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starryknight09 · 5 years

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Whatever It Takes Ch. 17/18

Summary: Peter’s struggling to cope after the loss of Mr. Stark. Everyone keeps telling him it’ll get better and that he needs to move on, but Peter doesn’t want to. He can’t envision a life without his mentor. So when an idea comes to him, he doesn’t hesitate, no matter how crazy it is. He’s going to get Mr. Stark back.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Ned asked.

“Whatever it takes.” Peter answered.

Read on AO3.

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“And we have amazing news this morning, although you might’ve already heard it since it’s all anyone has been talking about ever since Pepper Potts—”

“Pepper Stark.” Tony mumbled the correction to himself as he sat on the couch, coffee in hand, watching the network newsperson speak.

“—CEO of Stark Industries, revealed in a press conference last night that Tony Stark is in fact alive. It bears repeating, so let me repeat it. Tony Stark, Ironman, the hero who orchestrated the return of all those who had been dusted, myself included, and subsequently prevented the world’s destruction—”

“The universe’s.” Tony corrected again. They really needed to check their facts.

“—is miraculously alive today after the world has spent the last seven months believing he was dead. As revealed at the press conference last night, Tony Stark had in fact been in a coma in Wakanda, thought unlikely to recover, until those assumptions were proven incorrect last week. Mr. Stark has in fact awoken and is currently at home recovering here in New York. No word yet on if or when he will be addressing the public. But I’m sure I speak for all of us here in New York and around the globe when I say, thank you Mr. Stark from the bottom of our hearts.”

Tony’s lip twisted in a part smile, part grimace. He always hated being thanked for things, especially when it was something he actually deserved to be thanked for. And he knew he should be thinking about when he was going to return to the public eye and give his own press conference, because he’d have to eventually, but right now all he could think about, could worry about, was his kid.

Peter had been making progress in therapy, at least according to his therapist. The kid himself remained completely mum when it came to the subject. He never talked to Tony about what they discussed in therapy even when Tony tried to gently prod. And even though he thought it might help the kid to share with him, he respected Peter’s wishes and his privacy. Well, Tony respected his privacy as much as he could, given that the therapist shared information with him and then he, in turn, shared it with May. He wasn’t quite sure if Peter knew that part or if he thought May and Tony were completely out of the loop, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility of rocking the boat to find out.

Tony sighed and checked his watch. It was almost ten in the morning. He glanced over his shoulder down the empty hallway. No sign of Peter. Tony was surprised he was still asleep. Pepper and Morgan had left hours ago, although they didn’t have to leave as early as they used to when they’d been commuting from the lake house. That was one thing Morgan loved about their new penthouse apartment. No long car rides. But it was one of only a few things. Leaving the solitude of the countryside had been a rougher adjustment for her than he and Pepper had anticipated, but they were making progress. Tony, for one, loved the new digs. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed living in the city until he was back.

And they had found the perfect place. The location was ideal and the layout was nearly a mirror image of their old penthouse at the top of Stark Tower except homier and sans bar. Peter had spent his first fifteen minutes in the apartment staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the city. Tony had almost forgotten that Peter had never been to the Tower before it’d been sold, and even though the compound had a nice view of nature, it was nothing compared to this.

The change in location had done nothing to stop Peter’s nightmares though. Whether at the lake house last week or here in the penthouse this week, Tony had spent every night in Peter’s room, comforting him from nightmares. He liked to think maybe they were getting less severe, but he was probably deluding himself. Still, Peter had to be doing somewhat better since his therapist had given him the ok to re-start school on Monday. Which meant Tony had five more full days with his kid. And he planned to take advantage of them. If his kid would ever wake up…

“Hey Tony.” Peter’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Speak of the devil.

“Hey kid.” He said back, craning his head around so he could see him. Peter still had his pajamas on and his hair was sleep mussed, but he looked well rested for once. Good.

“You hungry?” Tony asked as he turned off the TV and stood, planning to make his kid breakfast or lunch or whatever he wanted.

“Yeah but I just want some cereal.” Peter flashed him a smile.

“You sure? I can whip something up or we can order something. Whatever sounds good.”

“Cereal sounds good.” Peter said as he grabbed a box of Lucky Charms out of the pantry.

“You know there’s more sugar than nutrition in that, right?” Tony pointed to the box as he sat back down on the couch.

“Tastes better than the old man cereal you eat.” Peter said, pouring half the box into a mixing bowl.

“Hey who are you calling old? And oatmeal squares are not old man cereal.”

“Next thing you know you’ll be eating Grape Nuts.”

“What’s wrong with Grapes Nuts?”

“Oh god! You’re hopeless.” Peter said dramatically with a grin as he finished pouring milk over his cereal.

“Hmm, maybe, but keep it up and I’m going to buy only Grape Nuts from now on.” Tony teased.

“I have four words for you.” Peter glared. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I prefer to call it creative.” Tony smirked.

Peter rolled his eyes as he crossed the distance between them and plopped down on the couch at Tony’s side.

“What were you watching?” Peter asked around a mouth full of cereal, nodding toward the now black TV screen.

“News drivel.”

“Anything good?”

“They’re celebrating the fact that reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “That’s right. Pepper told everyone you’re alive last night.”

“She did.” Tony nodded and watched with a smirk as Peter continued to eat his cereal from the ridiculously oversized bowl in his lap.

