#baxter ward but in mention alone

[burplewrites]

thoughts | cove james holden

𓆉 | fandom: our life: beginnings & always

𓆉 | characters: cove holden, reader

𓆉 | word count: 1,547 words 8,375 characters

𓆉 | a/n: this has been in my notes for so long i got disgusted by it and i wanted it gone (the ending sucks i cant make conclusions)

from a young age, y/n has experienced happiness. they had loving parents, even though they were adopted. their older sister, who was a brat when they were younger, loved them unconditionally. they had amazing relatives and friends and were always surrounded by positivity since they were a child. although from a young age, they always felt like this feeling would be temporary.

their moms wouldn’t love them anymore, cove wouldn’t care, derek, terri, and miranda wouldn’t care, baxter…. well, they were right about baxter. but baxter left, making everything they thought would happen a reality… that terrified them.

normally when it was just thoughts, that’s all it was. thoughts. their mind was fucking with them, making them feel horrible for no reason. but it’s been those thoughts that have been brought into the world, that possibility was a real one. baxter had left three months ago and y/n was still stuck in that moment when he closed the door to their relationship.

no calls, no texts, no anything. y/n saw the signs, they were right in front of their face. baxter always thought of his stay here as temporary. but it didn’t have to be. they could have remained friends. but he chose to cut contact with everyone in sunset bird, with them.

maybe baxter was different, a messed up variable. they had only known each other for a summer, but if he could do it, what was holding everyone else from doing that too? what is everyone waiting for?

when was everyone going to leave them too?

it was a summer fling, just a short little thing. nothing too serious. that was said from the beginning. y/n felt hard though, which made it hurt even more. what was that whole relationship to him anyway? did he truthfully like it, did he like them as much as they liked him?

he had always been so distant, a barrier was always there, separating them from really getting to know the real baxter ward. if they knew the real him, would they still have been attracted to him? would everything be the same? would they still have entered that fling, would baxter be willing to ask them out, would they accept… what would be the outcome, the reactions, how would life be right now, three months after that summer?

y/n laid in bed, their mind taking all the energy that would otherwise be used to go do random stuff with their family and friends. their eyes were closed, with the cover over their head as they tried to control their breathing and get out of this spiral they were trapping themselves in. they didn't even notice when cove came into their room.

their window was always left unlocked due to cove's unwarranted but not unwanted visits, so he was never locked outside on the side of the building.

"y/n, it's like 1 pm." cove said gently before sitting on the side of their bed. y/n sat up, and faked a yawn, before smiling at cove. they didn't want to burden him with their thoughts again. they did that the day baxter left, and even though cove didn't seem to mind, they didn't want to put him through that again. "y/n, what's the matter? you can't lie to me with that fake yawn. i know you better than that, and i know you know that too."

"it's nothing, i was just thinking. don't worry." they got out of bed and stretched, not registering how upset they looked, or how their mannerisms were so drained. from the bed, cove was watching them do random things, like pick things up, and put them away in a completely different place, arrange their desk, all while trying to start a conversation with cove. they gave up midway though, and just started humming a song under their breath.

cove didn't know what to do. he realised that something was upsetting y/n, it was clear to see, but he didn't know what. he didn't know what he could say or do to help them feel better, since they weren't talking about it but cove could tell it was eating at them. so he did the only thing he thought of in that moment. he stood up and engulfed them in a hug. y/n's body tensed up in shock before relaxing. their back was to cove's chest, and cove was holding them tightly.

"ok space cadet, what's up with this?" y/n said with a chuckle. "you know back hugs barely count, right?"

cove sighed and loosened the hug, which gave y/n the chance to turn around and be engulfed in a normal hug. y/n knew cove wanted to say something, and was prepared to stay in this hug until he did. it was a thing they came up with that happened randomly.

"y/n, you're still upset about baxter, aren't you?" cove said softly. y/n's breath hitched, which was an answer in itself as they sighed.

"i- was it that obvious?"

"no, i just know you. we're kind of connected, remember?" cove chuckled before pulling away from the hug. he pulled y/n back to the bed before sitting beside them. they made eye contact, and cove began.

"talk to me y/n. let me lend an ear."

"it's fine cove, i'm getting through it. you don't have to listen to this." y/n said with a smile, betraying the tears building up in their eyes.

cove stared at y/n softly, before holding their hands. "i know i don't have to, but i want to. i want to be there for you y/n, because you're someone that i truly about and that's never going to change, so let me be there. let me carry some of your worries."

at those words, the dam opened. tears started dropping from y/n's glossy eyes, and more came as they tried wiping them. their breathing shallowed as they sobbed on the side of their bed, cove holding them, offering the comfort he could at that moment.

