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phykios · 1 year

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Holding Out For A Hero, co-written by @darkmagyk [read on ao3] [written for the @pjo-hoo-bigbang] [thank you to @ashilrak for the absolutely stunning art!!]

[part 1/2]

---

At twenty-seven years old, Annabeth had had enough. Truthfully, she’d had enough at seventeen. And at seven. But at twenty-seven, she had enough bravery and arrogance to refuse the next time a god came to her with a quest that needed taking. Even when it was her mother who offered.

“You will not take it, then?” the goddess asked.

Annabeth nodded. “I will have to decline. Respectfully.”

There was a beat as Athena appraised her, gray eyes calculating. They softened, then, apparently finding Annabeth worthy. “You have become very wise, my daughter. The hunger for glory has brought the downfall of many a hero; I am glad that it will not take you as well.”

“It’s not about that,” said Annabeth.

But Athena ignored her. “Fear not, Annabeth. I am not disappointed–rather, I am proud. You have done very well.” And then she rewarded Annabeth with a rare, sincere smile, a queen bestowing her favor. Even a few years earlier, Annabeth would have flipped for joy. She would have fallen to her knees and begun to weep at this display of motherly affection.

“Thank you, mother.”

It was just too bad that Annabeth no longer cared.

---

She didn’t think she had taken a breath all day. Something was going to go wrong; she just didn’t know what yet. She watched the movers, carrying her things, telling them how she wanted her new house to set up. It wasn’t very much stuff. Her apartment in Boston had been so much smaller than the house in Maine. And she didn’t want to fill it up yet. She’d bought the place, more crumbling manor then one woman’s starter house, because she wanted to build it and shape it to be everything she needed.

It would be great if she could figure out what that was.

But she was starting with a house. She was an architect after all, even though she’d sold her firm.

This was supposed to be her oasis. This was supposed to be her retirement.

So, something was bound to happen. She scanned all of the movers. Looking for a flick of a tail, the clump of a hoof, the shimmer of scales, anything that would give the game away.

She knew that monsters stopped bothering demigods as they got older, but they didn’t normally completely leave them alone. She’d killed a lot of monsters in the last decade. And she couldn’t imagine moving into her new home, her quiet retirement, without one last great battle.

She felt for her knife, tucked into her waistband. Ready for her, always ready for her.

But none of the movers turned into monsters all day. They just unloaded her things, unwrapped and unpadded things, deposited boxes in the rooms as marked.

And then they left, without attacking, without breathing fire or raising a weapon against her. For dinner, she pulled out the phone book and rooted around for the pizza place, and lamented that there was only one in town, and that her house was barely in delivery range.

When she settled into her new house, in her new bed, with cold Dominos in the fridge. And no one tried to attack her.

Annabeth Chase, Daughter of Athena, Hero of Olympus was almost thirty years old, and she was trying to figure out what you did, when all the best and worst things that could ever happen had happened to you, happened before you were eighteen.

She tried not to feel like the protagonist of a shitty romcom, but it was not like she was making it easier for herself.

Helena, Maine, was very small. It felt kind of ridiculous to say that Annabeth was feeling culture shock. But it was just so small, and Boston had been home for so long. She swore that she would miss the colors, the skyline, the crush of souls. She had promised up and down at her goodbye party that she would miss it all…

And yet.

The smell of sea air was much, much stronger here, and somehow even more intense inside of the fixer-upper she had recently acquired, the salt smell soaking and permeating every pore of the wooden beams. It was a beautiful piece of property, a couple blocks away from the shoreline, placed neatly between the evenly-spaced trees of the neighborhood and the wilder, more overgrown forests as the land stretches inland. She didn’t really want to know what happened to the previous owner, or when, how, and why the gods of Olympus decided to try their hand in real estate, but a house in Nowheresville USA was a small price to pay for years of blood, sweat, and tears, she supposed.

It had a little downtown area, which was just a mainstreet with local grocers, a beauty salon, a couple of restaurants that all claimed to have the best lobster, a diner that did have the best pie she’d ever had in her life, the most historic building, now a hotel that she’d helped restore, had more or less sold her on the town, a little gift shop and tour right next door that advertised historic district walking tours, sun set cruises, and the best whale watching tours on the East Coast, a clothing store she’d bought some new sandals from, a coffee shop, a record store with a decent selection, and a little book store that had already told her they did not have anything in ancient Greek, and was therefore useless to her.

The arts and craft store was actually a little ways out, but they had some great wool and she’d already stocked up.

She was retired. But she was still planning on taking the occasional consulting job, or even a few independent design projects. But not yet. She wanted to give herself some time to sit and relax, and let the sea air soak into her veins.

And she’d knit while doing it.

Oh, she did a lot of other things too: she compared all the lobster restaurants in town, ordered a full pie a week from the diner. She bought new leggings at the store. She bought Into the Gap and the Footloose soundtrack at the record store. She broke down and bought Firestarter because the guy in the bookstore wouldn’t stop talking about Stephen King. She had lunch with the hotel manager and talked about architecture, and she went on walking tours, the Blueberry Tour, and even the ghost tour. She walked on the beach, and on the little docks.

She went back to Boston, too, sometimes. They had not yet finished the renovations on Magnus’s shelter when all the paperwork from selling her company and buying her house came through. And she liked to visit her dad, too. She was always worried about him getting out and talking to people, after the divorce. Sometimes she wondered if her dad had ADHD, too, given how he could go for days, absorbed in his books.

She was shocked, twelve weeks in, when she drove back into town on Monday, after her fifth trip to Boston, and found her shoulders loosening as soon as she spotted Main Street. She rolled down her window, and breathed in the sea air.

And she felt herself relax. Really and truly relax, for the first time since she was five or six.

No monsters or Harvard admissions or deadlines hanging over her head. Just home.

One day, she drove into town, and got dinner in the little hamburger place near the boat docks. It was the third best hamburger in town, but it was the only restaurant with a window onto the ocean. The patio was closed for the winter, but it was still a phenomenal view.

She ordered a glass of wine, automatically sending a prayer of thanks to Dionysus, and made herself a pair of leg warmers in between bites and sips.

“Those are cute,” said her waitress, Sarah, who went to the local high school, and worked every Monday, Wednesday, and alternate Saturdays. She had a boyfriend who was more serious about their relationship than she was, loved Danielle Steele, and was ambivalent about college unless it could take her someplace romantic like New York, or Los Angeles, or even some magical, faraway place like Paris–if she got really lucky.

You learned too much about everyone in a small town. Privately, Annabeth thought it was kind of delightful.

“Thanks,” she said. “Honestly, this is the fifth pair I’ve made this month.” She considered them. They were a bright purple. She liked the color, but probably not anymore than the blue and gray ones she’s been wearing.

“Fifth?”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

Sarah’s eyes flashed. “Uh huh?”

“Yeah, just–it’s been nice to get back into a hobby and everything.”

“So, do you… um…” Sarah twirled her pen around her fingers, looking decidedly left of Annabeth’s cheek. “What does your boyfriend think of them?”

“Oh, I don’t have one.” And thank all the gods for that. And may the gods curse the lot of the male heroes for their idiocy.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t? What about an ex?”

Annabeth shook her head.

“Never? But you’re so ol–I mean… uh…”

Annabeth shrugged. She wasn’t that old. “Never had the time for one.” She blinked away the flash of sandy hair and angry blue eyes, and took another sip of wine.

“O–okay.”

If Annabeth hadn’t been retired, maybe she would have taken more notice. Maybe she would have correctly clocked Sarah’s interest in her newfound free time as more than a little concerning. Maybe she wouldn’t have forgotten the conversation after she went home, snuggling down into her bed after another half a glass of wine, drifting off into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Then again, what was the harm? Annabeth was new, and interesting, and her lack of things to do was just a little bit of small-town gossip to pass around. Gods knew they needed some kind of excitement in their lives.

