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hubbie22 · 3 years

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Here is an ask well half an ask from the lovely @meddowscrl please don’t hate me 🥺 I just can’t do happy endings. I tried, I just couldn’t. I can only do angst. I like to suffer ~nervous laughter intensified~ Also, please excuse the writing, I have a respiratory infection and am heavily medicated.

You were happy, weren’t you?

“I want a divorce.”

You stare at him, you had only asked if he wanted to change the drapes. And the answer, turned your world upside down. He had been your boyfriend since 1968, your husband since 1972 and yet with one sentence he was now nothing.

“The drapes, I just wanted to change the drapes.” You mutter out like a hapless child.

“We haven’t been good for months.” He looks at you, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“We haven’t?” Since when haven’t you two been good? Since when haven’t you two shared one brain cell? That was news to you.

Roger stands firms, flicking his long hair back. “No, Y/N.” He sighs, “We haven’t been us for months.”

“Is there someone else?” You look at him, searching for something. “You promised me. You promised me.” The words come out like a chant or mantra, what you held onto when he was on the road. A promise from another lifetime ago.

He sighs, as if he wants to tell you the truth. But he looks at you, and he sees the brokenness he caused. And he can’t bare to make it worse. So, he lies.

“No.”

You walk past him, and he grabs your hand and you think for a moment he will tell you he change his mind. But he hasn’t, and you tear yourself away from him trudging up the staircase.

“Y/N, this has been a long time coming. I’m not happy…. I’m not happy with you anymore.”

“A long time coming for who?” You can’t even look at him while you are packing your things. Most of which, he bought you. So, you only bring what you can into this relationship with yourself. “For you? Because I was happy.” There are tears streaming down your face, like a waterfall, “And I thought we were happy, it’s news to me that we aren’t. And that’s we haven’t been for sometime. Or maybe that you haven’t been.”

You sit across from him in a London high-rise, a wood table between you two and armed with a divorce lawyer. It happened fast, or maybe you were out of it the last few months.

You looked over at Roger, his hair was shorter the last time you saw him.

He stopped by your new apartment to drop off things you left, you could remember his shocked face when you open the door. You heard rustling outside and curiously you opened the door to see Roger crouched down, putting a box by your door. Blue eyes meet yours, and it was like time hadn’t passed. And maybe that’s why you treated it that way, maybe that’s why you went with the old routine. And you wonder if it was the gleam in his eyes, that let you believe that there was something to hold onto; that hope remained.

“Just some bits and bobs of yours.” Roger said, fumbling his keys in his hand.

“Thanks, Rog.” You can’t move from the door frame, the gaze y’all shared unbroken. Years of memories dancing between tha gaze. The squeal of the kettle you put on earlier makes the both of you jump.

“Cuppa? I still have your favorite biscuits.” You couldn’t stop yourself from buying them. It was just normal. And sometimes normal in this new word you didn’t know, was what you needed to sleep at night.

“Really?!” His blue eyes light up, and you motion for him to come in. Staying for tea was a dangerous thing, an old and easy routine. It was weird being so comfortable with someone, who was leaving you behind. Funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Maybe it was because of the easiness of it all, that you left yourself fall back into the comfort of it all. As of you two were old friends, not two lovers frayed at the seams. Because of that easiness, you let yourself entertain a thought that maybe you could save your marriage. Put back the broken pieces into something recognizable, but it wasn’t enough. The yearning, the reminiscing of old times through the stuff he brought to you somehow turned into fumbled kisses and clothes thrown around haphazardly. It was something you thought would change the course of where your life was going. Instead of reconciling, it turned into Roger sneaking out when he thought you were asleep. It turned into your lawyer, letting you know Roger wanted you to have more than you asked for. It turned into more resentment and hurt from you, how he could use you and then leave you. How could he so easily but all those years together aside? It turned into something that shouldn’t have happened. And it turned into something that would stay with you forever. A funny word forever, because forever never is forever.

“Sign this, and your divorced will be finalized. All assets obtained during the marriage have been split, due to Mr. Taylor’s wishes.” Your lawyer says looking at you, sliding the papers across, while Roger’s lawyer speaks, “You will be comfortable, and well off Y/N. My client has been more than generous. In fact, I’ve never seen a settlement this amicable from the side of the main breadwinner .”

You sign the papers without any words, you don’t even look at Roger. You realize as you sign on the dotted line, this will be the last time you will use the surname you used for years. Funny how something you thought would never change, would be stagnant in your life just fades away. You then pass the papers across the table back to Roger’s lawyer, you watch as the lawyer slides the papers over to Roger for his signature.

And when Roger takes the paper, you stop breathing you wonder if his mind will change at the eleventh hour. But, he signs it without any hesitation. It’s a fluent and flawless movement, very unlike Roger- really. Part of you breaks at that, it was like he didn’t care he was closing the door on years of his life. Closing the door on you.

You stand up, smoothing out your wide legged pant suit. After the divorce, you had dipped your toes back into the world of working for a living. Putting that masters degree in business to use, and now it was time to separate yourself from the last of the rock n roll lifestyle you loved. And you turn to walk away, high heels on the marble floor when someone grabs your wrist turning you around.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.” Roger looks at you with concern in his blue eyes. And you wonder if it’s for the friend he was losing, and not the marriage he let go of so easily.

You look at him, “I will. Don’t forget to wear your glasses, we both know you are blind. Don’t forget to call your mum once in while, she misses you. And try not to get so angry at the boys, they mean well.”

“Even after everything I’ve done, you don’t hate me.” You spot something in his eyes, you can’t put a name too. An emotion that seems out of place, it was almost looked like guilt and forlorn.

“I told you a long time ago, I could never hate you. No matter how much, I may want too. I just can’t.”

“You are too good, Y/N. I’ve forgot to remind myself of that. Maybe that’s why…” he drifts off, “Even those daft band mates of mine agreed. Never let me forget it. But, Im sure they are out to drive me mad!” He says with a small smirk.

“With the drum sets you destroy, I doubt the plan to make you mad.” You make a small sound, something between a strangled “hmph” and snort in retort.

“Same old, Y/N.”

“By the way, I have something to-”

“Roggiee!” A voice like a bell cuts through the hushed words you tell him.

You both turn to see a girl, or really a woman bounding toward y’all. And you look toward Roger, and you see the look in his eyes. A look that used to be reserved for you. And it clicked, the guilty look etched in his eyes, not even moments ago. The guilty look he wore that night. The whole reason your world was being upended and ruined. It was for her.

The bitterness filled you up, the way he could so easily toss you aside. The look you threw at Roger was one of pure resentment and unbridled rage.

“You lied.” Your hushed words, that come out through clinched teeth drip with a malice.

He looks at you with wide eyes, as if he was trying to shelter you from the truth. And you see that damned look again. “Y/N, please. I just couldn’t tell you.”

But before you can answer, she comes up with a smile on her pink lips and a twinkle in her dark brown eyes. “You must be, Roggie’s lawyer! I’m Gwen.” She smiles at you. And her smile is sickly sweet, and almost innocent.

It makes you want to scream, to throw something, to do something other than what you are doing.

“I’m Y/N, actually.” You extend your hand to her. Her eyes go wide, and she looks at Roger, who goes to her side immediately.

“Y/N, please listen.” He hold onto her side, and the whiteness of his knuckles against the material of her dark dress don’t go unnoticed by you. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with her.”

Gwen chimes in, “We honestly tried to stay away from each other, we just couldn’t. We were drawn to each other.”

If you weren’t so bitter, hurt, and angry perhaps the romantic side of you would find that notion tragic. You had read about it in books, and always rooted for the star-crossed lovers. But, now you were the collateral damage, you were the woman scorned.

“When we decided that what we had was something, I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell you that I was in love with someone else, when you were there from the start. I just didn’t want you to find out after I got back from tour-”

“He couldn’t see you broken like that.” Gwen finishes for him.

You can’t even begin to comprehend the information given, you were gobsmacked. You were completely barred raw, for everyone is this godforsaken lobby to see. And because of that, you selfishly did not want to see how genuinely happy he looked with someone else. Someone who wasn’t you. So, you used the words you knew would cut him to the bone. “So, you thought it was better to make me believe it was my fault you weren’t happy. That I was ignorantly living in one sided marital bliss, while you were falling in love with someone else? While you were planning to leave, I was planning for a life with you?” Your eyes are blazing, your face hot with rage, “You thought it was better to make me believe I was the problem? I can’t believe you! After everything I did for you? After putting my life on hold for you?! This is how you repay me? I deserved the truth, but you, the both of you took that from me.”

“I just-” He sighs, “I just wanted to be happy again, and when I’m with Gwen I’m happy. And I was going to tell you, I was going to tell you that day with the drapes. But, you then you uttered that damn promise. And what was I supposed to do? How could I break my best friend? I’ve always been the asshole to everyone, but you.”

“I love you.”

You look at Roger, his long blonde hair disheveled with bright blue eyes. “I love you too, you are my friend. My very best friend.” You bump your shoulder against his, and let out a giggle.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

You stare at him wide eyed, “Oh.”

“I have been for sometime.”

“Rog, I love you too. But, that doesn’t mean I want to date you. I know how you are, you will grow bored of me and find someone else. And love is sweet, but it’s not your nature. I don’t think I have it in me to me hate you, or to lose you. Please don’t make me lose my best friend.”

“You don’t get it, Y/N.” He looks at you like you hung the moon, and you like it. You crave that look. “I don’t want anyone else, it’s you. And I think it’s always been, and always will be you.”

“You promise? You promise it’s only me forever?” You bite your lip and stick out your pinky finger, like you had done so many times growing up.

“I cross my heart and hope to die.” He says as he raises your intertwined pinkies up to kiss it.

“And in that moment, I was back in Truro laughing with a curly haired little girl, and then I was in uni with that same girl, who was my best friend, I saw that girl. And, I couldn’t do that to her.”

You look at him, your face cold as stone. “I’m still that girl, I haven’t changed. You have. And that’s okay, it’s okay the change that’s life.”

That is how it ends, with a look of heartbreak on your face as the elevator doors close on the sight before you. And when the doors open, and you are greeted by the sight of the lobby. You realize, you didn’t even tell him what you wanted too.

Would it change anything?

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagines #roger taylor

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yaqarah · 3 years

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Before You Write a Jewish Character

Jewish people already lack rep in many pieces of media, including writing. A lot of people seem to think that mentioning a character who celebrates Hanukkah is peak representation. Which just isn’t true. So I figured if I want to see more good rep and most people are too lazy to just use Google to inform themselves, I decided to make this post.

1. Names

Most Jewish people actually have two names. They’ll have their first name, and possibly middle name, that can be either a Jewish name or a name coming from the country or language they grew up speaking. It doesn’t have to be a Jewish name or it can be a name that comes from another culture, so long as it not associated with another religion (i.e. Evangeline, John, Mohammed, Soraya, etc). Jewish people also do not name their kids after any living relatives, so children will not have the names of their parents or grandparents or aunts.

Secondly, they have their Hebrew name, which may or may not be different from the one they normally use. There’s normally a whole ceremony for this naming, but that is another thing. These names are normally of Hebrew and/or Jewish origin. And they are written on the naming certificate in the Hebrew alphabet rather than any other one. Since the Hebrew alphabet is quite different from a lot of other ones, please be mindful of transliterations when picking these names, as Hebrew has a few sounds and letters that other languages may not have.

WHEN YOU SEE CH IN A TRANSLITERATION IT IS NOT PRONOUNCED WITH A SH OR WITH A K. LEARN HOW TO PROPERLY PRONOUNCE THE SOUND.

As for last names, Jewish people do have their own last names, though if people are descended from immigrants to certain places, those last names may or may not be changed. However, even with that, Jewish people still have last names that are different from the other people in the country their family is from. A lot of Ashkenazi Jewish last names tend to have the suffixes -stein, -man/men, -berg/burg, -in, -witz, -ski/sky, and/or the prefixes green-, gold-, silver-. Other common Jewish last names are Cohen, Kanter/Cantor, Glaser, Glass. Here is more comprehensive list of Jewish surnames from around the world

2. Ethnicity

While people do say that they are Jewish when asked their ethnicity (it is an ethnicity btw, not just a religion), keep in mind that Jewish culture will vary depending on where their family was in the diaspora. The most well-known ethnicities within Judaism are Ashkenazi (Eastern Europe), Sephardi (Iberia, North Africa), and Mizrahi (Middle East). Keep in mind, however, that there are plenty of Jewish people that come from different places, like Kavkazi Jews (Caucasus Region), Bukharan Jews (Central Asia), Cochin Jews (Kerala), and Beta Israel (Ethiopia). So please be sure to pick a specific area where the family of your Jewish character will be some, as this greatly affects foods, traditions, names, etc., as well as their appearance. Keep in mind that where someone’s family is from or where they live has had great influence on the Jewish culture there.

3. Appearance

There is such a thing as “looking Jewish”, but that doesn’t mean that every Jewish person looks the same, especially if their families come from different areas of the world. A Jewish person can look any way, and still they are Jewish. Whether or not your character looks a certain way does not affect how Jewish they are. That being said, it is okay to write a Jewish character with traditionally Jewish features, as long as you are careful of how you describe it. Don’t say they have a green tinge to their skin: say their skin is olive or tan; don’t compare them to goblins and please don’t say their eyes or half-lidded. Don’t make it part of their personality that they want to change the parts of their appearance that are traditionally Jewish (i.e. wanting a nose job, straightening their hair). Our features are demonised enough as is, and we don’t want hating them to be seen as more common than it already is.

Also, if we look traditionally Jewish, we do sometimes get confused with people of other ethnicities. So if you’re looking for a fc for your Jewish character and can’t find a Jewish model you like, at least be somewhat respectful and find someone who’s Italian.

4. Traditions and Daily Life

This one is so so important. You can’t just say they celebrate Hanukkah and call it a day. Hanukkah isn’t even the most important Jewish holiday (though you can and should include it because its fun). Include traditional aspects of growing up Jewish. Have them talk about going to Jewish overnight camp. Have them know the Hebrew alphabet and reading a little bit of Hebrew they know from going to Hebrew school. Put an evil eye in your character’s room. Have them keep kosher. Put a mezuzah on their bedroom door. Give them Star of David and Hamsa necklaces. Put a red ribbon around the gearshift of their car. Don’t give them tattoos, especially not on their arm. Have them cook Jewish food and own Jewish cookbooks. If they’re Ashki, have them casually throw Yiddish words into the middle of sentences. Have them miss school and work for high holidays services and eat apples and honey for Rosh Hashanah. Have them fast for Yom Kippur and eat matzah on Passover. Have them dress up for Purim and make Hamantaschen. Make sure they aren’t Jewish in name only!!

5. Stereotypes (and how not to use them)

Don’t have your character talk about lizard people. Don’t make both of their parents and their whole family bankers, doctors, and lawyer. Don’t make them money-hungry. Don’t make them snobby. And please please do not make them part of a secret society, especially if the society has a lot of power.

This also applies to villains. If your villain is like this, scrap them and come up with something original. You copying every Disney villain ever is both antisemitic and uncreative.

6. Antisemitism (and how to include it)

Unless you are Jewish and specifically writing something about antisemitism, it is not your place to determine what antisemitism is and isn’t (before you ask me any stupid questions, antizionism is not antisemitism). It is still very prevalent today and a lot of Jewish people deal with jokes, micro aggressions, and sometimes worse in everyday life. We get asked unsettling questions about where we are from, what “race” we are, and messy international politics we don’t have a say in all the time, and normally we don’t know how to respond. Have your character deal with these things, but do not make it their whole life. And if you plan to have anything worse happen, please do not do it just for the plot or the shock factor: get the message across that antisemitism still very much exists, and that it is scary and unacceptable.

Lastly, unless it is very very very important, please, for the love of god, do not bring up the Holocaust.

Additional Resources:

- Jewish Foods (Ashki,Sephardi)

- Jewish Holidays + Calendar

- Bar and Bat Mitzvahs

- Overnight Camp

- Symbols and Objects (Mezuzah,Hamsa,Evil Eye) (latter two also important through the Middle East and South Asia, as well as Southeastern Europe and North Africa)

Inbox is open for relevant questions. if its dumb use the internet

#important #resources #res:writing #res:characters #tw antisemitism #tw holocaust #please please sb #lilah.txt

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clairenatural · 4 years

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destiel, 2k. mafia!Cas/Kingergarten teacher!Dean from an anon prompt for mafia!dean or Cas protecting the other at all costs. I’m not entirely sure what this turned into but it was fun to write so I hope it’s also fun to read :) it references stuff that happens in 12x10, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets.

“Sir, we have a problem.”

Castiel sighs. His five least favorite words. He glances up, frowning at Inias. “What kind of problem?” He doesn’t add that it had better be important to justify the younger man barging into his office like this, but it’s implied.

Inias takes a deep breath before stepping fully into the room, letting Castiel’s glass office door shut behind him. “The DA’s office is refusing to back down on the Ishim case.”

“And you paid them the standard amount?”

“Yes, sir. But one of the DDAs refused it.”

“Refused it.”

“He’s new. He doesn’t understand our arrangement.”

“Hm.” Castiel closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, considering both the situation and the man in front of him. They hadn’t had a problem with the DA in years—at least, not since Castiel had taken over. Their messes were less messy and they paid more generously for silence. “How much does he need to understand?”

“That’s the problem, sir. I don’t think he will.”

Castiel scoffs. “Anyone in power can be bought off,” he replies, because in all his years he’d never met someone who couldn’t be. Power corrupts, after all.

Inias shifts uneasily, and Castiel can tell he isn’t going to like how this ends.

“We’ve received word that he’s begun investigating independently.”

Castiel groans at this, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But don’t worry!” Inias continues quickly, hurridly. “We can put our best men on the assignment, have him taken care of by tonight—”

“Wait,” Castiel cuts him off with a sigh. He forces his eyes back open. “I’m not mad,” he says before anything else, because Inias looks like a deer in the headlights and even after all this time his employees still need occasional reminding that he is not his brothers.

When he’d taken over for Michael he’d promised himself—he’d promised everyone—less bloodshed. He swore to defend his family, business, and territory from Crowley and his cronies, but he’d been determined to stop ending innocent lives. For some reason, though, innocents just love getting in the way. He sighs again. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

And, well. That certainly complicates things. He’d known when Sam announced he was going into criminal law that this was a possibility—in some ways, he thinks he should have expected this.

“Sir?” Inias asks, and Castiel realizes he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at him. “Are you…do you know him?”

Castiel blinks back to reality and glares at him. “Call them off,” he orders, and cuts Inias off when he tries to protest. “Call them all off, Inias. Now.”

“But, sir, what about—”

“I’ll deal with Sam Winchester myself. Nobody else is to touch him.” Then, just for emphasis, “Until I say otherwise, consider him under my protection.”

Inias is still staring at him, baffled, but after a moment he nods, and Castiel is thankful that he’s decided not to argue. “Alright, I—yes. Understood.” He nods again before leaving the office and Castiel sinks deep into his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into both eyes.

His phone buzzes and Castiel watches as a text message lights up the screen, revealing the photo from his wedding he has set as his background. It’s a message from Dean, because of course it is, asking him what he wants for dinner and if he wants wine with it.

