin.
— Smiles when you tip the bill of his hat up so you can see his eyes, and practically beams if you lean in to kiss him. He’s… so soft ugh. He’s shy about reciprocation at first, his model was programmed primarily for agriculture, so romantic gestures are outside his realm of expertise. He does enjoy your gentle touch, however, so much so that he seeks it out when he requires comfort. Sometimes all he wants is for you to wrap him in your arms and let him lie there, you don’t even need to speak.
— if you go out somewhere together (which will take convincing, especially before the revolution) he sticks to your side and keeps his head down, he needs your shoulders to be touching or your hand to grip as you traverse food stalls and aisles in the grocery store. But if you whisper little jokes or sweet nothings to him he can’t help but smile softly at you.
— Rupert likes to listen to you talk, he doesn’t have loads to add to a conversation but he’s a great listener. And if you trail off thinking you’re talking his ear off he’ll ask you something else to get you going again.
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Simon (PL600)
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— Simon feels things very deeply, lending an ear when he needs to talk makes him comfortable with you. He feels he doesn’t have to keep up a brave face with you like he does to reassure the others in Jericho, he knows you’ll listen and understand. He’s very grateful when you help him work through new emotions, seeing as you’ve experienced many of those being a human and all.
— Saying thank you when he inevitably does things around the house for you once you settle into domesticity, being thanked for things is still quite new to Simon. It feels good to be appreciated and treated like he’s a living being.
— If you thought being thanked wasn’t enough to give him whiplash receiving gifts certainly will be! If you’re the artistic type, make him something and tell him that he inspires you. The prospect of being your muse makes him feel very special, and the fact that you’re always thinking of him and what he’d want makes him feel even more in love with you.
— You’ll often catch Simon gazing at you with that soft smile while you’re doing everyday things, even though he offers to take care of housework you insist on sharing responsibilities. “You’re my boyfriend, not my maid, we’ll do it together.” It’s then when he realizes just how serious you are about your relationship and he wants to cry he’s so happy.
— Smiles at you when he catches you staring with that loving look in your eyes.
— Has to bite back a grin every time you refer to him as your lover to other people, especially if it confuses them and you say “Yes my boyfriend is an android, is that a problem?” Your confidence is usually enough for people to awkwardly drop the subject, but the few who have pressed get the cold shoulder very quickly.
— He’s proud to be yours, so he enjoys it when you reinforce the idea.
— Simon very much enjoys being called pet names, by the way, call him honey, sweetheart, baby— makes him melt into a puddle every time. Watch his eyes soften and his cheeks fill with blue blood as you call him the sweetest things, he appreciates them, no matter how silly they become.
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Ralph (WR600)
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— Humans have terrorized Ralph and his psyche has suffered greatly because of it, so for you to be kind to him after all of that seems too good to be true. But when you look upon him with so much affection and treat him with so much care Ralph can’t bring himself to rip himself away from you. You who see him as a person, and not a machine.
— Ralph is always happy to see you, and the moment you walk through the door he’s practically beaming and jumping for joy. Your presence is a comfort to him once he is no longer afraid of you. While Ralph is glad to be “free” he gets very lonely and craves companionship, like you saw with Kara and Alice he wants to be a part of a family—even if he initially went about it the wrong way.
— He smiles the widest when you ask him if he wants to live with you, because of course he does. The idea of being a part of your life, being able to see you every day? He couldn’t imagine anything better than that. And when you drive it home that you want him to be safe, he gets a little teary. Reminding him that you care makes him smile like nothing else.
— He’s so happy when you help him around the little garden he grew outside your now shared home. He talks to the plants like they understand him and will melt if you do the same. Ralph loves that you’d try to participate in his hobby, even if you aren’t all that into gardening, he appreciates your help and your company. Buy him new plants as gifts, please!!! He accepts them so graciously and cradles the pot close like he’s made a new friend, murmuring to himself about where he wants to plant it.
— Compliment him! He flusters at any and all praise, shuffling in place and smiling ear to ear when you say nice things to him. Say thank you- or kiss him in thanks when he cooks for you or cleans up around the place, he loves the validation.
— Surprise hugs! Ralph is jumpy, but surprising him with hugs and affection is a good way to start making positive associations. He may gripe a little if he accidentally spills or knocks something over in his fright but if you go to pull away he grabs your arm, “Don’t go.” Once he’s grown used to your shenanigans doing this will make him laugh.
— You’re shocked to find that Ralph is ticklish, which is amazing to you, how technology is able to replicate such human sensations. So naturally you tickle him more. You’ll have him wheezing and writhing around in no time, begging half-heartedly for mercy. How could youuuuu. He absolutely will get revenge so watch out, he’s stronger than you so it’s harder to escape from his tickling onslaught. He laughs if you laugh so it’s a win-win.
— Kiss all over his face and he’ll burst into giggles.
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taizi · 8 months
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So lil request if ya feel up for it :-}
★ A story about Mikey's brothers finding out about his and Woody's secret relationship(?). Like, maybe it can be that one of them are going through Mikey's phone and they see his camera roll full of photos of him and Woody !! Or like they walk in on the two cuddling asleep or something idk :-0
Do whatever U want 💖
i went with rise on this one. i missed those guys :')
read on ao3
x
Don slams into the infirmary with a shout of, “LEO! Leoleoleoleoleoleo!”
“Congratulations, my name just sounds like noise to me now,” Leo replies drolly, as if he’s not ecstatic to have company. Sure, Raph had been camped beside his bed up until like ten minutes ago, but a lot can happen in ten minutes. 
As if to prove it, Don shoves a phone into Leo’s face. “Michael—our Michael—has a boyfriend.”
Leo sits up so fast he feels it in his entire body, an ache radiating down his spine like it’s a gong that just got rung.
“You’re lying!” 
“I would never lie to you,” Donnie says, his tone a weird mix of agitated and absolutely giddy.  
Such a gossip, Leo thinks fondly. 
Don piles onto the bed, still careful of Leo’s broken bones but a far cry from the cautious, mincing way he climbs in lately for their Youtube video essay marathons or vent sessions. Leo might have to orchestrate more tantalizing secrets for his nosy twin to uncover if it stops him treating Leo like something glass that’s about to break. 
Shoulder to shoulder, Donnie holds the phone where they both can see it. Now that Leo’s looking at it properly, he clocks the glittery sticker-covered military-grade phone case and says, “Oh, no. Tello, you didn’t. Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t steal his phone.”
“It’s called the Freedom of Information Act.”
“That does not apply here!” Leo is torn between horror—because Mikey is objectively terrifying—and glee—because Donnie is an absolute menace and he loves to see it. 
“Agree to disagree. I could have just cloned his phone onto a new device but where’s the pizzazz? Anyway—”
He brings up Mikey’s camera roll, scrolling through dozens of post-invasion celebratory selfies and candids, past a few scattered pics of Mikey’s own cooking and digital art (and Leo makes a mental note to revisit that, because there aren’t as many of those as there ought to be) and finally making an “ah-HAH” sound under his breath, tapping on a particular picture to blow it up. 
It’s a selfie taken at arm’s length of two faces squished together to fit the frame. One face belongs to Leo’s little brother, caught mid-laugh. The other one is distinctly human, almost lost in a haphazard cloud of yellow curls and turned sideways to plant a kiss on Mikey’s spotted cheek. 
Leo finds himself smiling involuntarily. Mikey looks happy. It’s cute. 
Of course, if Mikey thinks he can have a whole-ass secret boyfriend and get away with it, he’s got another thing coming. Not when he has three older brothers and an older sister who have been waiting their entire lives for this moment. 
“This doesn’t prove they’re dating,” he points out, mostly just to play devil's advocate. “Maybe they’re super affectionate friends. The five of us do cheek- and forehead-kisses on occasion, too.”
“Mm-hmm, yes, I thought you might say that, and I am, of course, prepared to offer more evidence.” 
Donnie taps out of the photo gallery and brings up Mikey’s messaging app. He scrolls for a bit, past the sibling group chat, April, their own names, Raph, their dads—even Rupert, what the hell?—and then, right beneath Piebald and before Casey Sr., is a text thread with a contact simply, and tellingly, labeled babe💛.
On pure reflex, Leo smacks the phone out of Don’s hand before he can open the thread. 
“So what we’re not about to do is read his texts to and from his boyfriend,” he says, very deliberately, so a single world won’t be misconstrued.
“I wasn’t gonna,” Donnie mumbles, in a tone that suggests that he was, in fact, gonna. 
Leo picks up the phone and goes back to the picture. He checks the timestamp, humming thoughtfully to see that it was from a little over two months ago. They've certainly been busy since the whole Krang situation, but Mikey has always had time for the things he loves. He makes time. He’s just a kid, albeit one who had to grow up too fast, but he was born with a good sense of what’s really important.
And this guy, Leo thinks, seems like he could be important. So why is this the first they’re hearing about him?
“How exactly did you make this discovery?” Leo asks, handing the stolen phone back. 
“S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. regularly scans all of our devices for anything icky—you’re welcome—and he asked me who the blond guy was,” Donnie explains offhandedly. “He thought we had a new friend he hadn’t met. You know how he gets when he thinks we’re leaving him out of literally anything.”
“Like father, like son,” Leo says sagely.
Donnie lowers the phone and makes direct eye contact. “No.”
Leo laughs so hard he thinks he might actually be in danger of puncturing a lung with one of his broken ribs. Donnie goes back to snooping, but there’s a pleased quirk at the corner of his mouth. 
“DONALD!” a voice thunders suddenly from down the hall. “IF WHAT I THINK IS HAPPENING IS HAPPENING, IT BETTER NOT BE!”
“Eughh boy,” Leo says. 
Looking as though he just saw his life flash before his eyes, Donnie shoves the phone at him and blurts, “You take it! You’re a convalescent, he can’t kill you! It would be against the Geneva Conventions!”
“Oh, I see, you want me to use my horribly mangled body as a meat shield between you and the consequences of your own actions.” Leo holds his hands up and open to avoid having any incriminating evidence forced into them. “Also, I think you skipped like six years of Social Studies.”
The infirmary doors slam open hard enough that one of Leo’s shelves of meticulously organized medical supplies rattles ominously. Mikey looms in the threshold, silhouetted against the light from the den. It’s appropriately intimidating.
There’s a beat of silence. Then Mikey’s eyes lower to the bright yellow phone in Donnie’s hands. It’s indie-film levels of drama. Leo is eating this up. 
Donnie whispers, “Oh, Hawking, I did not think this through.”
“When you die, who gets your laptop?” Leo whispers back. 
“I knew it!” Mikey shrieks. “You think S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. can keep a secret?? S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.?? You programmed him with all your own tells! I’m going to destroy everything you love!” 
The resulting cat-and-mouse chase around the infirmary is rowdy enough that it summons Raph, warm and fresh from the shower, dressed in his favorite huge pink hoodie. He catches Donnie on his way by and lifts him bodily out of the melee. Mikey is bloodthirsty enough that he scales Raph like a tree and their biggest brother is forced to hold Donnie out at arm’s length to keep the two of them apart.
“Woah, woah, hey—Jesus, what is happening?” Raphie says. His eyes dart to Leo, one dark and the other a pale milky pink, but it’s still the same look he’s given Leo a billion times before. The one that says loop me in. 
Leo searches under his pillow for the palm-sized knife he keeps there and focuses hard. Two little cyan portals open, maybe the size of dessert plates, one next to him and the other by Donnie, a neat little wrinkle in the dimension. He reaches through it and retrieves the phone. 
Pretending he doesn’t feel woozy after the brief use of ninpo well before he was technically allowed to use it again—because then he would have to admit that Draxum was right about something, and frankly he’d rather die—Leo waves the recovered goods at his brothers.
Mikey stops trying to kill Donnie and stares across the room with a very vulnerable, unhappy expression. Leo hates that, so he takes charge. 
“Just the Cain Instinct at work, Raphala,” Leo says, smiling. “How about you deliver Donnie to April for a lecture on respecting other people’s privacy, and I’ll talk to Mikey about the pros and cons of fratricide.”
“Pros and cons? What pros? You know what, nevermind,” Raph adds before Leo can answer, holding Donnie more comfortably in the crook of his arm as Mikey hops down from his shell. 
Donnie is dead-weight at this point, gone totally limp and accepting his fate. Since a lecture from April has a fifty-fifty chance of turning into a gossip session, Leo doesn’t feel bad for his twin at all. 
“And don’t think you're not in deep shit for that portal just now,” Raph says severely, pointing at him. “Yeah, Raph clocked that. No ninpo while you’re healing, Leon, or I’m telling pops.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Leo says dismissively.
But Raph still comes over to rub his head, and Leo still leans into him when he does, because a little part of Leo is always going to be six years old with stars in his eyes, gazing up at his biggest brother like Raph could hold the whole sun in his hands if he wanted to.
When Raph has carted Donnie away, the infirmary is much quieter. Mikey slinks over to the bed ungraciously and invites himself right up, pressing into Leo’s side and hiding his face in a yellow-striped shoulder.
Leo passes him back his phone. Mikey tucks it against his plastron and doesn’t say anything.
“So the pros of fratricide would be that your stuff would get stolen way less,” Leo begins airily. 
With a huff, Mikey nudges him. 
“He showed me a picture, but we didn’t read any texts,” Leo adds, less playful. “As far as we know, you have a really good friend we just haven’t met yet.”
“Yeah,” his little brother says quietly. He presses his face harder into Leo’s shoulder. Leo works his arm out from in between them and wraps it around Mikey’s carapace instead. 
Tracing a familiar pattern between the scutes, he says, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
When Leo came out, a few years ago now, he was terrified. 
It was just another thing that made him difficult, that made him harder to love, that might cost him what little of his father’s good opinion he thought he had. He kept it a secret, tucked behind the armor of his plastron where no one but himself would ever see it.
But then one day, when he was fourteen, Leo found Raph in the living room, watching Youtube videos of the NYC Pride Parade with something young and hopeful on his face, only to slam the laptop shut when Splinter came in. Raph’s expression had twisted into something ashamed. Afraid. 
And Leo thought, Absolutely not.
So he came out to his family over dinner that same night. He said it like his hands weren’t sweaty and shaking beneath the table, like he hadn’t practiced the words and tone in the mirror for an hour beforehand. 
He couldn’t force himself to look at Splinter, twisting some spaghetti onto his fork and following his big announcement with something stupid, like, So I guess you could say the only straight I am’s a straight-up bitch. That way everyone would know it wasn’t serious, wasn’t a big deal, they could stop looking at him now please. 
Raph didn’t even get after Leo for saying the bitch word. He flew to his feet and rounded the table and scooped Leo up into a big bear hug. Well, Leo and Mikey, because Mikey was already attached to him at that point. Donnie said, “Gasp! This is my surprised face. Whoever could have anticipated this astonishing turn of events?” because he was an asshole. But he also reached over the table to put his garlic bread on Leo’s plate, because he was the absolute best. 
Leo’s heart didn’t stop racing for what felt like hours, even after his brothers squeezed him to death and made a bunch of noises about loving him no matter what, even after Splinter informed the table at large that his Baby Blue could start thinking about dating boys in another thirty years and not a minute sooner! 
But he did that for a reason. So his brothers had a lead to follow if they ever needed one. So they wouldn’t be scared like Leo constantly was.
And now the tension slowly leaks out of Mikey’s frame. 
“I know. I know,” he says, stronger the second time. “I guess I got all in my head about it. At first I wanted it to just be my thing, for me. I liked him but I wasn’t sure if he—you know. And then when he did, everything was perfect, and I didn’t want to mess it up.” He sits up enough that he can look at Leo, red-brown eyes earnest and wide. “Then the longer I didn’t say anything, the more impossible it felt to ever say anything. It’s not ‘cause I didn’t—”
“You don’t owe me or anybody else an explanation, Angie,” Leo says, tugging on the tails of his mask. “If you want to talk about him, I’m all-ears. If you want me to blackmail Donnie into forgetting he exists, I can do that, too. I’ve got the goods.”
Mikey smiles. It’s a relief to see. “I have no idea how you did it,” he says. “How you just told us like it was nothing. Told dad. I guess being his favorite probably helped.”
His WHAT?
Leo chokes on an incredulous laugh. He thumps his own chest, wheezing. Mikey rolls his eyes and slumps down again, gets comfy, a familiar weight under Leo’s arm. 
“Puh-lease, Lee. You two are like the same person, all the way down to the inherent self-worth issues and validation-seeking. Of course he’s going to feel complicated about loving a carbon-copy of himself when he hates himself so much.” After a moment, Mikey adds, “I think you help him feel better about who he is.”
Huh. Welp. Time to pack all of that up to think about later because otherwise Leo’s brain is going to explode.
“Nice attempt at distracting me, but I’m the master of misdirection.” Leo jostles Mikey, enough to make him whine stoooop. “If you think for one second you’re not everyone in the entire family’s favorite person, then there’s something deeply wrong with you,” he adds severely. “Junior has only been here for like five minutes and even he likes you best.”
Mikey’s grinning by the time he’s done. Leo can feel the shape of it against his arm. 
“It’s a gift,” the youngest Hamato says humbly. 
Identical chimes from the phone in Mikey’s hand and the one on the bedside table alert them to a new text in the Mad Dogz group chat. 
Bootyyyshaker9000 After an illuminating conversation, during which absolutely no robot sons were taken hostage to force my compliance, I have seen the error of my ways and will endeavor to change my behavior. I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies to Angelo for my invasion of his privacy. I am not making this statement under duress. YellowSubmarine Good enough for you, baby?
Mikey’s grin graduates with honors into a laugh, that charming, full-bodied thing that fills whatever room he happens to be in. He types a quick reply and the group chat goes crazy. Leo sort of just lays there and takes the moment in. 
In about an hour, it’ll be time for another round of medication, but Leo thinks—even though it’s sappy and saccharine and he would never, ever say it out loud—that this is medicine enough. 
“Sooo,” Leo says, “you gonna tell me about him?”
“Leo,” Mikey groans, but he’s still smiling. 
“Oh, come on, you have to give me something.”
“How ‘bout a trade?”
Aww, his baby brother knows how to barter. Leo is so proud.
“I’m listening,” he says.
“I’ll tell you about Woody,” Mikey offers, waving his phone around, “if you tell me about that bunny waiter from Run of the Mill who asked for your number.”
Leo would shoot upright if he had, like, a completely unbroken back. As it is he has to move a little slower. 
“What?? Why—how did you—I mean, who?” Nailed it.
“Raph overheard the entire thing,” Mikey says sweetly. “He thought it was cute so he told me since I was right there. You know he can’t handle cute without gushing about it to somebody.”
It’s Raph’s knee-jerk reaction, like cute-aggression; only instead of squeezing or biting, he has to overshare to the nearest available party, usually while choking back tears. 
Kneading his temples, Leo forces out, “Mm-hmm.” 
He can’t even be mad, though. It’s Raph. If Donnie had been the one to overhear, it’d be plastered on a billboard above Times Square by now. 
“Lemme have this one on Donnie,” Mikey says, and brings out the big guns, brown eyes all wide and liquid. “He always gets your secrets first.”