Big mistake.

It wasn’t two more days before Brenda, Sarah’s mother and co-owner of the dive, made her move.

Which was a damn shame. Annabeth really liked this grocery store.

“Oh, Annabeth!”

Brenda’s bright, brown eyes were ringed with blue in a way that she imagined Silena might quietly approve of, and at least today, they had all the laser-focused intensity of a Gorgon stare as she came barreling towards Annabeth in the cereal aisle.

She acknowledged Brenda, but didn’t quite smile. Smiling sometimes gave people the idea that these interruptions were desired.

This had never been a problem in Boston or New York. You could go on fifty shopping trips, and never run into someone you know. That was a big drawback of small towns, all the people.

“I’ve seen you at the restaurant a lot lately,” Brenda said. “And Sarah has, too.”

She nodded. “I love your patio.” Because she did. It reminded her a little bit of her own back deck. Except for someone else cooked, and then cleaned up at the end.

“I’m glad,” Brenda said, “but several of us have noticed that you always eat alone.”

That was true. In her five months here, her dad had visited four times. And she hadn’t taken him to Brenda’s place, because that would involve way too many questions. “Yeah, I feel like I always run into someone I know at the restaurant.” She said.

“How long have you been in town now, Annabeth?”

“I moved here in September,” she said, cocking her head to the side, unsure of where this was going.

“And do you think you’ve really settled into the community?”

“Um…” What kind of question was that? “Yes?”

“Because I worry about you.”

“Oh Brenda,” she sighed, “that’s sweet, but…” But she could already see where this was going. She’d had this conversation four or five times with a few of her neighbors. She looked Brenda up and down and wondered if she was Catholic or Lutheran or whatever Presbyterian was. Also, if someone was ever going to explain to her what the differences between all those things were.

“I’ve spoken to some of the others, they say you eat at one of our restaurants nearly every night.”

Oh… well, that didn’t seem like a lead up to invite her to church, at least. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t true. “I can’t cook.”

Brenda frowned. “And how does your boyfriend feel about that?”

Again with the boyfriend stuff. “Well, I don’t have a boyfriend, so nothing.”

“Yes,” Brenda nodded, “Sarah mentioned that. And so, I was thinking, there are a lot of great guys in Cabot Cove. And with you being so new, me and my book club might be able to help you out.”

“Out… with a guy?”

“Yes,” She smiled, “exactly.”

“Um…” That mostly sounded like a headache and a half. “I don’t know if… that’s… the best idea…” In fact, she knew it wasn’t the best idea. It was, plainly, the worst idea anyone had ever come up with. Never mind the fact that daughters of Athena didn’t date on principle–dating a mortal sounded like a very particular brand of Tartarus. And she had tangled with enough of Tartarus to be wary.

Undeterred, Brenda powered through. “Oh, that’s fine!” she said, patting Annabeth’s arm. “The book club is usually just for us girls, anyway.”

Annabeth chuckled, weakly. That didn’t make it sound any more appealing.

“So will we finally see you on Thursday?”

Internally, she sighed. Brenda and her entourage–Denise from the bookshop, Susan the grocery store clerk, and Linda, the receptionist at her contractor’s–had been gently hounding her to stop by their book club for weeks now. Annabeth already didn’t particularly enjoy hanging out with many people her own age. The fact that she was officially invited to the realm of forty-year-old mothers with too much time on their hands didn’t sit well. What she wouldn’t give for Clarisse and Chris and a no-holds barred beatdown to let off some steam right now.

Brenda’s eyes were wide, the bright blue making them look even wider, a pleading look that was wildly out of place.

Maybe if she went once, it’d put them off for at least a few weeks.

“...So, what are you guys reading?” she asked, finally, withholding most of the skepticism from her voice.

Brenda cheered, giving her a hug.

Which was how Annabeth–a known dyslexic–found herself in Denise’s living room at 8 PM on a Thursday night, reading some new romance novel called Snow on the Beach by Sally Jackson (where had she heard that name before…) after choking down some of Linda’s cheeseburger pie which did not at all pair well with the cheap Chardonnay Susan brought with her.

At first, Annabeth had been worried, as dyslexia did not exactly make her an avid reader. Luckily for her, it turns out none of the other women were avid readers either, preferring to spend most of their book club time drinking and talking shit on their husbands. It almost reminded her of being in college, only a little bit sadder.

Right down to gossiping about cute boys.

“I’m telling you, ladies,” said Susan, throwing her wine hand a little wildly, her third full glass nearly tipping over. “There’s no way he uses mousse. His hair just looks so touchable all the time–and the way it whipped in the wind!” She sighed, her eyes fluttering.

Apparently everyone’s favorite hunk had given a presentation about local marine life to the town’s boy scout troop, and they could not shut up about him.

“You know,” chimed in Denise, “I heard from Karen who heard from Nancy that he rescued little Jennifer Woods’ cat from a tree just last week!”

They all broke down, cooing.

Annabeth just barely contained her eye roll.

She was almost glad when the talk turned to the town doctor and his recent divorce.

“I could see it coming from a mile away,” said Brenda, taking a sip of water. “I have some experience with that, after all.”

“I just can’t believe it happened so soon!” Susan said. “They had only been married for, what, two years? And he’s still so young!”

Linda tutted. “How could a woman who landed a man like that–a doctor, of all things–just give that up?”

Susan leaned in. “I heard,” she whispered, conspiratorial, “that she ran off with some childhood sweetheart of hers. Joyce lives across the street, you know, and she said she saw a strange car pull up to their house in the middle of the night, before taking off! It was such a racket, it woke up her yappy little dog, oh, what’s-his-name–”

“Have you ever met him? The doctor?” Brenda asked Annabeth, obviously sensing her disengagement with town gossip.

She blinked, stupefied for a split second. “Oh–uh, no, I still go to my doctor in Boston.” Her doctor being her cousin with magical healing powers, or either her ambrosia supplier when she could get a hold of him.

As one terrifying, multi-voiced entity, they all shrieked. “He’s so handsome!” Susan cried.

“And he’s so sweet!” said Denise. “My sister works at the front desk part time, and he always gives her a smile and a ‘good morning’ every time he comes in!”

Wow. A smile and a good morning? What a keeper. “I’ve only heard good things about him,” she said, attempting to shrug off the attention. “I’m sure he’s a very nice man.”

Which was when Linda decided to make her move.

In hindsight, Annabeth really should have seen this coming.

“You’re not seeing anyone right now, right, dear?”

All that attention she had hoped to avoid was now all focused on her. She hadn’t felt this intently watched since she had taken on those gorgons last year.

“Um…” she began, intelligently, her mind racing. No, but they didn’t need to know. Also, she was going to kill Sarah the next time she saw her.

“That’s perfect!” crowed Denise. “I’ll talk to Katie, and she can get you two set up on a date!”

“I–”

Brenda and Susan cheered. “Oh, you two would make such a cute couple!” Susan said, taking another very large sip of wine.

“But–”

“And I’m sure you’d be a much better woman to him than his bitch ex-wife–”

“And your kids would be just adorable! With his brains, and your beautiful hair–”

“Hold on!” Annabeth finally cut in, face hot. “I am so not interested in kids right now!”

“Well, you’re not getting any younger,” Linda said, her voice just a little too sharp to be entirely friendly. “But you don’t need to bring that up on the first date.”