Castiel looks around his office, awarded to him based on his surname but paid for in blood, and he’s never hated it more.

————————————————————-

They get half an hour into the low-budget western Dean had insisted in watching before his husband sighs, pauses the movie, and sets his wine glass down on the coffee table. “What’s going on with you?”

Castiel frowns up at him from where he’s lying on the couch, cheek against Dean’s thigh, his own wine glass barely touched. All things considered, Castiel thinks he’s been doing a great job acting like everything is fine. He forgets, sometimes, how easily Dean can read him.

“Work was…long,” he answers, and it isn’t a lie. Then, because Dean is looking at him like he doesn’t believe him, he follows up with “How’s Sam?”

It’s both a deflection and an answer to Dean’s question, but Dean doesn’t know that. Dean thinks he manages a hedge fund. Which he does. Technically. Legally, at least.

Dean knows he’s changing the subject but he doesn’t press it, and his face lights up the way it always does when someone asks about his brother. Castiel loves him for it. Dean starts on about Sam, how he’s doing with Eileen, how they just moved into a bigger house because they want to start a family. Castiel isn’t paying attention, not really, because Dean’s fingers are playing with his hair and he doesn’t really want to think about anything else.

“—I said I’d help him out, though.”

That catches his attention. “What? Why?” he asks, a bit too quickly, because even though he’s missed most of the context he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Come on, babe. I never get to use my degree anymore.” He shrugs. “And it sounds fun, you know? Helping my baby brother take down a corrupt criminal justice system. I feel like Serpico.”

“No.” It comes out more forcefully than he had intended and he sits up, turning fully to face Dean. “No, Dean, you need to stay out of it.”

Dean blinks at his husband, and Castiel immediately backtracks. “I mean, um. You don’t—you don’t have any evidence.”

“That’s the point of me helping,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I know I chose teaching five-year-olds over working in cybersecurity, but I still know my way around.”

“You’re going to hack into the DA’s office?”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that.”

“It is bad.” Castiel knows he’s being too insistent, is pushing too hard, but Dean can’t get involved, too. He can’t. “It’s dangerous. You don’t know who else could be involved.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You should. You just don’t understand—”

“Understand what, Cas?” Dean snaps, and now it’s the fight Castiel didn’t want to have. “What could I possibly not understand that you do? A kid is dead and the DA is trying to cover it up and just maybe I can help figure out why.”

“There are things you don’t—” Castiel is already halfway through his next argument when the second half of Dean’s sentence catches up with him, and he stops. “Did you say a kid?”

Dean scoffs. “You weren’t even listening, right? Great. Yeah, some asshole killed his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend and her kid and the DA is refusing to press charges. Says there isn’t enough evidence. Sam thinks they were paid off.”

“No,” he says, quietly, because no. The daughter was never supposed to—that’s not what happened. He had been told that’s not what happened.

“What do you mean, no?” There’s less heat in Dean’s words, and Castiel thinks it’s because he himself has completely deflated.

He stares at his husband—the love of his life, the beautiful, generous, selfless man he doesn’t deserve—and realizes he’s never going to be able to talk Dean down from this. If he could, he wouldn’t be Dean.

He thinks about all he’s done to keep this part of his life safely tucked away. He cultivated a reclusive public image to keep Dean safe from being the husband of Castiel Novak, manager of the Novak Group. He expanded their territory to encompass the school Dean works at, something his family still holds against him as a waste of resources, to protect him from being the husband of Castiel Novak, leader of the crime syndacate. He’s hidden his marriage from nearly the entire family, labeling anything to do with Dean as the most privileged of information.

The only reason he’s still doing this at all, really, is Dean. He could have jumped ship when Michael died, when Gabriel left, when Lucifer took the fall and was sentenced to life, but that meant giving everything to Raphael, who promised to hunt both him and Dean down if he left. So he took the reins instead and he’s tried his best to keep his family safe while managing the business—both the above and underground aspects.

And now, despite all that, both Dean and his brother have somehow gotten themselves involved.

Dean is still staring at him, brows furrowed, and he doesn’t move away when Castiel reaches out to take both of his hands into his own. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and Dean looks taken aback but he doesn’t break the eye contact. “I love you. I don’t want you to end up in trouble.”

Something in Dean’s eyes softens. “Hey,” He squeezes Castiel’s hands lightly. “Come on. Have a little faith in me.”

And all Castiel can do, just like any time Dean looks at him like that, is smile back. And nod. And lean forward to kiss him, just once, softly.

“I do, Dean. I always do.”

Dean leans their foreheads together and Castiel can tell he’s still concerned, but he doesn’t want there to be any more yelling tonight, so instead he pulls back to lie down in Dean’s lap again. He hears Dean sigh before picking up the remote with the hand not still intertwined with Castiel’s, and then he restarts the movie, and Castiel tries not to think for the rest of the night.

————————————————————-

The next morning, though, he’s storming into his office, ready to lay into anyone involved with lying to him. He doesn’t get far—Naomi is sitting in his chair. At his desk. For a brief moment, he sees red.

“That’s my chair.”

His aunt regards him, cool as ever. “Is it?” she asks, and she stands, but only to walk around the desk and into his space. “And who gave it to you?” In her heels she’s taller than him but he glares anyway, refusing to be intimidated. He doesn’t respond.

“Why are you protecting Sam Winchester?” she asks after a moment of silence, still standing just as close.

“Why did you lie to me about the incident with Ishim?”

Naomi’s expression doesn’t change, but something close to surprise flickers across her eyes and she backs off to lean against his desk. “I suspect the answer to both of those questions is the same.”

“May Sunder was never supposed to die,” he presses, not backing down, and Naomi looks at him as if he’s being an unruly child.

“Yes, but her mother threatened to go to the police. Come now, Castiel, you’re old enough to understand these things.”

“I never authorized that.”

Naomi stands again. “You think you have to?”

This, of all things, catches him off-guard. “I—yes?”

His aunt steps forward, crowding him again, and he hates himself for taking a step back. “You’re a figurehead, Castiel. You’re in power because you’re Michael’s brother, people like you, and we thought you’d at least be loyal.”

“I am loyal,” he retorts, and she sighs.

“I’m not the only one who’s begun to question your sympathies, Castiel. Who are you loyal to?”

“My family.”

“Does that mean us? Or Dean Winchester?”

Castiel freezes, stunned. “How—”

Naomi cuts him off with a smile. “You think we don’t know? We’ve been letting you play house because it kept you distracted. Now, it seems, it’s making you weak. If you don’t fix this, I’ll have no choice but to cure you of that weakness.”

At last she steps away and turns towards the door. “You have an army here, Castiel. Don’t lose it for one man.”

And then she leaves.

And then, Castiel makes a decision.

In the next few hours, he makes several more—and then he’s driving home with all his family’s secrets copied onto a hard drive, the few items from his office that he actually cares about, and a plan forming on how to take the whole system down.

It’s almost funny, he thinks, the decision Naomi expected him to make—that she’d expected him to choose the family over Dean. That she’d expected him to choose anything over Dean.

She has no idea what’s coming.

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel one-shot #deancas fic #deancas #spn #the destiel starts after the cut!!#mafia!au #teacher!au #background saileen #my words #over 1k words

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 8 - Parisian Nightmares

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Summary: With Neil MIA you have some time to think about everything that happened. But you are not allowed peace at all..

Warnings: Swearing.

Author’s Notes: The longest chapter yet, so sorry for that. It’s a little bit of a filler slower one so hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

Supposedly the idea of having lunch with TP would have scared you more if it was not for the way he guided you through the experience. He ordered food from the dining hall and made sure you had your coffee before starting any serious topics. Your tired and confused self really appreciated the efforts.

“So what do you want to talk about?” you asked after finally feeling more like a functioning human being.

“I thought we could discuss the things to come…” he briefly searched for the right words “Parts of it is what Neil already knows, but some details are not meant for him” he looked at you with a serious gaze “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course” you nodded, feeling both intrigued and nervous.

Ever since the topic of The Algorithm has been first breached, you hoped to learn more. Probably Neil’s presence would have helped at the moment, but if that was not possible then you just had to face the truth calmly. If not now, then when?

“Can I ask something first?”

“Go ahead”

“My recruitment… it wasn’t just because I was recommended by my professor, was it?” you felt like you already knew the answer but had to ask anyway.

“No” TP smiled “I knew from a good source that we had to recruit you”

You stared at him, desperately trying to comprehend what he meant. Suddenly you understood Neil and his despise of half-truths.

“Can I ask who’s that source?”

TP just smiled apologetically, and you groaned.

“Right. Did Neil know?”

“No, I only told him that you have to be enlisted” at your questioning stare, he added “It’s safer that way” he shrugged as though it explained everything.

It did not, but you began to understand that it was not meant to make sense. A sentence said during one of your early lectures rung out in your head: Don’t try to understand it. Feel it. Maybe that was the whole point.

“So that’s how you know that I’ll be needed during the plan? From the source?”

“Kind of” he grinned again “It’s a very reliable source, I must add” he looked at you pointedly and laughed at your confused face “I swear this will get clearer with time”

The reassuring smile made you feel somewhat better. Taking a sip of the coffee, you considered what was being said.

“When does it all begin?”

“With action in Kiev Opera in a month, more or less. But in reality, it already began years ago”

You frowned, feeling your head go blank. TP was smiling, clearly enjoying your utter confusion.

“It’s okay, you’ll catch up eventually”

“Thanks, that’s encouraging” you lightly smacked him in the shoulder.

“I’ll give you more information leading up to Kiev and then after” he explained after a short silence “But you can’t know the whole progression of events. I’m the only one who is cursed with that”

The sudden change in the tone made you stare at him curiously. But his face was like a mask.

“For now though, you don’t need to worry about it” he smiled again “I’m sending you out on a quiet mission to Paris with one of our agents”

That was surprising. But you could do with a distraction.

“Okay… what’s the deal?” you leaned onto the table and flashed him a brilliant smile.

“You have to research one shady guy in Paris. It’s just observation so no need for engagement. The only trick is that you have to pose as a newlywed couple” he looked at you expectantly.

Oh…

“How long will this take?” you tried to focus on the details, not to think too much about the implications of the cover.

“Three weeks” he smiled at your glare “What? It’s gonna be nice! Three weeks in Paris and all you have to do is observe our target, Pierre or whatshisname, and cosy up with Jasper” the overly enthusiastic tone made you laugh.

“You made it sound almost fun” you admitted after calming down a little.

“Well, it’s always a break from spending time with Neil” TP looked at you with an amused expression “I’m sure you could use some of that” he winked.

You shot daggers in his direction, all the while feeling your face grow warm. Admittingly, time without Neil could be useful. You just were not sure it would do much at this point. You were beyond saving.

“When do I begin?”

“You’ll have a mission briefing tomorrow, and that’s also when you’ll meet Jasper” you nodded “And now I think you should rest a little” he eyed you carefully.

“You’re probably right” you both got up “Thanks for the lunch and the chat… It helped” you smiled lightly.

“My pleasure” he ignored your outstretched hand and gave you a quick hug.

After a small hesitation, you returned the gesture. It felt familiar, and you had no clue why.

“If you ever need anything, you know where to find me” TP smiled at you warmly.

“I’ll remember that” you grinned back and moved to open the door.

“Oh and don’t worry about Neil” you stopped in your tracks and turned to stare at him “I know that he can be extremely annoying, but he really cares about you”

You were speechless and could only nod in response. The Protagonist laughed at your expression before shooing you out of the room with a gesture. You gladly did just that.

*** One thing was for certain, life without Neil could be boring. You found out that much from the moment you came back to your room. After making sure the main casualty of the mission – your dress – was in the washing, you spent most of that afternoon staring at the ceiling. You were mostly thinking about how much your life has changed in the last weeks. And trying to avoid thinking about him because that could never end well. But of course, the universe had other plans.

Just as you were dealing with the fact that the dress was utterly ruined, your phone buzzed. It was late, and the number was used solely for personal reasons, so the sound made you frown. You looked at the screen to find a text message from an unknown number:

“How’s the dress?”

There was no signature, but you knew.

“How did you get my number?” you replied and quickly saved his contact details.

It didn’t take him longer than a minute to respond.

“Used the charm you’re so quick to ignore”

Ah, Anna’s help then.

“Why?”

“Couldn’t imagine not bothering you for too long”

You covered your face with your hands for a few seconds before typing back.

“The dress is ruined, so thanks for nothing”

The speed with which he responded took you aback. Surely he’d have better things to do...? It did not seem so.

“It’s hardly my fault, is it? That wasn’t my idea” you could almost imagine the self-satisfied grin.

“Point taken” you hit the sent button and then took a deep breath.

It’s not too early for double texting, is it?

“Where are you?” you typed another message before throwing the phone on the other side of the bed.

When it buzzed again, you regretted the decision. Pretending that you would be able to resist reading the message immediately was pointless. You reached for the phone and read his answer:

“On the way to Boston airport”

Great. At least now you knew that he is not around, and you can have time to think. But with those texts, it might be harder to do. Before you could overthink the response, another one came through.

“Be honest, how bored are you without me?” you wondered how someone could be so annoying via text message.

“I’ve been assigned a little mission in Paris, actually. With Jasper. So not that bored, thank you very much”

This time it took him longer to respond. Approximately 6 minutes. Not that you were counting.

“You’ll be bored soon enough if you’ll be stuck somewhere with Jasper. What’s the cover?”

You did not like the assumption, but who were you to argue.

“Newlyweds enjoying honeymoon” you typed back and closed your eyes.

Somehow his response to that information mattered a lot.

“I guarantee you’ll wish it was me soon enough” Fucking hell.

“That’s a bit narcissistic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe a little. But once you meet him, you’ll know I’m right”

“Well then I won’t hesitate to report back after the meeting” you replied and made sure to prepare yourself for the mission brief.

After you were done with planning the outfit and packing your folder, you glanced at the phone.

“Please do. I need to know what dear Jasper is up to these days”

“If you’re so curious about him, maybe ask Anna for his number ;) Sure she’d never deny you anything”

You weren’t sure where that came from, but sure enough, you were not going to take it back.

“Wow… Is that jealousy I’m sensing?”

“You wish” you glanced at the clock and realised how late it was.

“Goodnight, Neil” you sent him another text and went to the bathroom.

When you were back there was a message waiting for you.

“Sweet dreams, darling”

You groaned. In the end, it seemed like you will not be able to get a break from Neil. What a shame.

*** From the moment you stepped into the conference hall in the morning, you knew that Neil was right. Jasper was not one of the most entertaining people you have ever met. When you were introduced to each other he barely glanced up from the folder to look at you and half-heartedly shook your outstretched hand. You took a long look at him and his short brown hair and hazel eyes. He did look decent, to be fair. But he was not Neil. And you hated that your brain made that comparison straightaway.

“So what’s the task, boss?” the first time you heard his voice was when he addressed the Protagonist.

“You have to observe the target, Pierre Armand, who’s an inverted weapons dealer. You’re supposed to watch his every move and send daily updates but don’t engage. That will be the job for another team” TP looked at you both intently “Your cover is a newlywed couple going by the surname Morgan and who have just moved into their lovely suite next door to Armand” you’d swear he winked at you.

You glared back while your newly assigned partner studied the folder attentively. You wondered if he ever did anything else.

“When do we leave?” you decided to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Your plane is tomorrow afternoon” you nodded “Any other questions?” when neither of you spoke, he added “So I’ll leave you two to get acquittanced”

You stared at TP panicked, but he only flashed you one cheeky smile and left the room. That did explain why he and Neil got along so well. Grudgingly you turned towards Jasper, who was still pre-occupied with the damn folder. You cleared your throat, and he glanced up.

“So… have you been working here for a while?” you were shit at small talk.

“For three years now” he eyed you up sceptically “You’re the new recruit from London, aren’t you?” you could almost hear the condescension.

“Yes” it was not looking promising “Neil recruited me, and we’ve just been on a mission together in New York” you added.

It was a mistake. At the mention of Neil, Jasper’s eyes flared up, and he looked at you sharply.

“I heard that mission was a major fuck up” the vicious smirk took you aback “And poor Neil got shot”

You could only stare in confusion at the man in front of you. Boring and clearly having issues with Neil. Just bloody perfect.

“Anyway, I got to prepare” he got up “But mind you, Paris won’t be at all like an operation with that idiot” he glared at you.

“And what’s an operation with him like?” you were genuinely curious at this point.

“Overly dramatic” he made a grand gesture with his hands before slamming the doors in the wake of his exit.

He did have a point there. You sighed, grabbed your documents, and exited the hall. On the way to your room, you decided to give in to the temptation and typed a message to Neil.

“With grief, I have to admit you were right about Jasper”

You were not expecting a response instantly, so the buzz when you were pouring coffee into the cup made you jump up. Neil could make your life harder, even remotely.

“Told you. How is he doing?” you read the reply and grinned at the casual tone.

“He’s grumpy and hates you for some reason. Can’t wait to be stuck with him for three weeks” you sighed and accepted the grim fate.

“Sounds like him then. You never know, you might bond over your shared hatred for me”

You nearly choked on your coffee then. A fellow agent passing by on the corridor stared at you. This could only get worse.

“Think my hatred towards you has nothing compared to his. Any ideas why he’s like that?”

“Nothing concrete, but I’ve got a few vague theories. I’ll tell you when I’m back”

“Hope so. What time is it there?” closing the door to your room, you could finally behave like an idiot.

“Past 11 pm. Excited for your outing with Jasper?”

Asia then… You tried to think about any possible places he could be but came up with too many options.

“Not at all. Fully expecting my days will be spent wandering around Paris alone or watching French HGTV”

You decided to look through the folder to distract yourself from the increasing stress. This time you were supposed to be Amelia Morgan, wife to Nicholas Morgan. Amelia’s occupation was being an accountant, which sounded extremely boring, but at least you would get to experience the city. Your study was then interrupted by another text.

“You can always message me if you’re bored”

Tempting.

“Careful because I might”

“You better” To that, you did not know what to say,. so you just got lost in the preparations for the mission. This one was not looking good but there was no other choice. So you just focused on learning about your target. At least this time, there was no one to distract you.

Until another text came, a solid hour later.

“One clue about Jasper: Anna”

Oh not her again.

“Don’t tell me he’s hopelessly in love with her”

“Perhaps… And well, she has eyes for someone else so” and then “Not to be smug naturally”

You grinned at the screen.

“You do sound smug”

You had to admit that if Neil’s theory was true, it was rather heart-breaking for both Anna and Jasper. Not that you felt sorry for either of them.

“He might decide to take revenge upon me by breaking your heart”

You stared at the text and the many implications he could have meant it by it. And it was too much to figure out right now. Instead, you just typed back:

“Good luck to him” and then, with heart thumping wildly “Would you care if he did?”

You tried to ignore the phone when the answer came. But after an agonising minute spent reading the same two words over and over, you gave in.

“Maybe”

Right… You just had to add that question to the long list for when he’s back. You closed the folder with a flourish. All mental coherence was gone.