“Disaster twins privilege,” Leo replies, so he doesn’t have to think about the novel concept that his family could believe his secrets are worth anything. “Alright, Miguel. Since it’s to spite Dontron specifically, you have yourself a deal.”
Mikey whoop-whoops, with the arm and everything. It’s so stupid. And it makes Leo think, This Woody guy doesn’t know how lucky he is. 
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mihrsuri · 4 months
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We sat down with Rupert Graves post Season Three of The Tudors (warning - this discussion will contain huge spoilers for the entire season, particularly the finale).
(Or an in universe Tudors OT3 verse version of The Tudors TV show actor interview. Ellie belongs to @nocompromise-noregrets <3)
So, Norwich is really gone?
Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person!
I was particularly taken by the way the show uses the historical reports that a range of emotions apparently played across his face as the axe fell to say that he realised exactly how much the monarchs valued Thomas Cromwell?
It was such a bloody good way to frame it as a narrative - so much of his [Norwich’s] self image is tied up in being the smartest person in the room and to have his utter unravelling end with that realisation that he’d never understood at all - it’s fantastic to play as an actor, because you get to just utterly take apart the character. It was also personally just fantastic to see this odious fucker getting what he deserved, to understand just how disgusting and small he is.
I was going to ask you about that, about how it was playing someone who is a monster with a handsome face and charm?
So not just as a father, though that was a huge part of it, but as a human being? It was horrifying - as an actor I don’t feel like I need to justify a characters actions - and here especially, because ultimately my Norwich is a fictionalised version of a real historical person or even to understand it but I did have to ‘get him’ to make it work - I made a lot of visits to Welles Hall - they were fantastic.
A lot of guidance?
Absolutely! Ellie (Dr Eleanor Richardson, Chief Archivist and the discoverer of the Norwich Papers) and Ahmed (Dr Ahmed Rushton-Bridges, historian and author of ‘John Norwich: A Biography’) gave me a tour and an understanding of his diaries - it wasn’t a pleasant subject but they did an incredible job. And it gave me more of a sense of him, especially as a younger man with that sense of entitlement.
Did you visit his town house?
I did. I will say it’s a beautiful space now in theory but the atmosphere in the actual rooms makes your blood run cold, that’s the best way I can put it - they’ve been blessed and cleansed and a thousand and one things but something haunts that place. But it did give me something to draw on, both James and I.
[James Frain who plays Thomas Cromwell, Duke of Essex in the Show] He visited as well?
Yeah actually. We both found it very hard going honestly but we both felt it was very important that we went - for different reasons for playing these people. Afterwards we went and had a cry together - did that a few times throughout the season and then tried to keep it light. My method was that to play this we actually needed to have that trust with each other - to both be able to be safe.
Also shout out to that scene with Norwich and King Henry - though I don’t suppose you could tell us what Henry whispered in his ear?
Johnny (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) and I have agreed to take that one to the grave [laughs]. No, it was done in silence and so you only see Henry’s back for a reason - it was actually specifically Jon’s suggestion that the absence of words and faces actually works better for the menace and for this being a ‘historical rumour’ we use in the show [historical note: King Henry VIII did indeed visit The Tower shortly before the Earl was executed but the rumour that he did so to meet with Norwich is simply a rumour] - it also adds to the mystery!
Did you know there were people swooning over your character and the chemistry you and James Frain had?
I know a lot of people don’t know the history - I don’t blame them for that, it’s not something you’re going to cover in school in detail and it’s pretty recent but, no to answer this once and for all - it’s not meant to be sexy. Or if it is it’s meant to make you think about, well, the discomfort of how predators don’t look like predators - they are charismatic, they can be good looking and smart and present themselves like an ex lover - which Norwich genuinely believes and doesn’t make it any more wrong or repulsive.
It is meant to make you look back and see just how uncomfortable Cromwell is, how predatory it is - I know there were people who got it and I’m glad we didn’t…we didn’t present it through Norwich’s narrative. His narrative is there, but it’s not the one the show actually has, I don’t think.
And of course in lots of ways it makes sense that people swooned over Norwich - it’s how he was seen in the world before everything came out! The people who try to defend him after that though, that disgusts me.
I have to say you and Jeremy Irons Norfolk do have a fascinating something going on…
We joked that it was very much a ‘worst recognises worst’ situation but yes, there’s something there - a mutual respect and ‘only one I’m fond of in this world’ which I don’t think either of them expected. So yes, that was absolutely deliberate!
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your last snippet made me cry! That ending 🥹😭
So from the list of prompts, this one caught my eye: “you caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out”
But against popular belief, I think, Rebecca is the one doing something dangerous… 💜
Thank you so much for the prompt!! So this got wildly out of control through no fault of my own and now is Proper Fic Length so I put it on AO3. Hope that's okay, and I hope you like it! <3
TW: violence (fist fight), blood, canon-typical references to suicide, panic attacks.
--
and all this devotion was rushing out of me
They lose.
Not badly, but they lose—it’s a brutal, dirty game and no matter what they try, what new plays they enact, Nate seems to know everything. They score one goal and West Ham score two and it’s over before they have time to get their feet under them.
The locker room is mostly silent, a stirring of disappointment, and anger at the way Ted had reached out for Nate’s hand, and Nate slapped it away. It’s not a good look for anyone, either team, but there’s the added twisting of a knife, Rupert crowing somewhere on television, and it hurts.
He doesn’t blame the team, mostly himself, but then Rebecca is there, gives a short but heartfelt speech about how proud she is of everyone and how well they played and how it isn’t over—it’s one loss, and yes, a hard one, but they still have time to win the whole damn thing and show the world what they can do. What she knows they’re all capable of.
Ted smiles, proud of her, for how far she’s come, when she looks the team over and says, “Right. No moping. We’re going out and drinks are on me,” and then the team start talking again, congratulating each other on good plays and heading for showers, and Rebecca pauses a moment to look at Ted, to give him a small smile and a nod.
Later, when they’re alone, he knows they’ll have to process, but they’ll do it together the way they’ve done everything else and that warms him somewhat.
They find a club nearby, not one of their usual haunts, and after the first round of drinks he can tell the boys are lighter. Feel less weighted. They talk about everything and nothing and there’s karaoke and Colin butchers My Heart Will Go On so badly (and, Ted thinks, on purpose, because he knows Colin can actually sing) that it becomes comical, everyone laughing together. It feels good, and the drinks keep coming and a few kind folks come up to him and say it was a rough game and they did great and fuck West Ham, and that makes him feel good, too. A bit guilty, but it’s nice to know there are fans in their corner.
And, if Rebecca sticks close to him all night, her hand on his leg under the table, that helps, too.
He’d wanted to win so badly, win it for her, but there’s no trace of disappointment in her eyes, just pride, and a love for him he’s only just starting to accept, starting to realize isn’t conditional.
They’ve been together six months, quietly, only the team and their friends know and today is not the day to announce it to anyone else, but he’s fine with that. Fine with their quiet little bubble. The way he knows they’ll go home together and hold each other and in the morning it’ll all look brighter because they’re together.
They sit at a back table with Keeley and Roy and Beard, chatting over the music, Rebecca’s thigh pressed to his. They spend a few hours just wandering from topic to topic, everything light and teasing. Roy seems tense still, however, so he isn’t surprised when Keeley finally nudges him out the booth, saying something about taking Oscar the Grouch home for a bath and “maybe a blowjob” and Ted chokes a bit on his whisky and Beard raises one eyebrow and Rebecca laughs at the way Roy’s ears, even in the darkness of the club, are obviously red.
“You’re a fucking menace,” he grumbles to Keeley, who just smirks and kisses his cheek and drags him away.
Rebecca looks at their drinks and decides refills are in order, and squeezes Ted’s knee before she slips out of the booth, and he watches her, sees her lay a hand on Isaac’s shoulder at the bar, knows she’ll be fine for a moment. With a nod to Beard, he slips out the back door.
He just needs a moment of quiet, space to breathe. His chest still feels a bit tight, and though he isn’t anxious, he quickly realizes maybe alone isn’t the best place for him right now.
So he’s grateful when Beard steps out behind him, listens as he rambles for a moment about missing stars and club smells and then admits,
“I wanted to win it for her.”
continued on ao3
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echotrinityme · 1 year
Text
Inner Demon Part 4 (Rupert, Henry, and co.)
"Rupert?" Henry said tentatively as he saw Rupert standing up, Rupert glanced at Henry with a smile, but it wasn't a friendly smile.
"Now I may look like Rupert, talk like him, and in his body," Rupert said, using himself, "But I'm not Rupert."
Henry blinked in confusion as Rupert came up to him, he kept grinning at Henry who was now scared. "I'm a daemonium or what you people call a demon." Rupert said, his voice now sounding demonic, "And I'm possessing this porcupine."
"W-What?" Henry said quietly.
"Also, you can call me Briar," Briar said as he used Rupert's body to cross his arms.
"B-but...what...huh?" Henry said in confusion as he made hand gestures.
Briar shook his head as he grabbed Henry's chin to stop his blubbering, Henry blushed a little from the gesture.
"Now listen carefully, have you ever watched those movies where the demon possesses someone and they act all weird?" Briar asked sharply.
Henry stared at him then he shook his head, Briar huffed as he heard Rupert inside his mind telling him to give him back control. Briar smirked as he let go of Henry's chin, he turn around and started to pace back and forth. "Well, that's what I'm doing to Rupert right now," Briar stated happily, "You know that day when he almost killed you? That was me!"
Henry's eyes widen upon the reveal, "Y-you were the one who did that?" he responded in disbelief.
"Yup!" Briar chirped.
Henry was so confused as questions began to rise as Briar chuckled, "How? Why? Why him?" Henry babbled, still trying to wrap his head around this.
"Calm down, I can answer all those questions."
Briar cleared his throat, "As I said before, I'm a demon. I feed off negative emotions and my victims are usually corrupted with so much sin." he explained, "Just like Rupert here."
Henry blinked as Briar stop pacing and glanced at him.
Briar kept staring at Henry for a moment, then he smiled. "Did you know Rupert's strongest sin is wrath?" he asked, "The other is despair."
Henry crossed his arms as he frowned, "Yeah, I'm not surprised," he responded evenly, "He's emotionally unstable and has anger issues."
"And that's why he is such an easy target for me to corrupt him," Briar stated.
Henry scowled at him, "By the way, do you know about the seven deadly sins?" Briar questioned with a raised eyebrow.
Henry blinked for a second, he somewhat knew of the seven deadly sins. After all, he is familiar with one of the seven deadly sins; greed. "The sins are Pride, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, Wrath, Lust, and Greed," Briar answered without waiting for Henry to respond to him.
"And I'm sure you know the sin of Greed very well, don't you Henry."
Henry blushed red as he scowled some more, "Why are you telling me this?" he asked curiously.
Briar giggled as he started walking towards Henry at a slow pace, "Well, I mention the sins and I only used three of them." he replied huskily, "Technically, I used four, but it's neither here nor there."
Henry felt fear as Briar was walking toward him, and backed away from him. Briar saw this and smirked.
"Oh come on now," Briar said as he kept walking towards Henry until he backed him against, the wall, "Don't tell me you're afraid of Rupert Price? He's not scary or menacing, he's just a pathetic egotistical guy."
Briar put both of his hands on both sides of Henry's head, Henry trembled a little as Briar leaned his head towards Henry. "I used Lust as the second sin," he continued as he purred, "I made Rupert lust after you."
Henry shivered as his face became cherry red as Briar whispered into his ear how Rupert wanted to fuck him so hard, "I've seen his thoughts and I know how much he wants to screw you so hard you will be begging for his cock." he purred as he stuck out his tongue.
He licked Henry's cheek, and Henry's face became redder. "You like that?" Briar asked slyly, "I can do more if you like." he stated huskily.
Henry trembled as he felt scared and strangely aroused even though he shouldn't be feeling aroused. Rupert's not in control, Briar is. This isn't right, he needed to get out of here. But... how? Henry looked around to see if there was an escape for him, but there was not. He then had an idea that Rupert would be so pissed at him, but he has no choice.
"I'm sorry about this, Rupert," Henry said quietly, "Even though I have been wanting to do this for a while now."
Briar furrowed his brow in confusion when Henry said, "What are y-"
Henry knee Briar in the crotch before he can finish his sentence, Briar let out a strangled shout as Henry pushed him down with his boot. Briar landed on his back with an oof, Henry then got on top of him to pin him down. Briar smirked as Henry glared at him, "My, my, my, Henry." Briar said in a teasing tone, "If you wanted to ride Rupert, you could have said so."
Henry spluttered, "No! Give Rupert back his body!"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Briar responded, "Why should I?"
"Because he's not yours to possess."
"Eh. It's not my fault he's full of sin."
Henry growled in frustration and was about to say something when he heard voices outside Rupert's tent. Henry cursed as Briar chuckled, "Looks like some of your snake friends have heard us," he stated nonchalantly, "Looks like I have to leave now, goodbye Henry Stickmin."
Briar passed out just as Charles, Victoria, the General, and a few others came inside. Everyone stared at Henry in confusion and anger since it was still nighttime. They saw Rupert passed out on his back and Henry on top of him. "What the hell is going on!?" Galeforce yelled at Henry as he put his hands on his hips. "It's late!"
Henry didn't answer him right away.
"What am I going to?" Henry thought as he got up, "What am I going to tell them? I can't tell them that a demon was possessing Rupert, they won't believe me. They will just think I'm crazy."
Henry dusted himself off as he stared at everyone, the General crossed his arms as waited for an answer. "Well?" Galeforce said after a while.
"Um...Rupert was having problems and I tried to help but things got out of hand." Henry replied sheepishly.
It was a half lie, but he is not going to tell them about a demon possessing Rupert.
Galeforce stared at Henry for a moment, and Charles did too. He knew Henry was lying, his face was red and he looked like he was afraid of something. Galeforce sighed as he shook his head, "We will talk about this in the morning, put Rupert back on his bed, and I want all of you to go back to sleep." he said tiredly, "Understand?"
Everyone nodded as Henry put Rupert back on his bed, everyone went back to their tents including Henry.
The next day, Henry woke up and got dressed before anyone was awake. He then went to go check on Rupert. When he got to his tent, he went inside and found to his surprise, he was gone. Henry blinked in confusion as he saw Rupert's stuff was missing, his bag was gone and some things were also gone.
Henry's eyes widen as fear and panic set in, where could he have gone!?
A/N: Happy Halloween everyone!
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Text
Day 8: Chickens
The moment he stepped through the wards around their property, all of the stress and anxiety from his day fell away. Harry's magic tingled over his skin, washing away any remaining tension and he found himself breathing a little deeper.
The sun was warm on his face as he headed toward the cozy little cottage that Draco still couldn't believe that he got to call home. The wind rustled through the ivy and Draco drew up short, his body stilling as he breathed in the fresh air and listened to the bird singing in the trees.
For what must have been the thousandth time, he felt wholly unworthy of this little slice of heaven.
One of Harry's bees floated over across the open space between Draco and the hive and settled into his hair, disrupting his thoughts, he landed lightly before lifting off and pausing somewhere else on his head. Something warmed in his chest at the memory of Harry, his voice ringing clear in his ear's, He thinks you're a flower. You should be flattered!
Draco had never swatted at a bee again after that.
After another moment of enjoying the warm breeze and the scent of lilacs drifting through the air, Draco resumed his walk to the cheerful red front door.
"Harry?" he called out as he entered, shooing Tillie (the orange tabby) down off the counter so he could set down his things.
When there was no response he wandered back toward their bedroom, "Harry?" he tried again, pushing the door open only to find Rupert (the three-legged beagle) curled up on their pillows.
"Are you supposed to be laying on our pillows?" Draco asked, hands on his hip.
Rupert merely thumped his tale in reply, lifting his head and sticking his nose out slightly, obviously in search of pats.
Draco obliged him for a moment, "Where's Harry?" he asked him. Rupert rolled onto his back for belly rubs. "Better yet, where's Marcy?" he asked.
At that name, Rupert perked up, wagging his tale and looking around the room for the giant dog that Harry had rescued from a trap three months ago. Draco maintained that she was part wolf but Harry either disagreed or didn't care, and Marcy (like the other dozen animals) had been adopted into their home.
Draco often joked that he wasn't the first lost, desperate creature that Harry had rescued and he certainly wasn't the last.
And Harry always replied, 'but you are the one I love the most.'
(More below the cut)
He smiled to himself as he gave the dog one more pat before standing up and starting toward the door. A warning hiss had him pausing and looking down, "Zephyr," he sighed, bending down to pick up the snake, "We have been through this. If you don't want to get stepped on, don't go slithering across the floor all willy-nilly."
The snake slid up his arm and wrapped himself around Draco's neck. Draco tsked and headed back out toward the living room once more.
Just as he was heading into the kitchen to start on dinner, the door was kicked open and Harry came bundling in, arms laden with fabric of some kind. Marcy trotted along behind him, eyes clocking Draco before she trailed Harry to the kitchen.
Completely oblivious to the fact that Draco was standing there, Harry bustled into the kitchen and over to the island at the center, murmuring, "I've got you, babies."
Draco's heart just opened itself up, the bottom completely dropping out as he watched the other man. He followed him into the kitchen where Harry was setting the fabric down and spreading it open.
"What do you have there?" Draco asked.
Harry jumped, "Cor, Draco," he said. "You startled me."
"Sorry," Draco replied, mostly unrepentant as he leaned in to press a kiss to Harry's temple.
"Hi," Harry said, a warm smile spreading across his face as though Draco had done something amazing by simply coming home. Harry leaned in to kiss him and Zephyr decided to jump ship and slither his way to wrap around Harry instead.
Harry hissed a greeting to the rainbow boa as he butted his head against Harry's chin.
Marcy nudged Draco's hand and Draco greeted her as Harry turned back to the table. He hissed something at the snake, a warning Draco thought, before opening the folds of the cloth to reveal five perfectly ordinary looking eggs.
"What are they?" Draco asked, a bit suspicious in spite of himself.
Harry glanced over at him, "What do you think they are?" he asked, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.
"Something menacing, most likely," Draco replied.
Greta stuck her head in the window at that and let out an ungodly noise, nearly startling Draco out of his skin.
"Yes, I hear you, you noisy goat," Harry chided. "It's past your dinner time, I know. Come round through the door like a civilized creature," he added as he nudged her back from the window over the sink.
Draco shook his head as the stupid goat obediently left the window and trotted over to the door. "Menace," he grumbled. "I still think she does it on purpose just to startle me."
Chuckling, Harry grabbed a bucket and fetched some grain from the barrel in the corner, patting Greta's side as she dove in.
"We need to get an incubator set up for these little loves. Their mother was murdered," he added with a frown.
Draco started to help him move things out of the way. "So what are they? Alligators? Thestrals? Dragons?"
Harry laughed, "Chickens."
-------------
Six days later the chicks hatched.
Draco found Harry at half past five in the morning, out of bed, leaning over the incubator that they'd set up, speaking to the chicks softly as they peeped up at him. He was very gently stroking their fluffy little heads with his finger, obviously besotted.