"it's not supposed to hurt that hard. we barely knew each other cove. we dated for the summer, i'm supposed to be focusing on the future, not remembering this!" y/n started, more tears bubbling up with a pause in their words. "but he left. he didn't even care, he just dismissed it, and i'm trying to understand but it hurts so much."

y/n cried in cove's arms a little, not caring how messed they looked. cove was one of their rocks. a constant. yes, they doubted it sometimes, but it was hard to find even the smallest part of cove wanting to abandon them. cove was always there, cove was family. y/n always felt the safest when he was there by their side.

"i knew it wouldn't last forever, but it set everything in stone, that everyone is going to leave and i'm just going to be stuck here, without anyone. miranda and terri, derek and you… moms, liz.. everyone is just going to leave. they wouldn't need a reason to stick by me anymore. i wouldn't mean much to them anymore, and i-"

y/n was spiralling, and cove squeezed them hard in the hug to get them to snap out of it, without 'interrupting' them. y/n turned to look at cove with a confused look and cove looked at them wiping his own tears from his aquamarine eyes.

"we aren't going to leave you behind. we never would do that. we love you, i love you. i can confidently speak for miranda, and terri, and elizabeth, and your moms, as well as myself. we would never even think of abandoning you. you have such an important effect on out lives y/n, and we wouldn't change it for anything."

"so why did he leave, cove? why didn't he want to stay friends, why didn't he want to keep in contact with me? am i that unlikable and unlovable-"

cove shook his head, making y/n's face wrench with more tears, as their head faced the ground.

"i don't know what was going through his head, but him leaving does not make you unlovable and unlikable. he liked you enough to want to be your friend, he liked you enough to want to start dating you, he liked you enough to help you out, to form memories with you, and to be there with you for as long as he could. i couldn't tell you why he couldn't stay friends, but i can tell you that he's probably going to regret losing someone like you in his life." y/n smiled a little and leaned their head against their best friend.

"thank you cove.. i love you too."

"i know." cove said gently, reaching over and passing y/n some tissues. "y/n anytime you need to talk, anytime you have doubts about anything.. you have to tell me about it. or your moms, or liz, or our friends, but don't just keep it locked inside. isn't that what you taught me?"

y/n chuckled.

"yeah, i guess i'm just not good at following my own advice."

"i can see that." cove teased, making y/n glare at him playfully. cove sat there, as a pillar for y/n letting them lean against him, as they sniffed and calmed down, giving them all the time they needed.

#our life #our life beginnings & always #cove holden #burplewrites #baxter ward but in mention alone #fics #light angst

[mochidreambubble]

Just as if we’re Strangers on a Train

Written for OC x Canon week organised by @theocxcanonweek

Day 6 Prompt:

Touching Foreheads / Sci-Fi AU / “Can you stay? Please…”

Baxter/MC OC fic. Ao3 link here.

“He could laugh. Right now, he wasn’t expected to stay in character. The childhood sweetheart, that wasn’t him. But at this moment, as “Theodore”, wouldn’t it be alright to indulge, even just a little…”

[Of course, it wouldn't be me if I didn't take this as an excuse to write for Our Life www

The title is like, a sort of reference to the whole b/w era of romance movies that always have lovers meet on trains or train stations. I mean, iconic and all so…

Please also don’t think too hard of the “play murder” in this. I’m not very smart and I’m not even going to pretend there is a mystery to solve here lol.

Takes place a little before Baxter Step 4 but is not meant to fit into any canonicity, I really wrote this cause the idea just came to me.]

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He finds himself freezing up, mouth agape. The couple he’s been hired by is no doubt wondering what the issue is, being silent for longer than a few seconds. Though, maybe they think it’s just him being in character, seeing as how the young woman standing right in front of him is matching him in shock.

There’s a sudden exclamation of shock, from someone Baxter recognises as one of the game masters from the start of this whole event, now costumed up. “Oh my, young lady! Isn’t that the boy from the picture you showed me earlier? Your childhood friend? What a coincidence!”

The shock was slowly draining from the young woman in front of you, a smile now taut and forced plastered on. “Yes, what a crazy coincidence. But it’s been so long that we may as well be strangers,” she steps closer and extends her hand, though in a way that seems like a private parody to Baxter and Baxter alone, echoing his long-forgotten introduction to her. But this wasn’t the tourist beach town of Sunset Bird, but a live-action-themed mystery game with everyone on it stuck on a moving train for the whole duration of the event. “I may as well reintroduce myself. Perhaps I’ve been forgotten after all this time, after all. Nice to meet you, Theodore. I’m Rosalind.”