All her cleverness and strategy, and somehow, she couldn’t figure out the right combination of words to get these old ladies off her back. “I just think that–”

“I think it’s a great idea, sweetheart,” Brenda said. “Why don’t you just give him a chance?”

Which was how Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, hero of Manhattan, Harvard graduate magna cum laude, ended up on a blind date with some doctor from some podunk New England beach town in the only bar for miles.

Jack’s Bar operated out of the town inn, appropriately named the Helena Inn. Presumably unable to recoup its costs with just the few out-of-towners, it was open to the general public until well into the early morning. It had an interesting kind of energy–with the low ceilings, poor light throw, and creaky floors, you could certainly feel the age of the eighteenth-century building. But the exposed beams gave it an interesting charm, and no one could deny that they made a damn good lobster roll.

Despite herself and her low expectations, she had dressed up for the occasion. Her outfit was an older one, but it still fit her, even if it didn’t exactly fit the bar’s atmosphere. Her black skirt was long, and a little bit faded, but it still mostly matched her black suspenders, and any wonky coloring would be hidden by the contrast of her gray sweater. Sitting at the corner of the bar, she pulled her skirt down, even though it already fell below the knee, feeling distinctly out of place among the blue jeans and stretched sweaters of everyone else around here.

“What are you having?” said the bartender.

“Some wine, please,” she said, softly. “White.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “You from out of town, or something?” he asked, pouring her a glass.

Her shoulders sagged. “No. I actually live down on Meetinghouse Circle.” Gods, she stuck out like a sore thumb. This was a mistake. “I just… haven’t gotten the chance to stop by yet.”

Her bartender just nodded. “Just wondering, since you seem a bit too dressed up for a little old place like mine.”

Jack’s Bar. “You’re Jack, then?”

He shook his head. “My dad. I’m John.”

Annabeth stuck her hand out. “Nice to meet you. Annabeth.”

Shaking her hand, he didn’t smile exactly, but his face relaxed in a way Annabeth found pleasing. “So you’re the mysterious newcomer I’ve heard so much about.”

“Guilty.”

“You meeting up with someone?”

She nodded. “Brenda and her friends set me up on some stupid blind date…”

“Excuse me,” came a smooth, deep voice from behind her. “Are you Miss Annabeth Chase?”

She turned.

He was wearing well-fighting trousers and a clearly expensive unbuttoned Izod button down–she could almost sense the tightness of the stitching. On his broad nose was a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, resting delicately atop his prominent cheekbones, and his dark gold hair swooped gracefully across his forehead.

Also, he wore his lab coat.

Oh, brother.

“Dr. Martin Stasiovsky,” he said, holding out his hand. “And may I say, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

So he was that kind of guy, huh. “Me too,” she bit out, shaking his hand.

“Shall we?” He held out his arm to her, brows raised expectantly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John suppress a laugh, disguising it as a cough.

And then he led her to a sticky wooden table, pulling out a chair with a cracked leather seat, before sitting himself down opposite her with a flourish, as though his lab coat were a cape. He rested his elbow on the table, placing his head in the crook of his palm. In the dim light, you could certainly call his features handsome, even seductive–or at least they would be, if he hadn’t already advanced to playing footsie with her under the table.

She pulled back her feet, tucking them beneath the rung of her chair.

“So,” he said, undeterred. “Tell me about yourself.”

She tried. Gods of Olympus, did she try. But every time she began a sentence about herself, he would swiftly interrupt her, going on a barely-related, irritatingly erudite tangent. For example:

“I’ve lived all over, but I actually grew up in Boston for a bit–”

“Ah, Boston, yes, you know it was the staging ground of the Revolution? When I was younger, I was able to correct the tour guide at the Old North Church on a thing or two–”

Or:

“I work at an architectural firm–”

“Oh, architecture is very important. Do you know, it was famed nineteenth-century skyscraper architect Louis Sullivan who said the iconic words, ‘Form Follows Function,’ which has become something of a motto of mine–”

Or even:

“No, I don’t really see my family–”

“My family and I tend to summer in southern France every year, though we recently had the opportunity to visit Vienna–an absolutely marvelous city–”

The thing that finally got him to shut up was: “I did my undergrad and grad school at Harvard.”

He stiffened, nose wrinkling like he had just got a whiff of something really bad. Maybe it was the gross-ass whisky he ordered. “You,” he said, absolutely dripping with patronizing disbelief, “went to Harvard?”

“I did,” she replied. “And I graduated magna cum laude.”

A pause, and then he laughed, short and ugly. “No, you didn’t.”

“Um… yes I did.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t have the head for Harvard.”

Anger began bubbling up in her, like lava in the pit of her stomach. She clenched her fingers around the stem of her wine glass, and tried to breathe through her nose. “And where did you go to school?”

He pulled back, frowning. “Well, I mean–I went–my first choice was Harvard but I ultimately settled on–”

So he didn’t even get in. She didn’t even let him finish. “Ah, that’s a shame. Must have been one of my girlfriends who took your spot.”

“Well, when I was applying to school,” he sniffed, “they knew better than to let girls into Harvard.”

“Wow,” she whistled. “Fifty percent more spots, and you couldn’t even get in then.”

Leaving him sputtering, nearly speechless with shock, she stood up, downed the rest of her wine, then walked over to John to pay her tab.

She skipped next week’s book club. And the one after that. She tried to tell herself it was because she was mad at them for setting her up with such a douchebag, and not because she felt that she had somehow failed at being a proper girl.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide forever in a town as small as this one. Once again, she was accosted in the cereal aisle by one of the well-meaning but perhaps a touch over-bearing town ladies.

Maybe she should just stop buying cereal.

“Oh, Annabeth, dear,” said Susan, setting down her green plastic basket. “It’s so lovely to see you! We’ve missed you at the book club.”

She had only gone once. “Yeah,” she replied, for lack of anything else to say. “You know…”

“And I was so sorry to hear about your date.”

Annabeth bit her lip. “Oh?”

Susan nodded. “Denise’s sister told us all about it. May I just say–how rude!”

Annabeth looked away, rubbing at her arm. Sure, she had been a little forceful, but he had kind of deserved it.

“The nerve of that man, to say you weren’t smart enough for Harvard!” Susan took her hand, patting it. “Don’t worry: I have a first cousin who lives in the next town over, she has a son who’s single, and you will love him.”

“That’s really kind of you, Susan, but I don’t really think–”

“Nonsense! He goes to Dartmouth, working on his PhD. He’s an intellectual, dear, and he’ll be able to appreciate just how smart you are.”

Despite herself, she found she was a little bit interested. “What is he studying?”

Susan frowned, thinking. “I believe he’s a historian of some kind,” she said. “He studies something very old. I think the Middle Ages?”

For a split second, Annabeth was worried she would say that he studied World War II. That would have been a little too close for comfort. But she did like history, and people with multiple degrees, so… why not?

“When is he free?”

He ended up being free that Friday night. Annabeth and Malcolm met up at Jack’s Bar, only this time, Annabeth had chosen to tone down her outfit, opting for a brown, blue and white striped sweater, with a pair of nice black jeans instead of a skirt. “So, Susan tells me you’re studying the Middle Ages?”

Malcolm nodded. “I’m writing my dissertation on the 1204 Sack of Constantinople.”

Ooh, a siege. “What about it?”

“How it directly led to the eventual collapse of the Byzantine empire,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “The Latin invaders, by destroying Constantinople, left it wide open for the Ottoman empire to come riding in and capture one of the key military bases in the Mediterranean.”

Gods above, he sounded just like her dad. Strangely enough, she didn’t seem to mind. “Win the battle, lose the war, huh?” she offered. Every tactician worth their salt knew that way failure lied.

“More or less,” Malcolm agreed.