Draco pressed a kiss to the side of Harry's head, his hand skimming across Harry's lower back as he walked past to make coffee, "How early were you up?" he murmured into the warm, dark kitchen.
"Mmm," Harry hummed, "A quarter to four, I just had a feeling that they were coming, you know?"
And while Draco did not have any such premonitions about animals, he understood that Harry somehow always knew so he nodded, "I know."
"I didn't want them to be alone," Harry whispered, turning back and gently stroking their downy little heads.
And Draco's heart ached with love and affection. It shouldn't be possible to love someone this much, he thought to himself.
"I know," Draco said, carrying a cup of coffee over to Harry and leaning against him as he looked in at the baby chicks.
"Want to hear their names?" Harry asked, his voice excited like a child at Christmas.
"I do," Draco replied, hooking his chin over Harry shoulder and wrapping his free arm around Harry's waist.
"This is Helga," Harry told him, pointing to the fluffiest chick. "This one is Sally," he said, pointing to the one with her head tucked, sleeping. "Godyva," he said, indicating the one with dark feathers in her wings who was pecking at her reflection. "That's Rowena," he said, stroking the head of the smallest chick. "And this one is Betty."
"Betty?" Draco asked and he couldn't keep himself from laughing.
Harry chuckled too and Draco could feel his laugh and he loved that. Loved Harry. "Betty seems like a perfect name for a hen."
"It does," he conceded, pressing a kiss to the warm skin of Harry's neck. "It just surprised me."
The other man leaned against him, yawning, "I hope they imprint on Marcy."
Draco spluttered a laugh, "You're ridiculous."
"Mmm," Harry hummed, voice soft, and low, and happy; and Draco wanted to melt in it. "You love me."
"Circe help me, I do," he replied. "I really do."
Day 7: Wedding | Day 9: Nose Kisses
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prose-for-hire · 3 years
Text
An impassioned debate
Pairing: Giles x Spike (”platonic” but they’re arguing lol)
Request: Spike & Giles bicker fest a la missing moments from when they were housemates, please?
Requested by: @staycalmandbeafan 
Warning: Sex references.
A/N: Sometimes when I write I assume the attitude of one of the characters. Therefore, Spike doesn’t always appear in a good light lol (It was fun to write though and I got a little carried away sorry) 💜🖤
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Giles liked to live alone.
He had grown up living with his parents. He had roommates in university. He even flat-shared in the communal house him and the friends he hung around at the time broke into and claimed as their own in his early twenties.
And that, is exactly how Giles knew he liked to live alone. Some days he could barely tolerate the young people that no matter how fond of them he was, would go on about pointless and often arbitrary nonsense in his presence.
His home then, became his sanctuary. A place where he could shut out the world.
That was until one fateful day in the all-too recent past. Thanksgiving day. A day where the Americans gave thanks for the parts of their lives they are grateful for. He thought he ought to partake in tradition and suggested how grateful he was for Buffy and the others.
A silent, more self-indulgent thanks was to the peace and quiet he would get at the end of the day. His house to himself, not shackled by parents. Kept up all hours by housemates or forced into copious amounts of overly emotional performance at the hands of the well-intentioned Americans.
This silent thought was shattered as a thud at the door announced an unwelcome visitor.
That’s how Giles ended up with a new houseguest. The vampire chained to his tub. A tub he had been very fond of until Spike had come in and ruined with his stench. He was probably the only person that smelt this bad after spending this amount of time in the bathtub.
It would be fair to say that Giles hadn’t been a very welcoming host, but to put it in context, despite being ‘harmless’ Spike had tried to bite Giles not once, but twice. Upon the first attempt being a near-miss and the second ending in blinding pain for the corpse-faced lunatic, he had the gall to tell Giles that he would taste like a dried up old prune anyway.
There was also the incident on Thanksgiving day itself where he managed to eat half a plate of cookies before anyone had the chance to stop him. A miraculous feat when you note that his hands and feet were bound tight.
These were, for the most part issues that Giles could look past. Especially now he was sure that Spike was unable to actually harm him. But what he couldn’t get past were, well, every other area that involved living with Spike.
The issues could be divided as such: Eating habits; sleeping habits; general depravity and what one could only describe as ‘The Passions debate’.
We should probably begin with the sleeping habits:
Or lack thereof. Spike was cat-like in the sense that he didn’t usually get a full night’s, or days, sleep. He tended to sleep a couple hours here or there seemingly whenever he pleased. Which meant that when he was tied up after dark, the vampire had a whole lot of thoughts and nowhere else to go so he seemingly spoke them out loud.
Giles tossed and turned in his bed desperately clinging to sleep, able for the most part to ignore the constant babbling of Spike’s innermost thoughts. Which actually amounted to shagged someone, shagged someone oh I drank some blood, shagged someone.
It was utterly mind numbing and Giles was beginning to feel that should he ever get out of this arrangement alive he would look into finding a house in the middle of a deserted island. Never to return to civilisation.
Giles managed to mostly ignore the fanged menace. Until the singing started. Or, what Giles would only call tuneless hollering. He butchered every punk song known to man and some surprisingly sugary pop ballads that Giles wouldn’t dare comment on, less he revealed that he himself knew the songs lyrics too.
He actually started singing to pass the time, it was lyrical to begin with but as the night wore on he started to shout the words, the tune lost. Sacrificed to a greater goal. Irritation.
He grinned when Giles padded downstairs to try to silence the din.
“Alright, Rupert? Here for dinner and a show?”
“I’m going to gag you” Giles warned. Something they had already had numerous arguments over.
“Well, you’re really gonna have to take me out to that dinner then” Spike smirked at Giles’ disdain for his words, moving his head slightly at the man’s reaction.
“Will you shut up! For God’s sake, man, be quiet!” Giles shouted, sleep-deprivation and living with someone that had more fangs than brains made him more and more irate. It made Spike smile even further, his next words making Giles about three seconds from throttling him (which, wouldn’t have killed him but it would have been very satisfying for Giles).
“Well, seein’ as you’re awake and all and got nothing better to do, be a love and get me some blood?” Spike cackled. Giles stopped himself from going near Spike and instead trailed to the kitchen, hoping it would at least shut him up for five minutes.
Which brings us nicely along to eating habits:
“I like a bit of texture in it!” Spike had shouted one morning. His blood was steaming but Giles had returned back into the kitchen with it to add something to try and get a moment’s peace.
He had been playing a very enjoyable game of see how many times he can send the same mug of blood back before Giles realised he was only doing it to annoy him. The highest score had been 3 times and only, in Giles’ defence, because the man hadn’t been properly awake that morning.
Giles had hit Spike twice (which was very tame considering the horror that was a feral vampire that wasn’t used to being in a domestic setting). Once because of the aforementioned incident and the second time after a particularly heated debate that we will discuss later.
Spike had been lounging on the sofa again, getting crumbs all over his chair. Giles swung his feet and made him sit up as he spoke.
“Will you bloody-”
“Oh don’t start conjuring those sweet massacres in my mind, Rupes, makes a fella’s hunger unbearable” He rubbed his stomach that did in fact appear to be gurgling at the mere mention of the word.
Spike, when he was allowed out of his restraints and Giles saw it was too much like hard work to be waiting on Spike all of the time, began to make his own meals. Which, really, just created more of a mess. And a distinct lack of Weetabix around the house.
He created the worst combinations known to man, sometimes to annoy Giles and other times to just see how it went. He sprayed cans of whipped cream in his mouth left over from Thanksgiving, ate crackers with every topping he found in the house and made sure to use the least amount of manners as possible whilst doing so.
Which brings us onto the section Giles would entitle, Spike’s ‘generally depraved character’:
Giles was still in the habit of tying Spike up at night, but he had subsequently allowed him to walk around in the day after a while.
There had been one evening where Spike ran through the entire house, struggling at every turn so that Giles couldn’t tie him up again. He was bored and it was fun making the human chase him. Eventually he was cuffed and tied to his chair and left there through the day so that it didn’t happen again.
Luckily, Spike had gotten bored of that game and just let Giles tie him up at night again now. Not without comment, of course.
“Call that a knot? I’ve had tighter curls, mate” Spike rolled his eyes as Giles looked over the glasses perching on the end of his nose. He then reached and tightened the knot by a lot making Spike yelp and scowl at him.
“Hey! You can’t just leave me like this – I’m getting’ rope burn here!” he shouted as he struggled, thus giving himself worse rope burn.
“Ah, yes and what’re you going to do about it, Spike, hm? Serenade me to death?” Giles rolled his eyes in disdain. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting his position with a scowl stamped on his face. 
He watched Giles get back to reading his paper. He let him get a few lines in before he interrupted him this time.
“Not exactly the five star digs I’m used to” Spike said which made Giles scoff. He had seen many of the places Spike had called home and none of them were fit for burying a corpse in let alone housing a living one.
“I can untie you and you can just leave, Spike, I’m sure burning to a crisp would really show me what for” Giles muttered, focusing on the paper he had been trying to read.
“Oh, I see you. Thinking you’re better than me – smarter. Anyone can read books, they don’t make it their whole sodding personality. You’re a good ol’ British stereotype, Rupes,”
“Ah, yes, well, many people can read Spike but it takes a particularly impervious individual to be so oblivious to their own misgivings that they result in insulting themselves in the same breath as their foe”
Spike rolled his eyes at the use of the word ‘foe’ but kept silent for a while. It was a rare silence and Giles made the most of it. Savoured it. He wasn’t sure if it was the big words that had evaded him or just the fact that his insult had resonated. But he didn’t say these thoughts out loud, less he would have to listen to Spike’s sparkling wit.
However, lo and behold, Spike suddenly spoke up again. 
“You know what I miss?” Spike asked, leaving Giles sighing audibly and putting his unread book back down. He had tried several times to read the same line.
“No, but I assume that you’re about to enlighten me”
“Civil wars”
“What?!” Giles asked incredulously, taking his glasses from his face just so he didn’t have to look at the vampire who appeared to be staring up at the ceiling and reminiscing.
“Yeah” No nodded, “There’s just something about a civil war… could be the fear. Aphrodisiac, it is”
“I’m not sure I agree-”
“Probably ‘cause you’d be the one doing the fearing you great ponce”
“Now-” Giles was ready to launch into a barrage of insults, using all of his wit to ground Spike into the pile of dust and ash he was destined to be. But then, he took a breath. He decided to hit Spike where it hurt, “That’s it! No more television”
“What?!” Spike shouted, his eyes bulging in horror, “You can’t do that, I’m dyin’ here gramps-!”
“You’re already dead”
“Yeah, well, now I’m rotting away here with the living. I mean, you’ve aged – I saw your graduation photo in the hall. It’s like lookin’ in a particularly haunting mirror when I see you” Spike spoke smugly of the way his face hadn’t aged despite being older than Giles.
There was a stony silence for a while. Giles went quiet. When Giles went quiet, he was mad. The kind that could become insidious. His fists curled and his mind raced. Blood pumping hot around his body.
But, after a moment, he resolved himself. Spike wasn’t worth Ripper making an appearance. No, Spike wasn’t worth anything.
“Why don’t you read something, or perhaps figure out how to count past two?” Giles offered, stepping away from where the tv was now staying off. Spike’s face turned sour at the prospect of another afternoon with his thoughts.
“How about four?” Spike asked, flipping the v’s with both arms raised at the man who looked like he was about to thump his guest yet again.
“You’re a piece of work, Spike”
“Thanks” Spike nodded, still looking at Giles expectantly, waiting for the television to be turned back on. But when he turned way and started to look busy Spike’s mood changed.
“Come on, it’s telly time!” Spike shouted but Giles just took his jacket and left the house for the rest of the day. Leaving Spike bored and trying to avoid the patches of sunlight where Giles had ‘accidentally’ opened some of the curtains on different levels of the house.
When Giles eventually began to turn the television back on for Spike, it leads us on to ‘The Passions debate’:
“Are you blind willingly or are you truly this ignorant?!” Giles shouted, his words directed at Spike but his eyes were glued to the screen. No matter how much he had fought it, Giles had been well and truly sucked into the fictional world.
“Don’t be a bloody idiot! It’s clear as sodding day that they’re meant to be together” Spike gestured wildly at the screen.
“Their relationship is forced – there is no real meaning there!” Giles insisted, much like most shows on television in his opinion.
“You got it all wrong - it’s fate, destiny or any of that bollocks”
“Ah, yes, that would be the latter”
“Don’t be daft, Ripper – have you seen them?! Pure chemistry. Nobody can act that good either, they’re shagging behind the scenes – mark my words”
“You really are as perceptive as a wooden spoon, Spike” Giles berated him.
“That’s rot, that is! They’re shagging no two ways about it”
“Two people can have chemistry and maintain a platonic relationship” Spike raised an eyebrow at him and Giles had become heated in the debate, “They are not bloody shagging!”
“Aw, does it bother you that fictional characters are getting more action than you?” Spike mock-pouted. Trying to rile the man up further. This was where it descended into chaos.
“Ah, fortunately I’m satisfied in the knowledge that there will always be someone that is worse-off than myself” Giles paused before asking, “Is Drusilla well?”
“Bugger off! That was low for an ex-watcher who gets all his happy feelings from a group of school children” Spike pounced on him, going for the jugular, “You spend an embarrassing amount of time with dear Buffy. I wonder, what could you be doin’ behind closed-”
Spike was cut off by a blow to his face. It sent him flying backwards and splintered the wooden chair he had been sat on into pieces.
“Out!” Giles demanded, face like thunder, “Out before I do something I wouldn’t regret!”
Both Spike and Giles eyed the weapons chest that was on the floor between them before looking back at the other. Both were trying to calculate how long it would take the other to get there. After a moment, Spike got to his feet and just slinked off to a different corner of the house until he got hungry and Giles went to walk off his anger.
That had been the last straw. Soon after this particular incident, Spike was shipped off the Xander’s basement. Giles finally got his house back. His wooden chair however, unfortunately never recovered.
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ilovepodcastladies · 4 years
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Hello! I've been looking for new podcasts to check out, and your URL made me think you might have some suggestions! 😊💛
Hey! Thanks for coming to me for recommendations!
The Magnus Archives: a horror podcast following various statements given at The Magnus Institute, a centre for... odd activity. It takes a bit of time to get into but the lore is incredible and the fifth and final season starts in April!
Wolf 359: a sci-fi comedy centred on professional slacker Doug Eiffel and the crew on the space station the U.S.S. Hephaestus. What seems like a light hearted story quickly becomes so much more and the soundtrack as well as the story is fantastic! While it has long finished, it is one of the best fiction podcasts around and you can binge the whole thing! (also it has my favourite character in media introduced about a third of the way through!)
King Falls AM: when radio host Sammy Stevens arrives in the mysterious town of King Falls, he has to get to terms with the paranormal happenings of the mountainside dwelling. With Ben Arnold, his producer-turned-co-host, they uncover the truths about the town live on 660AM. The show is currently on hiatus but will be back before the end of the year!
The Amelia Project: ever wondered who goes to a secret agency to... disappear? The Amelia Project follows different tales of organised disappearances from the people who organised them. From a cult leader to the worst couple in history, see who decides dying and reappearing is the only option... with a cup of cocoa of course!
Captivated: when the worst gunman in the world takes three small town radio show hosts hostage live on air, the nation is glued to their radios. It’s a new, four part fiction podcast that got to the semi finals of the Austin Film Festival, with the last part coming out tomorrow!
The Two Princes: Prince Rupert has always been trapped in the royal life he leads. His mother wants nothing more for him to marry one of the many princesses of the kingdom and settle down to a happy life. But when a menacing force threatens to destroy his kingdom, he joins forces with Prince Amir in order to stop the curse and save their kingdoms. This podcast has the best sound design of literally any podcast I’ve ever heard; it’s like you’re listening to the audio of a tv show. Plus the story is awesome!
Happy listening!
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stainedglassgardens · 4 years
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I saw 97 films directed by women since January! If you’re still trying to make your 52-a-year, here are some films that I enjoyed over the past six months, according to where to stream them from.
(As usual, please keep in mind that I am based in France and availability varies from country to country – but we do tend to have less stuff available, rather than more, so you should be able to watch most of these regardless of where you are.)
Woman-directed films worth watching on Netflix
Good Sam (Kate Melville, 2019) Fleur de tonnerre (Stéphanie Pillonca, 2016) 37 Seconds (Hikari, 2019) Suffragette (Sarah Gavron, 2015) Mamma Mia! (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008) Divines (Houda Benyamina, 2016) Joy (Sudabeh Mortezai, 2018) Lost Girls (Liz Garbus, 2020) Circus of Books (Rachel Mason, 2019) LoveTrue (Alma Har'el, 2016) Marguerite & Julien (Valérie Donzelli, 2015)
... on Outbuster
Microhabitat ( 소공녀, Jeon Go-woon, 2017)
... on Amazon Prime
Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging (Gurinder Chadha, 2008) The Judge (Erika Cohn, 2017) Nuts! (Penny Lane, 2016) I Believe in Unicorns (Leah Meyerhoff, 2014) Troop Zero (Bert & Bertie, 2019) For the Love of God (Pour l'Amour de Dieu, Micheline Lanctôt, 2011)
… and on Mubi
(Some of these won’t be available anymore but if you have Mubi it’s worth checking, especially now that they have that handy “library” feature)
Feature films:
The Daughters of Fire (Las hijas del fuego, Albertina Carri, 2018) The Grand Bizarre (Jodie Mack, 2018) Too Late to Die Young (Tarde para morir joven, Dominga Sotomayor Castillo, 2018) Nona. If They Soak Me, I’ll Burn Them (Nona. Si me mojan, yo los quemo, Camila José Donoso, 2019) Romantic Comedy (Elizabeth Sankey, 2019) Transnistra (Anna Eborn, 2019) La Pointe-Courte (Agnès Varda, 1955) Lions Love (Lions Love... And Lies, Agnès Varda, 1969) Jane B. par Agnès V. (Agnès Varda, 1988) Crystal Swan (Хрусталь, Darya Zhuk, 2018) Take Me Somewhere Nice (Ena Sendijarević, 2019) Trouble Every Day (Claire Denis, 2001)
Short films:
Meshes of the Afternoon (Maya Deren and Alexander Hammid, 1943) Delphine (Chloé Robichaud, 2019) Diary of a Pregnant Woman (L'Opéra-Mouffe, Agnès Varda, 1958) Salut les Cubains (Agnès Varda, 1964) Uncle Yanco (Oncle Yanco, Agnès Varda, 1967) Atlantiques (Mati Diop, 2009) The So-Called Caryatids (Les Dites Cariatides, Agnès Varda, 1984) How Some Jellyfish Are Born (Comment naissent des méduses, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1960) Shrimp Stories (Histoires de crevettes, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1964) The Love Life of the Octopus (Les Amours de la pieuvre, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1965) Acera, or The Witches' Dance (Acera, ou le Bal des Sorcières, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1972) Olla (Ariane Labed, 2019) Asparagus (Suzan Pitt, 1979) Douce Menace (Ludovic Habas, Yoan Sender, Margaux Vaxelaire, Mickaël Krebs, Florent Rousseau, 2011) Lahemaa (Leslie Lagier, 2010)
Woman-directed short films to watch for free on Vimeo...