How could he ever forget her face? Not when her tearful expression was forever seared into his mind. “Oh, Rosa,” His character card for Theodore had mentioned that he too, could never forget his childhood sweetheart. “Of course not! It’s been too long.”

He shakes her hand, trying to maintain his poker face. He’s basically on a job after all. This damn, blasted job.

The couple he had been hired by wanted a themed wedding, see? But a very specific themed wedding, based on the series of mystery live-action games. It was how they first met. The easy way would have been to just Google what the story and themes were about. But the company’s website was vague, and the couple had explained they wanted it to be an exclusive narrative to their players. So, the consummate professional aspiring wedding planner that Baxter Alexander Ward was, said he would attend one himself so he could best get the feel of it. The couple was excited to accompany him, though considering their love of it, he suspects they would have gone to this event anyways. 

The theme of this event was a murder on a train. It was an affair across a couple of days, the murder happening once everyone settled in and received their randomly assigned roles. His, a young rich nobleman - Baxter wanted to laugh when he received his card, landing a  role from a life he left behind - who had many regrets, prime of all not defying his parents to marry his childhood sweetheart Rosalind. 

Rosalind. He truly doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Rosalind was here, no childhood ocean boy or any of her friends in sight. Maybe for the best, no doubt they all knew of her heartbreak after he left…

The game master laughs, slapping him and Rosalind on the back. “Ah, always nice to see old friends reunite huh? Now come, let’s all head to the dining cart. Both of you must have lots to catch up on!”

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They were seated across each other, considering that their characters likely would have wanted to catch up. They weren’t in private, still seated near the other dining cart seats, so they were likely still expected to be in character. So there was a relief, as they spoke back and forth, reciting notes from their character cards. That is, until…

“So, Theo,” The name mocking on her tongue. “I’m surprised to see you alone on this trip. No beau for the season? All here by your lonesome?”

“...I’m here on business, if you must know, dear Rosa. I’m traveling with Hemsworth,” Baxter points to a rather dainty young woman with a moustache plastered on sitting two tables away. The roles were given at random after all, so there were actually quite a few as characters who didn’t necessarily match who they were at all in person. That was one of his clients actually, though currently separated from her girlfriend-now fiancee. 

Rosalind hums, focussing back on her food and drink. Baxter couldn’t help himself. Part of him just had to know. Maybe it just felt easier as for all anyone knew, he was asking as Theodore after all. “And you, Rosa? No dashing men with lovely eyebrows or brotherly demeanours have swept you off your feet?”

“...No,” she’s meticulously cutting her steak, refusing to look up at him. “After you left and broke my heart, I don’t think falling in love was ever that easy again.”

He doesn’t know what to say, what he could say. Though he didn’t quite have to, as a young woman slips into the seat next to him - the other lucky woman to be wed, and begins to make small talk to them both. Her role was that of a ditzy heiress it seemed, slightly humorous as Baxter knew the young woman was a rather stern and straightforward lawyer from the times he had met her at his office. He’s infinitely grateful as her presence certainly elevated the tenseness, and Rosalind certainly didn’t stray from her character.

As it turns out, while the player behind Rosalind was here by her lonesome, Rosa herself was with a her uncle, who decided to branch out from academics to art.

There’s an exaggerated squeal from the heiress of what kind of art and lighthearted topic carried all the way till after dessert, when Baxter could finally make his escape.

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He didn’t expect to get invested in what was going on, purely here as a learning experience of sorts after all. But with every player huddled as close as they can be in the narrow space of the train corridor, almost all in nightwear, peering over the poor fellow facedown in fake blood…

Well, maybe Baxter was a little more invested in this than he let on, now that it seemed that the game had truly begun proper. Fingers were pointed and the yelling of accusations had started. 

The murder victim was the academic turned artist who recently came into fortune via a rich client and wanted to work with Hemsworth and Theodore to open a gallery, so the duo playing the investors to said victim was immediately brought into the hot seat. But he and Hemsworth exclaimed they had alibis. It went in circles, from the person sitting next to him at dinner to the one who was mostly quiet throughout this so far.

An attendant insisted they all calm down and return to their rooms. They were still miles away from any kind of authority, so for everyone’s safety they should keep their wits about it. Of course, as players, they had been instructed to investigate in their own time to solve this whodunit, and as to not alert the murderer, they would have to do so discreetly or risk being silenced by the murderer…

As expected, the married couple to be had already decided to pair up, whispering to each other. Baxter was glad they seemed to certainly be enjoying themselves…

“Now why should just let it go when it’s obvious who did it!” A man cries out, jabbing his finger towards Rosalind. “She’s the only one who could have! They’re in the same cabin, you idiots! I say we lock her up in a  room now!”