“So…” Peter frowned and paused to finish chewing. “What’s the cover story again?”

“Um something about being in a coma in Wakanda that I somehow miraculously woke up from. Or whatever. I don’t know.” Tony waved a hand.

“Shouldn’t you probably know the details?” Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“I will when I have to. I’m sure I’ll have to do a press conference at some point, but since I’m still recovering,” Tony sank back further into the couch, “I get a temporary stay of execution. No public appearances for me in the near future.”

“I think it’ll probably be sooner than you think if Pepper has any say.” Peter joked.

“Maybe.” Tony scrunched his nose. “She did say something this morning about needing to get me out of the house because I was starting to get underfoot. But in my defense, this place is a little more cramped than the lake house.”

Peter snorted.

“Hopefully she’ll be happier now that I finally got all the wiring done for the downstairs workshop last night.” Tony smiled. They not only had the entire top floor, they had the floor below it as well for Tony to use as his personal workshop, or as Pepper liked to call it, his tinker space.

“Awesome.” Peter said, smiling around a mouth full of Lucky Charms.

“Yep, so what do you say we head down there when you’re done with breakfast.”

“Sounds good.” Peter nodded and finished munching on the rest of his cereal in silence while Tony looked over a couple e-mails on his phone.

“Um actually there was something I wanted to run by you.” Peter said with a slight furrow of his brow once he swallowed his last bite.

“Ok. Hit me.” Tony said. He slid his phone back in his pocket and then frowned when Peter got up and started walking away toward the kitchen.

Tony automatically stood and followed. He waited, leaning against the kitchen countertop as Peter rinsed off the spoon and bowl before putting them in the dishwasher.

Peter turned and held his hands up, keeping the kitchen island between them as he said, “Ok so hear me out.”

“I’m already sensing I’m not going to like this.” He said, raising his eyebrows.

“Tony.” Peter gave him a frustrated look that was so uncannily similar to the ones Pepper gave him that he almost laughed. He and Pepper definitely hadn’t donated any genetic material to Peter like they had for Morgan, but they’d been parenting him all the same, and he’d been hanging around with them so much lately that it was starting to show. He was starting to pick up some of their nuances and mannerisms. It was freaking adorable.

“Ok I’m listening.” He said, crossing his arms but unable to hold back a smile at the love swelling in his chest at the adorableness that was Peter Parker, thinking nothing could put a hinderance on his good mood.

“I want to go out as Spiderman tonight.” Peter said in a rush.

Ok. So almost nothing.

“No.” The denial passed his lips without a thought. It was instant and automatic.

“Tony—” Peter started, borderline whining.

“No Peter.” He repeated, more firmly this time since it seemed like his kid actually had the audacity to argue about this.

“But—”

“You’re not allowed to go to school right now, why in the world would you think I’d let you go out as Spiderman?” Tony interrupted again, frowning.

“But Spiderman’s different than school.” Peter argued.

“It is. It’s more dangerous.”

“I can handle it. I just-I need the distraction. I think it would help with…everything.”

“Like it helped last time?” He asked. Didn’t Peter get what he was asking?

“That’s not fair.”

Tony could say a lot of things in response to that like how it also wasn’t fair to have to watch your kid almost become a pancake on the ground, but he knew that was the wrong thing to say, so he held back. He was angry, but he didn’t want to hurt Peter.

So instead, he took a deep breath and tried a different approach. “Why do you want to go out as Spiderman?”

He tried to ignore the hopeful expression on Peter’s face as he answered, “It helps me get out of my head. It helps me process things. And I feel…more alive I guess, more like myself when I’m Spiderman. And I-I just want to feel like myself again Tony. Please.”

“The answer’s still no.” He said, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

Anger darkened Peter’s countenance. “Why’d you even ask if you weren’t going to change your mind?”

“Because I wanted to know.” Tony answered and the bluntness seemed to piss Peter off more.

Peter opened his mouth, probably to yell at him or spew some other deluded rationalization, but Tony held a hand up to stop him before he could.

“Listen kid.” Tony said, keeping his tone even, not letting any of his own frustration bleed in. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But listen. Rule numero uno of superheroing is you don’t go out and risk your life unless you have all your ducks in a row. That means you’re completely physically and emotionallywell.”

Peter frowned “But—”

Tony could guess what he was going to say. Tony and every member of the Avengers had personally broken that rule numerous times, so he cut him off before he could. He held up a finger. “Let me finish.”

Peter stopped but with a frustrated huff.

“The only time you can break that rule is if it’s truly life or death or if there’s a real possibility of the world ending. Do get what I’m saying?”

“But people in Queens are dying all the time.” Peter argued. “They need Spiderman.”

“It’s not the same.” Tony shook his head.

“How is it not?” Peter asked, and Tony could tell he genuinely wanted to know, he wasn’t just trying to be difficult.

“The theoretical possibility of maybe saving one person’s life is not worth yours.” Tony explained.

Peter frowned but seemed to be thinking about Tony’s words.

“If Thanos,” Tony paused to wince, “appeared right now. I’d say, fine. You’re in. Because that’s an all hands on deck kind of situation. Going out on a routine patrol as Spiderman is not the same as that.”

Peter’s face twisted, but he didn’t argue. Tony skirted around the island and grasped Peter’s shoulders as he looked into his stormy eyes.