*** It turned out that Neil was not right about everything. If Jasper ever intended to claim and then break your heart, he was utterly shit at it. Since the day you moved into your cosy Parisian flat, he barely spoke a word to you. Most of the time, he was buried nose deep in the mission briefs or books related to strategies and secrets of arms dealing. If you had tasks to complete, he would often sideline you before doing the job himself while ignoring any help you offered. To put it straightforwardly, he pissed you off.

And yet, his eagerness to be entirely self-dependent meant that you had time to discover Paris and relax while still completing the mission in any way you could. You also had more than enough time to text Neil, who always responded to your messages promptly. You sometimes wondered if he ever slept or did anything but talk to you. Not that you did mind, of course.

Your patience towards Jasper, his silence and superiority complex snapped for the first time after a week and a half. You have both been sitting in the living room of your condo, just after finishing quiet dinner. You were bored, extremely so. You have reached for the television remote with the intent to put on some background noise to ease the tension. But the moment you have switched the tv on, Jasper spoke:

“Don’t turn this shit on, it’s distracting” he has not even lifted his head from the folder he was studying.

You glared at him sharply and decided that you have had enough.

“Distracting from what? It’s not like you’ve not read this at least five times today already”

That made him look up. And he was not happy.

“I’m working. You should try that sometimes” he eyed you pointedly.

“I would if you ever gave me a chance to do anything” you shrugged, already not liking the conversation.

“I gave you a few opportunities, but you were just lazy” he placed his documents aside and went back to glaring at you “All you do is knock around Paris and stay on your phone for hours” a vicious smile appeared on his face “You’re texting Neil, aren’t you?”

You were taken aback by the whole situation and unable to deny the truth. “Even if I am, that’s none of your business” you were desperately hoping he would shut up.

But it was too late, and Jasper has clearly been triggered.

“That’s quite pathetic. You should know he never actually cares about all those girls he flirts with” he seemed to judge you “And I don’t see why you could be different” the smug smile was cruel.

Now you knew why it was better when he stayed quiet. You scrambled for any words of defence, but he managed to hit the mark. Swallowing hard, you schooled your face and replied in the most neutral tone you could muster at the moment.

“I think you’re just pissed Anna prefers Neil over you”

That worked. You watched with satisfaction as his eyes widened, and you silently thanked Neil for the information.

“Anna has nothing to do with this” it was his turn to stumble over the words “You’re just unwilling to face the truth” this time his harsh words lacked the sureness.

You were winning.

“So are you” you shrugged “I’ve had enough of this. You can go back to your precious mission briefs” you got up and left the room without a further glance.

You had to admit that his words did upset you. Even when you almost certainly knew he was wrong your brain had its own doubts. Because what if he was right? That would hurt, more than you could acknowledge.

But before you could begin the overthinking, the phone you threw onto the bed buzzed. He always knew when to message.

“How’s married life with Jasper going?”

And naturally, he always asked the right questions too. You did hate him for that.

“Now I know why it’s better he reads his documents instead of talking” you replied and debated what to do next.

“What did he do?” Neil quickly texted back even though you were pretty sure it was early morning hours for him.

You did not want to get into a serious conversation over the texts.

“He got a bit riled up and said some bullshit that wasn’t fun to listen to” that seemed like an easy way out for now.

“Do you want me to send a team to eliminate him? It would look like an accident”

You laughed at the tempting proposition.

“I’ll think about it”

“Are you alright?” you stared at the new message.

You were not exactly alright.

“I will be”

Why did lying feel so bad?

You switched off the lights in the room and lied on the bed. Just a week and a half to go. You’ve got this… right?

*** The last week in Paris passed in relative peace. Mostly because you and Jasper stopped speaking to each other entirely. Occasionally you would notice his cruel smirk appear when he caught you texting, and you did your best to ignore it. However, it did hurt, and you had to admit that one argument has managed to uproot all the confidence you have had.

Peace ended abruptly on the penultimate day when it became clear that you were being followed. Jasper caught on to the fact after he noticed someone shadow you on your walk through the city. You hid in one of the cafes as soon as he has signalled the fact to you. You knew he was right the moment a random man peered into the darkened premises and then went on to loiter nearby.

“Right, what do we do?” you looked around, trying to stay calm.

It seemed like no one else was onto you. Jasper already looked pissed off, and you wondered if it meant that more pleasant things would be said.

“I suspect they’ve got doubts about the authenticity of our story” he was intensely scanning the horizon, looking for any threats “He’s still there, waiting for us to blow the cover or prove him wrong” he turned to you with the most unhappy face you have ever seen.

“What is it?”

You were not sure you wanted to know the answer.

“We made it this far. I’m not letting them fuck it up” he leaned towards you and closed the gap.

You were frozen in horror before your brain caught up with the fact that Jasper was kissing you. Then you closed your eyes and tried to reciprocate with the minimum effort needed for it to look believable. It was pretty horrible, to put it simply. He was kissing you sloppily with a tempo that you could not match. You felt his hand clumsily entangle in your hair only to make you flinch when he ripped out a few hairs. After a solid 30 seconds long snog, you decided that had enough. You leaned back, ignoring the overwhelming urge to wipe your lips with the napkin. He stared at you briefly with that same disgusted face before discretely looking for your trail. The man was gone. You could only hope it worked as you exited the café, holding hands.

On the way back to the apartment, you refused to look at him, somehow hoping that would get rid of the awful way you felt. Naturally, being a spy did involve doing things like that but for some reason, it was not easy. You hated the fact that your brain kept on rewinding memories from New York and, in the process, making you feel worse. Once you made it back, you locked yourself in the room, leaving Jasper to fill in the report. You were tempted to message Neil just for the sake of knowing his thoughts on what happened.

“Today was my lucky day, and I got to experience PDA with Jasper. Send help”

That would do nicely, right?

“Must say I didn’t expect that”

As you were desperately looking for something to text back, your phone did something you did not expect it to do. It rang. You stared in shock as Neil’s number flashed as the caller ID. With a shaking hand, you picked up the phone and pressed the green button.

“Neil?” your voice sounded incredibly awkward.

Great start.

“What happened?” hearing his voice after those three weeks felt surreal.

Was it your imagination, or did he sound slightly tense?

“Um… we were being followed outside, so we entered a café. The tail was observing us and…” you took a deep breath, suddenly extremely nervous “And Jasper decided to kiss me to authenticate the cover”

Neil was silent, and that did not help with the irrational anxiety, so you rambled on, losing control of what you were saying.

“Well, it was more of a snog judging by how it lasted for thirty seconds, but I think they bought…”

“Okay, stop” he interrupted you abruptly “I’m not sure I want to know the details”

“Why not?” somehow out of the mixture of anxiety and insecurity, annoyance emerged “Are you jealous?”

You regretted the question as soon as it left your mouth. And did not want to know the answer. Luckily he did not respond. Instead, he did what Neil does best:

“Who’s a better kisser?”

You could not believe the nerve of this man.

“You can’t be for real” you muttered and heard him chuckle on the other side.

“It’s a legitimate question” you could picture the shrug and a cheeky smile.

It seemed like the initial awkwardness was gone. At least for him.

“I…” you huffed, unable to express the mess of emotions you felt.

“Oh, I know it’s you, but I’m asking about me and dear Jasper”

If he were in front of you, you would have punched him. But instead could only let out a frustrated groan and attempt to answer the question. There was only one way to do it.

“You” you mumbled, making sure your voice was barely coherent.

But of course, he heard you.

“I’m flattered” he had the smug tone nailed to the t.

“Fantastic” you sighed “Why did you call me?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice”

“Right”

“And to get you to answer the question”

“Of course” you sighed again “Now I should finish before Jasper barges in” That was partially an excuse, partially a real concern as you glanced nervously at the thin doors separating the rooms.

“Sure, don’t want you upsetting your husband. However, I’d love to see his face when he hears that I kiss better than him” Neil mused, and you gave yourself the liberty to just listen to his voice.

“Well, I’m not telling him that so feel free to do so when you meet up”

Your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Surely Jasper would not eavesdrop on you…?

“I’ve got to go, bye Neil” you hoped your tone sounded at least half as urgent as you felt.

“Goodbye, love. Don’t let that idiot get to you”

“I’ll try”

You hung up just as the doors to the bedroom opened. Sure enough, Jasper was stood there, with a scowl on his face.

“What were you doing?”

“Just being pathetic, I guess” you shrugged and walked past him without a glance.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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schoolmascotbyday · 3 years

Photo

BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? “Frederick.”

Surname? “Frederickson.”

Middle names? “Flamarion.”

Nicknames? “Fred, Freddie, Dumbass, Knuckle Head, Idiot, Mr. Fred, Lizard Guy, Fredzilla… Fredzilla totally counts.”

Date of birth? “I was born on August 15th of 1997.”

Age? “I am twenty three years young.”

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? “Six foot even.”

Weight? “140 or something. Don’t body shame me.”

Build? “I guess I’d be a mesomorph.”

Hair color? “It’s blond-ish.”

Hair style? “Medium length. Sometimes it is straight, sometimes it has luscious waves.”

Eye color? “Grue. (That means green-blue.)”

Eye shape? “They’re kind of squinty, whatever you call that.”

Glasses or contact lenses? “No sir!”

Distinguishing facial features? “I have a big nose.”

Which facial feature is most prominent? “My nose.”

Which bodily feature is most prominent? “My chest.”

Other distinguishing features? “My hair. If you see my hair, you know it’s me.”

Skin? “White. Disturbingly white. I should get more sun…”

Hands? “Big.”

Make up? “I don’t understand how people wear makeup everyday. It’s hard. It would take me hours to not look like a clown. I wore eye shadow for the pride parade, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Scars? “Nothing too noticeable.”

Birthmarks? “Nada!”

Tattoos? “None, but I think one day I’ll get a big monster on my entire back .”

Physical handicaps? “I don’t have any.”

Type of clothes? “Worn out.”

How do you wear your clothes? “Too long.”

What are your feet like? “Also big. My socks are dirty. So are my shoes. There’s a hole in my favorite pair, and the bottom is coming off…”

Race / Ethnicity? “Caucasian.”

Mannerisms? “I am overexciteable and it shows.”

Are you in good health? “I keep forgetting to make a doctor’s appointment. Actually, I just don’t wanna do it by myself. But probably.”

Do you have any disabilities? “Fortunately no!”

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do you overuse? “I think I just shout too often.”

Do they you a catchphrase? “I say whoa-ho-ho a lot. Is that a catchphrase? Or should I have said that for my overused word and/or phrase?”

Are you more optimistic or pessimistic? “Optimistic!”

Are you introverted or extroverted? “Extroverted.”

Do you ever put on airs? “I turn the AC on a lot.”

What bad habits do you have? “Sometimes I chew with my mouth open and I stay up too late and I ramble and I don’t eat healthy foods and get obsessed with entertainment and I don’t blink enough when I’m playing video games and I choose being lazy over being productive and, oh, yeah, run-on sentences.”

What makes you laugh out loud? “A lot of things. I laugh all the time.”

How do you display affection? “Bear hugs and hair ruffles.”

Mental handicaps? “I don’t give myself time to be sad.”

How do you want to be seen by others? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How do you see yourself? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How are you seen by others? “I don’t worry about it too much.”

Strongest character trait? “I care so much.”

Weakest character trait? “I care too much.”

How competitive are you? “I can be kind of competitive, but I don’t trash talk or anything.”

Do you make snap judgements or take time to consider? “It depends on the situation, but I usually make snap judgements.”

How do you react to praise? “A lot of thank you!s and beaming.”

How do you react to criticism? “I don’t usually let it get to me, I try to be better.”

What is your greatest fear? “Losing another person I love.”

What are your biggest secrets? “Sometimes I say I know what I’m doing when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Shh.”

What is your philosophy of life? “Life is short, have fun.”

When was the last time you cried? “I don’t remember. A long time ago.”

What haunts you? “Losing Tadashi. Not being able to save him.”

What are your political views? “I’m probably a liberal.”

What will you stand up for? “Anyone that needs me to stand up for them.”

Who do you quote? “My friends. They’re so smart.”

Are you indoorsy or outdoorsy? “Indoorsy.”

What is your sinful little habit? “Buying a lot of merch. A lot of merch.”

What sense do you most rely on? “Definitely not common. Hearing.”

How do you treat people better than you? “I try to learn from them!”

How do you treat people worse than you? “I try to teach them!”

What quality do you most value in a friend? “Genuineness.”

What do you consider an overrated virtue? “Chastity.”

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? “I think I’d like to be smarter. Just a little bit, just enough to understand half of the things my friends talked about.”

What is your obsession? “Manga, comic books, video games.”

What are your pet peeves? “Being rushed, people being mean, being ignored.”

What are your idiosyncrasies? “I talk too fast.”

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is your family big or small? Who does it consist of? “Small. It’s just me, my dad, my mom and Heathcliff — the butler.”

What is your perception of family? “They’re supposed to be loving and accepting.”

Do you have siblings? Older or younger? “No. I think that would’ve been nice, though.”

Describe your best friend. “I have five, and they’re the best friends in the whole world. Tadashi isn’t here anymore, but he’s still one of my best friends. They’re all smart and unique and I love being around them.”

Ideal best friend? “Anyone who can be themselves around me.”

Describe your other friends. “Most of them are online.”

Describe your acquaintances. “I don’t have acquaintances, just friends.”

Do you have any pets? “I have a bunch of fish in my saltwater aquarium!”

Who are your natural allies? “Hm, Haven.”

Who are your surprising allies? “The rest of our friends.”

PAST AND FUTURE

What were you like as a baby? As a child? “Loud, wild, energetic, friendly.”

Did you grow up rich or poor? “Rich.”

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected? “I don’t want to say my parents neglected me…”

What is the most offensive thing you ever said? “I don’t even know of anything I’ve thought that was offensive.”

What is your greatest achievement? “My current grades.”

What was your first kiss like? “Quick and nervous.”

What is the worst thing you did to someone you loved? “I didn’t save Tadashi.”

What are your ambitions? “I want to write comics that people want to read.”

What advice would you give your younger self? “Enjoy being a kid while you can!”

What smells remind you of your childhood? “Freshly cut grass, pancakes, steak.”

What was your childhood ambition? “To be a superhero.”

What is your best childhood memory?

What is your worst childhood memory? “The birthday my dad told me they’d be home in time for, but missed. They didn’t come home for another week, and I’m pretty sure he forgot about it completely, because the handwriting on the card that ‘came in the mail’ looked an awful lot like Heathcliff’s.”

Did you have an imaginary childhood friend? “A few.”

When was the last time you were crushed with disappointment? “Sometime last month.”

What past act are you most ashamed of? “Shame is not an emotion I know.”

What past act are you most proud of? “Beating Dark Souls (Demons Souls).”

Has anyone ever saved your life? “Probably.”

Strongest childhood memory? “The day I broke my arm falling out of a tree.”

LOVE

Do you believe in love at first sight? “Why not?”

Are you in a relationship? “Nope.”

How do you behave in a relationship? “Like myself. I’m an affectionate guy.”

When did you last have sex? “It’s been about five months, probably.”

What sort of sex do you have? “All sorts.”

Have you ever been in love? “I fall in love all the time.”

Have you ever had your heart broken? “My heart broke when Tadashi… when I lost my friend.”

CONFLICT

How do you respond to a threat? “Just shrug and say ‘bring it’.”

Are you most likely to fight with your fists or your tongue? “I don’t like fighting, but I’ll do what a situation calls for.”

What is your kryptonite? “Funko Pops.”

If you could only save one thing from your burning house, what would it be? “My fish.”

How do you perceive strangers? “50/50. Could be friends, could be villains.”

What do you love to hate? “Cliffhangers and hard to beat games.”

What are your phobias? “Death.”

What is your choice of weapon? “Depends on the game I’m playing.”

What living person do you most despise? “I don’t despise anyone.”

Have you ever been bullied or teased? “I’ve been teased, but it doesn’t bother me much.”

Where do you go when you’re angry? “The kitchen to get a snack. The only time I get angry is when a game is being really frustrating.”

Who are your enemies and why? “I don’t have any, but maybe one day I will be a true crime fighter and I will.”

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is your current job? “Sign spinning.”

What do you think about your current job? “I love it. I don’t need the money, I just like bringing in more business to the local shops and showing off my skills!”

What are some of your past jobs? “I’ve never had to work.”

What are your hobbies? “Sign flipping, gaming, writing and drawing, reading comics, binging anime, practicing guitar, coming up with new costume ideas.”

Educational background? “I didn’t do so hot in high school, but I’m in college now.”

Intelligence level? “You could say I’m a selective learner.”

Do you have any specialist training? “I wish! That would be so cool!”

Do you have a natural talent for something? “I want to say my sign spinning is a natural talent — I kind of just picked it up one day and realized I was good at it. Also, super-hearing, headlights and flame throwing.”

Do you play a sport? Are you any good? “I’m not much of a sports guy.”

What is your socioeconomic status? “Ask someone who knows what that means.”

FAVORITES

What is your favorite animal? “Maybe lizards.”

Which animal do you dislike the most? “I don’t dislike any animals.”

What place would you most like to visit? “I’d like to go on a family vacation someday. I don’t really care where we go.”

What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? “The ending of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.”

What is your favorite song? “You’d laugh.”

Music, art, reading preferred? “Reading mixed with art.”

What is your favorite color? “Blue. No, orange. No, green! Yellow! I don’t know! There’s too many colors!”

What is your password? “FredzillaRulesTheWorld.”

Favorite food: “Changes too often to really say.”

What is your favorite work of art? “Death Note.”

Who is your favorite artist? “My dad. He counts, right?”

What is your favorite day of the week? “Sunday.”

POSSESSIONS

What is in your fridge? “A whole lot of ingredients I’ll never use and probably some I can’t pronounce.”

What is on your bedside table? “A lot of junk. I should clean that off...”

What is in your car? “Phone charger, aux chord, a half eaten bag of barbecue chips, stick of deodorant, loose change, hair ties.”

What is in your bin? “It’s empty. I have a butler.”

What is in your purse or wallet? “A group picture with my friends, money, a few different bank cards, a condom, more loose change.”

What is in your pockets? “My keys and my cell phone.”

What is your most treasured possession? “All of my pictures with my friends. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. You never know when you won’t be able to take another one...”

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? “I’m sure Tadashi is somewhere looking out for me right now.”

Do you believe in the afterlife? “Yes.”

What are your religious views? “Loosely Christian.”

What do you think heaven is? “A place where everyone is happy and free and there’s no pain. And you can play games all day.”

What do you think hell is? “Sad and lonely.”

Are you superstitious? “A little bit.”

What would you like to be reincarnated as? “A fire breathing dragon!”

How would you like to die? “In a way that matters. If I’m going to die, I’d like to save someone while I’m doing it.”

What is your spirit animal? “Probably iguanas or something.”

What is your zodiac sign? “Leo.”

VALUES

What do you think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? “Torture.”

What is your view of ‘freedom’? “Pretty much how my life is now. I can do what I want, when I want --- for the most part.”

When did you last lie? “It’s been a long time. I don’t lie unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

What’s your view of lying? “It can be easily avoided. Just be honest.”

When did you last make a promise? “I can’t remember.”

Did you keep or break your last promise? “I’m sure I kept it, I don’t make promises unless I plan to do something about it.”

DAILY LIFE

What are your eating habits? “Questionable.”

