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of-a-chaotic-mind · 11 months

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A Drunk Mind Speaks A Sober Heart Part 2

Summary: Reader and Buck wake up hungover but manage to make it family breakfast with the team and their families. The videos from the previous night are exchanged between the two and everyone is excited that they’re finally together

TW/CW: Evan “Buck” Buckley x Reader, (Y/N) = Your Name, best friends to lovers finally made official, alcohol consumption mentioned, gets kind of spicy toward the end, swtiches POVs so look out for that.

Requested?: No

Word Count: 3,062

A/N: If anyone wants a spicy third part lmk. I’m kinda down to write it lol. Not sure how good it would be tho. Again I say, I’m so proud of this.

Prompts: None

A/N: Absolutely gorgeous he is.

Part 1 Here

(Y/N)’s POV

The sun coming through the curtains wakes me from my slumber but upon opening my eyes, I immediately shut them again because the sun is so much brighter than it should be. I roll over to find a bottle of water, some Asprin, a note, and my phone on charge. I don’t half remember last night to be honest. I know I got shitfaced in Maddie’s livingroom and look around me to find myself in one of her spare bedrooms. I reach over and pick up the note and read it, “Take two and chug. Don’t forget about breakfast at Athena and Bobby’s -Maddie” I do as directed and then check my phone to find a text from Hen that reads, “’A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ -Jean-Jaques Rousseau” there’s a video attatched so I make sure my volume is low so that it doesn’t burst my eardrums before opening it. I watch myself confess my feelings for Buck and flop back over to my back groaning once it’s over. I take a few deep breaths before getting up from the bed.

I mentally thank Maddie upon finding my duffle bag and shoes at the foot of the bed. I struggle out of last night’s clothes and into clean ones, yank on my shoes, and venture downstairs in hopes of finding my keys and slipping out without waking Maddie, Chim, or the kiddo. Unfortunately, no such luck as they have already beat me out of bed. I tip toe around the corner into the kitchen only to find Maddie standing at the counter sipping coffee as she lovingly watches Chim play with Jee-Yun. I sigh in defeat as she notices my entry and picks up my keys from the counter beside her, “How’re you feeling?” she asks as she tosses them to me.

“Like I got ran over by a train,” I laugh, “And embarassed,” I blush.

She smiles, knowing exactly what I’m referring to, “It’s alright. We all knew, we were just waiting for you to figure it out,” she winks.

It’s now that oblivious Chimney joins us with his adorable daughter perched on his hip, “Are we ready to head out?” Maddie and I nod so the four of us depart for the Grant-Nash residence. The entire way there I am contemplating just going home to avoid knowing and teasing looks from Maddie, Athena, Hen, and Karen all day but force myself to stay en-route because this has become a long standing tradition. One Sunday a month, the whole fireteam, their significant others, and their children gather at Bobby and Athena’s for a good old fashioned family breakfast. I ponder if I’ll even survive this one as I pull into the drive way and put my car in park but am quickly dragged out of my safety zone by Athena’s waving hand at the front door.

Buck’s POV

I shouldn’t have drank so much last night, I realize as I roll off the couch with a loud thump. From the kitchen, Christopher and Eddie giggle before Eddie cheers, “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Better get your ass up and get some Asprin in you and clean clothes on or we’re gonna be late to family breakfast.” I groan but know he’s right. I swipe my phone off the coffee table before making my way to the kitchen for Asprin and then to the bathroom to change clothes. I have a text from Eddie that reads, “Maybe just show her this since you can’t ever figure out how to tell her yourself,” attatched is a video so I press play to listen as I change clothes. By the time the video ends, I have my hands pressed to the counter and am staring down at my phone in shock. Maybe Eddie’s right. Apparently drunk me has a talent for explaining how I feel that sober me does not.

I grabbed my phone and exit the bathroom to make my out of Eddie’s place, declaring to him on my way out, “Don’t say a word,” feeling his amused look on the back of my neck I feel a blush creep to my cheeks, “Stop it. Don’t give me that look.” Soon, the three of us arrive at the Grant-Nash household and I have to elbow Eddie in the ribs when we see (Y/N) getting out of her car due to the grin on his face.

Third Person POV

The breakfast gets along almost as it always does. Lots of chit chats and laughter. The ladies send teasing looks toward (Y/N) when Eddie asks how their night went but (Y/N) ignores them and they simply say it was quite interesting and elaborate no further. Eddie saw the looks though and makes a mental note to ask Hen or Maddie about it later. Several times Eddie caught Buck glancing or staring at (Y/N) and shot him a teasing grin over Christopher’s head. Buck brushed it off with a glare everytime.

As mentioned, things aren’t quite the same as usual. As is normal, Bobby sits at the head of the table with Athena to his right followed by Harry, May, Karen, Hen, and (Y/N). To his left is Jee-Yun in a high chair followed by Chimney, Maddie, Eddie, Christopher, and Buck. Usually, Buck would playfully kick at (Y/N) under the table and she’d snatch food off his plate, mostly his fruit. They would get carried away in their own conversation and their fits of giggles and laughter would ring out over the other conversations happening but when anyone would look their way to question what is so funny they’d be too distracted to give an answer. Everyone always got a kick out of their playful behavior. However, today there was no playful kicks under the table or food snatched off of plates. The two couldn’t even look each other in the eye, too embarassed by their confessions last night that the other had no idea about. Although they did sneak glances toward each other when the other wasn’t looking. When Christopher has Buck’s attention or Buck is arguing about how a call went with Chimney over three heads, (Y/N) watches him out of the corner of her eye but pretends to be focused on something else or collects a bite of food if he happens to look anywhere near her direction. When (Y/N) is watching Jee-Yun giggle as her father makes airplane noises circling a small bite of pancake toward her mouth or listening in on the conversation between Hen, Karen, and May, Buck admires her subtly over the rim of his coffee cup but as soon as (Y/N) returns her gaze to her plate or someone near him he too distracts himself with something else. This odd behavior did not go unnoticed by the other adults at the table or even Christopher who would normally be too busy giggling at the pair’s antics to eat.

The young boy also happens to be the first and only one to call the two out on the peculuarity of it all, “Buck? Why are you not kicking (Y/N)? And you haven’t stole any of his fruit,” he adds looking to her.

The adults all grin as Harry also chimes in, “Yeah you guys have been quiet.”