“Listen, there are responsibilities we take on as heroes. One of them is accepting that there are going to be things we need to risk our lives for. Sometimes there are things bigger than us worth dying for. That’s part of the gig.” It hurt Tony to say it because he never wanted to envision his own kid in that type of situation. “And…some things are worth that sacrifice.”

Peter paled. No doubt he was thinking of Tony’s own sacrifice.

“But most things are not. Patrolling as Spiderman is not.” Tony continued, not keeping the harshness out of the words. “Risking your life when you’re not completely ok isn’t brave. It’s stupid. Do you understand?”

Peter nodded reluctantly.

“Good.” Tony nodded.

“When you’re not on your A game you’re not focusing as well.” Tony said, wanting to hammer the point home.

“And all it takes is one second of distraction and just like that,” He snapped his fingers, “a knife or a bullet slips through and suddenly you’re bleeding out on the ground.”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he jerked backwards, out of Tony’s grasp.

“Pete?” Tony blinked. He didn’t think his description had been that gruesome, not enough to garner that type of reaction.

He watched as his kid took a few staggering steps back before his feet caught together and he crashed to the ground.

“Pete!” Tony crossed the distance and knelt down beside him in an instant. He went to grab his shoulder but his kid kept flailing his legs out to propel himself backward and out of reach, as if trying to escape some terrifying threat.

Tony didn’t think he was trying to escape him but the fear was still unsettling to witness. Peter ran out of space a few seconds later. His back slammed against the bottom of the kitchen cabinets, and then his head cracked against them when he tried to throw himself further away even though there was nowhere to go. Tony winced at the sound of it.

“Jesus.” Tony mumbled and moved to Peter’s side. He put a hand up between his kid’s skull and the cabinets in case he tried to do it again.

“Hey Pete. Peter. Look at me.” He ordered, and palmed Peter’s cheek, trying to direct his gaze toward him. It didn’t work. Peter kept staring straight ahead, eyes wide with terror as his breaths came out in short, rapid pants.

“Oh shit.” Tony swore as he finally realized what was going on. Some type of flashback or panic attack. Maybe both. He couldn’t believe it’d taken him so long to recognize it given his own experience with them. He hated the thought of Peter suffering like he had, but he put that emotion on the backburner for now and focused on trying to help his kid.

When Peter didn’t seem to be at risk of cracking his head open anymore, Tony shifted so he was kneeling directly in front of him, face at eye level. He cradled his kid’s face in his hands and spoke, keeping his tone soft and soothing, “Hey kiddo. You’re safe. You’re here with me. You’re not there. You’re in New York in this awesome penthouse Pepper found us. And I’m here with you. Do you hear me Pete? Peter?”

The glazed over look in Peter’s eyes slowly started to fade, and after another handful of seconds, he blinked and refocused on Tony’s face in front of him.

“Tony?” He whispered, sounding scared but hopeful at the same time.

“Yeah.” Tony gave him a wan smile. “Are you with me?”

Peter glanced around in confusion, taking in his place on the kitchen floor, before meeting Tony’s eyes again. “I think so?”

He looked a little more with it but his breath was still coming out in pants.

“Ok.” Tony dropped one of his hands from Peter’s cheek to grab his kid’s hand and bring to his chest. “You’re still breathing a little fast there buddy. Can you feel my breathing and try to match it to yours?”

Peter nodded and Tony brushed his hair back with his other hand and then left it planted at the base of his neck.

“Ok. In…and out. Good. Deep breath in…and out. You got it kiddo. Good job. In. Out. In. Out.” Tony coached him, ignoring the pain in his knees from the position.

“There.” Tony said once Peter’s breathing had finally gotten back to normal. “Better?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Tony said seriously before asking, “Do you know what happened?”

“Yeah. I-I kind of freaked out.”

Tony hummed.

“This time was a lot worse than last time.”

“Last time? What do you mean last time? When was there a last time?” Tony frowned, unable to keep the alarm out of the questions.

“Remember that time I texted you from the bathroom at school?”

“You mean the time you said you were fine. That was after something like this happened?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Jesus.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you mad?” Peter asked anxiously.

“No. I’m not—” He paused to take a deep breath himself. “I’m not mad. I’m just…this is the kind of thing you need to tell me about.”

“I texted you.”

Tony shook his head in disbelief.

“And like I said, it wasn’t this bad.” Peter added.

“I told you I’d pick you up.”

“I didn’t need you too.”

“Peter,” Tony said with exasperation, “you had a panic attack and you stayed in school. That’s the sort of thing you take the rest of the day off for.”

Peter’s face pinched with skepticism, which almost would’ve been cute if the topic hadn’t been so serious. “A panic attack?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded and brushed a hand through Peter’s hair again. “That’s what that was kid.”

Peter blinked and looked at him with wide eyes. “How do you know?”

“Used to get them myself.”

“Really? You did?”

“Yeah. After New York.” He didn’t bother specifying since he knew Peter would understand what he meant. “And then again later…after Thanos. After losing you.”

Peter sucked in a breath of air. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Tony gave him a tight smile and held out a hand. “But what do you say we get off the floor?”

“Ok.” Peter took his hand.

Tony grasped it and stood, pulling Peter up with him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Let’s sit down and talk.” Tony said, guiding them back toward the couch.

“But the workshop.” Peter protested half-heartedly.

“The workshop can wait. This is more important.”