“Reminds me of a paper I wrote in college, actually, in a history class. About the civil war, and how the confederates had aimed for a lot of splashy victories, but not a cohesive strategy,” she said.

“I’ll admit, I haven't focused much on US history in recent years. But I’d love to read it.”

She felt herself blush. “I mean, it was just an undergraduate paper in a history survey course,” she told him. “It wasn’t like it was written with publication in mind.” Though it had made her professor more or less beg her to become a historian.

“I mean, you clearly had a lot of interesting ideas. And I’m a TA, I read undergraduate papers for a living. I’m sure yours would be a breath of fresh air.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because my dad felt the same way, and kept a copy. So I might actually be able to read it. I can maybe have him fax it to you sometimes.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“But you’ll have to share some paper from your past, too. What was your master’s thesis about?”

“The repurposing of Athena as the Madonna in Medieval art.”

Annabeth had already been paying attention, but she felt herself lean forward. And she thought some battle strategy was her kind of research. “That sounds amazing,” she said. “Now I have to read it.”

“Did you do art history as part of architecture?”

He remembered what she did! Her opinion of him went up a few notches. “Yeah, but more than that I’ve always had a… an interest, you could say, in Athena.” That might be putting it mildly.

“Me too,” Malcolm said.

“But you aren’t a classicist?”

He shook his head. “This is going to sound weird, and maybe kind of arrogant, but… the classical world always almost made too much sense to me. Everything I ever learned, I got it, I understood it. It made researching it… almost harder. It was hard to form questions, because everything felt like it had an answer. That’s why I like the Medieval period. It's almost like taking some of the puzzle pieces from the classical world, and some new ones, too, and trying to figure out a new picture. Like… Christianity. No accounting for Christianity. And that makes learning it so much more interesting.”

“Not a church every Sunday kind of kid?”

“No, my moms,” he paused, coughed, and cleared his throat. “My mom wasn’t really for it, and so it wasn’t a part of growing up. That a problem?”

“Oh gods, no,” she said.

Malcolm seemed nearly as invested as she was, they’d both leaned forward, and he had a clear view of his gray eyes. They were nice eyes, she thought. Intelligent and maybe a little dangerous. She thought maybe she’d seen them before. “But, we’ve talked too much about me. Tell me about your work.”

And so she did.

“...and I like the idea of Neoclassical, but it always seems so flat to me. I feel like what it’s missing is color. I want more color in architecture in general, I think, but all that white marble is grating.”

“Have you ever been to the Parthenon?” He asked, with an almost breathless reverence in his voice.

“I have,” she said, smiling, “my dad took me as a graduation present.” Or, really, more of a one-two punch, graduation present for her, divorce present from him. Visiting Athena’s holy place seemed fitting for both reasons.

“What was it like?” He asked. “I’ve never been able to go, but gods, I want to. More than anything.”

Malcolm got it. Malcolm got the Parthenon and Athena.

And so maybe, Malcolm could get her. Maybe Malcolm could understand a child of Athena.

She looked at him. He was handsome in a way. His chestnut brown hair, his clear gray eyes, his…

His gray eyes.

His moms.

But gods, he’d said.

He was looking at her now, and frowning.

“You’re a child of Athena!” They said at the same time, accusatory, surprised.

They leaned back and looked at each other for a long moment.

“Well, damn,” Annabeth said. “I think we might be siblings.”

“I… yeah.”

“Um…”

Just her luck. Here she was, actually enjoying herself, having fun with this guy, and it turned out he was her half-brother.

“That sounds about right,” Annabeth said. “The first guy I can stand, and it’s because he’s my little brother.”

“Sorry,” he said.

She sighed.

��So… I guess our date is over?”

She thought of her home, quiet and lonely, and sighed. “No. I’d rather not go back to my place just yet. Besides, if I left early, Susan would never let me hear the end of it.”

Malcolm laughed.

“But, tell me more about your research,” she said, resting her head on her hand. “I’ve never spoken to another child of Athena before. Lay out the battle for me, and the strategy for Byzantium going forward.”

She saw her dad the next weekend. He came up from Boston, excited to see the progress she’d made on her house. And for the first time in a long time, recounting her new friend Malcolm, she had something to actually update him on other than the contractors finding termites or the pipes needing to be replaced.

She was actually excited, until she said the words “Turns out having a half brother is actually pretty fun.”

Cause she’d tried half brothers before, and it hadn’t really worked out.

But her dad just smiled, said he was so excited for her, and then complimented her on all the structural work she’d gotten done, before they both got distracted by a discussion of the tactics of the Germans in World War I. Her dad was kind of awesome. It was so much fun to talk to him.

She couldn’t really explain to Susan and Brenda and everyone that she and Malcolm were half-siblings, and so she would not be entering a relationship with him, but they did start spending a lot of time together, and so she endured just a little bit of teasing, and figured it was alright.

She and Malcolm plotted out the siege of Constantinople half a dozen times, trying to find the perfect strategy to defend it. They broke out swords and knives and sparred in her backyard. She even had lunch with his mortal mother, and heard someone else’s reminiscences of Athena, which was much more fun, and less desperately sad then her Dad’s.

It made his return to Dartmouth in early March a new kind of struggle. So much so that she not only returned to book club, she asked about another date.

She brushed them off when they asked about a break up, but she did find herself enthusiastic when Brenda suggested a new person. A firefighter and beloved local hero. He volunteered with kids and saved kittens from trees and “He’s just so handsome, Annabeth.”

She was actually kind of looking forward to going on this date, especially when Brenda called her to tell her excitedly that he was going to take her on one of the world famous whale tours they had in town.

Annabeth showed up all ready for water and whales. It was an unseasonably warm March morning, so she had on a yellow shirt, an older pair of overalls with monster claw marks in the knees that she had successfully disguised as deliberate rips, and she looked through her sunglasses for the dark haired man in the Fire Department shirt.

She found him. He was broad and stocky, with a fire department shirt under a light washed denim jacket. His hair was dark and clearly gelled and hair sprayed into its perfectly coiffed place.

He was probably two inches shorter than her, and she could see his face drop when she introduced herself.

After some brief, stilted small talk, they followed another couple and a family of five onto the boat. And the man at the front, driving the boat, announced that he was a replacement, that the normal tour guide was out this week, but that it would still be just as fun.

And if that was the case, Annabeth vowed that she would not be coming back for the regular guy. They saw one dolphin far off, and found themselves sprayed with the water as the speedboat choppily stopped and started, sending her stomach roiling angrily.

Graham, her fireman friend, complained every ten minutes, and then every five minutes, and then every other sentence out of his mouth.

She couldn’t get an answer on what movies he liked, or his family, or his work. He asked her questions, but looked angrily at the ocean while she answered.

She gave up, and sat on the gloomy boat, in the hot day, and listened to the tour guide swear they’d see something interesting soon.

They didn’t. And Graham was uninterested in dinner, as they had originally planned, whining that he needed to go home and change.

Annabeth let him go. And skipped book club again.

And again.

“You should go back,” Malcolm told her on the phone. “A date might do you good.”

“Fuck off,” she said, leaning her head back against the wall. “Children of Athena don’t do romance.”

“I would like to remind you, I also went on that date. And I even had fun. Companionship is nice. Even mom knows it.”

Clarisse said something similar when they chatted about her upcoming wedding. Which was infuriating.

Clarisse, of all people.

It was enough to raise her hackles, and to complain about it to Malcolm, again.

Which led to him getting invited to his mom’s house for lunch. Which led to Polly Pace proving she could replicate Susan and her friends' notions of how to get Annabeth a proper boyfriend.

“I might have a few ideas.”