May nudges her brother and shakes her head as their mother speaks up, “I think they just don’t feel too good today. Maybe they didn’t get enough sleep.” Christopher and Harry exchange a look that says they don’t believe that one bit but a different conversation is picked up by the adults to shift the attention off of the two.

(Y/N) risks a glance at Buck, wondering what his reaction is but he had also taken the same risk. The two lock eyes but quickly look away. In attempts to escape the situation and catch the breath that had been stolen by looking into his bright blue eyes (Y/N) excuses herself from the table saying her still bruised ribs are bothering her and she needs to stretch.

Once safely in a bathroom, (Y/N) stares at herself in the mirror trying to decipher what it was that she saw in his eyes. Buck always has shown exactly how he feels through his eyes but today she can’t quite make out what exactly that is. She sighs heavily just as someone knocks on the door.

Out in the dinning room, Buck has excused himself as well giving no particular reason but the adults need not ask because they know exactly why. As soon as Buck is out of earshot, Eddie leans forward to look at all the ladies in turn before asking, “What exactly happened last night?” The women all look at each other seeming to silently debate about spilling the beans.

Chimney and Bobby look at each other as well before Bobby adds, “I would like to know as well but you seem to have something to share too.”

May giggles, “It’s like a Mexican stand off of exciting stories.”

Chimney retrives a coin from his pocket, “Heads, Eddie is up first. Tails, one of you ladies are gonna have to spill.”

Everyone nods as Maddie looks down the hall, “Might want to be quick and quiet about it.”

Chimney flips the coin and it comes up tails so Maddie wiggles in her seat and props her elbows up on the table, placing her fingers together. She takes a dramatic pause despite her warning to hurry up before explaining, “(Y/N) got plastered last night and we now have video proof as confirmation that she has feelings for Buck.”

“I knew it!,” May whispers excitedly.

Eddie lightly smacks Maddie on the arm, “You’re telling me they both confessed on the same night to separate people but have no idea?” Everyone looks to Eddie in shock, “Yeah, he had a few drinks last night and apparently drunk Buck has an easier time with putting his feelings into words. I got it on video”

Hen laughs, “A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.”

Everyone excitedly yet still remaining quiet cheers before Bobby settles them down, “Those videos stay with those who took them and we don’t mention this around them. Understood?” Everyone nods except Eddie and Hen who give Bobby a guilty look. He responds to their looks with one of suspicion, “What did you two do?” In unison the two videographers confess that they sent their video to the corresponding subject.

Hen adds, “I figured if she had the video she could just show it to him when she’s ready.”

Eddie nods in agreement, “I literally told him it might be an easier way of telling her if he can’t find the words while sober.”

Bobby grins and shakes his head as Athena chimes in, “We’ll see. For now, let’s talk about something else so they’re not suspicious of us when they come back.”

Back in the bathroom, (Y/N) responds to the knock at the door, “Who is it?”

“It- it’s me,” comes Buck’s voice from the other side.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath before unlocking and opening the door to let him in. She hops up to take a seat on the counter as he enters and closes the door behind him. They both stare at their hands, nervously fidgeting with anything they can until they both speak at the same time, “I’m sorry, I’m just-” They stop, staring at each other with red all over their cheeks.

Normally, Buck would be a gentleman and let her go first but he just had to get this off his chest before he chickened out, “So, I got drunk last night. You know that saying drunk words are sober thoughts?” (Y/N) nods thinking back to the text Hen had sent with the video just this morning. Buck continues, “Well, Eddie caught my drunk words on video last night and... well,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it and navigates to the video Eddie had sent before handing it to her, “Just watch it. Sober me 100% agrees with every word.” He looks at her with such scencerity on his face that it makes her heart skip a beat. The two sit in silence as she watches the video. Buck shifts nervously on his feet, scanning her face for her reaction and she smiles. His heart soars with hope that she feels the same way.

When the video ends, she hands his phone back to him before retrieving her own from her back pocket, unlocking it, navigating to her own video and then, “Drunk words are indeed sober thoughts and drunk me is pretty damn good at sharing things that sober me can’t. I too agree with every word she said,” she says, handing her phone to him. He watches with a massive grin on his face as one plasters itself on her’s as well. There’s not an ounce of fear or nervousness left in her after having seen his video. She thinks to herself that if she has the honor of marrying the man in front of her one day, it’s only right that Eddie be his Best Man and Hen be her Maid of Honor.

Once the video ends, Buck places her phone on the counter beside her and leans in close with a grin still on his face only now it has a slight hint of cockiness to it, “I guess the only thing to do now is ask you to be my girlfriend. So will you?”

As he hooks his finger under her chin and lifts it to align their lips, the distance between them shrinks even more. He can feel her breath on his lips when she affirms, “Obviously,” so he glances down at her lips before looking into her eyes. She inches closer, encouraging him to close the distance, and he does. They share the same thought as the slow, love filled kiss takes place and that is, “I love you.” When they begrudingly pull apart, and make eye contact, there’s no need to voice the thought as for one, their drunk selves already did but also, it’s seen in their eyes.

Buck pulls even further away before placing his hands on her hips. He leaves them there for a moment, observing her reaction and somewhat looking for a nudge to continue his movements. She tilts her head, “What?”

He says nothing at first, simply sliding his hands from her hips to place them on either side of the mirror on the wall behind her caging her in. He leans in close and brushes his nose against her’s, making her eyes flutter shut. When she opens them he’s just barely retreated, tilted his head, and is grinning from ear to ear. Feigning forgetfulness he asks, “What was that you said you wanted to do? It was something to do with my arms. Maybe you could remind me?”

A mishevious grin with a hint of shyness to it replaces the look of curiosity on her face but is quickly replaced with a false sense of innocence as she lays her head over on his right arm. She stays there for a moment reveling in the eye contact between his now sultry eyes and her own wide eyed innocent ones before turning her head slightly to nuzzle her mouth and nose against his arm. A breath catches in Buck’s throat as she suddenly opens her mouth to lay her tongue against his bicep, slowly dragging it up before recoiling it back behind her teeth that she uses to nip softly against the skin covering the toned muscle. The sound that left his throat is one that she will remember for years to come and want to elicit from him again many times over. However, she simply lays her head back against his arm with a teasing look on her face, “We should get back out there before they come looking and find us in a scandalous situation.”