They sat down and Tony kept an arm draped around his kid. Peter leaned into his hold. They’d gone from arguing to practically cuddling in the span of under ten minutes. It was enough to give Tony emotional whiplash.

“How many of these have you had?” Tony asked quietly.

“Just the two.” Peter snorted, unamused. “Isn’t that enough?”

Tony hummed in response, and after a few seconds of silence he asked, “Does Ruth know about the other one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think of it.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Tony took another calming breath. He didn’t know how his kid could have a panic attack and then label it in his mind as not a big deal even if he hadn’t known what it was at the time.

“Do you want to tell Ruth about it or should I?” Tony asked. Peter’s therapist was coming over later that afternoon.

“Um…can you do it?”

“Sure kid. Do you know what set it off?” He asked. He knew Ruth would want to know and he wanted to know himself.

Peter nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, um, it was the same thing both times.”

Tony frowned as he tried to figure out what he could’ve said or done to trigger that kind of reaction.

Before he could ask him, Peter asked hesitantly, “Can you maybe try not to snap your fingers around me anymore? At least for a little while?”

Tony’s breath caught in his throat and he stiffened. Peter sensed it and turned wide eyes on him.

“Um is that ok?” He asked anxiously.

“Yeah. Of course it’s ok.” Tony answered quickly and then shook his head in frustration at himself. “Shit kid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Peter mumbled.

But it wasn’t. Tony should’ve thought of that, but it hadn’t even been on his radar. Probably because even though he’d watched the video playback, he hadn’t actually been the one to do it. Other Tony had, or his later past self, or whatever. Regardless, the last time Peter had seen him snap his fingers, he’d ended up subsequently dying from it.

“That’s what happened at school too? Someone snapped their fingers?”

Peter nodded. “My teacher. And I know it’s stupid. I know it shouldn’t bother me so much, and it’s completely irrational, but when it happens it’s like everything disappears and all I can see is you. Snapping. And…dying.”

Tony could tell just talking about it was getting Peter worked up again, so he shushed him and ran a hand down the back of his head. “It’s not stupid.”

“Sure feels like it.” Peter mumbled.

“Well it’s not. Shit kid, after the alien thing in New York, if someone just said the word space or wormhole around me, I’d freak out.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Tony kept running fingers through Peter’s hair.

“How’d you get better?”

“Time. Therapy. Lots of therapy.”

Peter snorted.

“But it gets better kid. I promise. Hey, I ended up in space with you, and I completely held it together, remember?”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that.” Peter teased, obviously feeling better.

“Well no panic attacks at least.” At least none that the kid had seen. There’d been a couple close calls and one definite breakdown when he’d been stuck on that ship with Nebula on their way back to Earth.

“Yeah.” Peter sighed and Tony could hear the desolation in it.

“Hey.” Tony tapped Peter’s chin with his finger. “Chin up Underoos. It’ll get better. Just give it some time.”

“Seems like it’s taking forever.”

“It’s only been a couple weeks Pete.”

“Yeah weeks.” Peter complained.

Tony smiled. “Give it a few months and then see where you’re at. I bet how you feel now compared to how you’ll feel then will be a lot different.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

Peter sighed again but instead of continuing the conversation, he changed the subject and asked, “Can we go down to the workshop now?”

“You sure you’re feeling up to it?”

Peter nodded.

“All right. Whatever you want kid.” Tony said as he stood.

That got a small smile out of Peter as he followed a step behind him while they walked to the elevator doors.

“I’m going to ask one more thing and then we don’t have to talk about it anymore, ok?” Tony said once they stepped into the elevator.

“Ok.” Peter agreed begrudgingly.

“Do you understand why I don’t think you’re ready to go out as Spiderman yet?” He asked, reaching over to squeeze Peter shoulder so it wouldn’t feel like he was asking to be mean spirited.

“Yeah.” Peter mumbled, staring down at the elevator floor as the doors closed behind them.

Peter mouth twisted. “I guess it’d be pretty embarrassing if Spiderman died because he was too busy having a meltdown from some bad guy snapping his fingers to defend himself from getting shot.”

Tony’s chest clenched in fear at the visual of that exact situation before he had the wherewithal to chastise Peter. “Hey. Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

“Sorry.” Peter said, not sounding sorry at all.

Tony squeezed his shoulder again. “Remember what I said. It’ll get better. Give it time. You’ll be out swinging again in no time.”

“Yeah.” Peter didn’t seem so sure.

“You will. I promise.” Tony said and patted Peter between the shoulder blades as the elevator doors opened to the workshop. “Now come on. You can help me with some suit upgrades I’ve been thinking about.”

“Really?” Peter asked with hopeful eyes. He and Peter had worked together in the workshop all the time before Thanos but he’d rarely let him help with the Ironman suit.

“Yeah.” Tony said as they walked out of the elevator.

“Ok.” Peter grinned, eager excitement lighting up his face.

In that moment, he looked exactly like the old Peter that Tony remembered. Tony smiled back. Yeah. His kid was going to get better. He just needed a little more time and some TLC. And Tony had plenty of both to give now.

#my fic

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writesandramblings · 6 years

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The Captain’s Secret - p.33

“Transitional Devices”

A/N: The fortune cookies in this story are actually based on real blind picks from a bag of cookies I purchased at Panda Express for the purpose of this story, and I did the exact same thing I describe Lorca doing when I picked them out.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 32 - Home 34 - These Are the Voyages >>

There was time before departure for one in-person meeting with Admiral Wainwright. Lorca checked his uniform in the bathroom in Starfleet Headquarters. No dust, no wrinkles, everything perfectly straight and in order. All set.