Baxter finds himself speaking up, especially seeing Rosalind wince and take a few paces back in fear when all eyes turn on her. It was fine, wasn’t it? It was totally in character for Theodore to speak up and vouch for her…

“Now, now, my good sir. Didn’t you hear the attendant? He said to best let the authorities handle this, hm?”

“You’re just sticking up for her 'cause you’re sweet on her!”

“...She’s my old friend after all. Now, if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay in the same cabin with her. If I’m dead by sunrise, then you’d be right maybe.” 

The fellow gives Baxter the stink eye, before he calls out for a vote - leading to Baxter now being locked in a cabin with Rosalind. 

Locked with someone who he was technically in private with… No reason to stay in character…

“Would it be cliche if I say I think the loudest accuser is the murderer? Or who do you think killed my poor uncle?” 

“Ah yes, the million dollar question… Considering he was an academic who - from what I heard from every other passenger at least once - he seemed to have met them all at least once. Quite the social butterfly, hm, you uncle?”

She snorts, fully breaking character as she takes out her phone and begins to tap away. The rule was that no phones were out in the open, so at least this was fine…

“Letting your sister know that you’re all fine and dandy?” He recalls how protective her family was in general, her sister demanding that the youngest contact her nightly during their short trip summers ago.

“Cove, actually,” she’s typing away, a smile on her face. 

“Ah, so still as tight-knit as ever, then?”

“We’re not conjoined at the hip anymore, especially for stuff like this where he has to potentially be stuck on a train for days with strangers,” she finally halts and tucks her phone away. “Well, back to the matter at hand-”

She launches back into theories on the mystery, shutting the door on any other topics. Baxter doesn’t even attempt to try.

Rosalind’s uncle, as stated, was certainly a man of many connections. He wasn’t particularly grand as an artist, but he cashed in on many favours. Ones with rich and influential members of society were especially prevalent. He had taken Rosalind in, purely to have a hold in her whatever little inheritance her belated parents left her and to use her as a chip in negotiations - it was so easy to tempt many with a pretty girl yet to marry…

“Sounds like you would have a fair bit of motive, Rosa.”

“You think I did it as well then?”

“...No matter what, I’ll do my best to be by your side, Rosa.”

He wishes she would look his way, her eyes fixed to the scenery they were passing by. “Must be easy to say things like this huh, Theo? But promises, promises,” Her voice is shaky. “They’re just words you know? I think actions speak louder.”

“...Then what do you want me to do, Rosa?”

“Maybe you’ll just vanish again after this is all over… But at least, during this trip…”

She turns to him at last, eyes shiny with tears. “Can you stay? Please? Just pretend for me that you’re really just Theo, and don’t leave me alone…”

“...Of course. I promise.”

He could laugh. Right now, he wasn’t expected to stay in character. The childhood sweetheart, that wasn’t him. But at this moment, as Theodore, wouldn’t it be alright to indulge, even just a little…

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It had been at least over a day since the murder. They were holding a meeting in the dining cart, the majority exclaiming they found evidence of who it was. It would seem the dramatics of the loudest person really were just signs of guilt as a majority were pointing to the man who had adamantly insisted it was Rosa.

“Y-You fools! It ain’t me, I didn’t do it!”

“Oh come on, you’re the only one with the shakiest alibi, and the murder weapon was hidden in your trunk!”

“B…But…!”

There was a chaos of voices. Baxter looks to Rosalind, who had been increasingly silent throughout the day as they snuck around and questioned guests and attendants alike. 

Ah. Maybe she figured it out.

“He’s right,” her voice, though softer than the yelling, cut through and silenced everyone. She walked forward, her confidence and stride like a Queen addressing her subjects. It’s no wonder they all turned to listen.

It’s no wonder she caught his eye, to begin with.

“He didn’t do it.”

“Then who did, lass?! You saying you killed him after all?!”

She shook her head, holding her breath, as if contemplating in the last few seconds. “It was…”

Rosalind turns to him. “It was you, wasn’t it Theo?”

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The story goes that Theodore’s parents, who very much did not approve of the common girl Rosalind, had struck a deal with her uncle. A great sum of money to play a part in a scheme that would pull the lovers apart. Theo would believe she only wanted him for his wealth, and Rosa broken-hearted over a slew of letters of “him” declaring he loathed her.

How unfair, that life pulled them apart.

His parents had passed, not long after Rosalind had left to who knew where with her uncle. 

Theo had almost gone mad, upset at them - at himself. So foolish to believe the lies that were fed to him so easily. 