Buck huffs, knowing she’s right and stands up straight removing his hands from the wall to help her down from the counter. (Y/N) quite likes it when he lifts her by her waist to place her feet on the ground and has to stop herself from wondering what it would be like for him to toss her into bed as he takes her hand in his. He doesn’t exit the bathroom just yet but instead tugs her close, hooks his finger under her chin once more to whisper against her lips, “Fine, but you’re sitting in my lap to cover the situation you’ve caused in my pants.” She giggles and nods before opening the door herself and tugging him along behind her.

All eyes are on the two love birds as they reenter the dining room causing blushes to creep onto both of their faces and Buck to discretely scoot just a little closer behind her in hopes of hiding the afforemention situation better. He takes his seat, promptly pulling her into his lap which makes everyone whoop and holler in excitement. Eddie passes Maddie a twenty dollar bill which provokes a confused look from both (Y/N) and Buck.

Maddie grins triumphantly, “I bet that the videos would be exchanged today. Eddie didn’t think you guys had it in you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as Athena calms everyone down, “You two didn’t... in the bathroom did you,” raising her eyebrows to insinuate naughtier acts than just exchanging videos. (Y/N) and Buck shake their head no immediately to which Athena replies, “Good.”

The conversation soon returns to things other than the new couple at the end of the table. (Y/N) has an arm around Buck’s shoulders playing with his hair while his arm is wrapped firmly around her waist. His other hand is placed on her knee, even though he wants it to be higher, and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “You’ll have something in you if we can ever sneak away. I just didn’t bend you over in there out of respect.” (Y/N) slaps his chest with her free hand but Buck simply returns his attention to the group around the table and includes himself in the conversation. Under her, (Y/N) can still feel the situation and knows he’s not joking. She has to fight to keep from imaging what all they could get up to today.

Masterlist

More Evan Buckley Imagines

Taglist:

#tv: 911 #911 imagine #911 imagines #911 buck #evan buckley 911 #buck 911 #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley imagines #evan buckley #911 buck imagine #911 buck imagines #buck 911 imagine #buck 911 imagines

127 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 1 year

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Holiday Compilation

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forever can never be long enough for me by isshun (T, 12k, LWJ & JYL, wangxian, modern, established relationship, food as a metaphor for love, Winter Solstice (Dongzhi), hurt/comfort, bonding, loving WWX hours)

Five Shades of Home by DrPanda99 (G, 13k, WangXian, Chinese New Year, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Hurt/Comfort, Homecoming, WWX's Canonical Self-Esteem Issues, Domesticity, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, (or at least the start of it), Good Uncle LQR, Post-Canon)

The Nines of Winter by ArcadianMaggie (E, 13k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dongzhi, Snowed In, Sharing a Bed, Hot Cocoa, Getting Back Together, home for the holidays, Puppy rescue, Panic Attacks, LWJ's Pet Rabbits, maybe just a tiny bit of angst, Fluff and Smut, and family feels, Hand Jobs, Kissing, First Time)

Make My Wish Come True by justpeace (T, 9k, wangxian, modern cultivation, gender changes, fem wangxian, Christmas, fake/pretend relationship, sharing a bed, case fic, getting together, angst, butch LWJ)

Fall in Love with me this Christmas by Bldreaming (Not Rated, 24k, WangXian, Modern AU, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas wedding, JYL Lives, Good Sibling JYL, JYL and JZX Live, Married XuanLi, man of honor wwx, Best woman Minamian, Reunions, Fluff and Smut, Secret Santa, Sexting, Phone Sex Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, not a slow burn, Winter Wonderland, Yanli loves christmas, Christmas Music, Christmas Presents, Christmas, Smut Getting Together, First Love) - implied/referenced switching during phone sex

~*~

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #wangxian #MDZS #wangxianficfinder compilation post #long post #holiday compilation

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cambria-writes · 2 years

Text

hello!

totally forgot to update here last week. woops!

word count: 2,607 rating: T, each chapter rated individually warnings: swearing, afab original character, second person pov, i don’t think there’s anything but please lmk! previousnext

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓: 𝔖𝔲𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔲𝔯

You wake up too early. Grab your phone, heart jumps in your throat. There's a message from Patrick Jane. Almost forget to check the time. No one who got shot should be up at seven in the morning. Resign yourself to your fate; probably wouldn't be able to go back to sleep if you wanted to.

Getting up and opening the curtains is a harder task than it has any right to be. Your left thigh smarts something awful. Your arms are still covered in red and purpling marks. Peekaboo's claws, though pretty blunt, still packed a small punch.

Showering this morning means wiping yourself down with a soapy rag and washing your hair in the sink. Despite everything, you don't actually look like too much shit. Wash your face. Pick some baggy sweatpants and an old band shirt.

Look at the time on the microwave. Almost eight. Time for coffee, then.

You make a point to avoid your phone.

You sink into your couch with a mug of coffee. (Black, two spoonfuls of sugar.) Pull your laptop back into your lap, turn the TV on for background noise. Some morning show or whatever.

You spend the better part of your morning googling the CBI agents you saw yesterday for lack of anything better to do.

Jane's enjoying a cup of tea on his Couch when his phone rings in his pocket. Bemused, he answers without looking at the caller ID.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Benraft?"

Lisbon looks at him like he's grown a second head. 'Skye?', she mouths. He nods patiently.

"Really? ...I see. No, nothing to worry about. I was just curious, you know how that goes." Weaves a coin through his fingers. "Well, I'm not at liberty to say right now. Have you tried reading your cards for it yet?"

Lisbon's expression is that of defeat. Throws her arms up and declares that she has better things to do than wait around for him to schedule a date. Or whatever the hell it is he's actually doing. She walks out with a huff.

Jane places his teacup and saucer on his desk and slowly gets up.

"Listen, I need you to do something for me. Can you go check your mail?"

You count your blessings when the elevator actually works. You would probably have cried if you had to walk down the stairs to the apartment lobby. Collect your mail when you get there, but don't look at it right there. As instructed. Limp back to the elevator, back to your apartment. Lock, chain and bolt it shut.

Your hands shake. This is ridiculous. You were asked to go get and check your mail for anything odd or out of place. Commonplace shit. No reason to get all up in arms about it. No reason for your pulse to be as fluttery as it is.

Jesus, you might be becoming an adrenaline junkie. Bad news.

Shake your head, go back to the couch. Most of the mail is spam. Adverts for local eateries, something about a chimney sweep. (Whose bright idea was it to leave a pamphlet for a chimney sweeper in an apartment complex?) A phone bill, a letter without a return address, a delivery slip from the nearest post office, and a letter from a friend in North Carolina.