Do you have any allergies? “I’m allergic to assholes!”

Describe your home. “It’s big. Real big. The yard is big and freshly cut. There’s not a blimp of imperfection until you get to my room, then it becomes a randomized mess.”

Are your minimalist or a clutter hoarder? “Hoarder.”

What do you do first thing on a weekday morning? “Turn my alarm off.”

What do you do on a Sunday afternoon? “Relax. Wait for my dad to call.”

What do you do on a Friday night? “Stay up late gaming.”

What is your soft drink of choice? “Mountain Dew.”

What is your alcoholic drink of choice? “Just beer is fine.”

MISCELLANEOUS

What or who would you dress up as for Halloween? “Oh, I love Halloween! I go all out! I’ll dress as another superhero this year, or maybe a villain to spice it up!”

Are you comfortable with technology? “I love technology.”

If you could save one person, who would it be? “Tadashi. I wish I could’ve saved Tadashi.”

If you could call one person for help, who would it be? “Haven, she always knows what to do.”

What is your greatest extravagance? “All the merch in my room, or my tank.”

What is your greatest regret? “Not doing anything to help my friend.”

What is your perception of redemption? “Putting someone else before yourself. If you do that, if you selflessly risk your own life or needs or wants for another person, you’re obviously redeemed.”

What would you do if you won the lottery? “Donate it all to charity.”

What is your favorite fairytale? “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

What fairytale do you hate? “I don’t hate any fairytales. People put a lot of hard work into their stories and I respect that.”

Do you believe in happy endings? “I do.”

What is your idea of perfect happiness? “Living every day how you want to live it.”

What would you ask a fortune teller? “I’d give my opportunity to someone else. I don’t need anything answered.”

If you could travel through time, where would you go? “Back to save Tadashi or die trying.”

What sport do you excel at? “Is flame throwing a sport?”

What sport do you suck at? “Soccer. I get confused and score for the other team. Every. single. time.”

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose? “All of them! Fire breath, x-ray vision, flying, rocket fists, gravity manipulation, invisibility, walking through walls, the ability to teleport through people’s phones so if they needed me I’d be right there... yeah, all of them!”

#yes i gave him my birthday what of it #this one took me a hot minute whew #walttasks #tasks.

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eryiss · 3 years

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Chapter Five - The Cut

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. Hope you enjoy it. Also, this chapter has mentions of bullying and descriptions of blood,

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Five – The Cut

Melancholy wasn't the word. It wasn't.

Freed wasn't the type of person to get melancholy, he had never been governed by his emotions at all. He didn't look back on things fondly, nor did he feel a sense of sadness when parts of his life were over. Yes, of course things did make him emotional, but he was by no means the type of person to feel sad because something was over. Life moved on quickly, and so must he. It was the rational way to live his life.

It was a mantra he found himself repeating over and over again, as he walked through the house.

The nearly finished house.

The place was by no means a model home, but it worked as it needed to. Windows had been fixed, plumbing and electricals repaired, and structure reinforced. Walls were still stripped with remnants of old-fashioned wallpaper sticking to it, and the floorboards were bare, but it was a house again. It needed love, attention, and upgrading for anyone to actually want it. But it was liveable. Exactly what Freed had wanted. So, following the logic he lived his life by, he should want to sell the place instantly and get back to Era and work on his next case. It was the next logical step, and exactly what he should be doing.

Of course, he wasn't. Because despite it being in contrast with how he'd always lived, Freed felt an odd sense of reluctance to leave. He found himself more than once hovering over the call button on Gildarts' phone number, only to return his phone to his pocket with a muttered complaint of annoyance at himself.

It was pathetic really.

He tried to rationalise it, give his feeling a pragmatic explanation. He said it was because the house was an achievement for him. Something he had done with his hands. A practical achievement that stood out to him because most of his notable work was with the mind. And why would he want to leave something like that? It was a monument to what he could do when he put his mind to it, and he was proud.

But that was a lie, he knew that. The real reason he didn't want to sell the house was because it was the only thing tying him to Magnolia. And he wasn't ready to leave it yet.

Yes, of course he didn't need to own a house to visit the town. He had gained a solid friendship with Laxus, and had gained acquaintances with Laxus' own friends, and so he could justify visiting them from time to time. But the issue lay in that he didn't really want to come back from time to time. He'd gotten used to visiting for the weekends, and he didn't want to stop.

And he couldn't do that now. Not without everyone in the gossiping village knowing why he returned. Because they would, they'd see through it like glass, and Freed wasn't able to deal with that.

He wasn't good at being embarrassed. Never had been.

There were few situations in his life where he had actually been embarrassed, something that happened by design. There had been a few unfortunate instances in his teenage years that find themselves replaying in his head on random nights. So he had made a conscious effort to avoid any situation where embarrassment might occur. It was working well, all in all, and yet this village had this effect on him that made him question the choices that had kept him sane so far.

Freed shook his head. He wasn't getting melancholy, and he certainly wasn't getting self-reflective.

It did nobody any good.

He took a small sponge and slowly wiped down the table in Albion House's kitchen. It had been there when Freed had inherited it, and after Laxus had sanded it down and polished it, it was as workable as the rest of the house. Tonight was the first time the table was going to be used for its actual purpose. He and Laxus were going to have a meal together.

That didn't help the situation.

Because, clearly there was something more. Magnolia was a nice town, and the people in it were good to Freed, but nobody got that sentimental over a collection of buildings. People did, unfortunately, get sentimental about other people.

And annoyingly, Laxus was a good person. He was snarky, and had a bite to him, and he could challenge Freed without blinking. But he was also kind, and helpful, and when he was teaching Freed how to wire a socket or plumb in a toilet, he was patient and made sure to keep the mood light; particularly when Freed was on the edge of smashing the porcelain bastard with the wrench. He was a good man, and seemed to know how to handle Freed in whatever situation he was in.

Also, he was beautiful. Freed had withheld that admission for a while, but since they would likely part ways soon he wanted to be honest. Broad shoulders, a thin waist, striking blonde hair and bright eyes. Evergreen had been right; he was an Adonis.

It didn't help he had a rustic charm that attracted Freed more than it should.

Perhaps it was for the best that they wouldn't see much of each other. Freed wasn't the romantic type, he had more important things to do. And his attraction was born out of proximity. Laxus was an attractive man, but he was just a man. In one years' time, Freed would have forgotten about him, and his life would be normal again.

And hopefully those occasional dreams would pass too. Be them the disgustingly sweet, or the more… intense ones.

"Hey," A voice snapped Freed out of his thoughts. "I think it's clean."

Freed frowned, then looked down to the table he was cleaning. One particular part of the table in particular was shining more than others. Freed's hackles rose slightly at the teasing tone in Laxus' words, but he scolded himself in his head. Laxus hadn't known what he was thinking about, all he'd seen was Freed washing a table for far too long.

"Out of interest," Freed said, cautiously. "How long have you been here?"

"Fifteen minutes," Laxus grinned, raising the two pots of Chinese food. "Food might be cold."

"Fifteen minutes!" Freed exclaimed, almost horrified.

"It was like half a minute, moron," Laxus smirked, walking to the table, and placing their take-out on the table. "What were you thinkin' about that hard?"

"A case," Freed lied. He didn't have an active case at the moment, but he was probably going to be helping with one soon. When he went back to the city. Permanently. "It's nothing too troubling, really. It's actually quite an easy case really, but our client is high profile, and they might use our services again should they need it. So we need to be litigious and cordial."

"Can't imagine you enjoy being cordial," Laxus smirked. "Probably out of practice."

"And for that, I don't think I'll pay for my half of this," Freed said, reaching over and taking the pot of food from Laxus' hand.

"Kinda proving my point there, ain't ya?"

Freed smiled a little as he brought the chopsticks to his lips. They were having a meal together as a sort of goodbye evening – not helping with Freed's refusal to be melancholy about the situation. Because not only did it force him to confront the fact he's leaving, he has to do so with the man who's making it a lot harder to do so. Worse still, Laxus had looked so damn charming with a tediously honest smile when he'd suggested they eat together. It had sent a little jolt through Freed.

Bastard. Maybe he was doing it on purpose.

"I saw Cana while I was waiting for the food," Laxus spoke again, garnering Freed's attention again. "She mentioned that her dad's looking forward to seeing what we've done with the place, apparently he's been excited about it."

"Is he interested in buying it?" Freed asked, frowning.

"He's your estate agent, Freed," Laxus said in a deadpan voice, though he was clearly fighting a smile. "You should know that. It worries me that you don't know that."

"Gildarts is Cana's father?" Freed frowned further. "They have different surnames?"

"Fuck, sometimes I forget you ain't from here," Laxus laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair and grinning. "There's a hell of a lot you don't know, isn't there? Well, guess the best place to start is with Gildarts, ain't it. Or I guess a more accurate name is Gildarts, Man-Whore Extraordinaire."

And thus, Laxus began to tell the rumours and stories about what Gildarts was like when he was younger – he really did seem to earn the title Laxus had given him – before trailing off to the other stories about Magnolia. He spoke about his hometown with a level of enthusiasm that Freed enjoyed watching, and found himself getting enveloped in the worlds that Laxus was describing. Though he might not be quite as eloquent as Freed was, he certainly made up for it with boisterous laughter and an odd amount of glee at exposing his friends embarrassing stories.

It was almost enough to distract Freed from what Laxus had said. 'I forget you ain't from here.' It was a little sentence, probably a throwaway thought to Laxus, but it made Freed feel oddly comforted. As if he had been accepted into this little community.

A ridiculous idea, really.

He blinked to stop that train of thought, and focused on the story about Elfman. Apparently he had been dragged into some comic book convention by his sisters and had been forced to dress as a monster from a book series. He apparently hated every moment of it, and Laxus had spent the years following showing the pictures of him in the costume at every opportunity he could. To prove his point, Laxus had pulled out his phone and showed Freed.

It was a better costume that Freed expected. But it revealed far too much for the shy, younger version of Elfman that Laxus had described.

Freed did find himself distracted by Laxus, thankfully. But it wasn't quite enough, because as he listened, he absently lowered his left hand under the table and started to swirl his finger against the palm of his hand. Perhaps he wouldn't have noticed the return of his nervous tick, had it not been for the raised scar that he grazed lightly.

It was new, and when he touched it and thought back to its origin, any lie about not being melancholic was shattered.

~~~

"Shit. Fuck. Fuck."

Freed hissed, pain splitting from his left hand up into his arm. He stepped back slightly, eyes flickering to the large gash that he'd just given himself, along with the thick blood that was fighting to get from it. It was a nasty looking cut, and Freed found himself unable to look away from it.

Laxus, who had been crouching down and pushing new floorboards into place, glanced towards Freed with a slight grin. The expression fell when he saw blood drip onto the floor, and he stood up quickly and walked to Freed's side. He took Freed's injured hand in his own, and let out a small hiss of sympathy as he saw the cut. Ridiculously, Freed couldn't help but note that Laxus was holding his hand for the first time.

"That's pretty nasty," Laxus commented.

"Is it," Freed muttered. "I thought it was a papercut."

"Good, if you can be a dick then it ain't that bad," Laxus smiled. "Come on, we need to wash it."

Not removing his hand from Freed's wrist, he dragged the lawyer from the cottage's sitting room and into the kitchen. Freed didn't fight it, instead focusing on catching the droplets of blood rather than letting them land on the carpet and stain it. It was a good enough distraction from both the stinging pain that was running through him, and the presence of Laxus being so close.

It wasn't a distraction from the embarrassment of the situation. Because after being successful at almost every task Laxus had given him, he cut himself sawing off the edge of a floorboard. Out of all the tools he's used, he was bested by a sawblade.

"This ain't gonna hurt a bit," Laxus promised as he opened the faucet and dragged Freed's hand under the stream of water.

Laxus Dreyar was a lying bag of shit.

"Mother fucking crap-whore!" Freed practically yelled. There was a moment of silence, Freed almost panting with pain, and Laxus biting his lip. A second later, a loud, unabashed, raucous laughter filled the room. Laxus actually doubled over he was laughing so much, resting his hands on his thighs while Freed glared at him from the sink. "I'm glad you're enjoying this so much."

"I'm sorry," Laxus grinned, something almost akin to a giggle slipping out. "I really am."

"No you're not."

"I'm not," Laxus agreed. "It was fucking funny, man. I ain't ever seen ya acting like that. Just caught me off guard," He glanced up, met Freed's glare, and burst into laughter again. "I'll get a bandage. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Freed muttered. "And try not to fall, impale yourself on a spike and die. That would be awful."

"Don't worry. Only an idiot could get hurt in this place," Laxus laughed again, and if Freed had something in reach, he would have thrown it at the bastard's head.

When Laxus returned to the kitchen, he was holding the first aid kit that he had insisted they keep in the house; no doubt when the humour of Freed's injury and subsequent cussing died down, Laxus would gloat about how right he was with demanding the first aid kit. He carefully guided Freed's hand out from under the stream of water, and patted it dry softly with a towel. Freed winced a little at the pressure on his cut, but didn't say anything.

Slowly, with careful and practiced movements, Laxus wrapped the bandage around his hand. He managed to avoid trapping any of his fingers. Though the white fabric did get stained slightly, it seemed to trap the blood from pouring out too badly. The pain was subsiding slightly now, too.

It allowed him to appreciate how gentle Laxus was being. He wasn't used to thinking of Laxus being gentle.

"How do you know how to do this?" Freed asked, sitting at the kitchen table.

"I used to have to do it all the time," Laxus sighed a little as he spoke, removing his hands from the bandage and inspecting his handywork. He looked up to Freed, who was frowning at him slightly. "I had a lot going on when I was a teenager, got into a lot of fights. Well, that's how I saw it. Turns out I was kind of a bully."

Freed frowned deeper. "You were?"

"Yeah. Didn't think I was, at the time, but I went to therapy for a while and she called me out on it," Laxus shrugged. "But yeah, a couple times a month I'd fight some kid. Had a superiority complex or some shit, wanted everyone to worship me and do what I want. Cringey teenager shit and a lot of aggression, bad mix. Eventually, when the guys started to fight back, I needed to learn some basic first aid."

When Laxus looked up, Freed had an expression of curiosity on his face. It clearly wasn't what Laxus had expected.

"Was it the therapy that made you stop, then?" Freed asked, and Laxus seemed blind sighted for a moment.

"Er, no. Not exactly," Laxus shook his head. "There were two kids that pissed me off more than most, don't know why. So when things were getting bad, I kinda… targeted them more than anyone else. Natsu and Gajeel, you might have met them at some point. Fireman and mechanic. But they got pissed at me for taking things too far, jumped me, beat the shit out of me, then went to the principal and told him all the shit I've done. Got suspended, thought about myself, and started meetin' with Porlyusica; she's my therapist. She basically listed all the shit I've done and made me be better."

Freed took a moment to think through what he'd just heard. It was the best thing to do, he'd found out. Sometimes people let out their biggest, darkest secrets to him – the curse of being a lawyer – and your first thoughts on the matter were often unhelpful. So he took some time, and eventually asked the question that seemed most prudent.

"Your principal suspended you without evidence?" Freed asked.

"Oh he had plenty of evidence," Laxus laughed. "Hard to get shit past the guy when he's your grandfather."

"Makarov?" Freed frowned.

"Yeah, used to be in charge of the school. Only retired because the school board forced him to," Laxus grinned. "He started working at the hotel because he found retirement boring," Laxus smiled for a moment at the memory of his grandfather's sudden proclamation he was buying the hotel, before looking back to Freed, smile drooping slightly. "I just admitted to beating up kids and being a bully, why doesn't that bother you?"

"Some of my clients intentionally lower their workers' wages to increase their own paycheque, and then laugh about it," Freed shrugged. But Laxus nudged him, sensing there was more. "Nobody was there best in high school, I certainly wasn't."

"You were a bully too huh?" Laxus laughed, joking.

"Well, not exactly, but I wasn't the most kind," Freed leant back in his chair. "I was the smartest person there and wanted people to know it. I would start discussions on test results just so I could make sure everyone knew I'd gotten one hundred percent. And there was one boy, he wasn't the smartest, who sat beside me in most classes. Alphabetised seating plans and all. I could be rather… patronising to him. I think I had a crush on him, in retrospect. It was probably a twisted way of trying to deal with it."

"You don't seem like that now," Laxus commented. "Other than when you're joking, but I know that ain't serious. What changed?"

"Evergreen and Bickslow essentially told me that if I didn't get over myself, they'd stop being my friends," Freed smiled. "Other than them, I only had my parents. I couldn't lose them."

They sat in silence, Freed thinking back to the person he was in high school, Laxus perhaps doing the same thing. It was an odd feeling, sitting with someone who somewhat understood what it was like being ashamed of the person you used to be, but knowing you've grown past them. Most people, if they did feel like that, didn't talk about it. It was nice to know that, in Laxus, he had someone he could relate to.

It was also nice to know that he had just come out to Laxus and the blonde hadn't so much as blinked.

"I would have kicked your ass if we went to school together," Laxus declared, smirking.

"You would have tried," Freed corrected, allowing the mood to be lifted. "But, as a child I was also an award-winning fencer. I would have stabbed you before you could hurt me."

"Hard to stab someone when you've been knocked out," Laxus grinned cockily, making a fist. This had the unfortunate side effect of making his bicep flex, and therefore Freed had to avert his gaze.

They chuckled together, enjoying their joke that wasn't particularly funny. It was relaxing to be around with Laxus, and Freed felt as though he could be honest with him in a way that he couldn't be with others. Perhaps that was because he was the first person Freed had gotten to know deeply since his time in school. But that didn't matter, really. Because the important thing was that he enjoyed Laxus.

"Come on," Laxus spoke again. "I don't trust my bandage work. Let's go to the doctors, make sure you ain't gonna get infected or some shit."

And stupidly, Freed's heart fluttered at that.

~~~

"You really are distracted, ain't ya?"

Freed looked up from his hand, which he had placed on the table and was fiddling with, and towards Laxus. The blonde had an expression unknown to Freed, something between being amused and contemplative. Freed frowned.

"I suppose I am," Freed agreed. "I'm sorry. You wanted to do this and I'm being terrible company. What were you saying?"

"It ain't important," Laxus gave a half shrug. "You wanna tell me what's bothering you?"

"As I said, I've got an upcoming case that could be very good for my company," Freed quickly lied, because the truth was now completely untellable. "It's getting to me a little, but it's not as bad as you might think. I just need to rationalise everything."

"Right. So when I texted Evergreen a second ago and she said you don't have anything planned at work, she was lying?" Laxus crossed his arms, and Freed's eyes narrowed.

"You and Evergreen talk?"

"You can bullshit me all you want, but I'm gonna be able to see through it," Laxus said, ignoring Freed's question. "And you don't have to tell me what's actually bothering you, because if it ain't my business then it ain't my business."

Freed wanted to snipe at him. Ask him why, if he believed his words, was he still talking?

"I'm just gonna say this," Laxus continued. "Nothing has to be done if you don't want it to be."

And, in a way, there was the reality that Freed had been hiding from. Because, as much as he didn't want to leave Magnolia behind, he also didn't want to let himself think he could stay. The hard line he had always drawn with the house was that, once it was functional and sellable, he would sell it and get back to his normal life. Not only was it a goal for him to achieve, but it had also turned into a rule he had to follow.