Who Among Us! (Abhishek Prasad and Rebecca Kahn, 2019) Brotherhood (Meryam Joobeur, 2018) Skin (Audrey Rosenberg, 2018) Suicide by Sunlight (Nikyatu Jusu, 2019)
... on Arte
Daughter (Dcera, Daria Kashcheeva, 2019)
... and on YouTube
Hair Love (Matthew A. Cherry and Karen Rupert Toliver, 2019) Kitbull (Rosana Sullivan, 2019) Dogs of Chernobyl (Léa Camilleri & Hugo Chesnel, 2020)
List of all 97 films under the cut!
Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging (Gurinder Chadha, 2008) Who Among Us! (Abhishek Prasad and Rebecca Kahn, 2019) Brotherhood (Meryam Joobeur, 2018) Hair Love (Matthew A. Cherry and Karen Rupert Toliver, 2019) Kitbull (Rosana Sullivan, 2019) Nuts! (Penny Lane, 2016) The Judge (Erika Cohn, 2017) Dearborn Ash (Hena Ashraf, 2018) Pineal (Jenny Rinta-Kanto, 2019) Skin (Audrey Rosenberg, 2018) F is for Friendship (Shaya Mulcahy, 2016) Paradise Hills (Alice Waddington, 2019) Hustlers (Lorene Scafaria, 2019) I Believe in Unicorns (Leah Meyerhoff, 2014) Troop Zero (Bert & Bertie, 2019) For the Love of God (Pour l'Amour de Dieu, Micheline Lanctôt, 2011) Sitting Next to Zoe (Ivana Lalović, 2013) Good Sam (Kate Melville, 2019) Fleur de tonnerre (Stéphanie Pillonca, 2016) The Field Guide to Evil (Peter Strickland, Veronika Franz & Severin Fiala, Katrin Gebbe, Yannis Veslemes, Ashim Ahluwalia, Agnieszka Smoczynska, Can Evrenol, Calvin Reeder, 2018) 37 Seconds (Hikari, 2019) The Falling (Carol Morley, 2014) Suffragette (Sarah Gavron, 2015) Mamma Mia! (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008) A Bump Along the Way (Shelly Love, 2019) Divines (Houda Benyamina, 2016) Vanishing Waves (Kristina Buožytė, 2012) Zama (Lucrecia Martel, 2017) Joy (Sudabeh Mortezai, 2018) Black Christmas (Sophia Takal, 2019) Dogs of Chernobyl (Léa Camilleri & Hugo Chesnel, 2020) Firecrackers (Jasmin Mozaffari, 2018) The Daughters of Fire (Las hijas del fuego, Albertina Carri, 2018) The Grand Bizarre (Jodie Mack, 2018) The Last Séance (Laura Kulik, 2018) Too Late to Die Young (Tarde para morir joven, Dominga Sotomayor Castillo, 2018) Queen & Slim (Melina Matsoukas, 2019) Lost Girls (Liz Garbus, 2020) Meshes of the Afternoon (Maya Deren and Alexander Hammid, 1943) Circus of Books (Rachel Mason, 2019) Delphine (Chloé Robichaud, 2019) Nona. If They Soak Me, I’ll Burn Them (Nona. Si me mojan, yo los quemo, Camila José Donoso, 2019) The Lodge (Veronika Franz & Severin Fiala, 2019) LoveTrue (Alma Har'el, 2016) Water Lilies (Naissance des pieuvres, Céline Sciamma, 2007) The Assistant (Kitty Green, 2019) The Half of It (Alice Wu, 2020) Tomboy (Céline Sciamma, 2011) Girlhood (Bande de filles, Céline Sciamma, 2014) Marguerite & Julien (Valérie Donzelli, 2015) Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Portrait de la jeune fille en feu, Céline Sciamma, 2019) This Magnificent Cake! (Ce Magnifique Gâteau!, Emma De Swaef & Marc James Roels, 2018) Romantic Comedy (Elizabeth Sankey, 2019) Transnistra (Anna Eborn, 2019) The Farewell (Lulu Wang, 2019) Emma. (Autumn de Wilde, 2020) Late Night (Nisha Ganatra, 2019) Charlie's Angels (Elizabeth Banks, 2019) Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (Cathy Yan, 2020) The Ancestors Came (Cecile Emeke, 2017) Suicide by Sunlight (Nikyatu Jusu, 2019) Anthropocene: The Human Epoch (Edward Burtynsky, Jennifer Baichwal, Nicholas de Pencier, 2018) A Perfect 14 (Giovanna Morales Vargas, 2018) Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist (Lorna Tucker, 2018) Aniara (Pella Kågerman and Hugo Lilja, 2018) La Pointe-Courte (Agnès Varda, 1955) Diary of a Pregnant Woman (L'Opéra-Mouffe, Agnès Varda, 1958) Salut les Cubains (Agnès Varda, 1964) Uncle Yanco (Oncle Yanco, Agnès Varda, 1967) Atlantiques (Mati Diop, 2009) Sitara: Let Girls Dream (Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, 2019) Lions Love (Lions Love... And Lies, Agnès Varda, 1969) Plastic and Glass (Tessa Joosse, 2009) The So-Called Caryatids (Les Dites Cariatides, Agnès Varda, 1984) How Some Jellyfish Are Born (Comment naissent des méduses, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1960) Shrimp Stories (Histoires de crevettes, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1964) The Love Life of the Octopus (Les Amours de la pieuvre, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1965) Acera, or The Witches' Dance (Acera, ou le Bal des Sorcières, Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1972) The Slumber Party Massacre (Amy Holden Jones, 1982) Jane B. par Agnès V. (Agnès Varda, 1988) Crystal Swan (Хрусталь, Darya Zhuk, 2018) Take Me Somewhere Nice (Ena Sendijarević, 2019) Microhabitat ( 소공녀, Jeon Go-woon, 2017) The Unforeseen (Laura Dunn, 2007) Louise Bourgeois: The Spider, the Mistress and the Tangerine (Marion Cajori and Amei Wallach, 2008) Olla (Ariane Labed, 2019) The Republic of Enchanters (La République des enchanteurs, Fanny Liatard and Jérémy Trouilh, 2016) Black Panthers (Agnès Varda, 1970) Asparagus (Suzan Pitt, 1979) America (Valérie Massadian, 2013) The Watermelon Woman (Cheryl Dunye, 1996) Douce Menace (Ludovic Habas, Yoan Sender, Margaux Vaxelaire, Mickaël Krebs, Florent Rousseau, 2011) Trouble Every Day (Claire Denis, 2001) A Radiant Life (Une Vie radieuse, Meryll Hardt, 2013) Shirley (Josephine Decker, 2020) Lahemaa (Leslie Lagier, 2010) Daughter (Dcera, Daria Kashcheeva, 2019)
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lady-divine-writes · 5 years
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Concerning the End of the World ... Again ...
Summary: When Crowley shows up for his picnic with Aziraphale in serpent form and refuses to change into human, Aziraphale fears the worst. (1837 words)
Warnings: Some mild angst and anxiety, but mostly fluff :D
(AO3)
“Oh, there you are! I was wondering when you were planning to show,” Aziraphale says, greeting the long black serpent slithering onto his picnic blanket like it’s an old friend.
Namely, because it is.
His oldest and dearest friend.
And, as of recently, his husband.
“Where have you been? I was getting worried.” Aziraphale side-eyes the serpent, waiting for it to stealthily change into human form. But it doesn’t, winding carefully through the jars of jam and honey, the plates of bread and cheese he’d set out. “Uh … is there a reason you’ve chosen not to transform?” He waits for the snake to give him a sign of acknowledgement. When it doesn’t, Aziraphale chalks it up to his husband’s temperamental nature (he is a demon, after all), and continues the conversation alone. “Well, if you don’t, you’re going to miss out! I’ve gotten a few pears from a local vendor, apples, some fresh strawberries ... I took the liberty of sampling a few, and they’re all scrumptious!”
The serpent pauses momentarily, tilting its head as if struggling with a decision. Whatever the options, it chooses to tuck itself beneath Aziraphale’s knee. From beneath the shelter of the angel’s leg, it pokes its head out, tongue flicking to taste the air. A sensation of dread creeps into Aziraphale’s chest, latches on with hooks, and stays there.
“Wh-what … what’s going on, Crowley? What’s the matter?” He looks about, stretching his own mental feelers, searching for anything not quite right in the area. Of course, if someone was going to detect something not quite right, it would be Crowley, his serpent form the best way to keep tabs on it.
Months ago, they’d both been able to convince their ‘powers that be’ to leave them alone, but how long would that last? Aziraphale naively hoped forever, but Crowley is a cynic. If his assumptions are correct, their brief time of peace was a stop-gap - a calm before a storm of epic proportions.
Greater than Satan himself clawing out of the ground? Apparently.
“H-have you heard anything from … you know …?” Aziraphale subtly points down, but the serpent, eyes locked on a point in the distance, neither confirms nor denies. Aziraphale watches, breath held, overly wary of its cautious behavior. He finds himself suddenly dubious of everyone – the ice cream seller, an older married couple, a little girl riding her trike, a corgi rummaging through the bushes for a ball. It may seem ridiculous, but if the events of the Notpocalypse have taught him anything, it’s that their enemies could be hiding anywhere, could be anyone. “If you have, you’re right to remain hidden. Best to stay under the radar, as they say.”
Aziraphale is uncertain which would be less conspicuous – a distinguished man dressed as stylishly as he sharing an intimate picnic lunch with a man who looks like a rock star, or this right big snake?
Either way, it doesn’t matter to him. As long as they’re together.
Truth be told, Aziraphale is quite fond of Crowley’s serpent form.
Maybe he could try his hand at shapeshifting next time. But what would he become? A dove? Mmm, no. Aziraphale loved doves, but that seemed a bit too on the nose. A cat? A sleek, dignified, yet fluffy Persian? Or a Siamese – all cream coat and stunning blue eyes? Ooo, a Russian blue!
But he’s not sure Crowley fancies cats. Would he want one following him about, or perched on his shoulder, shedding fur onto his clothes?
Probably not.
A dog? Yes, Crowley might prefer a dog. A big, strong, strapping dog - something along the lines of a hellhound, Aziraphale assumes, but he can’t picture himself that way. Not as a menacing beast with glowing red eyes and sharp teeth. But he’s sure he can get Crowley to compromise. Maybe he could be a feisty little Scottish terrier in a smart tartan coat, as long as he also agrees to wear something more Crowley-esque – like a spiky, leather collar. That would surely suit the both of them.
It was actually rather exciting now that he’d given it proper thought.
“I haven’t heard anything either,” Aziraphale affirms, though whether Crowley said he had or not, he doesn’t know. Aziraphale can’t speak to Crowley in his snake form. He can’t speak to snakes at all. Or any animal. Though he did feel a spiritual connection to an owl once back in the 16th century. Rupert, he called it. Regardless, he believes that what he and Crowley have is deeper – a connection that allows him to infer what his other half is thinking, even when those thoughts are wrapped inside the labyrinthine mind of a serpent.
“Honeymoon’s over, I guess, hmm?” Aziraphale says with a forlorn sigh, gazing at the world around him – the world he loves – with bittersweet affection. “I know you’ve had suspicions about a battle to come, I just … I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I thought we’d have more time.” He runs a hand gingerly down the neck of the snake, chuckling to himself. “Listen to me. More time. We’ve known one another for six thousand years! If the end is coming, I guess I should be grateful for the time we’ve had.” The snake rests its head on his thigh and seems to sigh as well – not in defeat, but more like sympathy. Knowing Crowley, he already has plans – escape to the stars, other planets, alternate dimensions. Crowley will know a way out of this. He’ll know what to do. And they’ll be fine, provided things work according to plan. But what about the world? Aziraphale wants to spend forever with Crowley, but something has never sat quite right with him about abandoning this world to do it. “We’ve been walking the middle ground for so long, Crowley. And I will admit, even if I didn’t show it, I always feared one day it would end. I don’t want that day to be now. Not now. Not yet.” He bends as best he can in an awkward position to lean close to the serpent, and the serpent rises to meet him. Aziraphale cups it under what he assumes is its ‘chin’ and rubs it’s snout with his nose. It’s scaly and cold, nothing like the warmth of his husband’s skin, but it’s comforting nonetheless. “But whatever happens, we’re in this together. You and I, till the day we …” The rest gathers at the back of the angel’s throat, huddled in a lump, refusing to come out “… well, you know. But I want you to know, I’m not leaving you without a fight. Not ever. Because … well, because I love you, Crowley. I do. I should have said it a million times – the very moment I knew. But I’m saying it now, every day, as a matter of fact. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love …”
“Aziraphale? What on Earth are you doing?”
Aziraphale stops talking. His eyes go wide. He stares questioningly at the snake in front of him. If he didn’t know better, he would swear it shrugs.
“Crowley?” He sits up, hand still cupping the serpent’s chin, and sees his husband – human form Crowley – standing before him. His jaw drops, the apples of his cheeks glowing a jasper red, brighter than twin stoplights, especially since the rest of his color has drained clear away. “Wha---?” Aziraphale looks at the black snake sitting beside him on the blanket, the one he’s been talking to for the past half hour, then back up at Crowley, who’s taken on a rather defensive stance – arms crossed, hip cocked, glaring behind his dark glasses at his angel’s offending hand. Aziraphale pulls his hand away and swallows hard.
“Th-this isn’t what it looks like.”
***
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,  That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
“Ah, Shakespeare …” Aziraphale hugs the leather-bound book to his chest, gazing down the length of the sofa he’s on to the serpent lying by his socked feet, coiled against the cold. “In thousands of years, I’ve never had the pleasure of reading works by anyone who could do poetry such justice. Don’t you agree?”
The serpent raises its head, gives a little nod, then rests it on the angel’s ankle, exhaling in contentment.
“Hmm, I do agree. I do agree. So where were we? Ah …”
“Are you reading him sonnets?” Crowley snaps when he walks in and catches his husband curled up on the couch beside the creature he has affectionately begun calling his son.
“He listens,” Aziraphale replies, going back to the book and turning the page, “unlike some people.”
“You forget, I was there the first go round.” Crowley grabs a glass and a full bottle of wine from the desk nearby. “Wasn’t too impressed then, either. Why are you letting him stay here anyway?”
“He followed me home, Crowley! I can’t just put him out! That would be cruel! Besides, I don’t understand why you’re so upset! It’s not like I …” Aziraphale cuts himself short and looks up from his book. “Wait a minute …” A small smile dances at the corners of his mouth, not easily noticed by one unaccustomed to being teased by an angel. But Crowley’s seen it a thousand times “… you’re not still upset about …?”
“Yes! Yes, I am!” Crowley miracles the cork from the wine and drinks straight from the bottle, bypassing the glass clutched in his other hand. “I find it offensive that you can’t tell a common black snake from your own husband!”
“I’m sorry, my dear, but at first glance, you two do look strikingly similar.”
“Oi! Oi!” Crowley points at his angel, stuck for a comeback strong enough to express his displeasure.
“Also, it’s a large, black snake, Crowley! Those aren’t all that common in these parts! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t you? Do you know the odds? Really …”
“That doesn’t excuse the fact that you were getting all lovey-dovey with …!”
“… something that I thought was you!” Aziraphale closes his eyes in frustration and shakes his head. “But don’t worry,” he says, waving away his husband’s ire with a flick of his hand. “I promise not to fall into the same trouble I got into with the last snake that followed me home.”
“Is that so?” Crowley grumps, searching under the sofa and around the stacks of books for the offending bugger. “You have a whole harem of snakes hanging around here, do you?”
“Nope. Just the one.”
“Ah. So tell me, Aziraphale - what happened to him, eh?”
The angel and the serpent, thick as thieves at this point, look at a put-off Crowley, wearing matching smug smirks. “I married him.”
*** Notes: This was a sort of a culmination of different ideas I got from fanart on Tumblr. There's a consensus (I think) that when Crowley shows up in his snake form, Aziraphale automatically knows it's him. So I thought ... what if it doesn't work that way? XD
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wickedgoodbooks · 5 years
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Downhill on Ao3 by WickedGoodBooks
Chapter 23 - Once Upon a Tuesday
As the door fell into its lock, Claire leaned her head against the solid wood and released the breath she’d been holding with a heavy sigh. What a day. That was probably the understatement of the century. Well, of the month, at least.
Casting a look around the living room of her home and finding that the world she had left behind had not changed in the slightest bit was hard to reconcile with the inner upheaval that recent revelations had caused. Claire toed off her shoes and slipped out of her coat, putting them into their proper spot next to the entrance, all the while trying to wrap her head around what she had heard and seen today.
Only a few hours before, she had been a bundle of nervous energy, too apprehensive to focus on anything but painting all different kinds of scenarios how her meeting with Jamie would go down. Boy, had she been wrong. When she had set out to face what was likely going to be a difficult conversation in any case, Claire Beauchamp would still never in a million years have expected that kind of level of betrayal. It was an intrigue worthy of a soap-opera –well, those writers probably had to get their inspiration from somewhere. But to think that anyone would really do such a thing. Out of... out of what exactly? If it had been just about Claire herself, she might have understood the pettiness of it all, even if she couldn’t condone it. She would readily admit that they had never warmed up to each other, hadn’t cared for one another a bit, to be frank. In all the years they’d moved in the same circle of friends, she had come to know Laoghaire as a spoiled and vindictive person, deeply jealous of her own accomplishments, but to deliberately rob a child of its father?
Anger. Seething, explosive anger was what Claire knew she should feel right now. And she did –hot adrenaline was pumping through her arteries, shoulders tense, and teeth were clenched, her body was ready to strike out. But she was also strangely numb and cold at the same time. Looking at her hands was like watching herself from a distance. She knew those shaking digits were her own, but everything felt strange, detached. Delayed shock, Claire noted with  professional interest.
Putting both jittery hands firmly on the countertop of her kitchen, Claire steadied herself as she shut her eyes firmly and took deep breaths, filling her lungs with much needed oxygen. In –1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Out –1, 2, 3, 4, 5. When even the tenth repetition of the breathing exercise had not helped her regain her sense of self, Claire attempted another practice she had learned some years ago from Uncle Lamb. Taking inventory. Moving through the haze that clouded her mind, she pictured the essence that made up her muscles, organs, nervous system, her physical self. Everything still there. Everything still working. Slowly, with a determined shake of her head that sent brown curls flying freely around her face, Claire found a way out of that maze of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
The newfound clarity dictated one thing in particular –she desperately needed to get a grip on herself. A quick glance at the kitchen clock sitting idly on the microwave to her right confirmed her inner timer. Willie would be home in less than two hours. Claire had until then to sort out the worst of it, to be composed enough to face her son without seeming like a mental case. And there was only one person she could talk to about this whole steaming pile of shit who would understand.  
The calling signal had barely gone through when her best friend’s voice greeted her, not bothering with so much as ‘hello’ before firing questions faster than Claire was able to process.