Honestly, nothing much out of the ordinary there. More paper than you usually get on a Saturday (or is it Sunday? Does it matter?) but otherwise perfectly normal. Until you get to the letter with no return address. You discover it's sealed with yellow washi tape at the back. For some reason, it puts ice in your veins.

Your Millennial Instincts dictate that you should take pictures of the front and back and send them to Mr Jane. The message takes a while to send, but when it does you toss your phone on the couch to your right. What the hell. You throw the letter on the coffee table in front of you. Burry it under newspapers, flyers, opened and unopened mail. Do your best to forget about the nasty feeling it leaves you with.

Doesn't take five minute for your phone to vibrate with a message. Another five and you're dressed and clambering into a dusty blue Citroen.

You can't catch a break. Little less than two hours later and you're back at the CBI. Brought the strange letter with you, handed it off to Agent Lisbon. Hands it off to a lab tech to see if they can get prints off it.

You are very acutely aware that literally everyone is playing this down. Keep hearing that It's No Big Deal and It's Probably Nothing and Just A Prank. You believe exactly none of it. Mr Jane's countenance is enough to set you off. Everyone else's expressions are just confirmation.

Wow, they're all really shitty liars. Makes you feel a little better, maybe.

Agent Van Pelt takes you to one of the interrogation rooms. Reassures you, says it's just for some privacy. Not that you care, really. It's all whatever at this point.

"Jane mentioned he found yellow tape on the back of your shoulder yesterday. Do you remember anything about that?" Silently thank whatever deity for Van Pelt's soft spoken voice. Doesn't do much, but calms your nerves a little bit. Takes the edge off.

Play with your fingernails on the table. You frown at your hands. Try to remember. "I mean, not really? It might have been one of the EMTs, or maybe the nurse at the hospital. Those are the only people I can remember touching me at all. But that's..."

You trail off. Don't need to say it; Grace's expression tells you what you need to know. You clear your throat, scoot closer to the table to lean on it.

"Look, I know this isn't a super good situation I'm in, but no one's telling me shit about it. I'm assuming I'm like, a target or something? Right?"

Van Pelt frowns. Hit the nail on the head, then. You sigh. Your breathing is shakier than you'd like it to be.

"Why though? I mean, this is just. This is unreal!" You toss your hands out, leans back into the chair. "Just yesterday I was /shot at/ because I happened to recognize a kidnapped dog, and now I'm being target by, like. By what? Another serial killer?"

"We don't have any confirmed murders yet," Grace offers quietly. But that just seals it; you are effectively being targeted by another crazy person.

Cross your arms and run your hand through your hair. Not sure if you feel like screaming or just not breathing. You heart feels like it's thumping away in your throat. Wait, no, you definitely feel like crying.

"You're going to be fine, Skye," agent Van Pelt offers, extending her hand to you, palm on the table. "We'll find who's doing this and we'll keep you safe."

Scoff. "Yeah? What about the other people this creep's been after? What are they even doing?"

Silence. Great. Perfect. It's not murder, but it's something that no one seems to be comfortable saying out loud. Just great. Lean forward, elbows on the table and face in your hands.

You hear the door open, blinds rattling. Agent Van Pelt puts a warm hand on your shoulder before getting up and leaving. Someone else takes her place. Take a deep breath and look up. A mug of steaming tea in placed in front of you.

You don't stop yourself from crying.

"You're wondering why you." It's not a question, but Jane lets you nod before continuing. Gallant. He takes a moment before answering. You stared through the mug. "Most likely to taunt the CBI," he shrugs a shoulder.

You want so badly to be angry at his nonchalance. Just don't have it in you. Take a sip of the tea. It's nearly scalding, but drinkable. Chamomile; figures. What a jerk.

"What..." Deep breath. Compose yourself to try and avoid sobbing. "What exactly has this person been doing?"

Again, thick discomfort. Not so much in Mr Jane's expression as it just hangs in how tense you both are. You expect the answer when he says it.

"Kidnapper and rapist." Choke on a... something. Not quite a sob, not quite a scream. His voice is quiet when he continues. "She keeps them in a remote location. We found one of her escaped victims a few weeks ago. By the time we went to investigate she'd already emptied the place and moved on. The victim had signs of being tortured."

"Oh my god." You repeat yourself. Again. And again. Your hands shake horribly. Tea spills onto your fingers. Breath quickens. You know this is a panic attack; you know your thoughts are spiralling and repeating themselves but.

But the release of it feels like something you need.

You promptly lose consciousness to Jane trying to calm you down.

You're on a beach.

You have no memory of getting there. And you honestly have no idea which beach it is. You don't remember ever seeing something like it. The shore runs for miles on either side of you. Cliffs behind you. A small cabin on the edge, just behind you. Steps carved into the stone of the cliffside.

Your feet dig into the sand as you make your way to the first stone step. The ascension is steep and tedious. You're winded by the time you make it to the top. The view is... Strange. You can see the curvature of the earth, but it's too pronounced.

Take out the phone in your back pocket. Check the time. 11:28AM. Look at the horizon. Back at the time. It's completely illegible.

Alright. You're dreaming. Good to know.

The cabin is entirely made of logs and looks nearly perfectly square. The front door has a small circular window in it. A small lantern with a lit flame hangs up to the right. It casts a strange gleam on the brass doorknob.

Take a deep breath. This is just a dream.

Probably.

Knock three times. No answer. Knock again and call out. No answer. Find the door unlock when you turn the knob. Open the door as you normally would.

Thirteen women stare at you, eyes white and mouths agape. Let go of the doorknob, spin on your heels to run.

A woman stands directly in front of you. A yellow bandana covers most of her face. All you can see are her near-black eyes. She grabs you by the shoulders. Fingers dig into the flesh of your biceps.

You can't scream.

You wake up digging your heels into a mattress and shoving yourself backwards. Straight off a table and into someone's chest. Scream and try to fight arms away, end up landing (painfully) on the floor.

The arms won't leave. Feels like there are too many hands grabbing at your. Too many to fight off and there's just—

Ice cold water in your face. Down your neck, your back, covering your scalp. Gasp for air, sit up, try and wipe the water off your face. Comb through your hair to get it out of your face. Finally take in your surroundings.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't know what else to do." Mr Jane take a knee next to you. Hovers uncertainly, arms out to help without knowing how.

"It's fine, Jesus, I'm sorry, did I hurt you? Oh. Fuck, shit." Reach a hand to his left cheek. Red, already swelling a little. "Oh god I'm so sorry, you need ice on that--"

Motion to get up, but a hand on your shoulder keeps you sitting on the wooden floor. Jane stares at you intently. Alright, then; uncertainty out the window, it seems.