Emerging from the bathroom, he found Cornwell in the waiting area and instinctively checked the time. The meeting wasn't for ten more minutes.

"We're running early for once," said Cornwell, motioning for Lorca to join her.

They strode down the wood-paneled halls bedecked with images of Starfleet's history. Schematics and designs of the earliest starships and starbases, a starmap of the route of the NX-01 USS Enterprise's first voyage, official portraits of Admirals, including Archer's portrait before his ascension to the Presidency.

It had always struck Lorca as needlessly backward-looking. While history was important, more important to him and to the present of Starfleet was the future that lay before them, and that future was the unknown.

Of course, they couldn't very well replace the art with blank canvases, apropos as that would be.

They arrived at a small conference room designed for private meetings and audiences. Admiral Wainwright was not present, but Vice Admiral Kariuki was. She shook Lorca's hand. "We should wait for John, but I just wanted to say how very impressed I am by everything you've done so far. We're all very excited to see what you do next."

"Well, thank you, Admiral. I'm excited to find that out myself."

Kariuki offered some small talk for a couple minutes and then Wainwright came in with all the bluster and bombast of his reputation. Even though everyone was running early, Wainwright had decided to take his time walking over, throw around his weight a little, because he could. Lorca fully understood the appeal, much as he hated being on the receiving end of it. "Captain Lorca! Man of the hour. Congratulations on the new command. But that's not why we called you here."

Wainwright gestured for everyone to sit. "We'd like to talk to you about the lului."

Many months ago, Lorca had avoided being chewed out by Wainwright on the subject of Lalana. Apparently that luck had just run out. Lorca sat up in alert and wished Cornwell had warned him.

Kariuki spoke next. "This is considered classified on the highest level. It does not leave this room. Two weeks ago, we noticed an aberrant signal on our communications network in the Kassae Sector." The Kassae Sector was one of two sectors containing the Briar Patch, the other being the Risa sector. Luluan was in the Kassae part.

Lului, singular and plural. Apparently this meeting was in reference to the plural. Lorca relaxed. "Aberrant how?"

"It was piggybacking on our regular transmissions. It looked like a glitch, but when the glitch appeared to correspond with two database incursions, it was flagged for further investigation. We believe this to be the work of the alien you mentioned meeting, Yoo-mali?"

"Umale," said Lorca.

"Right. Your report was very detailed, but we were hoping you might be able to offer some insight into what the alien wants."

"That depends on what the data incursion was, exactly. What did he take?" Lorca inadvertently defaulted to Lalana's lului gendering practice.

Kariuki shifted uncomfortably. "That's the thing. He didn't take anything. He left diagrams for synthetic molecules."

"Synthetic molecules?"

"We believe them to be pharmaceutical in nature, but they're unlike anything we've ever seen. We attempted to contact him, but there was no response. Incoming transmissions seem to have been disabled."

"We're interested in any explanation you have," said Cornwell.

"Sounds to me like 'don't call us, we'll call you,'" declared Lorca, not that this was the part of the mystery they were calling upon him to solve. "That would definitely fit with my impression of Umale. Now if I had to guess... I'd say these molecules are his way of saying thanks. I can't completely rule out any danger, but lului are very adamant about only killing for food. Umale's a little different, operates under slightly looser rules, but if he possessed both a biological weapon and the temperament to use it, I rather think he would have done so against the hunters or the initial invaders on the planet."

As far as tactical assessments went, it seemed more than sound.

"What I don't understand is how these lului even have these molecules to give us. They don't even have spaceships!"

"That's by choice, sir," replied Lorca. For most of the lului, anyway. "The technology they do have seems to be more advanced than ours."

"We still haven't figured out what that silver box is," said Kariuki. The project was under her oversight.

"My science officer calls them a 'post-warp' society. Hard as it is to believe a species might get to the stars and then turn back."

"Right, well, I hope you'll agree that these molecules merit further investigation, Admiral," said Kariuki. Suddenly Lorca realized what was going on. Kariuki was trying to get Admiral Hatchet to sign off on a research project. He smiled.

Whether Kariuki got the approval or not, Lorca's role in the conversation was over, and Cornwell escorted him out.

"I thought lului didn't use genders," said Cornwell once they were back in the hall.

"Ah, no. They don't."

Cornwell gave Lorca her most disapproving psychologist look. "It's disrespectful to assign them to aliens."

"Blame Lalana for that one. She likes genders a lot." That was an understatement. "She sort of... assigned them to all the lului. I don't think she gets that it might be rude. She thinks it's fun."

"But you know better," said Cornwell.

Lorca looked at the map of the NX-01 Enterprise route on the wall. The Briar Patch was visible, as was Risa. "You're right. I'll be more mindful in the future."

Cornwell turned to look at the map, too. "And speaking of Lalana, we still haven't been able to locate her."

"It's only been a couple of months," said Lorca dismissively (and imprecisely).

"Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me, Gabriel."

Lorca took a breath. "She's fine. She'll turn up when she wants to." And by that time, he intended to be several sectors away from the damage when she did.

Lorca checked with Larsson three more times before the Buran left Spacedock. Yes, Lalana was on Earth. No, she had not boarded any more shuttles. Finally Larsson went, "Just call her and ask her yourself!"