Because his fondness for both the town and Laxus had been gradual, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Freed. He told himself he had to leave the place behind at some point, and doing that once the house was sold was a way of holding himself accountable. Once the building work had been completed, there was nothing else for him to do in Magnolia.

But that was a lie.

And the only person keeping him true to the rule was himself.

"I always said that I would sell it once everything was fixed," Freed stated, voice flickering into the lawyer tone he denied having.

"Then say something else," Laxus retorted, as if Freed could do that. "Look, I don't know what your life is like when you're in the city. But I know you seem to like being here. So why don't you just keep coming?"

"I-" Freed paused. He needed to think. "My real life is in the city. I can't-"

"Who says that your real life is just in the city? You've been coming here every weekend for months now, it's as much a part of your life as anything," Laxus stated, and his smile made Freed's resolve crumble slightly.

"I told myself that once the house-"

"This isn't about the house" Laxus insisted. "This is about you, fucking idiot. I think being here makes you happy. And if something makes you happy, why stop because of some bullshit rule you set yourself? That ain't smart."

Freed thought, for a moment.

It was almost nauseating to hear Laxus speaking like this, and Freed couldn't explain why. Well, perhaps he could, but the explanation wasn't something he was willing to entertain. Because the only real reason Laxus would be so insistent on Freed returning to Magnolia as he had been doing was because he wanted to keep seeing Freed. He wanted Freed to stop coming as much as Freed wanted to.

But Freed couldn't allow himself to accept that. Because if he did, he'd start wondering why. And then maybe he'd trick himself into thinking that his silly crush was reciprocated. He couldn't.

"There is… more work I could do," Freed spoke without thinking.

"I guess there is," Laxus nodded. "So you're sticking around? For the house"

"For the house."

It wasn't for the house. They both knew it.

#Fraxus Day 2020 #Fraxus Day #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #Event #Multichapter #Word Count 4.1k #Fuckyeahfraxus

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wewillwriteyou · 5 years

Text

Friends Will Be Friends || Chapter 5

A few elements from the main plot: A very special group of friends: early days, drama, laughter, booze, success, rock stars life, girl power, friendship, love, sex, music, misunderstandings, some more drama, family. Pairings in the tags

Summary Chapter 5: Melissa’s point of view. Concert. A lot of awkwardness and misunderstandings (aka drama). It’ll make sense once you read it, I swear.

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: little smut (kissing, touching), some fluff, tiny drama (the perfect recipe?)

A/N: Guys! I know I’ve said it already but things reeeally start to get interesting. Make sure you got the previous parts (you find the link into the description of this blog) and stay tuned for the next ones ‘cause the best is yet to come lovelies 💖😏 As usual, if you like what you read, comment, like, reblog and share this with others! For everyone who follows and supports this story, thank you guys (you know who you are)! You are real stars! ⭐💗

Days went by and Mel started losing hope that John would call her.

She hated the fact that she was so disappointed: they hadn’t promised anything to each other, so he was not totally at fault. Still, she had hoped to hear from him. She also hated the fact that his face would pop out in her head in the most inappropriate situations.

On Wednesday during class, when she was writing down equations, a variable named J popped up and she couldn’t help but smile, and go back to the concert when he had held her tight and kissed her passionately. She missed almost half an hour of lesson forcing her brain not to think about him.

By the weekend she was frustrated and almost angry at him, for not calling and Mary and Chelsea noticed something was going on with her.

When Mary asked her about it, she considered the chance of talking to someone about what was going on inside of her, so that it wouldn’t all be in her head.

“It’s just… It’s about this jerk I made out with last week” she laughed a little, seeing the girls widening her eyes hearing her talk like that “don’t be so shocked, I’m not a prude, girls”

They chuckled “Well, I gave him my number and, you know, since I enjoyed myself, I hoped he had too but he hasn’t called, so… I guess he hasn’t, after all” she laughed, feeling herself flush in embarrassment.

Mary jumped right in “Oh honey, don’t say that! He probably is just a jerk. I wouldn’t worry about him… I would go out tonight and look for someone else to enjoy” she smirked and Mel giggled.

“Darling do not dare to doubt yourself” Chelsea added, smiling and rubbing her shoulder “Tonight my roommate is playing near the Imperial. We should go and dance our asses off. We need to forget about all the fucking boys that hunt our lives” she continued, laughing and putting her arm around Mel’s shoulder.

“I’m absolutely in! Three single girls, ready to conquer the world and leave a trail of broken hearts” Mary exclaimed lifting her fist in the air.

They all laughed and, after closing the shop, they arranged to meet at the bar later in the evening.

Mel was aware of the fact she wasn’t completely over the whole John story, but her friends’ enthusiasm was bloody contagious and she couldn’t help but feel excited.

She desperately needed to boost her self-esteem, so she decided to wear the floral dress that always put her in a good mood.

When she got out of her bedroom she found Roger packing up some things for the gig they had that night. When he glanced at her he immediately stopped,

“Wow sis, where are you going?” he said, a bit of disapprovement in his tone

Mel was weirdly pleased by his reaction “Out with the girls” she said.

“You have girl friends?” he joked acting surprised.

“Yeah, Rog, and they’re off limits okay? Not that I’d let you near one of them anyway…”

He chuckled “Don’t worry sis, there are loads of other fishes in the sea”

“You’re disgusting” she said, laughing a little.

“Sweet as always, Mel. You watch yourself tonight, okay?” he changed tone, mid-sentence, actually concerned for his little sister. He knew perfectly well how guys could be. Hell, he was one of those guys and he didn’t care about what other people thought of him, but the idea of her sister as a one-night-stand girl made his blood boil in his veins.

“Don’t worry, Rog, I can take care of myself, okay?” and she really meant it.

He left her a piece of paper with a number on it “It’s the number of the pub we’re playing in. If you have any problem, please just call me”

“Okay Rog, thanks. Have fun and don’t wait up” she winked at him before closing the door.

Roger had never seen her so enthusiastic about going out and had the strange sense something was off with his sister. He tried to shun the bad feeling and focus on the instruments he was packing.

“Relax mate, she’s a smart girl” Brian appeared behind his shoulders and Roger nodded distractedly, his mind was somewhere else. Brian knew him too well and immediately understood that he wasn’t only thinking about his sister in that moment. “It can’t be true. You’re still thinking about her?” Roger rolled his eyes and headed to the door. But Brian stopped him.

“You’re being ridiculous”

“Okay, then tell me you’re lying and I’ll stop”

“Fine. I’m still thinking about Chelsea, are you happy now?” Roger didn’t even give Brian the time to speak, pushed him aside and opened the door, going down the stairs. Brian smirked and followed him.

***

Outside the pub, you could already feel the acre smell of alcohol spilled on the floor and the heat of the bodies dancing to the beat of the music.

The girls entered just when the first band finished their set and announced a few minutes break. The crowd was huge and the girls managed to squeeze and slide into the first row in the corner near the bass amplifier.

They chatted livelily, scanning the first rows, looking for familiar faces. Their attention was caught by a guy with black hair and an eccentric blouse decorated in gold and green, who came on stage to fix the microphone. Mel thought he was unmistakable: that was Freddie. He recognized her and waved at her, causing a lot of people to turn their heads towards her.

“Oh my God Mel did he just wave at you?" Mary asked with dreamy eyes.

“Yes, that's Freddie. He's the lead singer in my brother's band-” she wasn't even finished when Mary said:

“That's freaking cool, why did you not tell us? We've been - well, I've been - wanting to meet him since I started uni. He's kind of a big deal in our course, you know? He has even published a small brand of clothes”

“I guess I didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know they would be playing here tonight” Mel chuckled at Mary's adoring look “I can introduce you later if you want” and the girl vividly nodded.

Mel turned chuckled again and turned to Chelsea, asking:

“Chel what's the name of your roommate's band?”

“I actually don't know… I heard they were looking for a new one, but I can't really remember what they used to call themselves before” “Did he mention Freddie? Cause if he did, he might be playing with my brother” Chelsea opened her mouth but was interrupted by Freddie, as he greeted the audience: “Good evening, darlings” he started “Freddie here, and this is Queen. We're here to entertain you this evening, if you'd like"

The crowd cheered.

“Alright!” he incited them “let’s hear a round of applause for the rest of Queen. At the electric guitar, we have Mr. Brian May” and he pointed at the tall guy approaching the guitar stand, who smiled politely and waved at the cheering crowd. He winked at Mel, surprised of seeing her there. But he didn’t notice Chelsea, that was trying to convince herself with her whole heart that that guy wasn’t the tall boy she had met in Roger’s apartment a week before.

“At the drums, we have Mr. Roger Taylor"

Every single girl in the pub screamed at the mention of her brother’s name and Mel wooed along with them. Roger winked at her as soon as he caught her face: he hadn't expected her to be there, but he was glad she was, so that he could keep an eye on her.

As he thought that, he realized that the girl standing next to her, eyes widened and cheeks flushing, was the girl from the previous weekend; the one that had crashed into his life, stole one of his favorite shirts and left him with a thousand questions and a stupid smile on his face. His heart raced more than he expected, as a feeling of happiness started to grow in his chest.

Chel had an interrogative face as she tried to figure out why he had winked at Mel. Was he her brother? In that moment, surrounded by the chaos, she started to wonder what Mel’s surname was and her questions got lost in a side of her mind when she looked again at Roger.

When he smirked in her direction, she could feel her cheeks flush even more as she forced down a smile. She pinched herself because she couldn’t believe her eyes. She couldn’t stop looking at Roger either but tried to calm herself down, to avoid recalling Mel’s attention.

“And on bass guitar, our new entry, please a round of applause for John Deacon”

John stumbled on stage and awkwardly smiled and waved at the public. His eyes searched the room for Chelsea and when he saw her in the front row, cheering for him, red cheeks and proud eyes, he smiled to her fondly.

In the exact same moment, his sight focused on the girl standing next to her: he felt his cheeks flush and he widely smiled at her.

Mel was incredulous: how could he just smile like that? And the thing she hated the most was the fact that she could not control the heat sprouting throughout her whole body. She wanted to hide what was going on in her mind trying to keep an expressionless face, but she was not sure she had succeeded. She also couldn’t stop her mind but think that John had to be Chelsea’s roommate, so Mel turned around to find her with the same confused look on her face.

Mary had noticed the looks the four of them exchanged and she put the pieces together: she couldn’t help but smile widely at how wonderful destiny had worked to arrange those incredible coincidences.

The guys started playing and the tension lifted off as the rhythm of Keep Yourself Alive pervaded the pub. Heads nodded along with music and feet kept time. The crowd was captured by their music and when they announced the end of their set, they all applauded and cheered the band.

Mel was extremely proud of them, she had never seen such a response to their concerts and she had been at most of them. They seemed to have enchanted the audience and though she still had mixed feelings towards John, she couldn’t be more amazed by his talent and how he completed perfectly the band.

The band packed their instruments and spread among the crowd. The first thing Mel did was walk up to Freddie, dragging Mary by the arm and introducing them. His eyes lit up as he shook her hand and gave it a gentle kiss. Mary was about to melt and had a smile going from ear to ear.

Mel knew that was a good match and excused herself to leave them some privacy.

As she turned on her heels she bumped into someone’s chest and when she looked up, some big grey eyes were staring at her.

“I was looking for you” John said to her ear, sending shivers down her back. Mel was still determined to keep him on edge and objectively analyze his intentions.

Seeing she was unwilling to answer, John added “I think we’re pretty lucky”

Mel furrowed her eyebrows and he explained “You said we might have not been lucky enough to find each other again. But here we are” he said with a smile “So, I guess we’re pretty lucky”

She wanted to punch that handsome smile off his face: we haven’t seen each other because you didn’t call me, jackass. That’s what she wanted to say, but what she heard herself say was “The universe loves to prove me wrong”

What the hell was that? she thought. She desperately wanted to be angry at him but she also desperately wanted to kiss him again, and the most irrational part of her conscience won.

She urgently crashed her lips onto his and John couldn’t help but smile against her lips. He had missed them so much, he thought he might have been dreaming. They pulled back to grasp some air; he looked into her eyes and whispered “You are truly beautiful tonight”.

She smiled and took his hand. They both became serious for a moment, and stared at each other, trying to understand what was going on inside the other’s mind. They slowly walked hand in hand towards the less crowded side of the bar, which led to the back of the building.

When they were sure to have some privacy, they grinned and started from where they had left off.

He pinned her back to the wall and deepened the kiss, his hands exploring her lower back and waist. When his hand went up under her dress and started to gently caress her bare skin, she moaned into the kiss. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and she could feel herself melt under his touch. She ran her fingers in his hair while he left sloppy kisses on her neck; Mel had to bite her bottom lip to keep from moaning again.

All the anger she had stored, had slipped away and all she could think about was how good his hands felt on her hot skin. She pulled him even closer to her, pushing her hips towards his and feeling the bulge growing in his pants.

He suffocated a moan when he felt her hand sliding between their bodies, reaching for his belt. He pulled away from her neck to look into her eyes: all he could see was desire and lust and he was sure as hell, that just that sight could have ended him.

He gathered all the strength he had, smiled at her and placed a hand on hers “Not here”

Mel was disappointed, to say the least, and when he noticed, John continued “I want you all for myself, Melissa.” He was looking her intensely and she could feel her legs melting in the ground “All for myself, but not here” he stated, looking languidly into her eyes.

If possible, she was even more excited than before, but she knew he was right: that was not the place where she wanted it to happen. She stole another, passionate kiss and then took his hand. They dove into the crowd one more time and slid onto the dance floor.

A slow song was playing, so they wrapped their arms around each other and kept on dancing like that for a while. They had pretty much cleared what they wanted from each other, so they had nothing more to do, if not abandon themselves to the music.

Mel gathered courage and asked with trembling voice “Are you gonna call me this time?”

John was perplexed by her question and then realized she had never gotten the message from Brian. He was too inebriated by the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin, to think about why Brian had not told her. He just answered, “I am, darling”.

And he tightened the hug just to make sure she knew he meant it. He would have kept calling and calling until he had heard her voice on the other side.

Mel didn’t know exactly why, but she felt sincerity in his tone and could not help but look forward to finding out whether he would keep his promise.

Chapters: ⤎ previous | next ⤏

A/N: Hi again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter 💗 we’re gonna tag the lovely people who read, liked and commented the previous chapters. If you want to be tagged in the next one, comment under this one or leave us a message. Our inboxes are always open for you beautiful people

Tag list: @littledarlingwellaway @its-a-metephor-brian @bohemiandelilah @onevisionliz @misshystericalqueen @loki-lover095 @deakysgurl@inthelapofthe39 @starsoflovingness-wq @minetticatinwonderland@cairdes20 @friendswillbefriendsblog @o-holynight @trash-record-collection @please-stop-me-now @theappleofmybri @marvelsbunch [if your name is crossed out, we couldn’t tag you 😢 please message us, and we’ll sort it out 😘]

Cheers, folks! ✌💖

#john deacon smut #john deacon fluff #john deacon x oc #roger taylor smut #roger taylor fluff #roger taylor x oc #John deacon imagine #roger taylor imagine #queen imagine #70s queen #fwbf #friends will be friends #wewillwriteyou #deakyswhitequeen #sweetgcreature #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #borhap boys

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jq37 · 5 years

Text

A Slight Miscalculation

Summary: In which Georg Accidentally Ruins Christmas and Does Damage Control (OR The One Where Amalia Does NOT Take the Reveal Well).

Don’t be fooled by the fact that I’m posting this right in time for the holiday season and think I’m on top of things in any way. I actually just got lapped by the entire rotation of the planet because this was supposed to be done like a year ago. So, really, the joke is on all of us.

I also posted this on Ao3 if you want proper formatting all the way through. Tumblr is just...you know.

In the end, it takes Georg three words to ruin Christmas. Or, if you take the long view, it takes him thousands of words followed by three words at the exact wrong time to the exact wrong person. Which is especially unfortunate because they were meant to be at the exact right time to the exact right person.

But the specifics don’t matter. All that matters is that Amalia is standing with her back to him in the middle of Maraczek’s, shoulders shaking. And for one, stupid, naive moment, he actually thinks it’s with excitement. He thinks she’s going to turn around, eyes shining and melt into him and kiss him and cue the violins.

That fantasy is quickly set aside when she turns slowly, meets his gaze, and reverses his declaration at him. “You’re Dear Friend?”

And that’s when Georg realizes two things: He has made a huge miscalculation and he has never actually seen Amalia truly angry before now.

Sure, he’s seen her upset. Really upset. Really really upset. But only ever over relatively small things like his teasing and...well mainly just that. It was always superficial anger, with shallow roots. If she’d really hated him as much as she’d seemed to, a small favor like bringing her ice cream and a few kind words wouldn’t have been enough to earn him a clean slate.

But now? Back at the Cafe Imperial, she’d wished the fires of hell onto him. Now, it feels like she’s about to personally fulfill that threat.

“I...ah--” He hasn’t prepared for this. He scrambles for a response before settling on answering her clearly rhetorical question. “Yes. I am.”

Amalia closes her eyes and presses her lips together in a tight...smile? Smirk? She taps her fingers against her lips and Georg thinks she’s gathering her thoughts. Tap, tap, tap. He braces for her response, but is caught completely off guard when she snatches her hat off of her head and chucks it at him.

“How dare you?”

Georg doesn’t bother to dodge the hat. “Amalia, I--”

“How long have you known?” she demands.

“Not the whole time. I--”

“How long, Georg?”

“Since the day at the Cafe,” he answers quickly. “I saw you through the window with the book and the rose and I put it together.”

His candor has the opposite of the intended effect on her. She crosses her arms and--yeah, it’s definitely a smirk. “Oh, I see. You saw me sitting there and you thought, ‘You know what would be hilarious?’”

His hands go up instinctually, as if he can physically shield himself from the accusations. “Amalia, no! I--”

“You thought, ‘I’ll get her defenses good and down.’”

“I didn’t--”

“‘I’ll pretend to be friendly with her.’”

“That wasn’t--”

“‘And right when she thinks we’re friends--’”

“We are friends!” he finally gets out. His first full sentence in what feels like ages and he can’t stop saying words because he feels like he won’t get another chance to speak if he does. “Of course we’re friends. Amalia, please, I just…” He can feel himself getting hysterical and he stops himself.

Amalia seizes the beat of silence.

“Do friends lie to each other?”

“Lie to you?” Sure he didn’t tell her about the letters but lie? “When did I--” His mind calls up the memories that answer his own question.

“He certainly seemed well fed,” he hears himself say. “That's not so unusual in a man his age.”

Mentally, he curses himself. “Why did I say that?”

“Why would you say that,” she almost echos, “except to tease me?”

“I--I was just--”

Amalia clicks her tongue at him. “Oh come on Georg. Or is it Dear Friend? I know you’re more eloquent than that.”

“A joke!” he finally gets out. “It was just supposed to be funny.”

“For who?” she explodes. “For the woman you just saw crying her eyes out? You have a sick sense of humor, you know that Mr. Nowack?” He winces at the deliberate use of his surname. “And to think. Tonight at dinner, I was going to…” She stops.