"I'm fine, Skye. Are you okay?" The genuine concern confuses you. Frown, but nod.

"I mean my lungs feel like they're about to fuckin'. Combust. But wait nevermind I dreamt about something doyouhavepaperandapencil?"

The words spill out of your mouth all at once and you trip over yourself at least twice. A paper and pen are provided to you.

Unfocus your eyes, hunch over the paper and start sketching. The cabin, the cliffside, the steps. The sandy shore. And, as best you can, try to draw the woman's eyes. The small knick in her left brow. The crows' feet. The bandana. Scrawl the numbers 1128 somewhere in a corner.

Mr Jane stays quiet the entire time. You can almost feel him frowning at you. Straighten your back when you're done. After a second, add an arrow pointing to the bandana and quickly write 'yellow'.

Mr Jane stands so quickly it nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

"That's what you dreamt of?" Points at the face; what little you could draw of it.

"Yeah, it was. There was a cabin and I walked in and there were so many women? There weren't dead but they kind of. They felt dead? And when I turned around and this is who was there are she grabbed my upper arms—"

You grab a spot high on your bicep and wince. Freeze for a moment, pull your collar down to see. You don't need to see the four other bruises to know they're also there.

There's a neat, thumb-sized bruise just near the inside of your arm.

You stay upstairs with Jane for a while. Gets you a bottle of water rather than tea. You appreciate it; the cold water is much more satisfying. Lets you calm your nerves before going down to see Lisbon with your rough sketch.

It's not spoken but it's understood between the lot of you. On the spot, dreaming of a wanted criminal is strange. Extremely out of the ordinary. But once you start thinking about it as you slowly walk down the stairs to the main office space for the CBI, you can see the logic and reason behind it.

You met the woman yesterday. That much is certain. And she most likely directly mailed the letter to you as well. (Which, unfortunately, didn't seem to have any trace of a print or DNA whatsoever.) Maybe your subconscious mind figured out which EMT or nurse it was. If they had a face mask on you /would/ only remember the eyes. Might have even recognized her as a threat without consciously registering it.

Which would then explain why you dreamt of her.

Still, it's uncanny how you dreamt of the exact amount of women who were taken. Try not to think too hard about that.

Sit down at the far left end of the old leather couch. Nurse your water bottle slowly. Try not to pay too much attention to what agent Lisbon is talking about, or the odd glances you get from agents Rigsby and Cho.

Toe off your shoes and pull your feet up on the couch. Hug your knees. When you moved out to Cali this is not the life you thought you'd signed up for. Sigh and play with the bottle cap.

Mr Jane sits net to you, blue teacup and saucer in hand.

"Did you ever visit that log cabin?" Doesn't look at you when he asks.

Shake your head. "I've only ever been to public beaches." You look at Jane's wrist for the time. Nearly 4PM. How long were you out?

Jane hums. You can almost see where this is going.

"Lisbon!" Puts his cup on his desk. "Call me if you need us." Extends his hand to you.

You pray you won't spend hours on the road again, but take it regardless.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@fucklife-or-me @yearningforsappho

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged next time!

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satashiiwrites · 2 years

Text

Snippet Sunday

Getting a bit done before the work week starts.

From: I Wasn’t Looking Until I Found You, ch 2, Eddie POV

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Buddie

Other tags: sentinel/guide, first draft, retelling of 2x01 AU

“Buck usually warms right up but he’s been having a few difficulty weeks—months really,” Chimney said apologetically, his eyes worried as they watched Buck get changed.

Eddie frowned. “How so?”

Hen, who’d nudged Chimney disapprovingly, flicked her gaze to Eddie. Behind the fashionable glasses, she weighed her words carefully while measuring Eddie up. “Buck’s girlfriend has been gone for a while.”

“A while?” Eddie asked, confused at the conflict he felt at the word girlfriend and Buck being used in such close association. He almost wanted to snarl at the idea of the blonde being in a relationship.

Chimney and Hen exchanged a speaking look before he leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Just go easy on him okay? She’s been gone and well…”

“I assume she’s coming back?” Eddie asked, actually wanting the opposite which puzzled him. He’d just met the other man and his insistent thoughts were disturbed. Eddie normally wasn’t someone who wished ill on others relationships but the thought of Buck being with anyone bothered him severely.

Hen’s face flattened as she tried to say something she obviously didn’t believe. “She just needs time.”

Eddie instantly felt a kinship with Buck and his heart ached in sympathetic pain. She needed time… he’d been told that too. He turned his head to look back at Buck who was yanking his own navy LAFD t-shirt over his head, a flash of tattooed skin visible briefly before it was covered up but his ocean blue eyes seemed to connect with Eddie’s as soon as the collar slipped past. There was something there in that moment that connected them for a brief few seconds before Buck turned away, chin stubbornly jutting out as he turned his back towards Eddie.

“It’s hard when someone tells you they need time,” Eddie said softly, still not looking away from Buck who’d bent down to pull on his boots.

“Well,” Bobby drew his attention back with a clap. “How about we keep talking over breakfast. Buck will join us when he’s ready.”

Eddie let himself be herded back up to the kitchen, unable to stop from turning his head to keep Buck’s blonde curls in the corner of his vision until the last possible moment.

#i wasn’t looking until i found you #renamed snippet sunday #six sentence sunday #buddie #first draft #sentinel/guide #sentinel/guide AU #sentinel!eddie #guide!buck

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hawkeyes-chicklet · 3 years

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Holidays - Clintasha advent 2020

"A secret Santa?", Natasha asked: "What's that?" Steve smiled: "We write our name on cards, fold it and put it in a bowl. Everyone picks a card and has to get a present for the person on the card. We gather the presents under the tree and nobody will know from whom his or her present is from." "Yeah. Thank you Steve. So. You're in, Nat?", Clint looked at her with puppy eyes. She turned soft and sighed "And I thought that your Santa Guy does all the work." They laughed and wrote their names on the cards. One by one they picked them up.

"Okay, does everyone have a counterpart? No cheating! No telling!"

"Who have you got?", Clint tried as he walked to the gym with his partner. "No telling," she quoted Cap. "That's the spirit!" "Yeah, it's still bullshit." "Aww, don't say that. You promised me to get along." "And you promised to steal a jet and fly me out of this Christmas dump when it's getting too glittery and holiday-ish." He laughed "And I mean it." "Good."