He was too ashamed to even look at the letters Rosa has sent him, trying to reconnect…

No matter. His parents dead. The other one at fault would soon be too…

There were horrified gasps on the unfolding scene. Very honestly, mayhaps Baxter was just ever so slightly intrigued when the game master handed him his card at the start. Theodore - the criminal of this plot, with a suitcase of hidden props. So maybe, ever so slightly, he decided to lean into the dramatics. The game masters were still in character, after all, not stopping him.

A “gun” pointed directly at Rosalind, and bitterness in his voice. “Why did you have to ruin everything Rosa? It was almost perfect!”

“What would murdering my uncle solve?! Instead of killing him, you could have just,” Her hands were waved in frustration, she was close to crying in frustration and sadness. “Reached out to me! Explain, said something! I would have listened! Instead, you kept quiet like a coward!”

“I needed to do something to redeem myself… I didn’t know how I could show myself to you again without…”

“I just wanted you to stay,” she had crumpled to the ground, tears falling. “Why do you always have to make yourself out to be a bad guy… You just… Had to stay in touch…”

It really could have been that easy, couldn’t it?

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“I’m surprised she decided to reveal you!” One of the fiancees laughed. “I mean, sometimes in these games, the villain does get away with it, you know?”

Her other half sighs, peaking over Baxter’s shoulder to read his card. “Rosalind would have gotten a good deal herself too, if you got away with it. All her uncle’s riches would be hers and she'll finally be with the man she loved…”

“It must have simply been a matter of doing the right thing,” Baxter smiles, but his eyes were peeled to the train platform. The ending to their little adventure. But… Rosalind’s player was nowhere to be found.

It was almost ironic, for her to now vanish out of his life despite given a chance meeting. Or, perhaps it was like Rosalind declared…

All Theodore had to do was reach out…

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He didn’t. 

Because Baxter Ward was a coward.

Besides, her number might have changed after all this time. 

We were nothing but strangers on a train, he insists. He busies himself, looking at the information on the next client. 

A Scott Adam and Jude Eckert.

Huh. He knew an Eckert, once upon a time… Summers ago…

He shakes his head again. Enough of this. All he had to do was focus on work. After all, what were the chances he’d run into her again, after all…

(FIN)

[I planned this fic before writing but as I wrote I think I lost the sauce…. Sobs….

Also pls lemme know if you spot any silly mistakes, tysm ilu]

#not beta read #oc x canon week #oc x canon week 2023 #oc x canon #my fic #my writing #our life beginnings & always #baxter ward #jamie last #oc mc

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Things I Absolutely Did Not Want To Write, But My Brain Had Other Ideas

Me: Okay, brain! Ready to work on the thing we’ve been researching?

Brain: Naw.

Me: How about that new thing you’ve been talking about? Ready for that?

Brain: Mmmm, maybe another week.

Me: Right, then, another research day!

Brain: Nnnnnnnnnnnnnrgh, tired of reading!

Me: .....the Thomas/Mary wedding thing, since you dragged that up last week?

Brain: Pffff, last week’s news!

Me: So what do you want to do?

Brain: Oooooooooooo! BODY SWAP FIC!

Me: *groan* No, brain. Just no.

Brain: YES! YES YES YES YES YES! WE’VE NOT WORKED ON IT IN SO LONG! COME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

Me: I hate that thing! That is hands down my least favorite trope ever!

Brain: But it’ll be fun! And new! And different! And we never do things like that!

Me: Yeah, BECAUSE I HATE IT!

Brain: I have new ideas for it! Shiny ideas! Character torture ideas!

Me: ...................you’re not going to shut up about this, are you?

Brain: N.O.P.E.!

Me: .............right then. But after this, we’re at least getting a paragraph of notes on something else, you hear?

“This is the last of it, Mr. Barrow,” Andrew announced, walking in and setting a medium sized box down on the boot room table. There were three there already, one opened with its contents spread over the table, and the other two tucked in a corner.

Thomas looked up from the rather large vase he was examining. “Thank you, Andrew. We’ll go through that one when we’ve finished these.”

“Do you really think anyone will want to buy these?” Albert asked, picking up a very old, very thread bare toy horse that had come out of the open box. God alone knew how long the box had been in the storage attic, tucked away in the back corners.

“Who can say?” Thomas shrugged, reaching for a soft cloth. “Toffs get funny about what they’ll blow money on, don’t they?” Glancing at the horse again, he admitted, “I can’t see that one fetching much, though. Its value seems entirely sentimental.”