Georg waits a beat before asking, “Going to what?”

“I guess now you’ll never know will you?” She strides past him, going for the door but, with his long gait, he catches up quickly and reaches the door just a second after her.

“Amalia, wait!” He goes for the handle as she does and his hand lands atop hers. When she turns and glares at him, he jerks his hand away.

“You know,” she says, “after you came to see me, I thought to myself, ‘Say. Mr. Nowack sure has some similar opinions on classic literature to Dear Friend. Could he possibly be Dear Friend?’ And then I thought, ‘Amalia, you’re not being fair. Why would he not tell you after that pitiful display? No one’s that cruel.’” She laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “I stand corrected. Goodbye Georg,” she says with such an air of finality that it stops any attempts at an explanation or an apology dead in his throat.

And with that, she’s gone.

Georg locks up and then walks away. Not home. Just away from the shop and the backdrop of his big disaster and, he hopes, the voice in his head yelling, “YOU IDIOT,” at full volume but that doesn’t go away. He wonders if it ever will.

He’s been walking for a few minutes when he hears a cheery voice say, “Georg! You decided to join us after all.”

He looks up, startled, and sees Mr. Maraczek and Arpad. When he looks around and sees where he is, he realizes that he’s walked halfway to Webers without meaning to.

“I suppose I have,” Georg answers.

“Excellent,” says Mr. Maraczek. “The more the merrier. Though, and correct me if I’m mistaken, I thought you had plans with Ms. Balash.”

“I did,” Georg says, hating how pathetic he sounds.

“I see,” says Mr. Maraczek, knowingly. “Well, we’d better get inside. This sounds like a conversation that calls for wine. And lots of it.”

They order wine. Lots of it. And Georg describes the situation with Amalia. Belatedly, he realizes that Amalia might not want her coworkers to know any of the details of her love life, but at that point the deed has been done and he doesn’t think it’s possible for her to hate him more than she already does. As he finishes his third glass of wine, he feels like a terrible influence on Arpad, but he doesn’t stop Mr. Maraczek from pouring him another glass.

“Wow,” says Arpad. “She sounds really mad.”

Georg is tipsy enough that he finds that funny. “Arpad, mad would be an improvement.” Then he sighs. “She is never going to talk to me again.”

Mr. Maraczek slaps him on the back. “Don’t say that. We’re intelligent men. I’m sure between the three of us we can come up with a plan to help you out of your predicament.”

And, a glass and a half of wine later (Mr. Maraczek cuts him off after that), they have.

~.~

For the first time in her life, Amalia is glad when Christmas is over.

She usually loves to wrap herself in a cocoon of love and peace and goodwill towards men but, the way she’s feeling, it’s hard to not take every proclamation of Merry this and Happy that as a personal slight.

Of course, the relief is brief. Christmas ending means she has to go back to work which means she has to go back to seeing Georg--Mr. Nowack. She can’t think about him without either boiling over with rage or bursting into tears. Although, she has to admit that, now that the initial shock has worn off, she’s tending more towards tears.

Because, at the end of the day, she’s only really mad about one thing and sad about twelve. And by the time she has to go back to work, even the anger’s turned back towards herself. She berates herself as she trudges to her first day back to after the holidays. How could she be so stupid? So trusting? So naive? How could she invite a scorpion onto her back and then be surprised when she got stung? And now that he’s back in Mr. Maraczek’s good graces, he has more power than ever at work. Anything she might do or say would be--

Amalia stops short when she realizes that she’s reached her destination more quickly than she’d expected to. She shakes her head to clear it and does her best to make her face placid but not stony. Not calm enough for anyone to realize that it’s a careful, calculated mask.

When she looks up, mask in place, she notices what she didn’t before: the store is empty. The lights are out. The snow hasn’t been cleared. She tugs on the door handle to test it. Locked.

And then she notices something else. A pink envelope wedged in the door, about a foot above her eye level, as if someone significantly taller had put it there. Her mind supplies an explanation instantly but she refuses to believe it until she gets into her tiptoes to retrieve the letter and sees “Ms. Balash” written on the front in very familiar handwriting.

She immediately rips it into four neat pieces, throws the pieces onto the floor, and grinds them under her heel. But, as soon as her flash of anger dissipates, her curiosity overtakes her and, after glancing around to make sure no one is watching her, she crouches down, gathers up the letter pieces, and does her best to bring them together so that they’re readable.

Ms. Balash,

I know that’s not how I usually address your letters but I’m not sure if you see me as a non-combatant right now, let alone a friend.

That this letter is longer than the two words it takes to say, “I’m sorry” is terribly self indulgent of me so, if you want to stop reading and crumple up this letter after this next line, you’ll be well within your rights. I’m sorry.

I told you that I lied to you as a joke but, I’ve thought about it and I don’t think that’s why I did it. I think--no I’m sure. The reason I lied to you is that I wanted to see how you’d react to Dear Friend not being what you expected. I thought that if you could handle him being old and bald and fat then maybe you could come around to him being me.

It still wasn’t right. I never should have done it, especially since I could see how emotionally vulnerable you were. But I hope you believe me when I say I wasn’t being intentionally cruel.

Now, as you can see, the shop is closed today. I convinced Mr. Maraczek to keep it closed one more day to give us all an extra day to recover from the holidays. Don’t worry about missing a day of work. I’ve made sure you’ll still get paid for today, out of my salary. It’s the least I can do.

Your day is free so I hope you enjoy it. Catch up on your sleep. Take a walk. Burn me in effigy. Whatever makes you happy. And, on the off chance you despise me even slightly less than the last time we spoke, I left something for you at the library. It was supposed to be your Christmas present but I ruined that. Still, you should have it, if you want it. The fact that I was terrible shouldn’t deprive you of a present.

Again, I am so sorry.

Very Sincerely,

Georg Nowack

She reads it through three times like she thinks the words are going to change on the page.

If it wasn’t clear that Georg was Dear Friend before, it is now. This letter is a perfect blend of the letters she’s been reading for months and the kinder, gentler (devious, traitorous) version of Georg she’s been getting since after the night at the cafe. She’s almost mad at herself for not trusting her instincts and fully putting it together herself. She wants to be mad at Georg too but, based on the amount of self-flagellation in the letter, he’s doing a better job at that than her.

At the thought, she pauses and frowns. Why is she taking the letter at face value? He’s been lying to her for weeks. Why would this suddenly be the truth?

And yet, she can’t help feeling genuineness from each word on the crumpled, torn up page. As much as she had wanted to cast Georg as a Machiavellian mastermind in the days following his confession, once she’d calmed down she had to admit that there was no way he could have orchestrated the entire series of events solely to humiliate her. Which meant that the letters he’d sent before he found out at least must have been genuine. And this one feels just as real.

Which does nothing to help her sort out her feelings.

A cold blast of air makes her pull her coat closer around her and she remembers that she’s standing outside in the middle of winter which is less than ideal. She has to get inside.

“The library is inside,” a part of her brain helpfully suggests. And, for some reason, she can’t think of a single counter argument to that statement even though there are a dozen places she could stop between where she is and the library, including her own house.

It doesn’t help that she’s curious, in spite of herself.

So she walks down the street, across the bridge, and past the Metropole Cinema until she finds herself standing in front of the impressive facade of the public library. She usually finds the building elegant but, for some reason, it feels a touch imposing as she enters.

Once she’s inside, she realizes that Georg’s note didn’t actually say where in the library he’d left the gift. She’s about to check it again to see if she missed something when someone calls her name from the reception desk.

When she looks up, she sees John--a librarian--flagging her down at the check out desk. John only started working at the library a few months ago--about the same time she started at Maraczek’s--but she’s visited the library and chatted with him often enough that they’re on a first name basis.

“Hello John,” she says, momentarily forgetting her task. “How was the holiday?”

“Great. You?”

“Ah...it was fine.” She knows her skills at lying leave something to be desired so she moves on quickly. “John, did someone happen to leave a package--” Before she can finish, he pulls a wrapped box from under the desk and presents it to her.

“For me,” she finishes belatedly, taking the box. “Thank you.”

Someone comes over to check out a book so Amalia moves off to the side to open the package. It’s wrapped in the same way they’ve learned to wrap boxes for work. Same paper too. Amalia can almost picture Georg in the back room, cutting the paper, tying the ribbon, hiding the box until Christmas Eve…

She shakes her head and rips through the wrapping.

She’d been half-expecting a book, even though the weight of the package wasn’t right. But that’s not it. When she tears away the wrapping paper, she can see that she’s holding a stationary set. The outside of the wooden box is engraved with a stylized A, for Amalia she guesses. Inside the box are sheets of pink paper, envelopes, a fountain pen, an inkwell (and, for some reason, a book of matches?), all designed to not just be functional, but beautiful. It’s nicer than anything she could ever justify buying for herself, but the exact thing she would look at wistfully in a shop window.

Amalia thumbs through the paper in the set, looking for an accompanying letter or note, but she doesn’t find one. She finds herself oddly disappointed. Not that she particularly wants to hear anything from Georg right now--despite the beautiful gift--but she’d been expecting it. That was it. She’d just been expecting it.

She gathers up the wrapping paper and goes to tell John goodbye. Or, at least, that’s her intention. When she opens her mouth, the words that fall out are, “Did the person who left this leave a note or a letter or--”

Again, before she can finish her thought, John’s hand reaches under the desk and comes up with an item. This time, it is a book.

“Or something.” Amalia takes a good look at John. He looks full to bursting with excitement. In fact, he’s almost vibrating. She narrows her eyes. “John, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he says, nudging the book towards her. He’s almost as bad of a liar as she is.

“Then why are you shaking?”

“It’s January? The library is drafty?”

“Hmm,” she says unconvinced, but she takes the book from him. It’s a copy of Treasure Island and, sticking out, is another letter. She wonders why John would choose to store the letter in that particular book as she slides the envelope out and opens it.

Dear Ms. Balash,

John was under strict instructions to only give you this letter if you specifically asked for it but I know he can get ahead of himself so, if that’s the case, feel free to burn this.

(She remembers the out of place matches and smiles, slightly.)

In any case, this is the present I meant to give you on Christmas Day. I thought about getting you a book--maybe a first edition of one of your favorites--but I know how attached I get to my old, well-worn copies so I decided to go in a different direction.

I hope you enjoy this set, no matter who you choose to correspond with in the future.

And, for the record, I would have put one of those ridiculous “candy boxes” on my mantle if you’d given it to me. Really.

Speaking of candy, I left something for you at the candy shop near the park if you want to pick it up. It should be done by the time you get there, if you choose to. If not, I want to offer you a very belated Merry Christmas and another sincere apology.

Very Sincerely,

Georg Nowack

By the time she gets to the end, she realizes that the choice of book to hold the letter in wasn’t random. It was part of the message. A letter that sent her to a location which yielded another letter with another location. It’s a kind of treasure hunt and he’s letting her know upfront.

It seems...planned. Well, obviously it’s planned. These things don’t just materialize from thin air. But it’s more than that. There’s a certain preciseness to the actions. To not having John present her with the letter before she asked for it. To not just leaving the gift at her door when he knows where she lives.

He's giving her space, she realizes. Giving her complete control over how much or how little she has to interact with him, even indirectly. It's careful. It's measured. It's…thoughtful. Her mind almost trips over the word. Thoughtful. Sure it's thoughtful, but to what end? "Well?" John asks, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Huh?" "Well, what are you going to do?" She looks at the note again before tucking it into her coat pocket and turning to leave. "Goodbye John." She ignores his cajoling pleas for information as she heads out the door and towards the candy shop. When she talks to the woman at the counter, she produces a box of chocolates. "Custom made," she says, conspiratorially. Amalia opens the box and sees that the chocolates inside are indeed customized with her initials on each one: AB.

Before she even tastes one of the chocolates, she asks for the letter she’s almost certain came with the package. The woman hands it over and Amalia reads it as she pops one of the chocolate pieces into her mouth.

Dear Ms. Balash,

I know you like sweets and even you have to admit that it’s a little cold for ice cream right now so this is the next best thing.

This should be enough chocolate to last even you the time it will take to get to the next location. If you recall, I owe you a significant amount of wine.

Truly,

Georg Nowack

There are two places he could have bought her wine in town, but only one of them is near her apartment and she bets that that’s the place he would have picked. It will give her a chance to drop the bottle off at home before she goes on to the next location.

The next location.

She feels a shiver of excitement. Or maybe it’s the cold. Either way, she’s honest enough with herself that she can admit that she’s at least curious to see how far this goes.

The answer to that question turns out to be, pretty far. For the next two hours, she’s sent from one side of the city to the other, finding letters, some left with people, some wedged someplace conspicuous and marked with her name or her initials: AB. Usually attached to some kind of small gift or trinket. Nothing as fancy as the stationary set. Nothing that can be mistaken for a bribe.

At first, they all start the same: Dear Ms. Balash. But then, the one at the cinema starts: Dear Amalia. The next couple are like that. And then she gets to the flower shop.

By now, it’s late afternoon. When she walks in, still holding the pink envelope from the last location, the man behind the counter sees it, smiles, and immediately hands her a single rose, attached to an envelope. She takes it and thanks the man, but she’s thrown. So far, she’s had to ask for almost every letter. Why would this one be different?

But then, she opens it and she knows. It’s the shortest one yet. Only four lines.

Dear Friend,

Dinner at 8?

Yours,

Georg

In hindsight, she should have seen it coming. A do-over, with her in the driver’s seat this time. It’s the most natural endpoint for this game they’re playing.

She twirls the rose between her fingers, careful not to prick herself on the thorns. Dinner at 8. Dinner at 8.

~.~

Georg waits. He waits all day in fact. Once everything is set up there's nothing to do but wait, first at home and then at the cafe. He gets there a full hour before the time Amalia is supposed to meet him. Or not meet him. One or the other. He honestly has no idea how his plan is going. He thought about following behind her and asking his co-conspirators for updates, but it would defeat the entire purpose of giving Amalia space. And, besides, he made Amalia wait for him until closing without any idea of what was going on. This is the very least he can suffer by way of penance. He happens to run into the head waiter when he walks in--literally run into him, making the waiter spill an armful of menus and Georg drop his copy of Anna Karenina. Georg makes an attempt at hiding his face with his hat when he remembers the last conversation with the fussy waiter, but when the man picks up the book and sees the wilted rose tucked into it, recognition sparks in his eyes, and that's before he even looks at Georg's face. When he does, he shakes his head and pulls the rose front the book. "We can do better than this," he says, before replacing his rose with a fresh one from a display. "There. And no running off this time. Or yelling." He leaves Georg slightly confused about the depth his knowledge about his love life and very grateful that he hasn't been put on some kind of no service list. He gets seated, orders wine, and resists pouring himself more than a single glass. Even when Amalia doesn't show up at 8. Or 8:15. Or 8:30. Georg is about to resign himself to closing out the night with the staff when finally, finally she shows up, practically at the stroke of 9. She’s wearing his rose in her hair and Georg thinks that he would gladly deal with the inflated winter rose prices all season if it meant she would always wear them like that.

As she approaches the table, he awkwardly gets up to pull her chair out. In his haste, he bangs the table with his knees and makes the silverware clatter. He quickly pulls out her chair before he causes more chaos and summons the head waiter.

For her part, Amalia ignores his clumsiness and takes the seat. He hurries over to the other side of the table and sits. Carefully.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Georg thinks up and discards about a dozen openers before Amalia speaks.

“I got here on time you know.” He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t.

“Stroke of 8,” she continues. “And I watched you. Through the window. On and off for an hour.”

“To punish me,” he says, hanging his head. “I deserved it.”

“No. Well, yes. But no it wasn’t to punish you. I wanted you to know how it felt. Sitting. Waiting. Not knowing whether I would show or not. I was going to make you wait longer but...I didn’t have the heart.” She pours herself a glass of wine, takes a sip and then says, “I won’t lie to you. Today was fun. I had a lot of fun. But I have to know. What exactly was your goal here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, was this an apology and nothing else or do you have ulterior motives? Because I feel a little like a frog in a pot of boiling water right now.” That makes two frog metaphors in one day, she notes and, before she can ascribe any meaning to that, Georg quickly cuts in.

“It’s nothing like that. We just--”

“We?”

He pulls a face before saying, “Mr. Maraczek and Arpad helped me to come up with this plan. The idea was to give you space. You could go as far as you wanted to, or not at all. I wanted to invite you to dinner right away but Mr. Maraczek suggested some kind of buffer and Arpad suggested chocolates. Considering what happened last time I invited you to dinner, I thought they had a point so…” He holds out his hands in a “ta-da” gesture. “This is what I came up with.”

He looks so awkward, Amalia thinks. He doesn’t know if he should drop his hands or not so they just hang there, uselessly, as he half smiles, half grimaces. It’s so pathetic it’s almost adorable. She feels the strong urge to put him out of his misery.

She reaches across the table and hits him.

“Ow!” he says, more out of surprise than anything else. The swat was pointed, but weak. “What was that for?”

“If you were going to play games with me before you told me, why weren’t they like this, huh? Something nice that didn’t leave me second guessing our entire relationship. Relationships, plural. And now that I know you were going to-- ” She abruptly stops.

Georg waits for a second before pushing. “I was going to?”

She seems to weigh her options for a few moments before saying. “I know you were going to propose.”

“Yes,” he says, too surprised to dance around it. “Did Ladislav--?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t know for sure until just now, but I figured it out earlier. Everything you arranged for today was marked with my full initials. AB. Amalia Balash. But the stationary set you bought earlier only had an A, for Amalia. If I changed my last name, the monogram would be wrong." He stares at her for a few seconds, eyes going soft. “What?”

“We’re here. We’re talking. You’re smart and gorgeous and not yelling at me. This is how our date could have gone if I hadn’t ruined it.”

Amalia snorts, gracelessly. “No, it wouldn’t have. If you hadn’t ruined it, I would have. I wasn’t exactly your biggest fan at the time, if you remember.”

“And now?”

She raises her glass to her lips and takes a sip. A long sip. A very long--

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you.”

“A little,” she admits, with a small smile. “See? Teasing, fine. Keeping crucial information away from me for two weeks while I have an existential crisis? Bad. You might want to write that down for future reference.”

Future reference?

“Does that mean...are we...did you...is this a clean slate?”

“No.” Georg’s spirits sink until she adds, “That would be starting from scratch. I don’t want to start from scratch. I like you Georg. More than like you. In fact, I was seriously considering picking you over Dear Friend at dinner. You know, because of the lying. And then you told me and it sent me in a tailspin but it wouldn’t have if I didn’t like you. A lot. I mean, you’ve read my letters.”

“And you’ve read mine. So, what do we do now?”

Silence.

And then, violin music.

From the other side of the room, the head waiter catches Georg’s eye and winks.

“Well,” says Amalia. “I say we finish this bottle of wine. Then we order another one and drink that. And then we go from there. How does that sound?” She reaches a hand across the table and, for just a second, he sees a trace of uncertainty flash across her face. He can’t tell if it’s uncertainty in herself, in him, a combination.

It doesn’t matter. He takes her hand without pause, hesitation, or thought.

“Music to my ears.”