He got Cap. Piece of cake. At least it was not Tony. What do you get a billionaire who had literally everything? But Steve was a sentimental old chap. He only had to get a vinyl with old music or some memorabilia from the 40ies or something. But still he was curious who Nat had to get a present for.

Steves POV…. Well, sort of...

The weeks flew by and they had few missions. Everyone was chilled and the Christmas spirit lay upon them. Clint and Steve were in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, baking cookies, as Nat shuffled up. She looked grumpy and took a seat, eyed the boys as they were wearing aprons and singing carols. "Morning Nat. Slept well?" Steve asked with the brightest smile. She didn't answer and Clint passed her a mug of coffee as she always drinks it. Her fingers touched his shortly, it does not seemed to be a big deal but Steve noticed it anyway. Clint came back to his work. Steve had just taken a tray out of the oven. "Mhm, yum!" Clint reached for one cookie but Steve held him back. "They're hot!", he scolded. "Yes mom!", Clint answered. "So Nat, we want to go to the big tree in the city when it's getting dark. A little window shopping, grab something to eat and so on. Wanna come?", Steve tried to convince her. She looked up from her coffee. "Sure." Clint had blown a cookie and went to Nat again. "Try them, they are so good!" He held the cookie to her mouth and lets her take a bite.

Another very private move as Steve registered. She smiled "Indeed, they ARE good. Can't believe you two made them!", she smiled. "Thanks. You're invited to help us do the icing and decorating." "And you can eat all the cookies you want - we have made plenty.", Clint whispered and Steve nodded. "You are adorable. All right." "Come here." She stood up and came to the counter. Clint approached and tied a apron around her. She looked kind of embarrassed. As she raised to mock he said: "No, you have to. You don't want to get icing or glitter all over you." "There is glitter?", she asked baffled but Steve just shrugged his shoulders, grinning.

It turned out that Nat was quite creative and gave attention on details in decorating the cookies. So they got some awesome snowflakes and trees. "Look Nat, I've made us as gingerbread people!" Clint presented two cookie assasins with a little gear on, one with red hair, one with a bow. It wasn't perfect but recognizable and very sweet. And suddenly Nat laughed. Steve had never hear her laugh like this before. But apparently Clint had. He was a little proud. Both, of the cookie and his ability to make her laugh like that. Steve was aware that there was chemistry between them. More than ever. She seemed to be more relaxed when Clint was with her. No one knew what they were like when they were alone but know he got a glimpse. And somehow it made him happy.

On December 24, Steve and Clint set up the tree in the common room. It was a big tree. The rest of the Avengers came to have a look and to give suggestions for the decorations. They argued like children. Nat sat by Clints side and helped him detangle Christmas lights. For her it wasn't important in which colour the tree was decorated, she just was amused by her boys. Everyone wanted a different colour, mostly the one that their uniform holds. "How about we all add something to the tree. Maybe looks a little bit chaotic but you like blinking and changing lights on trees, for gods sake," She finally interrupted the brawlers.

….

It was late this evening. Nat snuck to the common room. She wanted to place her secret Santa present. As she entered the room, Clint rose from the sofa. "What are you doing here?", she asked surprised and hid her present behind her back. "Waiting for Santa. And you?" "Wanted to bring my present in. Forgot it over the day." "Yeah." "Yeah." She kneeled down so he couldn't see what and where she was hiding it.

The room wasn't lit up, they wanted to present the tree and the whole room in the morning.

"Rise and shine! It's Christmas time!" Clint stood before Natashas bed where she'd fallen asleep with a book still by her side.

In the morning they had a big breakfast altogether. Everyone was wearing ugly sweaters. Even Nat, some elves had left her one at the doorstep. After they had finished, they all went into the common room.

Clint and Steve had thrived themselves and it looked simply great. They had even set up a fake chimney with stockings for everyone. The tree was lit up and pretty. They had rearranged the sofas and it was cozy with blankets, cookies on plates on the table. Before they all sat down, Steve gave out coffee or hot chocolate. Christmas carols were the background noises. "You did quite the job, it looks amazing!", Nat praised. Clint slid next to her, holding a cocoa. "We spared no expenses," he laughed.

"Presents!", Thor insisted. The norse god had found like on this holiday.

And so it started. One by one they got their presents. Nat got a pair of expensive looking earrings and she assumed that they came from Tony. Clint was the last one to open his present. It was a simple box with a white silk inlay and a strip of paper. On the paper something was written by a typewriter or a printout from a printer. It just said: "Later.".

"Okay, who fucked it up and got no present?" Tony looked to one another, clearly pissed. Clint waved him away "It says later. For whatever that means." "It means: I fucked up and need time to get to the next 7-11 to buy some trash." Ironman got upset. "No need to get angry. I'm sure time will tell."

Much later that day Clint sat on one of the sofas, just relaxing by the tree and flipping trough a new book he got. He wasn't that mad that his secret Santa had not showed up by now but if he found out who it was, he would maybe throw a tantrum. He heard a noise and looked up. Nat came in, holding a tray with a plate and two mugs.

"Mind if I join you?", she asked looking at him. "Would i ever reject you?" So she sat next to him. "Brought you our gingerbread selves. Wanna eat them?" He smiled, than they ate the tiny assasins and drank cocoa. She looked around the room. It was a few minutes to 12 and they were alone. Everything was silent "Still no secret Santa?", she asked quietly. "Hell no. It's an impudence… if I get my hands on...-", he stopped. He understood. She turned to look at him and he looked back. "You are my secret Santa?", he pronounced the obvious and all of a sudden his throat got dry. She noded slowly. What could she have as a present that she couldn't have given him in front of the others? Her eyes fixated his. She reached behind a cushion and grabbed something. "Sorry to kept you waiting this long. I know you were upset.", she handed him a mistletoe. Clint looked confused at the branch in his hand, then back at her face. "A kiss? You are giving me a kiss?", he slowly said. She cleared her throat "If you want to. Or I'll go to the next 7-11, as Tony suggested." Clint sniggerd and lifted the mistletoe over their heads. She drew nearer as his free hand laid on her cheek carefully. Their eyes met, both were a little nervous. Clint throws the branch to the floor only to cup her face fully. Eventually they kissed, their eyes shut.