Anna, who had come in to fetch some cleaning salts, closed the cupboard she was reaching into and came to examine the horse. She ran her fingers over one of the bare patches. “I might buy it, for Johnny, if no one with real money goes for it. It’s a bit ragged, admittedly, but the stitching’s all there.”

Thomas concentrated on the vase in front of him, not even glancing sideways at the woman and the toy. “Tell Lady Mary you want it, and she might well just give it to you,” he suggested, forcing his tone to be bright and cheerful. He started brushing the dust and cobwebs off the vase. Urn. Whatever you’d call it. The big clay pot with Greek pictures on it. It had to have been in the attic as long as the horse, and it hadn’t been in a box. It was covered in dust and he was fairly certain that when he tipped it over there would undoubtedly be dead spiders inside. At least, he hoped they were dead. They would be soon, if they weren’t already. After all, no matter how ancient your Greek pottery was, it wouldn’t fetch much at auction if it was full of spiders.

“She might,” Anna agreed, setting the toy aside. “But that’s hardly going to help fix (FIND A PROBLEM), now is it?”

“I suppose not,” Thomas allowed. It had been Mr. Branson’s idea, naturally, to auction off some of the family’s old knickknacks, abandoned in the attic for most of His Lordship’s lifetime, to raise money. The only surprise was how readily the family had agreed to it. Thomas had expected more of a fight, but he supposed with Lady Violet gone, there was less sentiment for the fifth Earl’s belongings. “Seems backwards, though, that we should pay our hard earned wages to keep our employer afloat.”

His grumbling earned him a sharp frown. “No one’s asking you to buy anything.”

Before Thomas could reply, Mrs. Hughes came around the corner, her eyes immediately taking in the well-organized chaos. “Goodness. Well, I should hope this should fetch a tidy sum. Enough to get the job done at any rate.” She looked between Andy and Thomas. “Is there anything more to come down?”

Despite the fact Andy and the hall boys had been doing all of the shifting, Thomas answered dutifully. “No, Mrs. Hughes. We’re most of the way through the first box.” Realizing that the piece he was working on had, very obviously, not been in a box, he added, “And I’ve been handling the big pieces.” There was a lamp standing behind him, not to mention an old clock that probably hadn’t walked since the fourth Earl was a boy. He’d probably have to order in parts for that.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. “At least they’ve agreed to a buffet for luncheon. Albert can keep the cold cuts ready well enough.” She turned to Anna. “And Nanny was planning a picnic for the upstairs children for the afternoon. She wanted to know if you could take Johnny for a couple of hours.”

Thomas scowled at the writing emerging under the layer of grime on the pottery. At least he assumed it was writing. He couldn’t read it, naturally, but it looked like the Greek writing he’d seen here and there in books and such. “Don’t know why the woman still bothers. She knows the answer is going to be ‘no’.” She also knew that Lady Mary would insist the picnic go on anyway, and that she take Johnny with her, servant’s son or not. Because somehow Nanny was the only one in the world, or at least the estate, who had a problem with the Bateses’ son being treated like a member of the family. Carson would probably have complained if he were still here, and probably did complain to Mrs. Hughes when she was at home, now that Thomas thought of it, but he had no say anymore. Lady Mary loved Anna and would do as much for her as her own sister, maybe more, and that was that.

Both women turned stern expressions on him and he wished he’d bitten his tongue. “What’s gotten into you today?” Anna asked.

He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. More writing and a bit of key patterning emerged under his administrations as he tried to come up with a believable answer. “Nothing, sorry,” he finally said, the words accompanied with a poor attempt at a smile. “Just a bit of a headache from all of this dust.”

Mrs. Hughes eyed him, equal parts stern and concerned. “Mm. Why don’t you take a break and step out for some air when you’re done with that?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes,” he agreed, eager to say anything that would keep her from asking any further questions. He turned his full attention to the task at hand, trying to shut out the women's’ conversation. Unfortunately, having the best hearing in the house had its drawbacks. It was impossible to ignore Anna’s assurance that Lady Mary wouldn’t mind Johnny tagging along with the rest, or that she thought some time outdoors would do the children good. He wished he could go and work on the books, something that would at least take attention and, perhaps, distract him from thinking about the fact that Richard was coming to York to visit his parents. He’d be there for two days and, as luck would have it, those days coincided perfectly with the damn auction. He didn’t even need to ask; the notion of the butler being absent for even part of the proceedings was lunacy.

If he’d been a lady’s maid, he’d have had a chance.