#she loves me #amalia balash #georg nowack #here's my yearly addition to the tag #s/o to amaliabalash who has been reading this in short bursts for like a whole ass year now #sorry my writing schedule follows no rhyme or reason #anyway #I constantly say that Georg got INSANELY lucky that amalia took everything so well #she could have been FURIOUS #he pushed it pretty freaking close #the fact that he got off w/ zero grovelling is honestly kind of miraculous #also head waiter wingman #that kinda just happened #it wasn't part of my outline in my head but as soon as I started writing that scene #shrug #it felt right

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one-deranged-son · 3 years

Photo

Tell Your Girlfriend to Fall Back

this plot is taken after Tell Your Homeboy to Fall Back

“I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him.”

Here’s the situation: it’s 9:00 p.m. and they’re on the rooftop of the station. It’s February and the air around them is biting in the ass. One of them is smoking, the other one is just staring at the city lights.

New York is a busy city, indeed.

“The forensic shows that 80% of his blood is DRUGS. He murdered some important dude from Russia and almost tipped this country into having another world war. His house is fucking loaded with illegal firearms, he’s literally on the FBI wanted list. And he made us skip Taco Night! Alan, for fuck’s sakes, we never miss Taco Night!”

Melvin Rickman huffs the smoke outta his lungs. He’s frustrated, dammit. He always smokes when he’s frustrated, and lately, he’s been smoking a lot. Like, a lot.

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Sorry? Oh my God, you have a serious problem with that Revelator dude. The hell you got in your hand anyway?”

Melvin also talks a lot when he’s frustrated. He talks about everything and he asks about everything.

Not that it mattered, though. That question actually makes Alan smile from ear to ear. He’s ecstatic, oh my god. He feels like he’s back to preschool and he feels giddy because his Dad just came home and brought a huge present because he’s being a good boy, oh my god. His heart is beating so fast, oh my god. He can’t believe this is happening.

Oh my god, this is really happening.

Alan looks up from the brown envelope and takes a deep breath. “But you have to promise me you won’t ever, EVER, tell anyone.”

Melvin frowns, but he nods.

“Officer Barrera made a copy of the Revelator case for me.”

“She WHAT?”

“I KNOW, isn’t she like, the coolest person ever exists?”

“Alan, no! You know it’s classified. It was the FBI shit and the only reason why we could process him was because our captain managed to pull some strings. If they see you with that, they’re going to put your head on the SPIKE.”

“Stop making Game of Thrones reference, you hated season 8.”

Melvin raises his hands in frustration and quickly takes a long drag of his cigarette. His cheeks are red, either it’s the cold or the fact that he’s angry right now, Alan doesn’t care.

“You know what I’m saying is true. You shouldn’t have that file,” Melvin sighs, and it almost sounds like he’s whining, but Alan isn’t going to surrender because of that.

“Dude, can’t you see? This is a chance for us to find where the Revelator is. We could even get a Medal of Valor to bring him to justice!”

“He’s been on the FBI wanted list since before you were born! This lunatic practically started doing all of this since… I don’t know, the 80s? He had outlived half of the population already and the fact that he was caught yesterday? We’re just lucky, man. He’s something else.”

“See! You admit that he’s cool.”

“That’s not the point, Alan!”

Melvin breathes hard until his fingers are trembling. His nostrils are flaring and he refuses to look at him, but he didn’t say anything else. He just breathes in until the red across his cheeks calmed down, then he takes yet another looong drag from his cigarette.

Alan sighs.

“Look, I know this is a wild—”

“And dumb.”

“—and dumb, yes, thank you for that, but you always wanted to be a detective. This is your chance to prove them that you have it inside you. The captain would totally recommend you.”

Melvin’s eyes haven’t quite met his, but Alan can see that there’s a spark of interest in it. He looks at him and to the file, then in one swift movement, he throws his cigarette to the ground and steps on the dying butt.

“Tell me what we have.”

Alan smiles.

“Alright, I’ve read this in the bathroom during break and I just know you will love it,” Alan says as he carefully opens the file for Melvin to see.

“Shoot.”

“So, apparently, the Revelator is actually... two different people.”

“You’re shitting me.”

They’re in Alan’s apartment room right now. Melvin has a beer in his hand and he’s sitting on Alan’s couch.

Now here’s the guide to conduct a super-secret-slash-illegal meeting, based on Alan. First, pull down the blinds. You don’t want a sniper to know where you’re standing.

Second, dim the lights. So with the covers pulled down and the lights barely giving you away, your neighbor would probably think that you’re having sex and that is way better than getting caught smuggling a super-secret-slash-illegal file.

Third, turn the TV on. You don’t have to put it on the highest volume, just make sure people on your side could hear you and whoever trying to butt in hears Berlin speaking “Tranquilo, tranquilo,” instead of whatever you’re talking about.

And that’s fucking dumb, Melvin thinks, but he doesn’t wanna argue with a riled-up Alan.

“The Revelator in the 80s is different from the Revelator we have now,” riled-up Alan says, to which Melvin just stares dumbly and say, “What the fuck.”

What the fuck, man.

Anyway, it’s been an hour since Melvin nearly woke up the whole New York City from screaming too loud. And it’s been 30 minutes since they flopped on Alan’s couch with Allan giddy giggles as he pulls out the papers from the enclosed brown file to shove it down Melvin’s throat.

And as Melvin’s face goes sour and sour and even sour as time passes, Alan’s face glows brighter.

“Why are you smiling?!” Melvin throws his hand.

“Because it’s our lead! For the last decade, people thought that he’s some kind of… I don’t know, Jesus? Messiah? Look at his face.” Alan throws a picture of a man to the coffee table. “Tell me that you would believe anyone who said that he could turn water into wine.”

Alright, maybe Alan has a point. Dude actually looks like some white Jesus or something without his mask on. Shaggy brown hair and surprisingly awesome beard, the only thing that makes him so different is he got blue eyes, and when Melvin sees the picture when half of his face is covered by a mask, those eyes pierce right through him to the point he has to look away.

“So, this man over here is named John. No surname, mind you, he just wanna be called John based on the interrogation tape. He’s known as the Revelator and it was a reference from a song titled ‘John the Revelator’.” Alan shows a mugshot of John. His cheeks are blotched with dry blood and there’s some cut at the corner of his lips. He was staring right at him with the same blue eyes, but it was... hollow. Completely different from the picture where he got all his tac gears on.

Although to be fair, his jawline is more structured than Melvin’s life.

“Now this is John Monsoon, also known as the Revelator, BUT this man was found dead at a shootout in 1998.”

Alan tosses another picture to the coffee table. Melvin couldn’t exactly look at his face because the only picture they got was the autopsy picture, but John Monsoon has similar shaggy hair and beard.

“So… what happened?” he asks.

“Apparently, a man from the FBI witnessed four people during the shootout whereas the 80s Revelator worked with only two people.”

Alan tosses two more pictures. Two mugshots with one black man with a box fade hair and ginger with sunken eyes.

“That’s Cole Hedlund and Paul MacCullagh, sentenced for a death penalty in the same year as the shootout. They didn’t tell us anything about the fourth shooter, refusing to talk a single word even in the courtroom. But! An FBI agent was so certain that there was another person there.”

Alan hands another picture. Now this time is a white man in an FBI windbreaker and in that picture, he was smiling.

“That’s Todd Russel. He led the Revelator investigation in 2002 before the case went cold and Russel was found dead at the beginning of 2003.”

The next picture was Todd Russel, still in his FBI windbreaker, but he wasn’t smiling this time. He’s looking at the camera, brown eyes devoid of any emotion and there was red in his shirt. Red in his pants, red in his windbreaker, red all over his hands.

There’s red all over him.

Melvin’s stomach twist.

“Autopsy shows that he was already dead before he was crucified in his own home. His wife and 5-year-old son were found harmless and I guess they’re still on the witness protection program.”

“Alan,” Melvin places the picture on the table and sighs. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Alan’s eyes bulge. “Wait! Why?”

“Can’t you see?” Melvin is scared, holy shit, who is he fooling? He’s terrified.

He sees what this dude has done to a shit ton of people for the past twenty years. He killed people for breakfast and crucifies them for brunch. He burns their motherfucking house down for lunch then drains their bank account for dinner.

No sane person would want to mess around with that.

“He killed an FBI, shit, is ‘killed’ a right word? The man literally did the same thing as what the Romans did to Jesus. An FBI agent, Alan! And we’re just regular cops!”

“That’s why we should do it. The Revelator won’t even notice it because we aren’t on his radar! This is our chance, Melvin, seriously!”

Alan walks over to the couch and sits next to him, and for some time Melvin just stares at him with furrowed brows.

“Think about it, man. Think about it.”

The apartment room behind the police line is painted in gray; there are some cracks and holes in it. The floor is made of wood that creaks when they step on it, and there are some dishes in the sink and an empty bag of chips plus more empty ramen cups on the round dining table. Every single of them is covered in plastic.

Surprisingly, the place looks habitable and… mundane for a super-secret-plus-illegal vigilante hideout.

“You sure this is where the Revelator lives?”

Melvin closes the door slowly so as to not make a sound. He pauses for a moment when he sees how many combinations of locks are placed in it. Guess they were just lucky that the investigating team only uses a thin yellow tape to barricade it.

“I’m 100% sure. I read it in the files, this is where he plans… everything.”

Alan walks over to the broken window, the splinters of glass cracks beneath his feet. In that quiet minute, Melvin moves closer towards a hole in the floor and squats next to it. There are planks placed neatly right beside it and there’s nothing inside it when he aims his flashlight into it.

“The NYPD and FBI must’ve wiped this place clean. There’s probably no clue left behind,” he says, standing up from his position to look over Alan. The Revelator seems to stash all of his guns and drugs beneath the floor and, judging from all the mess, the investigating team must’ve checked the walls too.

From behind him, Melvin looks at Alan while he stares at the broken window like he’s trying to make a sense of it, and it doesn’t, really. The Revelator jumped from the second floor through a literal hard glass and landed without a single scratch. That doesn’t make sense at all.

The fact that they tried to look for clues also doesn’t make a single fucking sense as well.

“We should probably go,” Melvin says.

“There must’ve been something else here.”

Alan walks away from the window and starts to search from room to room, and Melvin just stares. It’s weird, it just doesn’t make sense. Alan doesn’t have any reason to get so fussed over the Revelator and he wasn’t even that crazy about the medal from the very beginning. The fact that he’s willing to go all through the process of searching a needle in a haystack is just fucking obtuse.

So he decides to walk over to the kitchen area. The sink is leaking droplets of water and everything else is just evidence covered in plastic. He wears his latex glove and opens the fridge door; nothing. He checks the trash can; nothing. He opens every single cabinet to check if the FBI left anything for them; nothing.

Every corner of the room is wiped from all possible evidence, and this is just dumb. Melvin should’ve just realized that they’re reaching a dead-end from the moment they even decide to do this. It’s a dumb idea, and to think that this shit will boost his career up is just the same. This isn’t even legal.

“Alan, let’s just go. The other tenants are going to suspect us,” he half-whispers as he walks over to the other rooms.

The first room he steps into is empty except for a mattress with newspapers below it. Alan isn’t there.

The second room is filled with more stuff than the other. There’s actually a bed with covers with it rather than a single sheet of fabric. It isn’t painted in gray like the other part of the apartment. The room got a personality on it.

And then there’s a desk but it’s empty from a single object. There isn’t any single dust in it like it was meant to be filled with something.

“Uh, Alan?”

Melvin steps out of the room and moves on to the next room. Alan is standing in the room next door, one that looks fairly the same, but with different paint, or, to put it simply, a different ‘personality’ than the previous room.

Melvin gulps.

“Do you think the Revelator lives with… someone else?”

Alan turns around slowly, a paper in his hand and a serious scowl across his face. He nods.

“He has kids.”

The ride is filled with silence. Though, to be fair, Melvin wasn’t sure if it was because of the horror, or the shock.

“I’m sure that there’s at least two of them, but all we have now is Elisa Miller. I’m going to look it up.”

Alan holds the piece of paper and hands it to Melvin. It’s a part of an exam paper with the name Elisa Miller and a school name. The rest of the page is ripped away, it’s like the owner was rushing or trying to hide things or… he doesn’t know. Both? Maybe.

‘Shit, they’re probably trained for things like this,’ Melvin wonders. It’s common sense! If the Revelator has kids, then they’re probably highly trained in combat or, if they don’t, they know what to do when this kind of situation arises. He doesn’t know. There’s just no way his kids are ‘normal’. There’s just no way that their family is a functional one just like the family you see on a cheesy, American TV commercial.

The worst case is that they’re abused. Shit, Melvin feels like he’s going to throw up at the thought. The Revelator wasn’t known for his kindness or his fatherly nature, right? Fuck. He’s an insatiable monster with a fucked-up moral compass.

How can he have kids?

“I still can’t believe that the FBI missed that clue,” Alan snickers as he looks over to the school ground with his binoculars. It’s the same school as the one written on the ripped paper. This is the only lead they have.

Melvin frowns. “This isn’t a joke. Shouldn’t we give this to the FBI?”

“Sssh… They can have it later when we are done busting his ass to the jail. Hey, check this out, I think that’s the one.”

Alan hands the binoculars to Melvin and points out towards the direction of a girl. She has medium-length hair with light tips and a permanent scowl, apparently, or maybe it’s just the sun. Melvin was just guessing.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, lemme check it again on the database.” Alan unlocks his phone and types on the screen. “Elisa Miller, adopted from a church in downtown New York by a man named… Jim? Wow, Jim Parker. Jesus, how many aliases does this man have?” Alan frowns as he scrolls through his phone.

Elisa Miller walks alone towards the school gate with earphones shoved in her ears when two boys, one Asian and the other is African-American, walks towards her, smiling and probably calling her name.

“Try checking out if Jim Parker adopts another kid.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Um… there’s another one named Brown. Peter Brown. He’s a Korean descent, raised at the same church.”

“So the Revelator does have kids…” Melvin mutters softly as his eyes tail Elisa Miller and Peter Brown. In some way, Melvin knows that the Revelator isn’t going to be there to pick them up as the three teens start to walk heading towards a nearby station.

“Any other info?” Melvin asks as he gives the binoculars to Alan, he takes Alan’s phone in exchange.

“From what I read, no. Jim Parker only adopts two kids and they came from the same Catholic orphanage. I look it up, there’s a database for a man named Robert Brown that we could interrogat—I mean, talk with, later.” Alan takes his eyes off the teenagers and looks at Melvin.

Elisa Miller and Peter Brown, along with the unknown teen, talks about something from afar. They’re moving away, but not at an alarming pace. They don’t look like they notice their presence, but even from here, Melvin knows that they’re being alert, judging by the amount of time they look over their shoulders.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Melvin looks at Alan, he has his eyes firmly locked to them.

“To where they are staying right now,” Alan answers, then nods firmly at him. Now there’s the sign he knows too well. Melvin starts the engine and tails them slowly; keeping an appropriate amount of distance so nobody will notice them. At some point, he nearly thought that they would get caught. They don’t know anything about the teens besides their name and probably some legal information recorded by the States, but what he does know is that they’re the ‘same’. The Revelator and his kids, they both have the same, piercing eyes, and that expression fades away when they talk to each other or stop being so damn alarmed. Maybe they don’t even realize what they’re doing, and that brings him to even more questions.

How much do these kids know about the Revelator? Do they help him? Holy, is the Revelator making another team just like what the 80s Revelator did?

“Melvin, hey, get it together buddy. They’re taking the subway.” Alan snaps his fingers in front of Melvin’s face. “Come on.”

Alan goes out of the car first, then Melvin follows him without skipping a beat. The subway is crowded and it’s just the perfect place to blend in. Elisa Miller and Peter Brown part way with the other teen and hop into one of the cars, Melvin and Alan, on the other hand, take the one right next to it.

The ride is slow and nobody speaks a word. It’s still crowded inside. Elisa Miller sits and Peter Brown stands in front of her. They didn’t talk at all.

“Do you think he’ll be there?” Alan asks, eyeing the teens through the glass window, and Melvin just shrugs. He doesn’t know what to expect, really. His goddamn heart is currently beating sooo damn fast. He’s excited and scared, like, how could he not? He doesn’t know what he will do if they really meet the Revelator. Fight? That’s really not a good thing to do when you’re facing an international vigilante even if there are two of them. Malvin saw what the Revelator did towards a group of cops. He remembers it all too well how they got him cornered in an abandoned church and how long the shootout lasted. One person, obviously injured and not in their best state of mind, versus a whole squad, and that one person nearly managed to run away.

And what if they run? That’s worse. Oh, man. The Revelator would track them. He just can’t think of a good ending for this.

Melvin feels the sweat running down his spine. He doesn’t know what the Revelator will do when he meets them, that’s even worse.

“They stop here. Let’s go.”

His heartbeat is spiking up, goddamn. They’re going back in the same direction of the Revelator’s super-secret-plus-illegal hideout, but this time, that dumb nickname doesn’t bring any smile to his face. He’s fucking tense, and so is Alan. He notices that his partner has been biting his fingernails on their way and he only does that whenever he’s nervous. And now they’re reaching another dead end when the teens get into their apartment complex. Melvin knows damn well that they couldn’t get inside because the other tenants will notice them and ruin their entire stealth mission, but they’re so close. So fucking close.

“Alan, we can’t.”

Melvin grabs Alan's wrist. They can’t take another step, they’d be found. Alan frowns at him like he’s losing his mind, but he doesn’t argue. He stays quiet and bites his fingers. From the look on his face, Melvin realizes that he’s thinking hard. Alan’s eyes roam over the surroundings. Damn right, Melvin knows he isn’t gonna give up and as much as he appreciates his partner’s spirit, sometimes he wishes that Alan would stand back.

“We are so close,” Alan whispers, and Melvin agrees.

Alan points over to a building. It’s abandoned and there’s a sign that shows that they’re going to tear it down. He doesn’t tell Melvin when he jumps over the low metal gate and into the building. With quick precision, he turns his flashlight, and Melvin follows.

“Where are we heading?”

“Third floor. We might be able to see them from here.”

And Alan was right. They can see the Revelator’s room exactly from their spot. With his binoculars, Alan gets the first exclusive look at the broken window of the Revelator’s apartment from where he lays on his stomach. Melvin gets the first shift of the watchman. With his guns loaded, he stays near the only exit they have.

“Did you see anything?”

“Negative,” Alan answers. His voice nearly echoing around the hollow concrete room. The place is a total mess, really. It’s not empty of furniture, but it does feel like the developer doesn’t even bother to finish the construction. There’s probably some homeless dude staying here judging from the interior. Gray wall, gray floor, all of it made of concrete. There are gaping holes in the walls where the windows are supposed to be placed, and there’s a worn-out mattress at the corner of the room with the springs coming all over the soft cushion placed on top of outdated newspapers, just like the Revelator’s room.

Melvin’s hearts drop to his stomach.

“Alan,” he whispers, palms sweating and trembling.

“Ssh, shut up!”

“Alan,” he whispers again, this time nearly yelling. He looks around the room to find another exit. There’s none. The only place where they could exit the building is through the creaking stairs or from the window, which is entirely impossible because they are not the Revelator who could jump through three stories building and still be able to run like he doesn’t feel a single, fucking, pain.