They kissed long and intensely. Her hands ran trough his hair. "That's a wonderful present. Thank you," he whispered, his forehead touched hers. "You're welcome." "Sooo, was this a one-kiss-only-gift, or…," he teased. "What, you want more of that?", she laughed and gave him a smooch on the cheek. "Hey, you missed!", he said and laid his arms around her, pulling her closer. "I'm not like you Mister i-can't-seem-to-miss.", she replied, gently stroking her hands on Clints chest. "Wanna try again then?"

And though all that Steve stood in the doorway, looking at this couple of master assassins kissing and cuddling and his heart was full. This truly was a Christmas miracle.

#clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #black widow #clintasha #steve rogers #clintasha advent 2020

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dyker-farmer · 4 years

Text

More bro fic.... angst fodder kind content.

Take that can away if you can

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event- not 10, jesus-, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

I also put it on Ao3.

[[MORE]]

A bitch bastard man and a bitch walk into a room... Chapter 1/2/3/4

"I think we should talk about this."

If the room was stifled before, this just causes the pin to drop, and the relative lull to shatter with it. I don't want a storm, but we can't pretend the sea's a slightly oversized pond if we want him not drowning in it- again, my mind supplies, unhelpful.

He's zoning out again, blurry eyes pointedly off me, preferring the turned-off TV.

Let's start easy. "Why did you come here, Shane?"

"I-I-" It sounds like an excuse building up and it bubbles out like a shaken can, "I don't- I shouldn't have-" he goes to up and leave, and we just can't have that.

I scrape my chair closer and grab his shoulder, same as before. Hopefully it's more placating than caging. "No, you should have. You did good. Seeking out, remember?"

He doesn't answer but stills.

"Like Dr.Campbell and Harvey said." I try again.

"Yeah… Yeah." Deep breathing. "I. Don't know." He searches for my face, not quite past the nose. I nod, ushering him on. "It's. Stupid." I frown and my eyebrow goes higher than before and he immediately doubles down. "I know- positiv' reinforchment and all that shit! But… It's hard." A tired hand wipes the most of moisture off his face, before it goes back to wriggle with the other on his lap. "It's so fuckin' hard. Didn't even last two seasons!-"

I cut him off. "Two seasons is a lot! One and a half too. Last time, you'd tried to go cold turkey on the spot. We know what that got us." Sea foam in the mouth and a shared cold in the early spring, on top of a Joja lawsuit. "Shit's hard, like you said. You lasted one and a half this time. Next time-"

"Why the fuck do you always think there's gonna be a next time."

This time, I still. My laidback demeanor mirror his, but so does the cold anger creeping in and tensing both our backs.

"Because. There is going to be a next time. And another after that. And another. Same way there's been next times before this one now."

What's left unsaid we don't touch.

All irritation floods from him like it's just pointless to keep it in anymore, and his forehead goes to thunk softly against the wooden surface he leaned on before. The table muffles his next words a little.

"I can't… keep doing that." I don't peep. "I can't keep rolling back down and then up and down, and up, and down. I- I just can't, Garcia- Uidel-"

"I'll drag you there." I shrug.

"But you shouldn't have to!" His voice raises and make the boards vibrate where his skin's still pressed. "You shouldn't have to-to fuckin'-" he sniffles, the following words drowned out in held-back sobs. "Fuck damn it, you- I said I- I wouldn't be a burden anymore!"

He's crying out loud now, open sorrow and no walls left. Out of all the things you could stick on the not-so amiable man sulking straight from bed to Jojamart to Stardrop Saloon to bed, you probably wouldn't think of "extreme scare of bothering anyone". Yet it's all here in how he collapses silently in the mattress, wake without a sound, keep his head down the whole time he crosses town, tries to merge himself in the fake-nice blue of the shelves at work, then corners himself right between the chimney and the bar on Emily's side, stuck in-between two sources of warmth that can never touch him unless he swings one way or the other. And he doesn't a lot, still keeping to himself strictly. You probably wouldn't think either of how dreamy he gets, hidden in his alcove but seeing everything from there.

When Harvey nerds out about classical, jazz and electro swing music down the bar to me, trying to catch me up on my fuzzy memories of arts history and the implications of breaking codes in the tempo and the leisure of each instruments; of how each note gets a specific response from the brain if done right, and can make up for caffeine deprivation in miraculous ways, when there are no more chances to push back the dread of midterms season at doctor school.

When Elliott, boisterous and drunk, arm-on-arm with an equally inebriated Leah, calls out to the whole place to hear out his latest soliloquy, and drags on the words too much, but with a voice that carries it well, all flamboyance and no limits, as his hair floats around him in a crown and he reigns over the room like a kind lion- Description all intoxicated words from your chicken man truly, not mine. I always get too caught up in the pendulum of Leah's braid and her crooked smile to quite appreciate his theatrics. But the recital rings clear, and everyone applauds the performance- because hey, you applaud a drunk guy showing off the prowess of not tripping a single word in a ten minutes tirade, but also because it really is that good! Everyone, even Shane, whose hands zipped to under his armpits the moment our eyes crossed and I met his pink cheeks with a clairvoyant smile.

Hey, what can I say. Dude's a sapiosexual. Hence why we'll never and cannot bang. That, and, uh, the being lesbian thing.

But all this is closed off and not for anyone to see behind see-through fogged windows, like those kitchen cabinets, when you can make out the piled plates all resting against the cold surface precariously, bound to crash and shatter the moment you open them.

It took a good wrecking ball of a fake-oblivious polite faced stranger and my incessant, hot pepper poppers-powered pestering, to even just crackles the glass.

The rest was all done out of his own volition. He can't see that because alcohol is a depressant, and guzzling it down leads to blurry concepts made softer always and pretty much lush in brain, and when he's off the thing, and that's rare, he instantly goes from not there to thinking he's everywhere, soiling everything and giving nothing.

His sobbing doesn't relent, and he whimpers issues of "trustworthy sack of shit", "not being worth the fucking shrink's money", "not being worth his aunt's troubles", "not being worth Jas". At some point he goes to grapple with his hair, and tugs brusquely once, then twice, then I have to reach for his wrist to make him stop, which he snatches back as soon as I make contact. But he doesn't grab anything to pull or pinch or punch again, so that's good. I stay on standby beside him, but don't touch him. He rasps more condemnations, struggles to breathe enough through the phlegm spreading in his respiratory system, and I start reenacting the steps to stop a hyperventilation in my head, and the first aid for choking, when he begins to cough violently, his entire frame upset with the movement.