She groaned. “Polly…”

“Look, sweetheart,” Polly said. “So many of those women around have one or two young men they have their little crushes on, and they are never going to give up that hope. So they try and live vicariously through you.” She rolled her eyes. “But I promise, I want what’s best for you. Let’s just have one more try.”

Annabeth couldn’t believe she agreed, but she did. And here she was. Polly swore up and down that this one was the most handsome man in Helena and that Susan had been trying to entice him for something like an affair for weeks.

Annabeth decided to go just to see what it looks like.

But she opted not to dress up for this one.

Annabeth slid into her usual spot at the bar, dressed in baggy jeans and a faded pink sweater on the last cool night of the spring, her back as close to the wall as physically possible. Wordlessly, the bartender slid over a glass of the house red, with a sympathetic smile. “Another date?” he asked.

She grumbled, taking a sip.

John just laughed. “Word on the street is Brenda’s declared you the most eligible bachelorette in town. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has half a dozen more dates lined up for you after tonight.”

Groaning, she resisted the urge to slam her head against the bar, settling instead for digging her palms into her eyes.

She felt, rather than heard someone come up beside her. “Evening, John,” said a male voice. A… sort of familiar voice.

“Hey, kid,” he replied. “Haven’t seen you here in ages! Still not drinking beer?”

The mystery man chuckled. “You know it. A coke, please.”

Annabeth frowned into her hands. Where had she heard this voice before? Was he a news anchor or something?

John tsked. “I don’t get you, kid. Why come down all this way if you’re not even going to have a proper drink?”

“What, the pleasure of your company isn’t enough?” Mystery man laughed again. “No, but I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”

Annabeth’s ears perked up, attention fully grabbed. Was this…?

“Oh?”

“Yeah, a friend of Polly’s, or something.”

She jolted back, as though she had been shocked, and turned to face her blind date.

He was tall and broad, with tanned skin and messy black hair. He had gotten taller, she thought, and she could see the lines of his pecs where the muscles had developed under his plain black t-shirt and denim jacket.

His voice was deeper, but the timbre was the same.

And then he turned, his sea green eyes widening, and she had no doubt.

Percy-fucking-Jackson.

Oh dear gods. Percy-fucking-Jackson, son of Poseidon.

She had her knife in her grip before she even registered she had taken it out.

He swore in Greek, and then his sword was out in his hands.

“Whoa!” John yelled at them from behind the bar. “You gotta take those outside!”

Annabeth glanced around. Him, and all the other patrons, were staring at them, eyes wide in fear. “Huh?”

“No guns in my bar!” She glanced down at her knife, and could see, out of the corner of her eye, the mist swirling around, coalescing into the flicker of a gun. “Either put them away, or get out.”

Why did the mist have to pull this shit all the time?

“Sorry,” Percy said. He shot her a glare, like this was all her fault, as though she were the one who had apparently stalked him to fucking Helena, Maine of all places, and then he tucked his sword away, turned his back on her, and stomped towards the door. Like she wasn’t a threat. Like she didn’t matter.

Fuck him very much.

She didn’t put her knife away, but she did chase after him, out into the gravel parking lot. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“You know, Chase,” he said, “I was supposed to have a really nice night.”

He had his sword raised again as he glared at her from under the one streetlight in the parking lot, which made her feel much better about not putting her knife away. “Well, so was I.”

“And now, some girl is going to think I’m an asshole who stood her up, all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.” He eyed her knife, like he was funny.

“Newsflash: I was the girl you were meeting,” she said, “Gods, I can’t believe Polly thought I should go on a date with you.”

Percy scoffed, looking her up and down. “Well, you really turned out all the stops for your date.”

She gritted her teeth, too angry to flush. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known it was you.”

They glared at each other. And then, again, infuriatingly, Percy put his sword away.

“Stop doing that,” she nearly growled.

“Doing what?”

“Putting your sword away.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am a threat!” Annabeth pointed her weapon at him. “So, pull your sword back out, and act like it!”

He looked blank for a long minute, and then he smiled. “Annabeth Chase, you are absolutely a threat,” he agreed, “but I don’t think you’re going to attack me.”

“I could so attack you.”

“You absolutely could,” he agreed, and nodded at her knife, still out, clutched tightly in her hand. “But you know better than to start a useless fight. It's a waste of resources and energy, and you’re too smart for that.”

She glared, and pretended she didn’t enjoy being called smart by him. “You don’t want to fight?”

Shoving his hand in his pockets, he sighed. “It’s been a long day, Annabeth. I don’t feel like getting my ass kicked and wasting what little nectar I have left on your knife wounds.”

That, more than anything, caused her to pause, and lower her knife. She didn’t put it away, though.

Percy Jackson wasn’t just a demigod hero. He was the demigod hero. He’d fought gods and lived to tell the tale. He raised storms or probably armies, if he really wanted to.

When Kronos had risen, Percy Jackson had been at the head of the defending army, an army cobbled together from the handfuls of demigods spread across the country.

Annabeth had been by his side.

To hear him say that she was a threat, that she would kick his ass. She… found herself blushing. And hoped that in the darkness he could not see.

But she still kept her knife out. “What are you even doing here?” she finally asked.

“Same thing you are–living here.”

“You live here? But you’re a New Yorker.”

“And you're a Bostonian,” he said, and then he sighed. “I’m tired, Annabeth. I thought I might be able to escape. To relax. To retire.”

Well, that was relatable.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, I get that.”

They stared at each other again. But it was less charged, now it was almost lost. That day, on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building, she had been so sure she was never going to see Percy Jackson again. So very sure she would never again hear his voice, roll her eyes at his stupid jokes, fight with him, laugh with him. And why not? He had been offered the most priceless gift the gods could offer.

And then he had refused the gift, and fucked off.

“Why Helena?” She asked, her teeth gritting despite her best efforts. “You could have stayed in New York.” Or gone literally anywhere else.

“You mean, ‘Why did I decide to follow you to some little beach town in the middle of nowhere’?” He sneered, and she glowered. “If I had known you had moved here, too, I would have already left town.”

She rolled her eyes. “When did you show up then? To intrude on my quiet retirement.”

“It will be two years in June,” he said, and she clenched her mouth closed. She hadn’t even been here six months. By all accounts, she followed him here. Fuck. “Never thought I’d find you in a place like this.” He glanced around, but there was nothing around them. “Not a lot of skyline here to add to.”

She was surprised he remembered. She did not remember what his career goals were. “What do you do? I haven’t seen you around before today.”

Percy… suddenly looked away. “I give whale watching tours.” There was something so awkwardly earnest about his statement, she almost felt bad that she burst out laughing.

“Of course you do,” she said. “I went on one of those world famous whale watching tours, you know. Honestly? Not impressed.”

“When the hell was that?” he said. “I’m pretty sure I would have recognized you if you came on one of my tours.”

“It wasn’t with you, it was some other guy, but–”

He scoffed. “Annabeth Chase, surely you know that a child of Poseidon would make a better tour guide to the wonders of the ocean then some mortal.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Just for that, I’m going to take you on a tour.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m taking you on a whale watching tour,” he said. Ordered, really. “Tomorrow. Meet me at the east docks at three, and I’ll show you.”

“You’re… serious?”

“Of course. My honor as a tour guide has been besmirched.” In the darkness of the parking lot, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “And I’m going to prove to you just how amazing I am at it.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that, so she just rolled her eyes one last time and turned towards her car. She didn’t put her knife back in its sheath until she was half way home.

She had no intention of showing up the next day.

She knew that, and Percy knew that, and the gods knew that, and no one expected anything differently of her.

Which is why it was so strange that she found herself driving towards the East Marina at 2:30 the next day.