“I think I saw a movement. Holy shit, we might just be right all along!”

“ALAN!”

“Dude, what the—”

“I think this is the Revelator’s hideout.”

They freeze.

It’s quiet.

“Damn right it is.”

Alan screams.

ㅤㅤㅤEverything turns to black.

ㅤㅤ

“Oh my God, oh my fucking God. Stay out of him you sick fuck oh my God, MELVIN!”

‘Alan, you forgot to give me blankets.’

That was Melvin’s first thought.

It’s cold, it’s fucking cold out here and he’s uncomfortable. His head hurt like there’s someone trying to drill a hole into it, and his entire body is sore, all his muscles trying to stretch and move and just, basically, trying to ease the pain.

It’s fucking cold here.

“Melvin.”

The whisper is the first thing that he registers. It’s small, it’s out of breath… it sounds… pained?

Alan.

“Alan,” Melvin word’s slurs.

It’s cold, it’s hella cold, and his vision is blurry. The air smells tangy and sour, but the room is bright. It’s oddly bright, why? Harsh white light flashing his eyes, blinding his already blurry eyes. He tries to focus, tries to control his breathing. It’s cold, holy fuck. Why is it so cold?

“Took you a while.”

Melvin raises his head, struggling to find where the voice was coming from. It’s no use, everything is blurry. The light isn’t doing anything good to his eyes.

“Get the fuck away from him!” that’s Alan again, shit, he sounds in pain. Melvin tries to shake the blur away, he wants to see Alan. He wants to see him—no. He needs to see him.

There’s a low chuckle. “Ya might wanna keep it down a bit, sweetheart. Yer going to need all those air for later,” the voice says, and he feels a soft touch under his chin, “ain’t that right, Melvin?”

His vision is still blurry when a rough hand caresses his skin, but he can already feel his senses getting back to him. First, it was his skin: once he couldn’t feel his legs, now he could feel the cold floor even better. Second, it was his ears: once the sound was muffled, now it is crystal clear. He knows that voice, he heard it all over and over and over again in Alan’s apartment room. When the blinds were pulled down and the lights were dimmed, when the TV was playing the Masters Tournament in Fox Sports, he heard that voice before. “No, no, Melvin. Rewind. Rewind it again. Look at his face, what is he doing?” Alan had said back then, and Melvin thought that the idea was dumb, but now it’s just pure terror.

He can’t even try to pull away.

“Shit, kid. Did I hit ya too hard?” the voice says again, and Melvin has to bite his inner cheek and holds his breath for a moment. Third, it was his eyes: once everything is blurry, now his nightmare is manifesting in front of him.

He wishes that it would stay blurry.

Because now he’s looking at the same blue eyes just like the one he saw three days ago. When the blinds were pulled down and the lights were dimmed, when the TV was playing a documentary of lion cubs on NatGeo Wild, he’d seen those eyes before. He’s looking at the same piercing gaze like the one given by the teens. He’s looking at the same monster as he did back then.

“Melvin, eh? Heard a lot about ya, ’m sorry for hitting your head too hard.”

Alan sneers. “G—get the f—”

　　One click.

　　He hears the load of a gun.

“Stay.”

Melvin snaps his eyes wide and searches frantically towards Alan’s voice. He’s still in shock, but he can see his partner in the corner of the room—a closed space with white walls and shelves with boxes in it. It’s cramped and it’s cold. The floor, the wall, the air. Everything’s cold.

Alan’s hands are free. Alan’s legs are free.

Alan’s stomach is bleeding.

“Alan—”

Melvin scrambles his way towards him, but he’s stopped right on track. Shit. His head hurts so bad and he’s stuck in his place. He could feel his muscles tensing behind him, his wrist securely tied to a metal shelf by a rope. The metal is cold, and it hurts. It hurts and it’s cold, it’s cold and it hurts. Holy fucking shit, Alan.

“Ssh…” The gentle hands return to his cheek. It’s cold, cold like the rest of the room, cold like the pale blue eyes that looked more like it has always been gray this whole time.

“Your partner is bleeding to death, you can’t panic,” the voice says again. His tone is flat and his voice is low, but then he hears a chuckle. There’s blood at the corner of his lips, there are cuts and bruises across his face. There’s terror coming from those eyes, the manic gleam glinting under the harsh, white lamp.

“N–no—”

“Melvin, darling, I’m joking. He‘s fine, I stitch him up.” The cold hand tilts his head. “Come on Alan, tell him.”

Alan looks at Melvin and to the source of the voice. There’s a bob in his adam’s apple, but when he looks back at Melvin, Alan nods like he means it.

“Good boy,” the voice says again. The cold hands disappear, and when the voice’s owner steps back, Melvin has to hold his breath.

Standing in all black is the Revelator himself. He doesn’t wear his mask, his entire face, from those sharp jaws and hooded eyes, all the bruises and cuts standing in front of him. There’s a Glock in his hand, but Melvin knows the man enough to realize that it isn’t the only weapon he has. There’s gonna be an extra gun tucked somewhere in his pants, some combat knife under his tactical vest. There’s always something he hides.

It’s the Revelator.

“Thought you wanna meet me, Melvin Rickman.” The Revelator smirks. “Or do you prefer, ‘Melvin Russell’?”

Melvin’s guts twist like it has never been before. He hears Alan muttering something from afar, but he couldn’t tell. His heartbeat is racing like shit, and he couldn’t breathe.

The Revelator looks at Alan and smiles wider. “You didn’t know, did ya?”

Melvin knows that Alan is looking at him, but Melvin couldn’t look back.

“You didn’t really think that your partner is willing to go all out for some stupid medal, did you?” the Revelator says again. He sounds calm, too calm for his own good. Too calm for someone like him. Is this thing a normal routine for him? Just another Saturday of blackmailing people! What a fun activity.

The Revelator snickers and looks back at Melvin. “You ain’t fooling anyone, sweetheart.”

Melvin chokes.

“How did you—”

The Revelator shush him before he could even continue his words. He’s so gentle, it’s making him sick. He doesn’t even know which one is better, believing that the Revelator is a fucked-up sadist who skins his victim alive or realizing that he’s actually a gentle fucker who uses too many endearments.

He wants to puke.

“Now, I hear that you guys are looking for me.” The Revelator drags a chair and sits on it. With his legs crossed on top of a knee, he pulls out a combat knife from one of his boots and starts juggling with it between his fingers. ‘Every move is calculated, but not necessarily planned.’ The letters from the file resounding inside his head. Back then, it didn’t make any sense, but now it does. It’s coming together now. Every time Melvin thinks that the knife is going to slip, he just picks it back and continues with the same, steady pace. The knife play isn’t a show of control, no, it isn’t. The Revelator isn’t trying to prove his capability, Melvin knows that he’s just bored. He knows that the Revelator thinks he’s way above that already to prove himself.

‘Every move is calculated, but not necessarily planned,’ he thinks again.

So does the Revelator know that this would happen? Did he calculate this? Did he know that there’s a chance for two young cops with barely one year worth of experience will try to snoop around? Have they been in the equation? If yes, since when?

Did the Revelator already know that this would happen the moment he nails Todd Russel in front of him?

“That’s Todd Russel. He led the Revelator investigation in 2002 before the case went cold and Russel was found dead at the beginning of 2003.”

Yeah, he knew that long ago. He knows.

Melvin is there the whole time.

He wants to puke. So bad.

“You find another side that you don’t know, good for you,” the Revelator says, “and I respect that. Not a lot of people could find some good lead easily.”

The Revelator drags his chair closer to Melvin, then he leans back. It’s the same pose all over again. His head is tilted to a side, just like what he did during the previous interrogation with Detective Nashton, but this time he’s flipping a kali knife in one hand and he has one foot crossed over a knee. Melvin wonders if he’s going to sit like this if not because of the cuffs back then.

“So, imma give ya punks a special time to interview me. Oh no, don’t get excited too easily. I only accept three questions,” he continues. The Revelator tilts his head to the other side and smiles at Alan. And it’s so sweet, sweet and gentle just like everything he does. Sweet and gentle like the way he touches his cheeks a moment ago, sweet and gentle, just, so different from the way he dresses. So different from what the file told them.

“W-who are you working for?” Alan tries to make his voice as menacing from the corner of the room, but he’s breathing heavily, puffs of white smoke coming from his lips. His face is pale from any colors, be it from the blood loss or the cold, Melvin just wanna run at him and hold him close.

The Revelator stops his knife flipping and covers his mouth. “You can’t be serious,” he says, holding his laughter back, and Alan just stares at him wide-eyed, completely baffled at the response.

“It’s in the file, isn’t it? I saw it in your room. You should’ve kept it in a better place besides the bottom of your drawer, kid.” The Revelator smiles at Alan, then he glances at Melvin for a brief moment and wink. What the fuck.

It shouldn’t be surprising anymore, but Melvin couldn’t help the violent contraction inside his stomach. He stifles a groan, it hurts so bad and he’s fucking stressed. The Revelator already knows his real name, his real identity, then what else does he know? How many things does he know about them? He finds Alan’s place, and he might’ve already had Melvin’s address in his intel from a long time ago.

How many things does he know about them?

“You…” Melvin breathes in harshly, struggling to control his heartbeat. The Revelator eyes him with his sharp gaze. The gray irises—Melvin is completely sure that it was gray by now—swallowing his pupil until it left only a speck of black.

“Did your kids… know?”

The Revelator stays quiet, the curve of his lips turned flat, and there isn’t any sharpness inside his eyes anymore. There’s nothing there, nothing to indicate any sense of distress or anything else. No hostility, no emotion. Nothing.

It’s like staring into the void and hoping that it will give you something, but no. No matter how long you look at it, there’s just nothing there.

Does it mean he hit the right spot?

“Well,” the Revelator looks away, and when his gaze returned, the same sharpness returned. There goes back the confident look on his face, the same gentle smile that doesn’t suit the bloodlust coming from his eyes.

“There are… a lot of things a parent hides from their children,” he begins, “maybe you’ll understand better when you’re older. There are sacrifices you gotta make, you know, some dirty things you have to do for love. Honestly, I thought you, of all people, would understand it better.”

Melvin looks away. “How can I? You killed Todd Russel.”

“Yes, Melvin, sorry,” the Revelator rubs the bridge of his nose, “but your Daddy broke his promise to me.”

Melvin bites his tongue. They’re playing a mind game, he finally realizes. The Revelator doesn’t want to answer anything, at least, not in a way. With every question they ask, there’s a truth, then there’s also a threat ready to just jump back and tackle them. It’s a sick thought and Melvin hates it. He hates that the Revelator has the upper hand no matter what he does. He runs away from the police, survived a chase, and the fact that the room is fucking cold doesn’t help a thing. Now Alan is coughing and it’s cold and oh my fucking God, how long have they been here?

“One more question,” the Revelator says, and he smiles again. It’s sickening. It’s sickening how even fate picks his favorite.

Melvin looks at Alan. He’s so pale.

“What promise did Todd Rus—that, Dad, broke?” Melvin half-whispers, and the Revelator chuckles.

“The same promise I’m making with ya.”

There’s a loud sound of metal hitting a tile. The blade glinting under the harsh white light.

“I’m gonna let you kids live your life a bit longer, just enough so you guys could cut off the sexual tension and start dating each other and have some glorious sex. I’m letting y’all do it, I even booked two plane tickets to the Bahamas for you. I’m letting y’all do it, as long as you let me live my goddamn life. You ain’t coming anywhere near me, near my kids, near my fucking apartment or my fucking boss or my fucking friends, ‘cause if you fucking do,” the Revelator stands up and walks to him, “then I’ll fucking come at you, kid. I will fucking send swarms of flies upon thee and upon thy goddamn servants, and upon thy people, and into thy houses. And yer houses shall be loaded shit of flies and also the ground whereon they are but maybe I ain’t talking ‘bout some weak-ass flies. Listen to me, sweetheart, maybe I’m talking about something else. Something’ exploding that you won’t ever forget, something that you will always, always pop out in your goddamn head whenever you close your eyes. Something, something similar like the one I give to yer Daddy.”

The Revelator stands tall and steps on the knife he throws. In one single movement, he slides it in Alan’s direction and starts walking away towards the exit. It’s a metal door and the only thing holding it from closing completely is a single, dumb red brick.

“You know me, Russel. You don’t wanna mess with me.”

The Revelator walks away and shuts the door tight.

It’s quiet for a moment. He feels his heart sinks to the floor.

“Melvin—”

Melvin turns his gaze away from the metal door. Alan is still there, his face is still pale, and there’s still some smoke coming from his mouth.

“Shit, Alan!”

Melvin struggles to slip away from the knots, but it’s no use. The ropes are tight around his hands. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Well,” Alan’s eyes are hazy and he looks so fucking tired, but he flashes a smile. “He shot me in the leg and stabbed my abdomen, but I’m good.” Alan laughs like he is reminiscing a cute memory from his childhood days.

“You sick fucker, how can you still—alright, shut up, I’m going to find a way to get out of this… wh-what are you doing?”

Alan drags himself towards Melvin’s direction with the knife in his hand. He realizes it’s the combat knife, the same knife that the Revelator juggles, and the same knife that was thrown into his feet a while ago.

“Oh, shut up. He gave us this,” Alan cuts the rope with the knife, his breath panting heavily as he struggles to keep his hand steady. Melvin’s heart aches. “For... this.”

The ropes around him break loose and Melvin sighs heavily when he feels the tension leaving his shoulder. Alan slumps back to the nearest wall and shuts his eyes.

“God, Alan, what the fuck—”

“He stitched me up.”

“What?”

“The Revelator.” Alan pulls his shirt up to show a bandage. There is dried blood on his stomach and bruises covering the rest of him, but the dressing looks… neat. “He stitched it. My legs too, he takes the bullet out by himself,” Alan says, his eyes don’t quite meeting Melvin’s.

Melvin stares wide-eyed. “B-but why?”

“I don’t know, Melvin. I really don’t know.”

Alan sighs and tries to sit upright. He can’t, he slumps back again with a moan. “When he hit you on the head, I was so mad and I… I just came at him with empty hands. Then he stabbed me and shot me in the leg, and I was... dying. I thought I was gonna die and you’re going to see me covered with my own blood and I started to beg.” Alan is now completely avoiding his eyes. “He stares at me like he doesn’t care, then he hits me in the face, and when I wake up, my wounds are clean.”

“Alan that’s…”

“It’s weird. I know. He… he doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Melvin stares at him for a moment until Alan finally looks at him. In some way, he doesn’t know what to say. The thought of not having Alan in his life anymore sounds bleak. It looks bleak. It feels bleak. He doesn’t want that.

Melvin holds Alan’s wrist. “We’re taking you to the hospital,” he says. Then he quickly stands up even when he feels like tumbling down again, even when his head starts screaming “sit the FUCK down” and his legs feel like jelly. He limps his way towards the door and tries to open it by the safety release handle. It doesn't budge. He rings the safety bell, there’s no answer.

Melvin pants. He’s doing everything too fast to the point he forgets that they’re stuck in a closed space with a temperature of -10° F and low oxygen level. Fuck, his heart is beating too fast and he’s about to hyperventilate. “We’re stuck,” he whispers, but Alan doesn’t look like he gives a fuck. He rolls his eyes and looks at Melvin, deadpan. “Yea, genius. Just get back here now and warm me up.”

Melvin shakes his head. “No, no. We can’t give up. There must be, there must be something we could do.”

“No, Melvin. There isn’t. The only thing we can do now is wait until someone found us and that’s the hard part because it’s cold, Melvin. Don’t you feel cold?”

Melvin nods.

“It’s a walk-in freezer, Rickman, and if we don’t,” Alan coughs, “if we don’t keep ourselves warm, there’s no telling how we could survive that wait.”

Melvin stares at Alan again. Once again, the fear found him. It makes his brain go numb and his legs all jittery. There’s this urge to just scream and throw himself on the door, but he knows better than to do that.

He looks from shelves to shelves to find something—anything. Anything that could keep them warm for some unknown time. Anything that could cover both of them for the night. There’s nothing, and he’s scared. He’s fucking scared. He’s so scared that he might start to cry right now.

“It’s really cold, don’t you think?” Alan jokes, but Melvin doesn’t crack a single laugh. Melvin stops looking and sits next to his partner instead. “We’re gonna get out of here,” Melvin says, his hands founding its way around Alan’s cold body. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

They stay like that for what seems to be eternity. Alan’s body grows colder and his breathing gets heavier, and so does Melvin’s. He doesn’t know how many hours have passed since the Revelator left the room. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. And he just wants to cry, fuck, he wanna cry so bad because it hurts. Melvin looks so pale and out of it, and he’s scared. He’s scared. He’s out-gunned. They’ve stuck together for so long and they always won. They’ve been together from the beginning and they will always be until the end. Alan has saved Melvin over and over and over again, but right now, when Alan needed him the most, he couldn’t do anything about it.

“When we get out of here,” Alan smiles at him, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes, “wanna have some dinner together?”

Melvin hugs him tighter and nods. Yes, that sounds great. They’re going to get dinner when they’re out of here. They’re not going to miss any Taco Nights and they’re going to watch the Yankees together. They’re going to do a lot of things when they get out.

If only. If only they get o—

“NYPD GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”

The metal door opens forcefully and a swarm of people in tac gears rushes into the room. Melvin tenses in his place and hugs Alan even tighter. It’s Sergeant Jones.

“Huh, Collins and Rickman. I should’ve… what the fuck, we need a medic!”

The tac teams look around the room as Sergeant Jones walks towards them with heavy steps. “H-how did you…?”

“There’s an anonymous call to the precinct saying there’s a hostage situation. We tracked the phone and it comes to this address. The FBI is waiting outside,” he continues as he kneels in front of them. The tac teams leave the freezer to make a room for the medic. Two men quickly come to lift Alan’s limp body to the stretcher, and another one quickly wraps a blanket around Melvin’s own freezing self.

“Why is the FBI here?” Melvin asks as Sergeant Jones hoists him up. The older sergeant and the other medic help him walk outside the room.

“You know who called, Rickman?” The Sergeant’s eyes are sharp at him. Melvin shakes his head.

“It’s the Revelator.”

“Is he gonna be alright?” Melvin asks as he looks at Melvin. He’s sleeping right now, the blinds are pulled down and the lights are dimmed, but the TV isn’t playing any random show and there isn’t anything to hide now. Not anymore.

“Doctor said that he’s lucky,” Sergeant Jones says with his thick Brooklyn drawl. “He lost a lot of blood, but his sutures are neat. I can’t believe the fucking Revelator actually did that. What the hell happened, Rickman? You know what, don’t tell me. Save the answer for the Captain later.”

Melvin doesn’t reply, he’s still looking at Alan. “Don’t be so bummed, kid. Nobody is going to lose their job.”

He smiles. “I’m thinking of quitting, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Jones’ eyes go wide.

“Alright, I know that was crazy, but take your time to think about it.”

Melvin looks at him for a moment, but that’s all he does. He says nothing and just stares at Alan’s peaceful form.

“What are you gonna do after this, kid?”

He looks at the Sergeant.

“Dinner, I guess.”

#prosit in vitam aeternam #tw: language #tw: violence #tw: death

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