He takes the tissue box i nudge with insistence toward him, and ends up spitting mouthfuls of mucus mixed with some bile in the basin under his feet. Most of it is clear and smells of fruits, not beer, so I'm not too worried. When I go to stabilize him by taking his shoulders, he grasps at my wrists to stop me- but let them stay here, while he clings. The tremors get to me now, and I remind myself that this is good, this is before the cliffs and him finding refuge to burst open, not glassily stare at the weeping clouds as he blabbers on the meaninglessness of his life.

This is… very alive.

I ought to be glad.

I let him come down at his rhythm, counting the pulses of his wrists as I feel mine numb with the blood circulation slowed down under his hold.

When he's back with a mind, I count to three, then let go. His arms flop back down, on his lap and hands dangling between his tighs. He blows his nose again.

"I'm so pathetic…"

"Yeah sure, and I'm a serial prom queen."

Instead of jabbing back and forth, we get interrupted by a soft mewling. Both of us turn to the door, that's opened slightly to let in Eryza, the pitter-patter of her paws on the stone flooring the only sound for a moment…

As we both stare in revulsion at her jaw, a single line of vomit dripping of it.

Shane puts his head down in shame, not even having the strenght to hide further.

"Sorry."

"Nah, 's okay. She's already trash, anyway."

Eryza edges closer and rapidly tour around our legs- going back to Shane's feet twice, her whiskers tickling his exposed ankles. Purring loudly, she completely ignore my chastizing as I threaten to make her diet periwinkle-based to counter-act her literal potty mouth, and she scampers to do who-knows-what in the rooms.

"Your vibes are rancid, do you hear me?? Rancid, girl!" I call after her. "I swear to Yoba, Shane, your aunt might as well have brought me a raccoon."

Turning back to him, I can see the short-lived humor of the situation was, well, short-lived. I sigh.

It's late. We're both tired. Tomorrow is sunday. It's cool. We've got time.

I don't sit back down right away. First, I put a hand down on the nape of his neck, that slides to the top of his scalp, right where he'd tug. My quota, remember?

He sniffles some, a few teardrops make their way to the planks, unheard. We stay like this for a moment.

He doesn't shake me off, but in the slow tandem his body takes, rocking lightly from back to forth, I can tell it's enough, for now.

I sit back down on my chair.

I lean on the hand I'd put in his dark purple strands before, smelling cedar wood and pine trees. I don't assume. My farm has plenty of those to stumble through. And even if he went back to the cliff, another time again. I do that too. With my own cliffs back at not-home, but close. There's a sense, in staring down what couldn't take you.

Like visiting a scene crime that you've narrowly escaped from. And pride too. And the thrill of asking- "what if again? What if this time?"- and okay, I can see why it'd be worrying to have him go there a thrice time on his own late in the evening.

But last time was fine, the one before was made fine, and he might need a bitch for a friend right now, but not a watchdog.

His forehead is back against the table.

Three fingers massage my temple. I don't know how much he'll even remember tomorrow, but it's worth the try, always.

"Shane, dude, look at me." He doesn't.

"Dude."

Still doesn't budge. I knock the wood lightly.

"Yo, punk, my eyes are up here." I joke.

He snorts, or maybe he sniffles, and his chin's now resting on the table, peering through the forgotten drinks to watch me. His hands are hidden, probably still clutching his midsection. If I went on a rollercoaster toasted, I'd probably look the exact same.

"I told you before that you literally couldn't be a burden."

He snorts for sure this time, derisive. I knock wood again. "Don't look away from me when I talk, young man. Rude ass punk."

"Bitch." He throws.

"Bitch bastard man." I send back. "Anyways, as I was saying. If I choose you're my dumb of ass to keep around, that's me, that's my decision. You can't burden me if I choose the hard mode package and roll with it. So stop it. I literally told you before, it's not about you not making efforts or burdening people, it's about people who want to deal with you, out of free will."

"Freaky."

"Oh shut up, you dramatic himbo wannabe."

"A what now?"

"Internet slang. Gotta admit you're closer to a dad bod type, but the energy's here, according to many."

He shuffles, self-conscious. "Y'don't need to remind me…"

"Oh hush you, you're perfectly fine. And Elliott would eat his dumb little lobster and pomegranate toasts off that belly if you'd grow out of your own shell and let him."

He sputters unintelligibly, red as a fecking pepper. Good. Flustered is better than self-depreciating.

But now he's pulled on his hood and the strings all the way out, and resumes to chanting me to fuck off, so that might be a good call for a break.

"I'm gonna change and clean up, you need anything? Do you think you'll go back to the ranch, or stay here for the night?" It's happened before, but you can count them on the fingers of one hand.

A long silence follows and I allow myself a quick look in the mirror. Yeah, we're skipping a shower tonight, but the simple hairbrush will not do. I look like a bird's nest that the birds fought in to know who'd keep the children when bird 2 takes off and bird 1 is left to mourn the empty space that'll never fill up the same again and the good times that won't be- wow, trauma lane much, not now, cowpal. First we buckle up our current rodeo. I walk back to the main room, now pajama-clad.

"I've got the beds for the possible kids up there, don't ask me why Robin put so many there, we're two people in a house, and I can lend you a Tee if you want."

He's anxious, chewing his thumb. "Emily won't mind?"

"She's out, sleeping at Haley's tonight. Girls' night and sisters catching up. It's important for her energy flow and karmic balance. Plus, you know she wouldn't mind, she likes you."

That makes him blush more, covering up the alcohol damage enough. I take note, but don't comment. Things for later. They pile up tonight.

"I- I can't go back to the ranch like this."

"You could. Marnie knows better than act as if you're doing this for fun, now. She'd have to understand. But you don't have to." I reassure him when agitated pupils jump up to me. Let's keep that ongoing panic attack at bay. "Either way, I won't mind."

I sit back. Stretch my arms between us. Catch his worrying hands into mine. Give him a squeeze. Tense appendages don't squeeze back, but don't pull back either. That's half a win. He stops torturing the poor things, and unfold with visible effort, like a crumpled up paper flower put on water. His head shakes, and I can't tell if it's conscious, him speaking with himself or trying to shake off a thought, or just a reflex. He visibly forces his shoulders to relax.

"I'm… not bothering you?" Righteous. Seeking vocal positive reinforcement, like a pro.

"Nope." I pop out the 'p'.

"... I think I'll, uh, stay for tonight."

My hands shoot into the air. "Woo! Sleepover, baby!"

I don't catch his hands curling back on themselves, trying to capture that leftover warmth in the late summer night.

--- to be continued.

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