"I can't trust she'll tell me the truth," said Lorca.

"That is your problem. I am going fishing. Goodbye." Lorca did not speak with Larsson again, but he did see Lalana on the Buran. More or less.

When the holocomm image flickered into view, it looked like no holocomm image was supposed to. The picture was technically correct, but the dimensions were all wrong. The image was folded in on itself, surfaces cutting through one another. Every aspect of depth and dimension was incorrect. There were also objects present from the room she was in, which should not have been visible on his end. Apparently the holocomm used non-optical sensors to process the surfaces of three-dimensional objects and discern between living and nonliving matter. An unexpected disaster on the designer's part.

"I can see you! It is like you are here!" exclaimed Lalana, and immediately swiped her tail through her image of him, which caused the holocomm emitters in the Buran's ready room to freak out and make it look like she was bisecting herself.

"I wish you could see what I see," he deadpanned, and keyed the panel at his desk to reduce her signal to two-dimensional. It was a relief to not have to look at that holocomm abomination.

"Have you left yet?"

"Almost. Two more hours. And you're at least two hours from the nearest shuttle pad, so..." She was on a beach in the Seychelles, this being what constituted Larsson's idea of an ideal fishing location. (It also explained why Larsson looked so red in their last communication.)

"Do I understand correctly that you are going to remind me of my involvement with Dr. Li always?"

It was a very fancy and not entirely apologetic way of referring to stowing away on the Triton. "Probably," he said.

"Then I accept this punishment, because it means we will continue talking."

"Just because you can't come with us doesn't mean I'm gonna ditch you completely. Partly, sure, but not completely."

Her head tilted. "What is 'ditch?'"

He smiled. Some things never changed.

There was one final ritual which needed to be observed before departure. A pile of fortune cookies sat on a bowl. It was always a risk, opening a fortune cookie on such an auspicious occasion. Even knowing every possible fortune, as he did, there was always a chance of a surprising encounter. His hand hovered over the bowl.

One cookie sat slightly on top of the pile, higher than the others, almost as if he was supposed to take it. He considered it a moment, then thought of the fortune on his bedstand and extracted the cookie below it.

"A change of heart will bring back what is lost."

He stared at it. Sorry, Lalana. Not even a fortune cookie was going to make him change his mind about civilian stowaways on a Federation starship, untraceable lului ones in particular.

Just for curiosity's sake, he opened the cookie that had been on top of the pile. "Others are inspired by your courage." God damn it, he thought to himself. That would have been perfect. Sometimes it really was best to take what fate put in front of you.

He returned to the bridge and was greeted by a lot of familiar faces. Arzo at the science station, Benford at tactical, Russo on the comms and Carver at the helm. They were a good crew. He was glad to have had the chance to meet them before starting this mission. "Status report!" he barked.

"All systems are ready, sir," said the woman at ops, a lieutenant named Levy. She was a new addition to the roster. Modest service record, but some good personal remarks from her previous commanding officers. "Waiting on final clearance from Spacedock."

The difference in crew size was significant. The whole crew of the Triton could not have staffed the Buran, and given that Lorca had elected to bring roughly seventy-five percent of the Triton's people, there were now close to seventy new faces on board, many of them young crewmen and cadets who would have many years of service to look forward to advancing through the ranks.

Lorca took over from Benford in the captain's chair and began reviewing the very final checks from each department. Engineering, weapons, medical, astrometrics, and of course, hydroponics. He could only imagine how much food Yoon had secreted away these past three days.

He had a new senior chief engineer, a Vulcan named Sural. He wondered what he had to do to get Starfleet to send him an engineer with a sense of humor for a change. Clearly, whatever he was doing with Cornwell wasn't having the desired effect.

Benford appeared at Lorca's elbow and said in a low voice, "What are you doing?"

Lorca glanced up. "What do you mean?"

"You're sitting."

"It's a new thing I'm trying out. Stand to keep them on their toes, sit to make them comfortable."

"Yeah, well, it's making me uncomfortable."

Lorca chuckled and shook his head. "Back to your station, number one."

"Sir," said Russo. "Spacedock has cleared us for departure."

With a clap, Lorca hopped to his feet. "Mr. Russo! Open a shipwide channel. USS Buran. This is Captain Lorca. We have been cleared to depart and I have a few words. Yes, I know, everyone just loves a captain's speech at launch. But if you'll indulge me.

"Some of you, I've had the pleasure of serving with already. The rest, well, we'll be getting to know each other in the weeks and months to come. But you are all here because you are exemplary members of Starfleet. Each and every one of you is capable of amazing things as an individual, and together, we are capable of so much more.

"Each one of you has had your own path in joining Starfleet, and your own reasons for wanting to serve. So you all know what kind of ship you've signed on to, I'm going to tell you mine.

"Throughout our history, humanity has been a species of explorers. We walked, we sailed, and finally we flew. When we had conquered the ground beneath our feet and the air above our heads, we submerged ourselves in deep blue waves of that little planet down there. Our science, our stories, our very ethos as a species is built upon the need to satisfy our curiosity and reveal the unknown.

"In other words, we all have something in common, no matter what world you're from. We were all born too late to reach the unexplored by walking, sailing, or flying through the air.

"But we were all born just in time for this. To seek out strange new worlds, new life forms, and civilizations. Many of you know I've done all three, and before this journey end, it is my aim that every single one of you has done the same.