If he’d have been Anna, if Richard had been Bates, Lady Mary would have moved mountains to give him time off. His Lordship would have helped. If necessary, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson would probably have taken Johnny, or Daisy and Andy.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, pretending to ward off the headache he claimed to have. He was doing better. He was being kinder and people liked him, or at least they liked being able to have a wireless in the servant’s hall. Mrs. Hughes and Baxter cared, to a certain extent at least. Things were better. There was no reason to be jealous anymore, except…

“Um, Mr. Barrow?” Andy’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “What’s that light?”

“Hm?” Thomas opened his eyes. He had just enough time to realize that the letters he’d been clearing off were glowing, like something out of Arabian Nights, before the entire room filled with light. He thought he yelled, both in surprise and pain at the brightness, but it could have been someone else. Or all of them. Or his imagination.

The last thing he was aware of was the sense of falling, then everything went black.

In case anyone is looking at the description of that pottery and going “Erm, that sounds a bit culturally inaccurate....”, you are not wrong. That’s intentional and will be a plot point.................if I ever get to it.

(Heck, I’d suspect the writing was Arabic rather than Greek, but I can’t think of a single reason Thomas would have run across Arabic writing while Greek might show up in a philosophical something or other... That pottery really is off.)

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #anna bates #mrs. hughes #wip wednesday #i really do super hate this trope #but my brain really will not give it a rest

[but-the-library-of-alexandria]

30 Day Flash Fiction Challenge - Day 15

Half way bitches!!!!! I did it!!!!! 

I really liked this story - I have a vague idea of where I was going with this but the final ‘twist’ didn’t come to me until I was writing it haha

Day 15: a plague, a piece of chalk, viridian

Another callout, another victim. A big house this time, fancy, with servants and everything. A four-poster sickbed with velvet curtains drawn back to let hoards of carers and doctors access the patient. A far cry from the lonely hovels where Jack had been treating dying men alone with only their wife or husband as nurse.

The girl’s parents were not in. There had been a baby in the house, and they had taken it away as soon as the virus reached the village. Jack supposed they’d done the right thing, but subjectively it was hard not to be bitter when he was lead upstairs to the stricken young woman by the butler, to find her being watched over by her maids. Doctor Smyth was already there.

Jack trailed his fingers along the paisley duvet as he walked from her feet to her head. His fingers passed by her arm, where her last doctor had bled her. His eyes landed on her face; she was clammy, her brow furrowed over her closed eyes as if, even in her feverish sleep, she was concerned for her own well being. He realised he’d seen her ride by in the villages around here. She’d always said hello to passers by, including himself. She was beautiful. And so young.

He hoped she didn’t die.

“How is she, Smyth?” He asked, because it was the done thing. He knew exactly how she was. Not good. This was just the way a doctor started a conversation with another doctor at a sickbed.

“She’s been down for a day so far,” Smyth told Jack, not looking up from his watch as he took her pulse from her neck. “Progressing as usual, no different from any of the others.”

Jack turned to the butler. “Does the lady have a history of ill health?”

“No, sir,” the butler said. He was wringing his hat in his hands, and his wig looked ruffled. “She’s always been a beacon of vitality.”

“That bodes well,” Jack assured him.

“She’s the light of all our lives, Dr Ward,” the butler continued, “God forbid she should die.”

A tearful maid put an arm around his shoulder in silent solidarity. The other maid, and a footman, who were cleaning and fussing around the patient, looked back and nodded their own agreement. Jack looked again at the face of the woman. He thought he saw the love and kindness these people attributed to her reflected in her drawn features. Her brown hair was fanned out over her pillow, long and lank.

“We’ll do all we can,” Jack assured the butler. “We have with us the very latest compound for treating the virus. Hydrated chromium hydroxide. You may know it as viridian.”

“Isn’t that a paint pigment?”

“It is a chemical of many properties and uses,” Jack said, to avoid saying ‘yes’. In the hope of encouraging a more scientific image of the compound, he took a vial of it in solution out of his bag and showed the curious servants.

“What do you do with it, sir?” A maid with a strong Devonshire accent asked.

“It is best injected into the blood, at this stage. When she is awake, she can take it in a tonic.” If she wakes up, he thought.

On the bed, the patient murmured something in her sleep, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. Jack went back over to join his mentor.

“Can I see your notes?” He asked quietly. Dr Smyth gestured to his notebook, on the bedside table next to an unrolled tool kit. Her temperature and pulse were normal for this stage of the virus, alarming under any other circumstances. Silently, he took some damp towels from a maid and began replacing the ones on the patient’s head.

“How long can you stay, Doctor?” the butler asked Jack.

“We have many callouts every day,” Jack told him gravely. “Many people in far worse condition than this, not to mention circumstances.”

The servants looked aggrieved at this. Jack looked again at the gentle, distressed features of the lady.

“I will try to return as often as I can,” he promised.