Why? She could not say. It was so dumb.

Percy didn’t actually want her to be there. He’d probably just laugh if she showed up. This wasn’t even where the last tour had set off from.

Fucking Jackson. If this was all an elaborate prank to get back at her for accidentally… okay, maybe accidentally-on-purpose leading him into Clarisse la Rue’s secret safehouse so she could ditch him that one time, she was going to kill him.

She was stupid to come out here, she was stupid to even entertain this, she was…

“Annabeth,” Percy Jackson called, from where he was leaning against a wooden post at the edge of one row of boats. “I’m so glad you came.”

And he sounded like he meant it, too. Or at least that he hadn’t been dreading her presence.

He was not dressed so differently then he had been last night: acid wash jeans, a gray henley which was starting to thin around the shoulders, hair again looking like it had never seen a brush or comb in his entire life. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed and straight onto the dock. And yet he was still disgustingly handsome.

It made her even angrier. She had spent all morning trying to tame her stubborn curls so that her hair looked nice, and he couldn’t even be bothered. Prick.

“Yeah, well,” she said, crossing her arms as she came to a stop in front of the boat. “You better make it worth my while.”

She looked at the boat, it didn’t look like the one from her last whale tour. It had a small deck surrounding the steering. And then what looked like a door going down to somewhere. On the back, in blocky letters, it said Little Star.

“Come aboard,” Percy said, “welcome to the Little Star.”

“Different boat from the other one.” Annabeth said.

“Well, yeah, that was the tour company’s,” Percy said, “this is a personal matter.”

“Personal, huh?”

“My honor has been challenged,” Percy said. “So have a seat while I blow your mind.”

“I’m hard to please, Jackson,” Annabeth said, “so we’ll see.”

She sat in the seat he offered, a little white bench. And watched Percy lean over to the dock to untie the rope.

She had a clear view of his ass. He probably was doing it on purpose.

Asshole.

“Annabeth Chase,” he said, grinning as he turned back to her. “You, unlike every mortal I have ever taken out, know that I can do anything on the ocean. Once we get far enough out, we can even do our own private scuba diving tour.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare cheat.”

“What?”

“You can’t just… charm me with the temple of Poseidon or whatever,” she said. “You have to give me what the mortals get.”

He paused, a flash of disappointment crossing his face, but then he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He didn’t touch the wheel as the boat headed out from the dock, just sat down in the captain’s chair and turned to look at her. “So.”

“So.”

“How long have you been in Helena?” He asked.

“I moved in September,” she said.

“Was it because you heard through the grapevine I was here, and you couldn’t resist?”

“As if.” Annabeth said, making a face.

“Well, if you’re not stalking my every move, what are you doing here?” Despite his tone, she thought she should be offended. But she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad.

She shook her head. “It was like you said, about wanting to retire, relax. I just…” Annabeth sighed. “I just wanted to get away from the monsters, the gods. The expectations.”

“This is a nice place to disappear, I think,” Percy agreed.

“How many monsters have bothered you?” Annabeth asked. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of one, even out of the corner of her eyes, but she was not ready to be so relaxed from the constant fear that had plagued her since she was a little girl. She’d been told that they would become less insistent once she reached adulthood, and strictly speaking, that was true. But that had been saying that the biweekly occurrences had trickled down to once a week, and after many more years, twice a month or so. And she dreaded to know just how long this peace might last. Or not last.

“I’ve never been bothered by any out here,” Percy said. “A few when I was in the city, visiting Ma, but that’s it.”

Annabeth let out a breath that she maybe hadn’t known she had been holding for months. “Oh.”

“It has been a relief.” He said, “Nearly fighting you was the most exciting thing I’ve had in like a year.”

“It's not too late,” she offered. She did have her knife on her. Some things would never change.

“Do you want to fight me on the ocean, on my boat, Chase?” He raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re good. You’re very good, but I don’t think you’re that good. And it seems like a waste of a good architect.”

“Whatever,” she said, because it was easier than admitting he’d kick her ass in a boat, on the ocean.

He took her acquiescence with grace. Which was nice. He was much much too smart to not know what was happening. “So, what have you been up to? Did you decide you wanted to build your monuments somewhere untouched?” He glanced behind them, and the shape of Helena.

And she could admit to seeing it, to seeing the temples and palaces she could build there. But Maine had no place for temples and palaces. “I bought a big old house,” she said, “1870.” Over a hundred years old. Only the Helena Inn was older. “And now I’m trying to renovate it.”

“I bet it will have ionic columns, over-designed pediments, and domes out the wazoo, huh.”

“Not sure that goes with the Victorian style.”

“You’re a great architect, you can invent your own style.” He was being much much too complimentary of her talents. She needed to get them on a better footing, tease him properly.

“Where are you living?” She asked.

He gave her a slightly lopsided look, that twisted into his dumb, troublemaking smile. “Here.”

She glanced around, trying to figure out how literal he was being. “You… bank out at the bottom of the harbor?” She finally asked.

He let out a laugh. “No, I live in my boat.”

She glanced around. “This isn’t a houseboat.” Unless it was. But she’d seen some before, and they seemed to have more space. More everything.

“No, it's not, but it's got a cabin below.” He motioned to the door. “Galley, table that turns into a bed. Even a bathroom. I can hook her up to utilities on the dock. But houseboats don’t normally move that much. I wanted mobility.”

She glanced around, and tried to reassess the fact that she was in Percy’s house.

“You let me into your house.”

“It isn’t that big a deal.” He said, “I mean… I trust you. And the boats for the tour aren’t mine. So, welcome aboard. We’ll be reaching our final destination momentarily.”

He looked uncomfortable, and for the first time, turned his attention to the wheel in front of him. And Annabeth did not know what to say. So she turned away, too, looking out at the view.

It was pretty, she had to admit. The murky water of the Atlantic expanded out before them. She thought she could see some scattered schools of fishes beneath the waves. “No cheating,” she said again. “I want the mortal experience.”

“I cheat with the mortals basically all the time.”

“Bullshit.”

He walked over the edge of the boat, leaned over the side, and grinned. “Hey, they pay for the beautiful ocean life, and I am happy to provide. I’d have taken you on a Poseidon Adventure, if you wanted, but everything I’m doing now is stuff I’ve done in front of a hundred mortal tourists.”

“So, what, the whales just hang around and wait for you to come out?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“And the other guy?”

“What the whales do with the other guy is not my business.”

They hid from the other guy, if Annabeth’s experience was anything to go by. “Well, you’re not allowed to–to talk to them or anything. No summoning sea creatures.”

“There’s really not much summoning on my part, anyway,” he said, turning them alongside the wind, taking them further out of the bay. “They sense me coming, and then…”

From behind her came the sound of something breaching the waves. From… close behind her.

He grinned. “They come out to say hi.”

Twisting around in her seat, she nearly shrieked at the sight of an enormous, fifty-foot-long humpback whale, not more than a handful of meters away from the side of the Little Star. Its large, dark eye was fixed on her, peering into her soul, before gently blinking, bobbing its head up and down so its bumpy nose caused little swells to rock the boat.

“That one’s Tiffany,” Percy said. “She’s waiting for you to say hi.”

Annabeth swallowed. “Um… Hi there, Tiffany.”

The whale blinked at her, slowly. Like a cat.

“It's really nice during calving season when all the babies are just born. They come so I can bless them. And people go wild for the babies.”

She almost couldn’t tear her eyes away from the giant frickin’ whale that was close enough she could spit on it, but she managed it, turning back to Percy. “You… bless sea creatures?”

“Of course.” And he sounded almost surprised by her question. Like most people just… blessed baby whales as part of their day job.