"There's a whole universe of stars out there waiting for us to boldly go where no one has gone before."

He let the words hang in the air a moment, just long enough for everyone to hopefully appreciate the promise of his speech. "Now, look alive, people. Final systems check. Communications!"

"Ready, sir!" said Russo.

"Shields!"

Levy looked up from her console. "Operational! All systems online, sir."

"Sensors!"

"Online, sir,” Arzo responded.

"Commander Benford. Weapons?"

"Locked and loaded, captain!" Not actually loaded—they weren't in combat—but an exuberant turn of phrase that perfectly suited the spirit of this journey.

"Commander Sural. Engineering?"

"All systems are nominal, captain." Leave it to a Vulcan.

"Navigation!"

"Course set, sir!"

"Take us out, Carver."

"Disengaging docking clamps. Impulse engines online."

"Incoming transmission, sir. Commodore Cornwell."

"Bring her up."

Cornwell appeared, a hologram standing in the fore of the bridge. "Just wanted to wish you and your crew the best of adventures, Captain."

"Thank you, Commodore. We'll do you proud." Cornwell vanished and Lorca took up his usual position at the fore of the bridge, the stars of the viewscreen beckoning him forward.

"We're clear of Spacedock, sir," said Carver. "Warp on your command."

Lorca smiled, admiring the sight of the stationary stars and savoring the feeling of power that came from the entire ship waiting with bated breath for his next order.

"Go."

The stars became strings of light.

Part 34

#Gabriel Lorca #Katrina Cornwell #Star Trek Discovery #Star Trek #Discovery #fanfic #fanfiction #Captain Lorca #USS Buran

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aflirtingaccident · 7 years

Text

Fortune Favors The Bold

Naoto Shirogane, now twenty, is called in to the SIU to help apprehend the Phantom Thieves. Working alongside prosecutor Sae Niijima, Naoto suspects that there's more to the Phantom Thieves than some online popularity and a flashy logo. As the mystery unravels, Naoto's presence threatens the stability of Tokyo's shadowy puppeteers - and certain conspirators are desperate to keep her away from the truth. Contains spoilers for Persona 4, and for Persona 5 past July and up through the true ending.

(Read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10931373/chapters/24317115 )

“They’re sending her?”

The voice on the other end of the line kept talking. With each word, the SIU director’s brows furrowed further down, and any smile he had vanished more and more. Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing down his glasses. This was turning into a headache. “We already have Akechi-san here. With all due respect, sir, what do you think she could possibly do to help?”

The voice went on. Hiroshi wanted nothing more than to hang up and pretend he’d never had this conversation. His fingers moved from his nose to the top of his desk, drumming the hardwood. “I understand, sir, but I really don’t think this is necessary. We have several promising new leads, an-” More words. More rising annoyance. “Very well, sir. I’ll make the arrangements myself. She’ll have our full cooperation.” He mashed the disconnect button and carelessly dropped his phone onto his desk, taking a moment to think about this hitch.

This was a problem.

He slowly rose from his office chair and stepped out from behind his desk, moving to his window. Gazing out onto the bustling streets of Tokyo far below him, he mulled over his options. Saying no clearly wasn’t available. Neither was pulling some strings to get her sent away - people higher up than him had made it very, very clear that the continued activities of the Phantom Thieves were reflecting poorly on the government. Though his collaborators could do many things, even this was beyond their power - this was the institution they were trying to topple, after all.

There was also the obvious solution, but doing that to a world famous detective would undoubtedly only bring suspicion upon them. Those kind of hits were planned and calculated, and using them to simply get rid of an inconvenience was overkill - and it added more evidence to a subtly growing pile, one that would eventually be impossible to hide.

Burying her in red tape and procedure was possible, but ultimately wouldn’t lead to much. She was famous for a reason, and her connections and reputation often let her fast track most things she needed, when she was able. She knew the system inside and out, so anything he could do could be easily overcome. Still, it was the only option he had available. Hiroshi walked back to his desk and picked up his phone, dialing in a number.. Like or it not, his true employer deserved to know what was going on. He glanced around to make sure no one else was in his office, then he hit the connect button. It rang twice before someone picked up.

“It’s me,” he said when the line connected. He heaved out a small sigh, then continued speaking. “We...may have a problem.”

---

Naoto Shirogane was a long, long way from Inaba.

She was sitting at the desk in the corporate studio apartment that was her home for the next several months. Dossiers of the Phantom Thieves’ ‘victims’ were spread out in front of her, and her laptop was open to her left. She was typing the occasional note as she read through them.

Every victim directly targeted by the Phantom Thieves has experienced a sudden and out-of-character ‘change of heart’. This ‘change of heart’ appears to be an unusual form of brainwashing or mind control, compelling the victims to confess their crimes and experience a massive influx of guilt.

Her mind raced through explanations, each of them as unlikely as the last. Kirijo tech? Some kind of hypnotism? Very well done blackmail? The police were long on questions and very short on answers, or even suspects. To call the situation ‘desperate’ would not be incorrect.

She let out a slow breath and blinked, sending a pain through her eyes as they watered over - she’d been so deep in concentration that she’d forgotten to blink for the past few minutes. Rubbing her eyes with her hands, she saw that sign for what it was.

Ugh...I need to take a break. I can’t overwork myself before I’ve even officially started this case. Rise would’ve dragged me away from this hours ago.