The next day, after treating two more patients, Jack asked the carriage to circle back around to the grand house. Dr Smyth submitted to his will, knowing that pleasing the rich was the only way they could make enough of a living to treat the poor.

“Has she been able to take any food?” Jack asked Dr Smyth, hovering around uselessly while he took vitals.

“Not yet. You may try, if you like.”

“I have soup, still hot,” the maid offered.

“Do you have any cold?” Jack asked.

The maid curtseyed and went to get some, looking rather confused.

Dr Smyth went to another call, leaving Jack in charge. He’d done this enough times now that Jack was unbothered, if still a little nervous.

“May I know your names?” He asked the gathered servants.

“I’m Mary, sir,” the chief maid was the first to answer. “This here is June, and that’s our Mrs Moorton.”

“And I’m Julian Barnes, sir,” said the Butler. “The footman is James Baxter.”

“And our patient?”

“Do you not know, sir?” Exclaimed Mrs Moorton. “Don’t it say Miss Christiansen on your notes?”

Jack admitted with some embarrassment that he’d been thinking of her first name.

“It’s Cornelia,” June said fondly, tucking her bed sheets fondly. “And she won’t mind you knowing it from us.”   

Jack looked at her and repeated the name to himself, trying to match it to her face. It almost did. It would grow in time, no doubt.

The next day, Jack and Dr Smyth were summoned to the house before either could suggest going. Cornelia was beginning to come back around.

Her eyes were flickering open and closed by the time the doctors came into the room. She had enough sense to turn towards the door when it opened.

“Doctor,” she mumbled, and then turned to the other side.

“That’s what she’s been saying all morning,” Mary told them as they entered. “Lord! She always were such a rational creature. The moment she starts to get hold of her senses, the first thing she does is realise she’s sick and ask for a doctor.”

That was a reasonable explanation. But Jack secretly hoped she’d been asking after him.

Dr Smyth let Jack take her vitals. Her wrist felt warmer under his fingers as he took her pulse. After he had, Dr Smyth retook everything before writing them.

“Remarkable,” he said. “She’s doing multitudes better.”

“You think she will recover, then?” Mr Barnes, who did not seem to have stopped wringing his hat in his hands for three days, asked.

Jack looked at Dr Smyth for permission to give hope before saying, “it seems so.”

The servants converged in a group hug. Dr Smyth caught Jack’s eye, and gently drew him aside.

“Alright, son,” he said in a low voice, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but now it seems she’s recovering, there’s no harm done and you might as well know.”

“Tell me what?”

Dr Smyth took a deep breath before confessing. “There was chalk in the vial.”

“Chalk in the vial? What vial?”

“The viridian suspension. There was no viridian in it. The powder was a piece of chalk crushed up with a little green dye.”

“What!”

“Shh!” Dr Smyth looked pointedly at the servants, who had all turned to them curiously. The two doctors smiled reassuringly - in their line of work is was imperative that they both have excellent fake-reassuring smiles - and went to stand outside the room.

“What do you mean, there was no viridian?” Jack said.

“Keep your voice down! Nobody can know.”

“How did this happen?”

“Well, the virus turned out to be more widespread than I had first imagined,” Dr Smyth said. “We had so many patients and so little viridian in comparison, and I didn’t want to refuse anybody treatment, least of all a fine lady like her.”

“So you didn’t think to just tell people you had no viridian and treat them as best you could until more arrived?”

“I didn’t know how to tell people.”

“You’ve been injecting chalk water into people and telling them it will cure a potentially deadly virus!”

“And it did, didn’t it? They survived! It was fine! What do you think this means? Could chalk be a cure for the virus? Or perhaps, the theory of the placebo effect - ”

“Dr Smyth,” interrupted Jack, who had been thinking while Smyth was talking, “This green dye you put in the chalk.”

“Yes, yes, I had to make it look the part, but don’t worry, it wasn’t toxic - ”

“Could it have been,” Jack suggested, “viridian?”

Dr Smyth froze, silent and staring at him. His face slowly turned red.

“I’ll go and check on the patient,” Jack said, and left Dr Smyth to his revelation.

Mary greeted him with a hug as soon as he entered. “Oh, sir, Lord bless you!” She cried. “Our Cornelia is as good as new!”

Jack looked over at the bed. Cornelia’s eyes were open and steady, full of life and sense. She smiled softly at him, and that smile seemed to warm him all over like sunshine.

“Doctor,” she said again, and this time her voice was strong and soft. “Thank you. Might I know your name?”

#I liked this one so much! #definitely coming back to these characters #30DFFC #Elise's posts #short story #30 day writing challenge