“How did it go? How did he look? Is he still hot? What was he wearing? How did he react? Did he faint? Did ye kiss? Tell me everything!” demanded the clear voice at the other end of the line, excitement palpable even with a couple of hundred miles between them.
Claire sank into the couch, head tilted back to rest on the cushion.
“I hope you’re sitting down, Gee,” the tone of the statement foreboding.
“I cannae sit doon, righ’ noo, hen, tell me,” the clanking and thumping in the background made it clear that Geillis was walking around her flat, too nervous to sit still to receive the answers to her questions.
So Claire did tell her. Everything. From the relatively simple lie that Laoghaire had indeed had Rupert’s number to the devastating consequences of her telling Jamie that Claire had been pregnant with Frank’s –‘of all people!’– child.
For a second, Claire had thought she had lost connection, so unnaturally quiet was Geillis as she patiently listened to the whole tale.
“I’m goin’ tae kill that bitch,” came the matter-of-fact reaction. The menacing message of the declaration was quite at odds with the dry delivery, so much so that Claire thought Geillis might as well have been saying that it was going to rain in Scotland today.  
“You and me both, Gee,” she joined in the general sentiment.  “And from the look of Jamie’s face, I think he might want to as well.”
“I’m serious, I’m goin’ tae kill her. Such a–,” Geillis began, but was stopped by Claire.
“I know. But there’s no point, Geillis. Not that I don’t appreciate you committing a felony for my sake, but remember, we took an oath – ‘do no harm’ and all that stuff.”
Geillis let out a small huff.
“Minor obstacle if ye ask me, hen. I’m goin’ tae break that filthy wee bitch’s neck and–“
“Geillis, really, I don’t want you to do anything about this. Don’t even say anything to her, or to anyone else, for that matter.”
“Whyever no’?” the surprise was evident in her best friend’s voice. “She’s stolen almost 7 years from ye, Claire.”
“I know,” Claire replied in a small voice.
“That bitch is the reason ye had tae do this on yer own, she’s the reason Willie ne’er had a father!”
“I KNOW, Geillis,” exasperation rang in every syllable, “Trust me, I know better than anyone.“
That shut her friend up for a moment.
“Well, ye’re right...,” Geillis admitted, “it’s you that gets tae make a call on this, but,” she continued, “she doesnae deserve yer forgiveness. No’ wi’ what she did tae ye and the wee bean.”
“And what would you have me do?” Claire’s throat was tense as she fought to control the emotion that was threatening to well up.
The question was answered with another silence.
“See? It’s not that easy.  I can’t just wait until she’s pregnant, try to get hold of the father, think of some elaborate, twisted scheme to separate them from one another until her child’s 6 years old.”
“Would serve that meddling besom right, though,” murmured Geillis.
“This is not some sort of ‘an eye for an eye’ situation –we’re not in the Middle Ages. Not that revenge would help anyone. There’s nothing I can do about it,” the frustration poured out of Claire with every word.
“Does it nae bother ye, then?”
“Does it not bother me that because of one spiteful, miserable cunt like Laoghaire MacKenzie my son had to grow up without a father? No, Geillis, I’m perfectly fine with that, didn’t you know?”
The sarcasm cut through the conversation like a knife. Claire could hear Geillis take a deep breath to reign her own temper in before she spoke next.
“Claire, that’s no’ what I meant and ye ken it. What I was tryin’ tae say was if it doesnae bother ye that she can go on wi’ her life wi’out having tae face any consequences fer her actions.”
“Of course, it bothers me, Gee!” there was nothing she could do to prevent the tears from rolling down her face now. “It does bother me that there is nothing I can do about it, because she didn’t do anything that’s prohibited by law. There is nothing, nothing –you hear?! –I can do about it.“
“I’m sorry, hen. I didnae –,” Geillis attempted to apologise.
“No, don’t be. I know you didn’t mean it like that. I know you have my back.”
“Aye, I do,” her friend assured at once, “always.”
A small smile touched Claire’s lips, reminded how grateful she was to have a friend like Geillis Duncan in her life.  
“Let’s just hope that karma does exist and that it will take care of Laoghaire bloody MacKenzie the way it sees fit,” Claire concluded, sniffling and wiping the last tears away.
“That bitch has it coming,” Geillis concurred.
“Indeed,” was all that Claire had to add.
“Orite, noo that we’ve got that matter settled, let’s cut tae the chase,” Geillis opened a new line of conversation.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, bewildered what else could be left to talk about after such a big discovery.
“The man, Claire, the man!” Geillis let out an annoyed huff. “What did he look like, did ye shag him righ’ there on the table?”
“Geillis!” she hissed, being intensely grateful that her best friend wasn’t able to see the redness in her cheeks. The thought of getting into bed with Jamie had not crossed Claire’s mind –more important things had occupied her thoughts. But hearing it now put so bluntly, she would have lied if she claimed not to remember what those large hands felt like on her body.
Interpreting Claire’s silence correctly, Geillis pushed her advantage, “Sae, still hot, aye?”
“For fucks sake, Duncan!” she rolled her eyes in pretend irritation, even knowing that her friend wasn’t able to see her.
The stubble of his scruff had felt wickedly good when she had kissed his cheek in goodbye. Absent-mindedly, her index finger traced the faint tingling echo the feeling had left behind on her lips.
“I cannae help but observe that ye didnae say he isnae hot, hen,” the self-satisfied smirk was all too audible.
“Yes, he’s still hot, Geillis. Happy now?”
“Och, aye, I’m braw, what aboot you, though, Claire? Did he make ye happy or is he goin’ tae at least?”
“Shut it, Duncan,” Claire’s threat would have been that much more effective, if she hadn’t snorted.
Geillis chuckled, knowing that she had struck a nerve, “Ye need a good shag again, hen, and he obviously kens hoo tae please ye already sae –“
“Alright, I think I have to hang up now, Willie will be home soon, and I have to get dinner ready. We’ll talk some other time?” Claire decided it was best to ignore Geillis at this point.
“Sure, hen. We still have tae work oot the last details o’ Willie’s birthday party, no?”
“I almost forgot about that,” Claire chided herself.
“No, ye wouldnae have, sae dinnae beat yerself up aboot it. Have a wee dram or somethin’ tae calm yer nerves. We’ll talk taemorrow.”
“You know, alcohol is not the solution, Gee.”
“I beg tae differ, hen. According tae chemistry, it verra well is a solution,” the fair-haired woman chuckled.
Claire smirked, her spirits considerably lifted.
“Bye, Gee. Talk tomorrow.”
“Love ye, Claire,” the call ended on that earnest sentiment.
Staring at the darkened phone screen for a while, Claire found herself glued to the comfortable couch cushions, severely lacking the motivation to get up to face the real world’s responsibilities again that had the audacity to continue as if nothing life-changing had occurred today.
*****
The next few days passed by in a blur. In a way, Claire was glad that her daily obligations  at work (devising a new plan of action for Gerald Cairn’s chronic knee issues) and as a mother (making sure William wore fresh socks and underwear) didn’t allow her too much time to dwell on the recent chain of events.
And so Tuesday had come without her having lost too much sleep overthinking either, Laoghaire MacKenzie’s intrigue or the fact that her son was about to meet his father for the first time.
Claire was nervous, excited, hopeful when she heard the doorbell –its usual ancient, squeaky ding dong sounding so much more cheerful knowing what, who, waited behind the brightly painted wood.  
“Jamie,” she opened the door with a tentative smile.
“Claire,” he breathed, his own lips curling upwards as he presented her with a lovely wildflower posy.
Touching her elbow lightly, Jamie bent down to kiss her cheek in greeting, his scruff tickling the sensitive skin of her face when she could suddenly feel his muscles tense, as if a current was running through his body. Looking to see what had frozen him in motion, Claire glimpsed Willie’s glowing auburn mop over her shoulder.
She took a step back from Jamie, extricating herself from his grasp to take in the clear-cut lines of his profile, the powerful set of his broad-shouldered frame as he, for the very first time, caught sight of his son.
Standing there on his long Viking legs, devilishly handsome in jeans and plaid shirt, Jamie’s dark blue eyes were fixed on a smaller pair of the same shade, mouth slightly parted in awe. Obviously lost and unsure how to proceed himself, Claire took charge of the introductions.
“This,” Claire said, stepping aside and putting a comforting warm hand on his arm to break the surreal moment, “is William. Willie, this is Jamie.” Honey eyes made contact with dark blue, seeking affirmation that it was alright to go on. When Jamie nodded, she continued without hesitation, “Your father.”
The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, Jamie and Claire were both holding their breath, waiting for William’s reaction.
She had told Willie beforehand, of course, to prepare him for this. Had sat down with him, tea and scones within easy reach, and explained everything as best she could –leaving out the perverted orchestration of misery part. Her son had seemed mildly interested, but not overly excited. He had known he had a father, of course; had known that said father had had an accident, the reason he never got to meet him. He understood the concept of a male parent, the idea of having someone else pick him up from kindergarten than his Mama, but he had never had one.
With the two of them face-to-face all of a sudden, neither knew how the boy would react, and the small, round face gave nothing away.  
“Sae, ye’re my Da?” gold-blue eyes were round with curiosity.
“Aye, I am.”
“Ye’re huge,” Willie stated the obvious without any sense of reservation –as children were wont to do– but he didn’t seem intimidated at all by the giant in front of him. Claire released a relieved breath.
“And ye’re tiny,” Jamie reciprocated.
“How did ye get sae big?”
“Guess because I always ate my neeps ‘n tatties proper, ken?”
The young boy frowned a bit, deciding whether that was a satisfying answer or not, and then reached out a small hand towards the towering stranger, still unperturbed. “I’m William. But most people call me Willie. Mama does, too.”
“It’s verra nice tae meet ye...Willie,” Jamie said, the slight pause before his son’s name was barely noticeable, but still there. “I’m James, but most people call me Jamie.”
Willie nodded, concluding the formality of introductions with a handshake as firm as a five-year-old could possibly manage, and turned to reclaim his spot on the couch, continuing to watch a documentary.
Taking Jamie’s coat, Claire encouraged him to follow and make himself comfortable while she would prepare tea and some snacks. Out of the corner of her eye, she dimly noted how gracefully he moved for a man of his size.
Claire kept to the background, moving quietly around the kitchen, wanting to give them enough space to get to know each other without her interference, or having to rely on her as a buffer or mediator. Still, she was never far, always within earshot should the need of her assistance arise. Or so she tried to convince herself. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the immense pleasure of unobtrusively observing the first coming together of father and son. Her son. But now he wasn’t just her son anymore. Now, he was also his, theirs. A smile blossomed on her lips as she watched Jamie carefully trying to engage Willie in conversation as they watched the documentary together.
From her vantage point behind the kitchen counter, Claire could tell that Jamie wasn’t exactly comfortable in his own skin just now. His posture was stiff, and when his fingers weren’t busy tapping a nervous staccato on his thigh, he was running them through his thick hair. He seemed a bit like a fish out of water, but who could blame him?
Meeting a girl in a Madeiran bar, he probably hadn’t expected anything –or anyone– to come out of their encounter, except for some fun and maybe a long-distance whatever-ship. Now, though, he found himself thrust into a position he might have wanted some time in his future, with the right woman at his side, but had not anticipated at all –confronted with an almost six-year-old miniature version of himself.
While Claire had wondered how it would be for Willie to have a father in his life innumerable times, she’d also tried to envisage how it would affect Jamie’s life. The question how he’d react to unexpected fatherhood had produced a wide array of possible outcomes over the last few years.  As a 19-year-old up-and-coming athlete, she had expected him to be distraught, angry, worried –in denial, even. Becoming a father at such a young age, with no financial means to support his surprise offspring –or the mother for that matter– wasn’t very likely to have caused anything but a dampened, disheartened spirit.
Or maybe he would have welcomed it with open arms, against all odds. Happy to be by her side, at her side. For some time, at least. Not having known him well back then –or at all, truth be told– Jamie had still struck her as the loyal, taking on his responsibilities kind of type, and she’d had a gut feeling that he would have forgone his dreams and aspirations to do what he would’ve deemed the right thing to do. And she was sure it would have led to silent resentment and pent-up frustration that could’ve easily blown up in her face. And Willie’s. So many ‘coulda, woulda, and shoulda’s’. What was done was done. Past things couldn’t be changed, but the present –and the future – could.
Now, at 25, Jamie might have a completely different outlook on fatherhood. Leading the life of a professional skier, he was hardly settled down, but definitely more mature and self-possessed. Maybe even ready to face it head-on? But was it still too much of an inconvenience that somehow needed to be implemented into his schedule and finances? Maybe just finances? What if he didn’t like Willie? What if he just wanted to meet him once, so he could say he’d done that and not feel guilty about it? Or did he truly welcome it? There was the possibility of that, too, of course. And Jamie’s desire to meet his son seemed so earnest...
It was hard to read him, though. His face was as tell-tale as a rock -inscrutable, expressing nothing but a non-committal smile. Claire continued to watch them over a cup of tea long gone cold, noticing how Jamie gradually let his guard down, allowing himself to relax into the conversation with his son as they animatedly discussed Scottish wildlife.
“Puffins!” Willie exclaimed excitedly when Jamie asked what his favourite Scottish animal was. “Mama promised we would go see ‘em fer my birthday!”
Jamie’s head jerked in her direction at that, and she almost spilled the rest of her tea down her front when he caught her staring. He didn’t seem to have noticed, though –his eyes were widened slightly with panic, but she only understood what was going on when he silently mouthed ‘when’ at her.  
Pointing at her phone, Claire indicated that she would send him the date, rather than interrupt the flow of their conversation.
           19th of April, said her text message.
With an almost imperceptible nod, Jamie signalled her that he had seen, turning his full attention back on Willie’s tale about how they had seen Porpoises at Chanonry Point the first week they had moved to Inverness.
Later, after Claire had surrendered her post at the kitchen counter deciding to make use of the time she wouldn’t have to watch or animate Willie to get some neglected chores done, she returned to the living room and joined both redheads with a freshly brewed pot of tea as they were seated on the floor around the coffee table, in the beginning stages of building a card house with a deck of cards Jamie had brought as a gift for his son.
He had thought long and hard in the days leading up to this meeting what he could possibly give the lad –without knowing anything about him save his name– that Willie might enjoy. It had finally struck him when he was sitting in his room, overthinking first-meeting-gifts-for-almost-6-year-olds, as he was playing idly with a deck of cards that accompanied him all over the globe.
Willie chewed his lower lip industriously as he was trying to add yet another level on top of their jointly built creation. She hadn’t thought that this would be an enjoyable task for a young boy still somewhat lacking in both, dexterity and patience, but Jamie insisted that they wouldn’t need the wooden blocks or colouring books, even as the fragile construction collapsed. Instead, he proclaimed himself to be a ‘card deck wizard’ after having ‘spent sae much time wi' them between training runs and bus drives’ and confirmed it with a proud smile and a rather impressive display of his ability with the cards. It was a simple enough trick from an adult perspective, but had captured Willie’s attention successfully.
“How did ye do that?” the boy asked, eyebrows almost drawn up to his hairline.
“Magic,” Jamie answered enigmatically before demonstrating another trick. Willie, spellbound by the show kept asking Jamie how he did it. “I told ye, it’s magic!”
“I ken it’s no’ that!” retorted a pouting Willie, obviously unsatisfied with the answer. “Can ye no’ tell me how ye do it?”
“I’m afraid no, lad. There’s a code of honour involved, ken? I cannae just go ‘round divulging ancient secrets tae everyone the first time I meet them.” For a second Claire thought that he had wanted to say Willie and then changed his mind. It almost seemed as if he was scared to use the name.
“Mmphm.”
Not knowing how to ease the slight tension, Jamie looked pleadingly at Claire. Taking pity on him, she moved over and stood behind Willie, ruffling his red mane affectionately and suggested in a light tone, “Maybe next time?”
The boy narrowed his eyes at that, though Jamie wasn’t sure whether it was a reaction to the hair ruffling or because he didn’t get what he wanted.
Jamie’s initial impression had been that Willie looked like a smaller replication of himself, but seeing mother and son standing side by side he could see that the difference in their colouring was misleading. It wasn’t just the golden specks in Willie’s eyes that the boy had inherited from his maternal side. He had the same pearl-like skin, the same light dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Their most striking resemblance, though, was their smile that, if it reached the eyes, made the world around them grow pale in comparison.
“Next time, then,” Willie said and stretched out his hand in invitation for a solemn shake to seal a manly promise.
“Aye, next time,” Jamie promised, swallowing the lump in his throat. So there would be a next time.
The smile that spread across his face melted away the last bit of the carefully maintained mask behind which he hid his thoughts and emotions, the sharp features of his face softened, and for a moment Claire saw the same 19-year-old lad she’d fallen for all those years ago in a bar in Madeira.
_______________________________________________________
as always my gratitude @happytoobservenolongerdistant for the wonderful moodboard!
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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years
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Beauty Chooses Part II
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Chapter 4 The MacKenzie Calls
Hearing the voices of many men downstairs I quickly got up to dress and left Faith with Glavia while I went to investigate. There were men all over the lower level and my heart started pounding with this intrusion. I pushed through them to the kitchen where misses Crooke was pressed against the counter while men searched the cabinets.
“What do you think you’re doing! Misses Crooke come with me please.”
The man in the cabinets was Angus, I remembered from our wedding. I assumed all these men were with the MacKenzie clan. They sort of gathered around me looking quite menacing if I didn’t know better.
“What is it you men want? Sorry, it’s lovely to see all of you again, now what do you want?”
“Colum wants to see Jamie, mistress, so we’ve come to get him and bring him back.”
“Do you always use so many men to deliver a message?” I remembered this man as well, Rupert. He held my hand when I felt ill at my wedding.
“No a message, mistress, we’re takin Jamie back with us. Where might we find him?”
“I imagine he is out in the fields, let me think, sorry gentlemen I don’t remember but he is on the property. They started to move to the outside and I counted twenty-five in all. The door was open for so long the cool April air filled the lower house so I was shaking from the cold. Maybe I was shaking from the dreadful foreboding I felt from the visit. If Jamie was leaving Lallybroch to speak with Colum I wanted to get Faith ready to say goodbye.
I opened the door to the nursery and found misses Crooke and Glavia standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the cradle. With wide eyes, they looked behind me, for a monster by the look of them.
“What on earth are you two doing?”
When they didn’t speak I figured it out. They were expecting to be invaded by bad men and were standing in front of Faith to protect her.
“It’s alright ladies, I promise. They look worse then they are but they are friends to Lallybroch.”
I gently moved them aside and scooped Faith out of the cradle kissing her cheeks and smiling at her precious yawning face. I bundled her up for a trip outside in the fresh air and walked out to find Jamie. He wasn’t hard to find surrounded by so many men. Even now he was commanding and showed no fear of the twenty-five swords and dirks that surrounded him. Jamie turned toward the house when one of the men grabbed him only to be knocked to the ground savagely by Jamie. I could see his face suddenly and felt alarmed.
“Sassenach, come, get into the house.”
Glavia took Faith and Jamie led me into our room. He was moving very fast, putting heavier clothing on and better boots.