“Does it help?”

“I mean, I’m no Poseidon, but yeah, a little bit.” He looked at her for a moment. “Has no little owl chick ever asked for your blessing before?”

She reached out, and kicked him. And though it connected with his calf, he laughed.

Asshole.

He didn’t just show her the sights, he talked her through everything, offering a collection of facts about whales and dolphins, the Atlantic Ocean, and even Maine history. She knew she was getting the tourist spiel, but it was also pretty interesting. For instance, did you know that once lobster was considered food for only the poorest of people, and laws were passed so that even prisoners wouldn’t have to eat it every meal.

“How did that change?” She asked, almost despite herself.

“Businessmen started selling it as a delicacy on railroads.” Percy said, “It was cheap, and not available elsewhere, so they were able to turn a big profit, and position it as exotic.”

He did tell her other things too, mostly, he pointed out different dolphins they ran into by name: Lana and her son Todd. Betsy and Chaz and Anna. A school of fish who he said operated as a collective named David. He gave a little bit of a running commentary on most of them, including explaining how he named little Sally himself, earlier this year, when her mother asked for a blessing.

She tried not to think that it was really, really cute that he named her after his mom.

After last time, she really hadn’t been expecting much, but the day ended up being really fun. And beautiful beyond belief. She was really regretting not bringing her camera, or her sketchbook. She’d used so much of her drawing skills for blueprints and designs, but perhaps she could capture a different kind of beauty.

Maybe he could bring her out here again sometime. Let her take in the shoreline or the horizon.

“So, have you seen enough?”

She blinked, and then looked at him. “What?”

“Have you seen enough to know that I am the person in charge of the best Whale Watching tour on the Atlantic? Are you dazzled and amazed by my charms and natural beauty?”

“In your dreams,” she snapped. That was dumb. This was dumb. This was about him proving a point to her. And she hated that he was succeeding. She didn’t want to encourage him. Or give him any more credit then she had to. She wasn’t going to come out here again.

And she certainly wasn’t going to think about how nice it was to spend some time with him again.

They didn’t talk as he guided the boat back into port. He actually used the steering, this time, hands on the wheel, not looking at her, or really anywhere but the shoreline.

When they got there, she watched the easy way he tied the knots, almost missing it when he offered his hand to help her onto the dock. She just gave it a scathing look.

He laughed a little, and she nearly stomped her foot in indignation.

It was spring, so there was still enough daylight left at 6 PM. Maybe she could sit on her porch and sketch in the natural light. Try to remember what she’d seen today.

“Do you want to get dinner?” She looked up, and he was smiling at her, cocksure grin, hands in his pockets, body totally open to her.

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “Well, I figured that neither you or your siblings had developed a way to inject sustenance directly into your veins, and therefore still needed to eat. But if you don’t want to eat, no skin off my nose.”

“I think I’ve had enough Seaweed Brain for one day, thanks.”

Something flashed on his face for a second, but it was too quick to know what it was, and then he rolled his eyes. “Well, I hope you’ve become a better cook since high school.” He said. And then turned around and walked away from her.

Which was a pretty profound statement, given that she was standing next to his house.

She let out a breath, anger or annoyance or something else, and then jogged over to her car, in time to see Percy walking down the sidewalk, and turning towards main street. A place he could get dinner, without her.

“Asshole,” she said it out loud this time, if only to herself. And then she drove home.

She had some leftover lobster mac and cheese in her fridge, between the blueberries and the half-empty bottle of maple syrup. The freezer at least had a couple weeks worth of TV dinners. The rest of the fridge was empty. Just like the cupboards.

She ate the mac and cheese cold. It was still pretty good, but she couldn’t help thinking, as she chewed on meat once considered fit for only widows and orphans, that it was pretty fitting.

The loneliness was certainly the same.

Her dad came up the next weekend. School was officially out, his grades had been sent to the registrar's office, and he’d decided to start his summer visiting her. It was nice to see him. And the fact that he brought a box of Mike’s Pastries cannolis and a separate box of lobster tails brought her no end of joy.

He brought her a couple of other things, too. At her request, he’d picked up the order she’d called into her favorite yarn shop in Wartham. It was run by her half-sister, apparently, as Malcolm had told her, an expert weaver who no longer had an eye for quality, because at age eighty-eight, her vision had started to go, but she still knew everything but texture and touch.

He’d also gotten the other things, the painting and sketching supplies she’d battered Alex Fierro with questions on ravens wings about.

She was going to embrace the beauty of this town.

And she needed more to fill her days.

You could only make one hundred pairs of leg warmers before your craft got a little boring. And they had passed sweater season a while back. And she’d redesigned the entryway about seventeen times in three weeks, before her contractor had told her he needed to be elsewhere for a month while she finalized her plans.

Ironically enough, it ended up being Brenda’s idea. Despite having sworn to never return to book club, she found that her Thursday night TV dinners were becoming just too interminable to bear alone. The other women hadn’t commented on her long absence when she showed up at Denise’s house with a blueberry pie that Susan had seen her purchase, only poured her a glass of wine and made room for her on the comfortable couch.

It was nice. It was really nice.

And it was that nice mood that must have made her more agreeable to Brenda’s suggestion.

“Sarah talks about your knitting all the time–she says it’s better than some of the store-bought leggings that the girls like to wear these days.”

“Thanks,” she said, weakly, not wanting to admit that knitting, by itself, wasn’t really that hard… though she did certainly have a significant advantage.

“Have you ever thought about starting a business?”

“I actually have my own business,” she said. Despite being up in the boonies, the fruits of her architecture consultancy was more than enough for her to live on. “I’m really not interested in another one.” What would her lawyer say, if she asked Connor to incorporate her legwarmer business? There wouldn’t be enough celestial bronze in the world. She had been thinking about getting rid of some of her excess leg and arm warmer supplies, but it was so easy to make them, actually making a profit would seem underhanded.

She said as much.

But then, Brenda lit up. “Oh! What about the Flea Market in Norfolk?”

Which was how Annabeth ended up with a corner stall in the Norfolk Outdoor Flea Market, the shadow of a great oak tree protecting her delicate skin from the first truly hot day of summer.

Interest hadn’t been as high as she’d hoped, less because she wanted to make money, and more because she wanted to reduce the pile of knitting that was sitting on the chair in the living room.

But she’d probably sold about twenty pairs, and only managed to knit two more in the time, so she would call it a win.

The market had started at 11, and the crowds had thinned out after 4. She’d gotten lunch at a cart down the little line of tents from her, some of the best falafel she had ever eaten in her life, and that was saying something, since Magnus knew all the best spots in Boston. All the ladies from the book club had stopped by, cooing over her socks and scarves and leg warmers, and even seemed enthusiastic about buying a thing or two. Now, though, it was getting late, and looking over her leftover stock, she frowned at the idea of having to pack it up and take it home.

She had hoped to empty her tub. Maybe she’d price it lower, next time.

“Annabeth Chase and knitting.” She paused, closing her eyes, and resisted the urge to groan. She’d know Percy Jackson’s voice anywhere. “Who’d have thought it?”

She looked over at him. He was in a green and blue color blocked shirt and acid wash jeans. His green eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun, his black hair looking like he just stepped off his boat.

He probably had.

“That fact that you don’t know anything about my mother shouldn’t surprise me, Seaweed Brain.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “Weaving!” he said. “Right.”

He reached out and picked up one of the few non-fashion items. It was a little fish, of indeterminate species, but rendered in shimmering blue, made, she wouldn’t admit, after their whale tour.

“How much?”

“What?”

“The fish, how much?” He looked at some of the other things, and then grabbed a pair of shocking pink leg warmers. “And these, too.”