A smile graced her lips as she pictured Rise literally dragging her chair away from her desk, then spinning her around and frowning in that adorable way she does. With a grunt of exertion, and extra motivation from the mental image of her disappointed girlfriend, Naoto rose from her chair and stretched her body out. The grunt made her realize just how dry her throat was, so she walked over to the small kitchen area and poured herself a glass of tap water, sipping as she thought.

Then there’s the mental shutdown cases, which differ in two ways: first, they don’t get calling cards, and second, they actually harm the victim. Are these shutdowns perpetrated by the Phantom Thieves as well? Do they sort their victims into two categories and merit out punishments? Why would they attack seemingly innocent people with shutdowns and genuine criminals with calling cards?

She stopped herself from going too far down this line of thinking - it would do little good now to get so obsessed with it. Hopefully, her first trip to the police station tomorrow would help - there, she could get more evidence, obtain more complete statements, and link up with the SIU’s own investigators.

She made a mental note to get to the station early tomorrow, partially to make a good impression and partially to avoid any media presence - she was fairly certain her arrival had gone unnoticed, but if the news found out that both Detective Princes were working on the same case...

She shook the thought from her mind. The media was more Akechi’s thing, anyway - she had no stomach for interviews and fame. Glancing outside her windows, she saw only the lights of the city - the sun had long since set, and Tokyo’s nightlife had come out to play. She glanced over at her work, considering going back to it. As if on cue, her stomach grumbled, so she instead settled on calling it a night and grabbing some dinner.

---

The cool night air tickled Naoto’s cheeks, and she took in the sights and sounds of Shibuya for a little while, walking up and down the shops near the station and central square. Spotting Toranosuke Yoshida giving a speech in the station intrigued her - she knew his political career had ended in shambles years ago, but he had quite the focused crowd here in front of him. She stopped and listened for a few minutes, his speech invigorating her more than she thought it would.

Her idle wanderings eventually brought her to a late-night beef bowl shop, which seemed as good a place as any to eat at - she didn’t make it a habit to eat out all the time, but she’d been too tired to go grocery shopping when she’d arrived. This would tide her over for now.

She walked in and took a seat at the counter, glancing at the young man taking everyone’s orders. He looked high school age, with short, fluffy black hair and large, round glasses. His work outfit, she noticed, was not too far from the outfit she’d worn for the whole Midnight Stage incident - blue hat, blue shirt, dark pants...all he was missing were suspenders and a yellow tie. I hope I never have to save the world through dancing again. At least it was easy to dance in. And Rise said I looked good with a tie.

“What’ll it be?” She snapped out of her thoughts and glanced up - the boy was standing in front of her, ready to go. “Oh. Uh…” She glanced at the menu in front of her, scanning it quickly. “I’ll have a medium beef bowl, please.” The boy nodded and scurried off, going to enter her order into the computer, but something seemed to catch him mid-stride. He turned back to Naoto and did a small double take. Naoto know that reaction all too well. She’d been recognized, so she gently shook her head, then looked back down at the menu. To his credit, the boy didn’t press, so her mind wandered back to the cases.

There must be a normal explanation, but nothing I know of can make people confess in this manner, overloaded with guilt. Given the apparent lack of one, is it worth considering the possibility of something paranormal, or am I jumping to conclusions?

Her previous experience with events lacking mundane explanations is what was guiding her right to this idea of something normal. The Midnight Channel, Midnight Stage, and A-1 Grand Prix fighting tournament had opened her eyes to an impossible world. The Phantom Thieves sounded like they were performing impossible feats. No one could figure out how they were changing the hearts of their targets, just like no one could figure out where the Midnight Channel’s subjects had gone.

The similarities admittedly could just be coincidental, but Naoto knew instinctively that something wasn’t normal with this case. The mental shutdown incidents only compounded the situation - separately, the Phantom Thieves and the mental shutdowns would’ve flown under her supernatural radar, but so close together? Something’s not right. These confessions are too...poetic.

Justice, as she knew, was rarely so poetic in the real world. The boy brought her dinner over, carefully setting it down in front of her. “Thanks,” she said with a gentle smile as she looked up. The boy merely smiled in return and gave her a short bow, then stepped away to resume his job.

Naoto picked up her chopsticks and was about to dig in when a decoration atop the food caught her eye - a small magnifying glass had been drawn in a light sauce atop the egg yolk.

The addition brought a wide smile to Naoto’s lips, and she glanced up to try and find the kid’s eye. Noticing the movement, he looked up from washing dishes, and there was a moment between them as they saw into each other. Good kid. Perceptive, too, with the way he figured out what I’d laugh at so easily…

An image of Yu came unbidden to her mind as she started to eat.

---

As she took her time getting back, her phone buzzed - a text message from Rise.

> hey u!

Smiling wide, Naoto’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

> HEY U

> im so sry nao-kun, i cant call 2nite as usual. mr mgr is being a butt! >_<

> IT’S OK. PLZ CALL TOMORROW IF FREE.

> ofc! i luv u, naoto-kun!

> LOVE YOU TOO

> \ (^◡^) /

Face flushed, Naoto put her phone back in her pocket and headed back to her apartment at a brisk pace. For one, she didn’t want people to see her blushing, and for two, she had a big day tomorrow. The Phantom Thieves were about to meet their match.

#naoto shirogane #sae niijima #persona 5 #fanfiction

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