“I have to go and speak with Colum. I hate to leave ye but I must. I will be home tomorrow night and I’m leavin Murtagh here to watch over ye.”
“What is this about?”
“Jacobites.” he spat the word out and looked murderous doing it. “They are gathering the clans together to fight for Prince Charles. I expect they want my commitment to bring my men. He pulled me to his embrace and I held him so tightly.
“Are you going to lead your men to battle Jamie?”
“No. I stand by my promise not to participate in this blood bath they’re walkin into.”
“I love ye Sassenach. If ye need anythin Murtagh will be right here.” He kissed me like he wanted me to remember it forever and then left.
I forced myself to get busy and not dissolve into frantic tears. That would not help anybody. Today we will gather all the items in the house that have value to Jamie, sentimental or monetary and bury them in the priest hole, tomorrow I will get Murtagh to ride with me to the gorge and look for one bright blue rock. The mere thought of taking this family into the future was preposterous and I should concentrate on passage to America but it would be nice to have a backup, just in case.
We gathered all the silver objects in the house and put them on the large dining table. Anything that had been handed down through the generations was placed on the table. Murtagh set to work deepening the priest hole and long after dark we packed our treasure deep in the earth.
“Ye ken what’s comin and its a bad thing for Scotland, am I right?”
“Yes, Murtagh.”
“How bad? Red coats patrollin and causin trouble for the farmers and tenants? What else?”
“Murtagh, please don’t make me answer you. Jamie promised we would be leaving for the new world before the uprising and I believe him. Can we leave it at that?
Murtagh stopped walking and stared at the ground.
“Nae lass, I think we’ll be talkin about what er makes Jamie turn his back on Lallybroch.”
We sat near the fire and moved our chairs close together so as not to be overheard. I explained everything I knew about the Jacobite preparation and the ultimate conflict on Culloden Moor. Then I told him about disbanding of the clans and making kilts, bagpipes, the Gaelic language, clan tartans and owning weapons illegal by order of the king. Highlanders that joined the uprising are executed and their lands turned over to the crown.
Murtagh stared straight at the fire while I talked. When he looked at me I could see the pain and anger in his eyes. He stood up and banked the fire and said goodnight. My breasts were painfully engorged with milk by that time so I ran for the assistance of my sweet Faith to help ease my discomfort.
Later I laid Faith on my bed sound asleep and a belly full of milk. I blocked her in with pillows and fell asleep beside her.
The following day I asked Murtagh to take me to the gorge, well, where ever things land that are thrown into the gorge. We mounted and rode for maybe an hour when he pointed straight ahead and then up to where Jamie would have been standing when he threw the blue rock. I tied my horse and ran through the rubble looking as quickly as possible while I dodged Murtagh’s questions. I was bitterly disappointed at not finding a single shard of blue and vowed to come back another day alone. Most of the ride home we were silent.
“So what’s to become of Jenny when we leave for America?”
“I have asked Jamie many times to check on Jenny and Ian but he still refuses. If I can’t change his mind I imagine we will leave them behind. I won’t stop trying Murtagh, I promise.”
The day dragged on and on and I became more agitated with every passing hour. Where was Jamie? The men he left with were like his brothers they say and I have no reason to fear them in his regard but he should have been back by now. At ten o’clock I fed my smiling daughter and again laid her in my bed. Sleep would not take me so I turned the lamp up just enough to see her face and I slowly calmed down and slept.
Jamie made his way home after a full day of arguing with the clansmen of Leoch who wanted to fight and agreeing with Colum who stood firm on neutrality. It was cold and damp tonight, conditions that were comfortable and reassuring to him. The crisp night made the stars twinkle above him in absolute silence. It was good thinking weather so he made his way slowly and thought about his options.
If the Highlanders took up arms to fight for the freedom of Scotland how could he turn his back on defending the land he loves. He wanted to work with his men and prepare them to survive but how could he on a ship bound for America. He was the Laird of Lallybroch and a warrior. Deep inside he wanted to fight and win by crushing those who oppressed Scotland and especially the Highlanders. If Sassenach was right, many of the Highlanders will die, along with their way of life. If he survived the battle he would be hunted as a traitor to the crown and his family subject to the harsh justice of the British.
His beautiful Sassenach made full disclosure of what lies ahead and still, he committed her to a century that was not her own. He was bound to her by love and now by promise to see her safe with their daughter. He wanted to spill English blood on Culloden Moor but love was by far more powerful. His baby daughter had opened up a whole new level of love that added so much depth to his existence. Faith had the power to drop him mid-stride with gurgles, or bubbles, or a smile. It was not a decision to be made, whether or not to fight for Scotland. The love he had for his family eclipsed everything. He nudged Donus into a lope wanting desperately to hold his wife and forget the rest.
Jamie pitched hay into Donus’s stall and grain in his feeder. “Yer a good lad Donus.”
He made his way through the house and up the stairs without making a sound. When he looked down at Claire, Faith had wrapped her fingers around her mothers pinky and both were lost to their dreams. He felt the tears well up in his eyes because of this beautiful sight and all he had to lose with the coming war. He was desperately tired and slid into bed behind Claire as quietly as possible.
Jamie tossed and turned for the rest of the night. He wanted to bury himself in his wife and feel her grip him. He pushed back on his need because Faith was in their bed but he could not stand the throbbing in his groin. Jamie touched Claire’s leg and the feel of her skin helped him calm down. He reached between her legs and touched her making her squirm against him. He continued his light assault of her skin until she was breathing audibly and he would drag her to the floor if he had to. All stop….
Faith was feeling her empty tummy and started making her little noises. The first warning to adults it was time to act fast or pay the price of a punishing volume. Claire pulled the baby to her lap and leaned against the headboard as Jamie’s hand caressed her inner thigh. He watched Faith suck at her breast and surrendered to the pull of his arousal.
Claire felt the warm wet tongue touch her most sensitive skin where the nerve endings were already screaming to be touched. She forced herself to remain still as he pressed his tongue into her and moaned. Claire moved Faith to the other side as Jamie’s fingers and tongue made his intention clear. As soon as Faith closed her eyes she shot out of bed and put her down in her cradle where Glavia slept peacefully beside her.
Claire jogged back to their room pulling her rail off and jumped on Jamie kissing him with the intensity of her love and her need. She could not get close enough to him and held his face to hers for kisses that were sustenance to the starving. She felt the length of him push into her body and he pressed her knees open and watched her face as he pushed into her again and again.
“Come for me Sassenach.”
Jamie ground into her core and kissed her deeply until he heard her moan low and slow, the signal of her surrender to the bliss. He fought his need to crash into her and kept his pace slow enjoying every second of this delight. When Claire opened her eyes and touched his cheek he fell in love all over again.
“I love you so.”
He laid in her arms panting and wiping sweat off of his face. He would forever be astounded by the power she had over him. How a statement of love whispered so quietly could make him shatter and grip her for dear life. He would not question his decision. The arms that held him were stronger than the entire British army. He would prepare to depart for America in the coming months and leave his homeland forever. 
There were many demands placed on the mistress of Lallybroch and Claire’s proficiency in planning, executing, greeting, and helping the tenants made Jamie very proud. The months flew by and there was a loving peace that descended over their home that reminded Jamie of his childhood.
Many times she would try to discuss Jenny, Ian, and their son but her stubborn husband would not engage in the conversation and Claire was desperate for word of them. When Murtagh went into Edinburgh to sell grain Claire asked him to find Jenny and make sure they were safe. When he returned his scowl would have scared a blind man to death. She learned they lived in a single room above the tavern she worked in. Ian cared for the baby during Jenny’s twelve-hour shifts. They both looked pale and soulless, hollow eyes, expressionless faces.
Claire’s heart broke for Jenny. The next time Murtagh went into town she took as much money as she dared from Jamie’s desk and gave it to Murtagh asking him to give it to Jenny. She didn’t much like the look on his face and brushed it off in her need to help them.Claire continued to take money from Jamie’s desk when Murtagh was heading into town. She just didn’t think about it, about her betrayal. Murtagh’s request for her to stop fell on deaf ears and she would include notes to Jenny but never received a reply. She couldn’t stop, even if Jenny refused to write her back, she couldn’t stop.
One Saturday afternoon Jamie asked Claire to meet him in the study. She noticed Murtagh sitting in front of the fire and thought it odd with the warm temperatures outside. She was walking into an inquisition where she would be tried and found guilty and did not even know it.
“Sit mo chridhe.” Jamie stood up from behind his desk and walked behind her chair to lock the doors. No one would enter, no one would exit until he said so.
Claire sensed the heavy energy in the room and although Jamie was using his terms of endearment she heard them as empty words. Jamie was being diplomatic, as he was with tenants before he ruled against them charging fines and other penalties to restore what was lost in the wrongdoing. Claire figured this out very quickly. He discovered the missing money and would find her guilty of conspiring against him. She lifted her chin in defiance and waited.
Jamie stared at his beautiful wife and watched the color drain from her face. She knew what this was about and was posturing defiantly. He could not let this go, the offense was too great, so he would make her miserable in any way he could short of physically striking her. He took a deep breath.
“There is money missing from my bank Sasenach. Do ye ken about it?”
She didn’t move or speak and he watched her with a pinch of respect she didn’t try to lie to him.
“Sassenach?”
“What?”
“Do ye ken where the missin money is?”
Again, no answer, just defiance. She was forcing him to lay out his evidence and accuse her before she committed to anything. Very smart, he thought, but still a tiring game. So be it.
“Sassenach, I believe you stole money from me and to what end I cannot imagine. It matters not in the eyes of the law and ye will be jailed for thieving. I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself before the bars on yer cell slam shut and you are lost to yer family.”
Claire was a monument of strength as she listened to her husband. To look at him would be an admission of guilt so she stared out the window and struggled to control her breathing. When he mentioned jail she almost fell out of her chair. How could he give her over to the law, the red coats, for justice. He knew the fate of women prisoners and was willing to condemn her to the same. She felt hot tears coming down her cheeks and dropping into her lap but she did not move or look at him.
Jamie was getting concerned that she would stonewall him all the way to Fort William. This plan had backfired because she was not talking and seemingly accepted her punishment. He already knew what she had done. Given money to Glavia or misses Crooke because a family member was destitute or convicted for debt. Her heart was huge but her remedy would not be permitted. He watched her tears fall off her face continuously as she stared straight ahead. Her face was sheet white and Jamie’s heart broke.
“Sassenach.”
“Yes, Jamie.”
“I would like you to confess and talk to me about why you took the money. Your punishment would not be so severe but you have to be honest with me.”
“I’m afraid my honesty will make you shoot me in the head and forget about Fort William. I would rather not.”
“It’s yer decision lass. We leave in an hour.”
“Jamie! Let me hold Faith until then, please.”
He watched her sobbing uncontrollably, looking at him pleadingly.
“Fine.”
Claire ran for the doors to the study thinking she would open the door and run up the stairs. When the door didn’t open she hit her head soundly on it creating a river of blood down the middle of her face.
“Claire!”
“Open the door Jamie, please just open the door!”
Jamie grabbed her and held her so she couldn’t run. He half dragged her into the kitchen for a rag and water for her face. If he eased up on his hold she would bolt for the stairs so he kept a crippling hold on her waist.
“My sweet Sassenach, this has gone too far. I did not expect your bravery or strength or silence for that matter. I could never hand you over to Fort William. I was just tryin to scare the truth from ye. By your words the truth is somethin dark so I got to hear it. I’ll remind ye that I forgave ye anythin ye have done, or would do, in the presence of God. Ye will be forgiven.
Jamie looked at her sad bloody face and waited for what looked like a gathering of courage. He was perplexed at her unwillingness to speak about it and suddenly his mind went to certain places and saw her doing things that filled with red rage.
“Now Sassenach, do not test me anymore, speak yer truth,” he growled.
“I gave the money to Jenny and Ian. They are suffering and starving and they are all alone. They live in a small room above the tavern where she works. Ian takes care of the baby and Jenny works, all day every day. I had to help them.”
Jamie left the kitchen quickly and the door slammed behind him. Claire raced upstairs and grabbed Faith clutching her close to her body. Glavia was startled by Claire’s face but she had no chance to ask about it. Claire was gone with a swirl of skirts.
Once Faith was fed Claire cried her eyes out. Deep, gut-twisting sobs that broke her heart. After an hour she wiped her face and paced her room. She was desperate to feel Jamie’s strength and love. She believed she would cease to breathe if she didn’t see him.
Claire peered into the barn and saw Jamie sitting on a hay bale. She timidly walked to him and said she was sorrier than she had ever been in her life. The sobbing made her breath come in hiccups and she tried in vain to breathe normally. Faith was bundled up against the cold and blew bubbles at Jamie making what noise she could to get his attention.
Jamie could see how Claire was shaking and standing bravely in front of him. There was not a thing more she could do to show her contrition and in that instant, he was over her betrayal. He pulled her into his lap and kissed Faith causing her little legs to kick and her hands to seek him. Claire was silent and stared at the ground just so happy to be in his lap.
Punishment was given so the offense would stop and he would bet his life she would not betray him again. It was time for love and forgiveness and his bride was running very low on both at the moment.
“Suppose ye give Faith to Glavia and come for a ride with me before supper?”
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geethedentist · 5 years
Text
The Sassenach Warrior
Chapter 2 here!
Chapter 3: Mistrust 
The first thing I realized the next morning was that my feet were no longer aching. The second thing was that this was true because I had spent most of yesterday sitting on a colossal horse in front of an equally colossal Scot. 
Oh. Right. 
I hadn’t even opened my eyes and already my tension and agitation were through the roof. Perhaps I could pretend I was dead so they’d leave me alone, like a dog. 
“Get up lass.” The toe of a boot gently tapped my shoulder. 
My eyes screwed shut even tighter and I gave an annoyed moan; the one that translates to please let me sleep. 
The side of my head was crusted with dried blood and throbbed fiercely as I attempted to drag my body into a sitting position. They were all staring at me. 
“Well?” I began. “Is there any food left or must I catch us breakfast?” Without waiting for an answer I slung the bow over my shoulder and stalked off into the woods. Before long, heavy footfalls were crunching the leaves in my wake. Dougal had sent one of the men to watch me. I sighed exasperatedly and whirled around. 
“If you must be out here supervising me, do try and tread lightly. Or better yet, just stop moving altogether. You’re scaring anything I might be able to catch.” 
“My apologies, mistress.” Rupert, startled by the outburst, stopped and leaned against a tree. 
“Claire will do just fine.” I told him, stooping to examine the ground. 
“’Tis just that Dougal prefers to have ye within someone’s sight at all times,” he said. 
“So I can see,” I replied dryly. “He is quite a cautious man, especially given the fact that we have already established that I will not be trying to escape. Yet.” I added darkly. 
“That will just be Dougal’s nature. As war chieftain of clan Mackenzie, he is always prepared for the worst. I suppose that’s why he thinks ye a spy in the first place.” 
“Do you think me a spy?” I asked, figuring I had nothing to lose by putting him on the spot. 
“I - I dinna ken,” he replied after a long, nervous pause. “But all the lads agree it was verra peculiar, findin’ an English lassie quite like you all the way out here.” 
For the first time, I realized just how peculiar that must have been for them. I grudgingly decided they had a right to be cautious, but not to the point of holding me against my will. 
“Do you even know what happened yesterday?” I asked, eager to tell the story to perhaps persuade him towards my innocence. 
“Oh aye, Jamie told us after ye passed out last night. He wouldna shut up about it come to think,” he laughed. “Said ye must be the bravest lass in the world, holdin’ yer own against those thievin’ menaces.” 
“He . . . said that?” I said, one side of my mouth rising in an involuntary smile. “Wait! Shh!” I waved my arm in Rupert’s direction, gesturing to keep quiet. 
“But I wasna even . . .” 
“I said shh!” I cut him off, jabbing my finger repeatedly towards the dense trees ahead of me. About fifty feet away, there was a small deer feasting on some low hanging leaves. It was barely visible behind all the foliage. 
“How did ye even see . . .” 
“Shut up!” I said in a high pitched whisper. 
It was a difficult shot. There was a very high chance of hitting one of the two trees on either side of the animal. Breathing deeply and clearing my head, I readied the bow. Suddenly, an unpleasant but all too plausible thought crossed my mind. Who was to say that I couldn’t kill Rupert and run off? Hide in the trees and get Dougal as well? I could grab the ring and run like hell. I shook my head. I was a lot of things. But a cold blooded murderer wasn’t one of them. There were people who deserved my arrows much more. I reminded myself to be patient. 
The deer fell to the ground. Rupert let out a cheer, and I let out a long breath. 
“That was some fine archery Claire! Where did ye learn to do that?” He said excitedly as we approached the kill. 
“From my uncle.” I told him. He bent down to retrieve the deer. “Hey! I can carry it!” I did not need anyone carrying anything for me. Besides, the deer was relatively small. But most importantly, I was the one who killed it. I hoisted it onto my shoulders.
When I plopped the deer on the ground back at the camp, I was pleased by the sight of many open mouthed men. All except Jamie of course, who smiled broadly and said, “I told you all she’s an incredible shot!” Even Dougal had the grace to look impressed.
_________________________________________________________________
As Castle Leoch loomed closer, the knot in the pit of my stomach felt heavier. I had no idea what awaited me. For the past day, I had just been getting used to my current company of Scots, and to think how many more were about to join it. As expected, numerous pairs of eyes were glued to me as we entered the town of Crainsmuir. I now had to crane my neck up to see the castle, an imposing structure with lots of tiny windows. It was bustling with activity as we entered the courtyard. Once again, the inhabitants of Leoch seemed to stop what they were doing to downright shamelessly stare at me. I felt Jamie stiffen behind me. He didn’t like it. I couldn’t explain how or why I knew that, but I just did. As Dougal dismounted and happily greeted a little red-haired boy, the trance was broken. Returning to their work and conversations, their eyes kept wandering in my direction as Jamie helped me off the horse. 
Murtagh was now laughing with a stout woman with a kind, round face. Her mouse brown hair was tucked up under a bonnet. She turned toward us.
“Jamie!” She exclaimed as she pulled him into a hug. Then she caught sight of me, and for the first time I realized that I must look like a lunatic, trousers aside. I gave a nervous laugh and suddenly the wound on my temple began to throb. My hands defensively rose to my head; my hair was falling out of its binding and wayward curls stuck out in all directions. I gingerly pulled out a twig and flicked it away. 
“Mrs. Fitz, this is Claire.” He introduced me before she could say anything. She blinked, and looked from Jamie to me and back again. Whatever she had been thinking of saying did not make it out of her mouth. 
Instead she said, “How do ye do Claire?” I shook her hand. 
“Er, hello,” I tried to smile like a normal person. Mrs. Fitz was squinting at Murtagh, clearly expecting him to elaborate on my presence. 
“Well,” Murtagh began, “we found Claire alone out on the Great Glen, or I suppose Jamie was the one who found her.” 
“Aye,” Jamie picked up the story, “I was tryin’ to find the lads after we separated when the redcoats started chasin’ us. Instead I found Claire takin’ on two o’ them! They almost captured her!” 
Mrs.s Fitz’s eyebrows went up. 
“Although Dougal doesna think so,” Jamie muttered. 
“And so Claire is going to be havin’ an audience with Colum,” Murtagh finished. 
Her eyebrows shot up even further. “Looking like that?! She looks like she’s been through hell and back!” She seemed horrified. “We must get ye cleaned up dear, yer head must hurt something fierce.” She began ushering me inside, “ye must eat something as well.” I immediately liked her motherly qualities, something I wasn’t much accustomed to. 
We entered a long, dim hallway lit with torches. An uncomfortable feeling of being swallowed up came over me. It almost felt like I was entering a prison, never to see the light of day again. One look back to see the fading light. Jamie was right behind us, and I was glad of it. He seemed like the only friendly face I had come across in this whole mess, and the only one who completely believed me, and didn’t pressure me with questions. We arrived in a long space with a low ceiling with dozens of pots and knives and unprepared meat and vegetables; the kitchen. It was empty at the moment, save for a teenage girl with long, pale blonde hair. She had been preparing a cup of tea. Her eyes widened when she saw us. I followed her gaze, which led directly to Jamie’s face. 
“Good afternoon Grannie,” she said to Mrs. Fitz. “Hello, Jamie. It’s been much too long!” Her cheeks turned pink. 
Jamie nodded distractedly, “Aye, ’tis good to see ye, Laoghaire.” 
“Laoghaire dear, this is Claire. I suppose she’ll be staying here at Castle Leoch for the time being.” Mrs. Fitz introduced me. 
“Greetings to ye, Mistress Claire,” the girl curtseyed, but her eyes remained on Jamie. I nodded slightly and gave a small smile in return. 
“I’ve brought ye here to wash up and have a wee snack. Jamie can help ye. Laoghaire and I will prepare ye a bed and some clean clothes.” She gave us towels and took her granddaughter by the hand, prying her out of Jamie’s personal space and out of the kitchen. 
“Thank you very much!” I called after her. “Someone seems interested in you!” I elbowed Jamie in the arm. 
“Ach no,” he looked away. “I barely know the lass. Let’s get cleaned up aye?” He gestured to a basin of water, clearly eager to change the subject. 
I gratefully splashed the water into my face and gently scrubbed my fingers over the cut. It stung. Jamie exhaled strongly from behind me. “Does it hurt much? I wish I had found ye earlier, Sassenach. I could have prevented him from grabbin’ ye.” 
“I was lucky you were there at all, Jamie. There is really no need to feel guilty.” 
“Have ye any idea what ye’re going to say to the Laird? After that scene with the redcoats, and of course Dougal, it seems no one trusts ye, be it English or Scots.” 
I gave an annoyed grunt. I had been focusing all of my energy on the task at hand, simply washing my face. Now I was again worrying about all the lies I had to tell in order to protect myself. 
“I am going to tell him what he wants to hear, and then I am going to get my ring back, and get as far away from your uncles as possible.” 
“I can share in that sentiment,” he said grimly. “They think I am after the title of Laird of Clan Mackenzie when Colum dies.” 
“He is ill?” I asked, reaching for a cloth to dry my face. 
“Er, aye. I suppose you’ll see shortly.” He answered, stepping up to the basin. 
“And you don’t want to be Laird?” I already knew the answer. 
“I’m no Mackenzie. I’m just a fugitive living on a soldier’s pay.” 
So he couldn’t claim the name of his true clan. He couldn’t go home. He was dependent on Dougal and the Mackenzies to provide for him. Water dripped down his face creating streaks in the dirt as he set his teeth and pressed his lips into a thin line. He hated it. 
“A fugitive?” I couldn’t hide the curiosity in my voice. “For what?” 
He smiled ruefully. “Obstruction. I was defending my sister’s honor from a certain Englishman named Black Jack Randall,” he spat the name. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the side of the basin. 
“I take it he had his way with her all the same?” He winced and closed his eyes. I had guessed correctly. “I’m sorry, Jamie.” 
“’Tis not the worst of it,” he said softly. “Jonathan Randall is the scum of this earth.” He paused, and seemed to come to a decision. 
“Look,” he whispered. His hands came around behind him and lifted the tattered linen shirt halfway up his back. My eyes widened and I inhaled sharply. Slowly, I reached out a hand. My fingertips lightly drew across the web of raised flesh. An intricate maze of scars ran in all directions across his back. He was as taut as the string of my bow. His hands trembled slightly.
“He did this to you?” 
“Twice,” he choked out. “I had never seen someone enjoy himself so much. But that still isna all of it.” He let the shirt drop and turned to face me. I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“I might have only gotten away with one flogging, had I given my body over to Randall. When I refused, he had resolved to be as ruthless as he possibly could.” Jamie’s eyes remained on the floor. 
I reached out to place my hand on his shoulder. “I would have done exactly the same thing.” 
He gave a half smile, “I ken ye would have, Sassenach.” 
In that moment I considered spilling my life out to him. He had literally just shown me his scars. I was overcome to know that he had placed this amount of trust in me. I somehow got the feeling that there were very few others who knew about the scars, let alone seen them. But my instinct to protect myself from anything and anyone was too strong. I was the only one who had my back. But I almost felt guilty for not giving something back to Jamie in exchange for the immense faith he had given me. 
“And then you escaped, obviously,” I chose instead to have him finish the story. 
“Aye, Dougal got me out, and brought me to France. I have only just returned to Scotland, a fugitive in my own home. Ye dinna ken what it’s like.” 
“Don’t know what it’s like? Don't be so quick to assume things.” I snapped. “I do know what it's like. Look at me. What do you think I'm doing here? I’m running.” He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed at a loss for words. I immediately regretted the outburst, both because he didn’t deserve it and I because I had just volunteered way too much information. It seemed I had given him something in return after all. 
“I’m sorry, I …” he stammered, but he was cut off. Mrs. Fitz had come back. A nod of approval at my now clean, non-bleeding face. 
“That’s much better. Colum is expectin’ ye soon dear, come wi’ me.” She turned back around the corner into the hallway, and I began to follow. 
“Claire,” Jamie grabbed my hand, and I felt no impulse to yank it away. There was an urgent look in his eyes. “Ye need not be scairt of me, nor anyone else here. So long as I’m with ye.” 
I gulped. And when you’re not with me?  
__________________________________________________________________
Both of my hands were raised in defense and I backed up toward the window. 
“No. Absolutely not.” 
“Now Claire, be reasonable. Ye canna enter the Laird’s chamber wearin’ that!” She thrust the dress out in my direction and I flinched. It had flowers on it. She had already tugged all of my hair back into its usual bun, but about ten times tighter than I do it. 
“I can and I will. I know you mean well, Mrs. Fitz. I mean you no disrespect. But unless the Laird himself comes down here and succeeds in wrestling my body into that thing, I will not be wearing it.” 
A knock at the door. It was Dougal. “Come wi’ me lass,” he said. “Thank ye, Mrs. Fitz for makin’ her look … somewhat presentable. 
The Laird’s chamber was enormous, almost as large as the kitchen. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Several bird cages inhabited the room as well. There was a large oak desk sitting in front of the window. The Laird himself was about half the size of his younger brother. I could now see what Jamie had meant. Colum’s legs looked like gnarled old tree trunks, and it looked painful to do much walking. I supposed his condition was worsening over time, as was the paranoia over who would be the new Laird.  
His back was facing me, his hands clasped behind. I walked over to one of the cages. “Do ye find the birds fascinating?” His voice was gravelly and I jumped. 
“I find them delightfully ironic,” I said dryly. He chuckled. 
“So ye ken why ye’re here, then.” He finally turned around. Long gray hair fell to his shoulders and his beard was kept short. His blue eyes betrayed no expression about my apparel or head wound. 
“All I know is that I’d like to relieve any suspicions you may have and be on my way.” 
“Getting right to it then,” he pulled out a chair. “Please sit.” 
“No thank you, I’ll stand.” A defense mechanism. I took a deep breath. “Your brother believes me to be a spy for the English, and he seems quite proud of himself at having ‘captured’ me.” 
Colum chuckled again, my characterization of his younger brother apparently quite accurate. “I take it Dougal has told you what happened?” 
“Aye, ye were wanderin’ around the Mackenzie boarders, armed to the teeth. Ye were in the company of some redcoat soldiers in pursuit of the Scots when Jamie found ye.” I winced. For what Colum lacked in physical strength, he made up for with the way he chose his words. 
It now appeared that I was in league with the English soldiers, helping chase down the Scots after the raid. We then staged the attack on my person just so that I would be captured by said Scots and would thus have ample opportunity to spy upon them, and report back to the English. “That’s your trademark is it?” I said, challenging him. “Twisting something in order to make it fit your own beliefs.”
“My main concern is the safety of this clan, and if there’s the slightest chance that can be compromised, I canna let ye go anywhere. So far all ye’ve told me is that ye are not a spy, and nothing else.” 
“So you’re looking for my life story? I was trying to return to my uncle, he is the only family I have left. My horse was stolen from me and I got lost.” It was unexpectedly painful to speak of Uncle Lamb as if he were still alive. The Laird’s eyes narrowed. That still did not explain what I had been doing in Scotland in first place, and he knew it. He did not ask, but used my omission as condemning evidence. 
“I am sure ye understand why ye must stay here. Until I have reason to believe ye otherwise, ye shall be an honored guest of Clan Mackenzie.” 
I snorted. Guest.
“However,” he went on. “I’ve made some assumptions as to how ye perceive my brother. Ye will soon learn, if ye havena already, that he loathes the English more than all of us because he seems to be the only one willing to act upon it. I will not be surprised to discover that the raid was his idea in the first place. I am unable to oversee him, as ye can see. He is reckless and blinded by emotions.” 
“What kind of emotions?” I crossed my arms, intrigued. 
“Ah, smart girl. The emotions that accompanied the first Jacobite Rising, to give just one example.” 
“I see. So what is it you are trying to ask of me?” I could smell it from a mile away when someone wanted something. 
“Well, if ye are not a spy, as ye say, I suppose I am askin’ ye to try yer skill at it.” 
“Why in the world would you trust me?” I asked, bewildered. 
“Innocent until proven guilty, I imagine.” He spread his hands. “As the only one in this castle who has no prior connections either to me or Dougal, I can trust ye to act as a third party. Until ye give me reason not to, that is.” 
__________________________________________________________________
I lay in bed that night, going over the strange dynamic that was the ruling force of Clan Mackenzie. Jamie was smart to not want anything to do with it, although I could see he possessed the qualities of both his uncles. While they worked together, they clearly did not agree on particular matters and a certain mistrust hovered between them. I silently made a pact with myself to play double agent, to see which brother would grant me my freedom first. 
72 notes · View notes
sablelab · 5 years
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Covert Operations - Chapter 29
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DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.
SYNOPSIS: Madeline has a new target in the White Room to interrogate and one that refuses to cooperate. Section One’s leader, Operations calls a briefing meeting to outline the Intel de Marillac has disclosed about other members of the Rising Dragons especially a Madame Cheung. Claire Beauchamp’s angst is exacerbated when her superiors outline her role in the new mission.
N.B. This chapter contains a situation of a violent nature.
THANK YOU so much for reading, taking the time to write a comment, liking this fiction and for the reblogs as well.  I love reading your comments as they give me clues in how to shape this story.  It is very gratifying to know that you are enjoying this tale of life in Section One for our two protagonists ... the good and the bad.  
Previous chapters can be found ...  https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations
 CHAPTER 29 (V)
Madeline made her way along the labyrinth of corridors to the White Room, located deep within the bowels of Section One, where interrogations were performed and where her newest target  ... the Canadian Ambassador ... awaited her restrained in a steel chair.
An expert at extracting Intel from hostile captives and in evaluating and manipulating Section operatives, Section One’s Second in Command, Level 9 and Chief Strategist could be positively Machiavellian at times. For the first time in days the woman who specialized in psych analysis, profiling, interrogation, and torture techniques smiled, albeit her trademark Mona Lisa smile, because of the adrenaline rushing through her body at the prospect of accomplishing what she had planned for this target.
Having worked her way up in the ranks of Section One over the past twenty years, with cunning, determination and manipulation, Madeline was a conundrum herself. Accused of killing her sister, Sarah, by pushing her down the stairs she, like most operatives was recruited from prison. She had no compunction for the terrorists who found their way to the White Room or for that matter, for any operative who tried to buck the system and would willingly manipulate anyone, including herself, to achieve her ends. Her angelic sweetness, diabolical intelligence, phlegmatic appearance coupled with her strategic patience and iced charm made her a formidable adversary. Because of her beauty and elegance Madeline was perceived to be amenable to manipulation by terrorists because she was a woman, but they soon discovered that under the facade of her persona was a measured, calculating and resolute woman who took no prisoners. Indeed her measures for torturing hostiles verged on cruelty and with utilizing the Torture Twins to motivate targets to speak was a testament to how far she would go to gain what she wanted.
Madeline’s gait was that of a confident leader as she made her way to interrogate her target in the White Room and expel any information that would lead Section One to capturing their main antagonist.  The Embassy mission had been successful and Claire Beauchamp had performed well in administering the tranquilizer that had brought on Alain de Marillac’s heart attack. The subterfuge that followed had also gone to plan and she looked forward to reading James Fraser’s debrief, but first she had a pressing appointment.
At long last the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. Tony Wong had implicated Alain de Marillac and now he would reveal what they needed to know about furthering their quest to find Sun Yee Lok.  De Marillac had been a wild card … someone they had not suspected especially given his position of authority in the community and government.  To find out that he was a member of the Rising Dragons was certainly unexpected, but Madeline knew she should never underestimate the human person’s propensity for evil.  Terrorists came from all walks of life but they had many things in common … all were ruthless, determined and unflinching in obtaining their goals.  
Ambassador Alain de Marillac was in a position of power but he’d obviously wanted more.  Total power was corrupting and given his position of authority this is what had happened to him. Power had corrupted his moral decency … and being involved in his own daughter’s death showed just how low he would sink to obtain his ends.  It … was contemptible.  He … was contemptible.  
Madeline had thoroughly scrutinized Geillis Duncan’s and Rupert Mackenzie’s debrief about the telephone calls that de Marillac had received at the embassy.  They had provided important Intel on a mystery man that had contacted him and now Madeline would find out his connection and where this piece fitted into the bigger picture.  She couldn’t wait to meet with Ambassador Alain de Marillac. He was about to pay for the consequences of his actions and would be surprised at what awaited him, for there was no going back to the life he had before coming to Section One … in fact there was no life for him at all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The brilliant glare of a ceiling light focused on the lone piece of furniture illuminating the man strapped in the chair.  Alain de Marillac sat shackled in the middle of a white room in a cold, metal chair. His hands and feet were manacled and there was no way that he could see to break from the restraints. He’d tried several times to loosen the binds that tied him to the chair but to no avail. There was no escaping and things looked hopeless for him unless he was able to outsmart the inquisitor he knew would eventually come.  
Like many others before him, he wondered where he was. This place was like no other he had ever experienced.  He had seen where Tony Wong had interrogated his victims, and he had seen pictures of torture chambers in books … but this room was surreal, eerie and ominously foreboding.   Casting his eyes around there was nothing to identify where he might be.  There was nothing too that he could associate with, but his imagination was overactive thinking that this room held many secrets … secrets of people in similar situations that he now found himself in.
He was aware that all was not as it should be.
So he waited.  Alain de Marillac … Canadian Ambassador to China … triad member … murderer … and terrorist … waited for whom may come through the door and for what they may want.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The sound of creaking hinges echoed in the sterile room as Madeline opened the fortified door and entered the White Room walking smartly until she stood in front of Alain de Marillac. She smiled but the smile didn’t reach her eyes on the contrary it was a foreboding smile that was tinged with a hint of a smirk.
“Hello Monsieur de Marillac … or should I say Ambassador de Marillac?”
He was taken aback by the sound of a woman’s voice and glancing up saw an elegantly dressed lady whose appearance he would soon find was deceptive. His tone was brash and laced with bravado as he replied.
“Whoever the hell you think you are you don't know who you're dealing with.”
Madeline smiled her Mona Lisa smile once more and circled de Marillac sitting in the steel chair.  As she slowly circled she observed the reaction of her guest noting the rapid breathing, the telltale throb in his neck vein and the darting of his eyes as he tried to avoid eye contact. He sat up more erect in order to give the impression of control which in fact he had none here in the White Room.
“My people will carve you up and feed you to the dogs.  I’m the Ambassador you know.  I have rights.”
Still circling the chair Madeline replied. “Yes … Let's talk about your people. They have recently been involved in multiple murders in Hong Kong with a man named Tony Wong.”
“How preposterous! I’m the Canadian Ambassador to China ... not a murderer.”
“We already know about your connection to the Rising Dragons triad. We want to know the whereabouts of your leader.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Sun Yee Lok? The man who is your Boss and Shan Chu?  The man who orders the murders of innocents in Hong Kong?”
“Never heard of the guy.”
Madeline gazed at de Marillac with her steely cold eyes, “Do you think there's anything I won't do to get this information from you?”
“You can’t touch me.  I have diplomatic immunity you know,” he stated matter-of-factually.
“And … I’m trying to be diplomatic,” Madeline replied with an undermining menace.
As she was speaking the White Room door opened again and a man and a woman entered, each bearing a sinister yellow case. The Torture Twins had entered carrying their briefcases of instruments and potions that would leave the hostile with no other choice than to impart the Intel they were after. The two people stood waiting for their instructions to begin their modus operandi.
Addressing Henry and Elizabeth, Madeline stated, “Shouldn't take long. Let me know when you're through.”
“I intend to make a formal complaint for wrongful detainment. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers. I’m the Ambassador after all.”
Ignoring de Marillac’s retort, Madeline turned to leave while Henry and Elizabeth placed their briefcases on the bench and approached the target in the chair. Nervous laughter emitted from Alain de Marillac but faded as Madeline closed the White Room door with a decisive click, leaving her torture specialists to their tasks.
His scream of agony echoed in the room.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sometime later Henry and Elizabeth exited the White Room to find Madeline waiting for them near the viewing window into the White Room. As they passed by her with their tools of trade, they stopped and Madeline asked, “How were the new units?”
“I think you'll be pleased with the results,” Henry replied with a wry look on his face.
“Thank you.”
They both nodded and Madeline acknowledged their tacit answer then she entered the White Room again.  
Hearing footsteps approach Alain de Marillac sat more erect in the chair a beaten but proud man who refused to show how defeated he really was. Prominent twin slashes inflamed his cheeks as his face bore witness to the distinctive techniques used by the two people who had just left.
Admiring the torture twins’ handiwork, Madeline asked, “Are we ready to talk now, Monsieur de Marillac?”
Nodding his head Alain asked bravely, “What is this place? Who are you people?”
“Who is the mystery person who called you at the embassy?  What is his role with you and the Rising Dragons?”
“I can't tell you what I don't know. You can torture me all day and that won't change.”
“It's a deal.”
“Who died and made you God?” He asked indignantly.
“Perhaps this might convince you Monsieur de Marillac.”
Madeline said nothing more, but just turned and picked up a stack of newspaper clippings which she showed to him.  What de Marillac saw made his heart sink.  He was staring at his own death obituaries.
Madeline looked at him, satisfied to see real fear in his eyes. “As far as the world is concerned … you’re dead. Now … tell me what I need to know.”
Later that same day...
Operations quickly walked into the Briefing room where Jamie, Claire, Fergus and other operatives sat waiting quietly with stony faces. Madeline too, sat to one side of the briefing table knowing what Intel Operations would disclose. Without any preamble he began the meeting by activating the holographic imager while the operatives listened to all that he had to impart. Those gathered watched as information and a picture emerged on the holograph screen. Pacing back and forth each time he spoke, Dougal Mackenzie relayed the Intel Madeline had coerced from Alain de Marillac about members of the Rising Dragons and in particular that of the oriental woman whose face glared back at those assembled. “This is Madame Cheung, the only woman member of the Rising Dragons hierarchy who was personally chosen by Sun Yee Lok.” Looking at the picture of the woman, Jamie asked, “What is her role within the triad?” “Her main role is to procure women to work in prostitution and her exclusive high-class escort service. Alain de Marillac’s daughter was in her employ. Madame Cheung was planning on expanding her business but with Annalise de Marillac’s death this had set her plans back somewhat. She is now on the lookout for brunette Western women of Annalise’s age and build.” Feeling more than one pair of eyes on her, Claire inquired, “She is our next target then?” Operations’ nod towards her confirmed what Claire was thinking ... she just knew that she would be involved to snare the woman on this mission in some way. Dougal Mackenzie turned to his second in command to continue. “Madeline?” “Alain de Marillac was kind enough to reveal to us the location of his mole, and gave us a description of the mystery man who approached women on their own for this Madame Cheung of the Rising Dragons.” “I have also done a voice analysis of the mystery man who we suspect was Alain de Marillac’s contact from the audio tapes of conversation between them at the embassy.” Birkoff added confidently. “The plan's simple.” Operations stated. “Claire will meet with this man. We’ll then track and follow him to his meeting to discuss Claire. That's where we’ll find Madame Cheung.” “When and where is this meeting to take place between Claire and the informer?” Jamie requested knowing that whatever plans Operation and Madeline had that they would not bode well for his Sassenach. Operations gave no more details to answer Jamie’s question but only stated, “Details are on your panel. You’re on standby so stay close to Section until you leave. That will be all.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As the field operatives left the room Madeline spoke quietly to Claire before she had time to leave the briefing table. “Could we see you before you leave?” Nodding at her, Claire Beauchamp acknowledged her request wondering what Madeline had to further add to this mission but knowing that the voice of doom was highly likely. She’d read between the lines during the briefing knowing that Madeline obviously had plans for her and this Madame Cheung particularly given her preference for western, brunette women similar to Annalise de Marillac. Covertly noting the exchange between the two women, Jamie realised that his initial inclinations about his superiors’ motives were not too far from the truth.  Madeline certainly had more in mind for Claire than what would be outlined on her PDA. He knew exactly just what she would propose to her for this mission given the Intel presented and Claire’s similar appearance to the deceased Annalise de Marillac. He would discuss it with her in privacy later at her apartment away from the prying eyes of Section One.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
In Operations’ Perch, the two Section Leaders were grappling with the wisdom of their decision concerning Claire Beauchamp, hoping that she would be able to carry it off and also about Jamie Fraser’s reaction once he found out about it. 
“It’s time to put Claire to the test,” Madeline stated but her words had a double meaning which Operations failed to recognise.  
In her Machiavellian mind, she was not only testing Claire about her loyalty to Section One and what was to be asked of her, but also to see what she suspected might be true ... that Claire Beauchamp had a relationship with her partner James Fraser that was more than platonic. 
Operations, however, was not convinced and said so. “Do you think it's premature?” “No. This mission will surely grab Madame Cheung’s attention. Now it’s just a question of how far she’s willing to go.” “We knew the probabilities going in … just under sixty percent. Is that good enough Madeline?”
“If Madame Cheung is drawn to Claire as I suspect she will be given her resemblance to Annalise de Marillac … then I believe we can be confident in the outcome.” 
“And James?”
“James Fraser is Section. He will do whatever is necessary.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Come in Claire,” Dougal stated as Claire Beauchamp arrived at the Perch a little while later. She walked in and stood to attention with her arms folded in front of her. With a blank stare perfected like Jamie’s, and looking at Operations and Madeline, Claire waited for the axe to fall on her.
Without mincing words, Operations told her why she was there. “Claire, we feel that a connection to Madame Cheung can be extremely useful to us.”
“Of course.”
“However ... although the profile's already been set there are some changes.” Continuing Madeline outlined their plan. “We want you to undertake a deep cover on this assignment. It will be vital for the success of the mission. You will immerse yourself in Madame Cheung’s world and learn what you can about her dealings with the Rising Dragons and in particular Sun Yee Lok.” “Are you saying you’d like me to accept any proposal from her? “Yes.” “For how long?” “Indefinitely.” Claire’s heart dropped and her stomach was in knots. “And Jamie? ... Does he know about this?” “Not yet ... You can tell him in due course. Tell him you need to learn more about Madame Cheung and being in close proximity for some time is the best way. He’ll know this is true.” “Is that all?” Claire replied perfecting Jamie’s blank stare and not showing any emotion although her insides were churning up. “Yes.” Claire Beauchamp looked at her Section leaders while Madeline watched her closely too realising that she was internalising the fact that she was now on a deep cover mission. James Fraser had taught her well for Claire gave very little away in her stance and replies to their orders, but the fact they had asked her to go undercover with this woman was more than she could comprehend at the moment.  She needed some time to digest what the mission would entail and how she would find the strength and fortitude to endure such a deep cover assignment without Jamie.
With a blank expression on her face Claire turned and left the loft. As she walked out, Madeline looked at Operations again. The Section leaders traded a glance.
They both looked pleased.
In Munitions ...
Murtagh Fitzgibbons was fiddling with a modified cam’s expansion card seemingly lost in the task at hand; however, he looked up smiling when he heard the honeyed sounds of Claire Beauchamp’s voice as she approached his section. 
“Hey Murtagh,” she greeted him trying to appear upbeat for her friend upon coming into his area. “Hey Sugar.” She watched as he continued to fiddle with the apparatus he was working on. “I haven't seen you for over a week. Whatcha got there?” “Nothing much … just a cam I’m modifying,” he replied looking at her, “Heading out?” “Yep ... Have you seen Jamie?” “He just left.” “Oooh!” This was nothing new for James Fraser as he often left Section before anyone else. However, Murtagh failed to notice Claire’s disappointment in his reply about Jamie and continued to question her as he worked.
“So how are things? How’s the mission going?”
“So far … so good but we still don’t have Sun Yee Lok.”
“Proving to be a bit elusive is he?” “Yeah … you could say that.” “I see you have to go back to Hong Kong.” “Yeah.” This time Murtagh looked up at Claire finally noticing her reticent sigh. “Hey, why the long face then? You okay?” “I'm fine.” He put down what he was working on and gave her his undivided attention. “You don't seem so fine.” “Murtagh, it's just this place. It just gets to me sometimes, that's all.” “Is it the mission?” “Sort of … It’s another new mission within a mission.” “Well Jamie will be there to keep an eye on you.” “Maybe …” “What do you mean maybe?” “They’ve put me on a deep cover mission.” “What? ... Where?” “At Madame Cheung’s.” “Does Jamie know?” “Not yet.” “Don’t worry Claire; Jamie won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me.” “I know ...” “You know how things are, Sugar. Things don’t just “work out” around here, they happen for a business.” “Yeah ... but, I’m not sure I can go through with it though.”         “It’s only a numbers game Claire. They pull the lever, whatever comes out three cherries, that’s the jackpot.” “Murtagh ... it’s just that …” “What?”
Claire let her thoughts materialize ... “I was in bad shape this time last year. I don't want to feel that way again and ... I fit the profile again for this mission. I’m getting a bit sick of it. Tall, leggy brunettes! I wish I was shorter and blonde occasionally.”
“Oh, I see,” Murtagh replied biting his lip in mirth. He looked at Claire and his eyes crinkled with mischievousness, “Hey … come to think of it … Madeline fits THAT bill! She could take your place.” He winked at her with the cheeky, craggy grin that Claire loved, breaking her from her melancholy. “Don’t worry ... You’ll knock ‘em dead Sugar!" Laughing, she answered, “Thanks Murtagh … you always put things into perspective.” “Keep your powder dry. Sure as hell going to miss you Sugar.” “I’ll be back,” Claire replied and began to walk away but paused when Murtagh added in all seriousness. “Talk to Jamie. He’ll figure out something.” “Okay.” “Goodnight Murtagh.” “Goodnight Sugar,” he replied as he watch Claire Beauchamp walk away from his station with much on her mind and hoped in some ways that his words had given her some comfort.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued
 Should you wish to access the other chapters of this story … go to
https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations
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waddiwitch · 5 years
Text
Caution: Children At Play (Chapter Eleven)
Spike and Buffy have been turned into kids. The Scoobies have to figure out how to solve the mystery without them, while Buffy and Spike are stuck spending lots of time together. A whodunnit! What mischief will Spike and Buffy get into while trying to figure it out?
This chapter: Giles is interrogating Ethan and Angel finds a creature that might spill some secrets.
Chapter Eleven
Things were looking up at last as far as Rupert Giles was concerned. Ethan hadn’t been as helpful as Giles would have liked and Willow and Tara had difficulty procuring the items required for the spell to return Spike and Buffy back to their normal selves. Nevertheless, from what the witches had told him earlier today they should have preparation complete by the morning and the slayer and vampire should be back to normal at last. Speaking of the duo, the two brats were being increasingly annoying. They didn’t seem too bothered by the delay in the spell taking place, perhaps even reveling in the situation. Everywhere Giles went in the Summers’ home;, the two were giggling loudly and chasing each other about the house. The Watcher had an almost constant headache from the noise level. Not only were they noisy they were also playing pranks; Joyce had found salt in the sugar bowl and sugar in the salt shaker. She hadn’t been impressed but Spike and Buffy thought it was hilarious. The only way to keep them in line was to keep them busy.  The problem was that tiring out two super-powered children proved a rather difficult task. Xander was around playing video games with them, and Joyce and Dawn were always on hand for board games. Tara and Willow were too busy working on the spell to help, while he and Angel were preoccupied with the Glory situation. He had tried a truth spell on Ethan but nothing had come out of it, and he suspected that the mage told him all he knew.  Despite this and knowing that Ethan could have some defence against a truth spell, Giles had taken up Angel’s green-skinned friend’s offer to have Ethan sing for him. This was the reason that the man and demon were in the basement listening to Ethan warble some Pink Floyd.
Lorne shook his head, “I’m not getting anything, Rupert. Sorry, it’s a washout.”
“See – I told you,” Ethan said. “You can let me go now.”
“I don’t think so, old friend. I can’t take the chance of you going back to Glory with information. Besides, you’re probably safer here then you are out there.”
Ethan shuddered to Giles’ satisfaction. The watcher doubted that Glory would show any mercy to someone who had got himself captured by the other side.
“The least you can do is untie me,” Ethan insisted. “I won’t go anywhere, I promise.”
“I know you too well,” Giles reminded him, turning his back on the man.
“Bastard,” Ethan muttered under his breath.
Giles ignored him and directed his attention to Lorne instead. “What time is Angel supposed to get here?”
Lorne shrugged and looked at his watch. “He should be here soon. He seemed a little down in the dumps today.”
Giles raised a brow, “Isn’t he always moody?”
“True,” the demon conceded with a smile. “But more so than usual. Did you say anything to him?”
Giles squirmed a little.  “I might have said we don’t really need him here. Glory’s been keeping away and we should have our Slayer back to normal soon.”
“Well – I think Angelcakes took it to heart,” Lorne said.
“I don’t know why he’s being so sensitive. It’s not as if he has been around to help recently. We can manage quite well on our own.”
“Why did you call him then?” Lorne asked.
“You know why. Buffy’s been incapacitated.” Giles was rather annoyed to be feeling a little guilty. He knew he should be grateful for the vampire’s help but he didn’t want him around any longer than necessary. Seeing him always reminded him of what the vampire was capable of, soulless, and the loss of Jenny Calender struck him anew once more. He shook off the melancholy and tried to bring his mind back to back to the task at hand. There was no need to reopen old wounds.
Once Giles had checked the mage’s bonds he and Lorne went upstairs to join Spike, Joyce, Dawn, and Buffy. They were sitting in front of the telly engrossed in a movie. Giles looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and wondered again where Angel had gotten to. Surely he hadn’t decided to head back to LA without saying a word. He sat down on the settee beside Joyce. Dawn was sitting on her other side, her head on her mother’s shoulder. Spike and Buffy were lying on the floor having a thumb war. Giles hadn’t been sleeping very well recently and he had started to dose when he was awoken by the sound of a disturbance outside.  All the heads in the living room turned to the window. Angel burst in the door, holding on to a struggling creature. It was one of the odd-looking servants that Glory had.  Buffy and Spike jumped to their feet.
“Can we keep him?” Buffy quipped.
“Don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Slayer,” Spike said. “He stinks a bit.”
Angel smirked and shoved his strange looking creature into the centre of the room. “I decided to take a detour on my way here and I managed to bump into this little fella. I knocked him out but he came to as I was coming in the garden.”
All eyes on the room were upon the new captive. “Let me go. Glorificus will come searching for me. I’m her most loyal servant.”
“Hate to break to you, Frodo, but I doubt that bint cares what happens to you,” Spike put in.  “You could be scrambled hobbit and I don’t think she would bat an eyelid.”
“How dare you?” the creature spluttered. “Do you insult the Great Glorificus!”
“Take him down to the basement,” Giles ordered.
“My pleasure,” Angel said.
Down in the basement, Ethan’s mouth dropped open to see he had a fellow prisoner. Buffy and Spike followed them downstairs eager to be involved in the interrogation. The demon or whatever he was, continued to protest that he was protected by Glory and that she could avenge his death.
“Nobody is going to kill you,” Giles snapped.
“I might,” Angel interjected.
“Or me,” Spike added.
Giles rolled his eyes.  “Well – they might.  Tell us what you know.”
“I would rather die than betray my mistress,” the demon squeaked. “I would be a martyr to the cause. She would revere me beyond all others.”
Giles knew it would be impossible to get anything out of this creature.
He locked eyes with his slayer. “Buffy, will you get your mother to ring Willow and Tara?  Tell them they are needed over here. It can’t wait till morning.”
“Sure,” she said and ran up the stairs.
Willow arrived within an hour with the ingredients for a truth spell. Giles and Angel were waiting for her in the sitting room. Spike had opted to stay below with the prisoner and was surely tormenting them with snide comments. Joyce had decided to head to bed and had convinced her two daughters to do the same. Angel had taken Lorne and Ethan back to the motel they were staying at. Getting the mage out of the way seemed like a good idea. Willow looked exhausted; her eyes had bags under them. Maybe he should have waited until the morning?
“Sorry to disturb you,” Giles said. “He keeps harping on about how Glory will save him and we can’t take any chances that he will escape and we won’t get any information.”
The redhead’s hair was mussed. “Tara stayed behind to make sure that the other spell will be ready for the morning.”
“Of course.”  Giles nodded.
“I’ll do the spell and then I have to go back to check on Tara and her progress.”
Giles decided to make himself a cup of tea while Willow went about doing her spell.
His inherent manners encouraged him to ask Angel.  “Would you like a cup?”
“Coffee would be great, thanks. I don’t like tea.”
Giles shook his head.  “What sort of Irishman are you? I’ve never known an Irish person to refuse a cup of tea.”
“Well – I’m not a person am I?”  Angel pointed out.
“Touché,” Giles replied.
After he was finished making the tea and coffee, the two made their way downstairs.  They met Willow halfway up the stairs.
“What colour underpants are you wearing or do you go commando?” Spike was asking.
“What are you doing?” Angel asked.
“White,” the demon answered in a dreamy voice.
“Can we see?” Spike asked.
Before Giles could utter a word of protest the demon started to lift his robe to reveal his briefs.
“He’s telling the truth,” Spike announced with a smirk.
“That’s enough,” Giles said, his lip twitching. “You can let them down now.
Giles had to admit it was a good idea to make sure that the spell was working, although if the minion had any brains he would have figured out what it was the little vampire was doing. He wasn’t going to let Spike know he thought he had the right idea though. Actually, it would be best to get the little vampire out from underfoot.
“Go upstairs, Spike,” he ordered. “Go and ring Lorne and make sure our other prisoner is behaving.”
“I want to stay,” Spike protested with a little stamp of his foot. “What am I?  Your secretary?”
“I’ll pay you,” Giles said.
Spike crossed his arms and pouted. “Ok, fine. I don’t want to though.”
“Don’t come down again unless I call you,” Giles added.
Spike’s eyes narrowed into slits and he gave Giles the middle finger.
“As offensive as ever,” Giles muttered.
“I really have to go, Giles,” Willow said suddenly, reminding him of her presence.
Giles gave her a nod.   “Thank you for the help, Willow. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Willow waved at them before heading out of the basement. Spike stomped up the stairs after her. Giles and Angel exchanged a look at Spike’s surprising obedience. Putting the surprise to one side, they turned back to the prisoner.
“What’s your name?”  Giles demanded.
“Jinx,” the creature said.
“Hello, Jinx.  You’re going to help us by answering our questions truthfully.”  Giles’ kept his tone menacing.  “Do you understand?”
Jinx didn’t even flinch and that was a sure sign that the spell was working.
“What does Glory want the key for?” Angel asked.
“She intends to get home and she needs the key for this.  We live only to serve the Magnificent and Glorious One.”
“Does your Glory have any weakness?”  Giles asked.
“No – she is all powerful and had a lot of strength. However, there is one way…”
“What way?” Angel asked.
“Glory is actually trapped in the body of a mortal man. This is the only time when she is vulnerable.”
“Good lord,” Giles muttered.
How extraordinary? This meant there may be a way to defeat her after all. He caught Angel’s gaze.
Giles ran his fingers through his hair.  “Tell us about the man.”
“His name is Ben,” Jinx continued, “and he works at the Sunnydale hospital. He is a trainee doctor.”
Giles took his spectacles from his nose and began polishing them furiously.
“If we could get rid of this Ben,” Angel said, “then this would mean that Glory wouldn’t have a body to share.”
“I don’t think Buffy would agree,” Giles said. “Although, I think we should wait and discuss this once the spell is done tomorrow.”
So, Glory had a weakness. This was some good news at least.  Killing an innocent was an unpalatable option. Nevertheless, if this was their only way of defeating the hell god, they may not have any other choice. He couldn’t see Buffy or any of the ladies agreeing to this. Well, Anya would. Angel and he had lived their lives and saw many terrible things. Could they really sit back and let Glory go on stealing the sanity of people and possibly destroy the world all because it was unthinkable to kill one man to save many?
To be continued….
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