She just stared at him, confused. “You need bright pink leg warmers?”

“They’re for my sister.” He said, running the knit between his thumb and forefinger. “These feel nicer than anything I could buy at the mall.”

“Oh.” She said. And was caught out. Not least because she wasn’t sure if she knew he had a sister. It couldn’t have been a sister on the Poseidon side, otherwise Annabeth would have heard about it.

“How much?” he asked again.

“Um…” What had she been charging again? “Three dollars.”

“For which one?”

“For both.”

It was Percy’s turn to say “Oh.” He pulled out an old leather wallet and handed her the money. He gathered his things, but didn’t wander away. She looked at her watch, and looked at the booths around her. And with a sigh, she started to pack up.

“Do you want help?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to fuck off, but then, the pile was large, and the box was going to be heavy, and she could see the muscles in his arms pushing against his shirt. “Yes please, I’m just throwing everything in it.” She demonstrated her haphazard practice. “It’s yarn, it will be fine.”

“How long have you been making these?” Percy asked. Distracted by a green scarf that would match his eyes.

“Since I moved here,” she said. “I mean, I’ve always knitted and stuff, but I’m basically retired now, and I have a lot of time on my hands and…” She shrugged.

“That’s a lot of work in just a few months.”

“I’ve had a lot of time,” she said. “Hopefully it will sell better in the winter.”

“Do you make a good return?”

“I don’t care about the money, but I know I’m not going to stop, so I’d love to get rid of some of it so it doesn’t migrate from the chair to the coffee table or something.” After she said it, she looked up at him, fearing for a moment that he was going to make a joke about how she never had visitors, so never had to clean up her knitting projects. It would have… hit its target.

“Fair enough.” He let her put the lid back on the box, and then he lifted it up, just like she knew he would. She grabbed her bag, and led the way out to her car.

“What are you doing out in Norfolk?” She asked. She didn’t even know if Percy owned a car. For a New Yorker who lived his life on boats, it seemed strange.

“Cindy likes to come up to get for the preserves, and she invited me along.”

Annabeth had no idea who Cindy was, but she found she did not like her. Not one bit. “Oh, where is she?”

He shrugged. “One of the guys selling wood sculptures was her old high school boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure the reason I was invited along. I was dismissed about two hours ago.”

Oh. “Sorry,” she offered, chagrinned. “You’ve been having bad luck on dates, I guess.”

He laughed, and it was such a nice sound, different from his derisive snort. “Cindy driving me here wasn’t a date,” he said. “Though, I guess you’re right. The last actual date I went on did almost end with a daughter of Athena gutting me.”

“That was an actual date?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “most eventful blind date ever. Normally it's all ‘Oh, where are you from?’,’What’s your favorite color?’, ‘What do you do?’”

“New York City, blue, blesser of whales,” she said, automatically.

“See, we skipped the boring stuff and went straight for the throat,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes. “I see, now. It’s because no one else ever believes you.”

He said nothing, only shutting her trunk with a broad grin.

“Do you need a ride back?” The offer was out of her mouth before she could really think about it. But when she paused, she decided it wasn’t a mistake. It was about a twenty minute drive. And she suddenly realized that she wouldn’t hate spending it with him.

He looked at her for a moment. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to put you out.”

“You wouldn’t be. And this way Cindy doesn’t need to be interrupted in her pursuits.”

“Thanks,” he said as he crawled into the passenger’s seat.

Annabeth closed her eyes, breathing through her nose, then swallowed.

Into the fire.

“Thor, really?” Percy said, about ten minutes later.

They had actually been having quite a nice talk so far, comparing pantheons. Last time Percy was in New York, he had ended up tangling with some kind of Egyptian alligator monster, and Annabeth had plenty to share about the vikings. “It was weird.”

“And how do the Norse gods compare?”

She shrugged. “They’re fine, I guess. No ban on alcohol, so things are considerably less…” She paused, casting about for the right word. “...Contained, I guess, when you get a bunch of them in one place.”

Their own god of wine and madness had been banished to an arcade in New Jersey some time ago, cursed by his heavenly father to a century of sobriety for some infraction or other. The few times Annabeth had run into him, though, he still managed to make her life more interesting than she cared for.

Even without their god of revelry, the few times during the war that the Greek demigod army had gotten together, they’d managed to pull enough of their tattered and tired spirits together to have something resembling a shindig. Maybe throwing a party in the woods of Long Island the night before laying siege to the Empire State building wasn’t the best idea, but after Beckendorf’s death, they needed to let off a little steam. Especially Percy.

Especially Annabeth.

Percy may have been the one on the Princess Andromeda with Beck, but it had been her plan that had gotten him killed.

Pollux and Travis provided the drink. Katie, a daughter of Demeter who Annabeth hadn’t gotten a chance to get to know very well, provided the weed. Austin, Will’s brother, brought the music on his boombox, something hard and loud and thumping.

And Percy and Annabeth, they had spent most of the night together.

Not… not the night, but…

She glanced over at him. His eyes were on her, unfathomable as ever. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing: kissing the taste of wine out of her mouth the night before they thought the world was going to end.

“Sounds like a party,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “It was.”

It had been different, exploring the nine worlds with Magnus. Likely because she was only a lost legacy. People, in general, hadn’t wanted too much from her. But it had been pretty funny the few times she had to introduce herself. The Norse were matrilineal.

“Now I want to change my name to Percy Sallyson,” he said after she told him about it.

“You already have her last name,” Annabeth pointed out.

“Sure,” he agreed, “But I could make it better.”

They were almost back to town, almost back to the marina. But she didn’t want their conversation to end. “Do you want to get dinner?” she blurted.

He’d asked her, last time, after they’d gone whale watching. She’d been mean in her reply.

“That sounds great,” he said, without skipping a beat. “Where do you want to go?”

The answer ended up being the Italian place, which Percy promised was delicious, though, “Nico swears it's not authentic and is therefore an affront to Italy. I told him that was only because Helena didn’t have a mob scene worth its salt.”

It was good, but after childhoods in both Boston and New York, she got what Nico probably meant about the lack of authenticity. She’d also never been to this particular place before, it was a little off Main Street, and the few times she’d seen it, it had seemed too fancy for her. There was another, cheaper, greasier pizza joint she defaulted to when she was in the mood.

“So, things are better with your dad?” Percy was asking as he tore the last breadstick in half, handing one of the halves to her.

She couldn’t even believe he remembered that. “Yeah, much better. Charlotte’s still weird about the divorce, but Dad is much happier. And he’s glad to be back on the east coast, too.”

“I saw one of his books on cassette at the library,” he said, “I was thinking of grabbing it and listening to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wanted to see if I could spot the hidden demigods in World War II.”

“You’ll have to tell me how it is,” she said, twirling the breadstick around her fingers.

Percy started. “You don’t read your dad’s books?”

“Not anymore.” She paused, then sighed. “When I was really little, he used to read me drafts. But he got busy, and married, and had more kids, and… It never felt right, I guess, to read them myself. I’m not a big reader, anyway. You know that.” Demigods always struggled with reading anyway. If it wasn’t in Greek, it wasn’t even worth it.

“My mom used to do the same when I was a kid,” said Percy, his voice wistful.

“That’s right–she’s a writer, isn’t she?”

“She is. She actually just had her fourth book come out a couple of years ago. I’ve got them all on tape.”

She felt her lips quirk up. How could someone so infuriating be so adorable?

“You know…” She could hear Percy tapping his foot under the table. Their plates were bouncing a little. “If you wanted, I could–I could give you one.”

“A tape?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, dragging his breadstick through the remnants of their communal olive oil. “If you wanted. I think you’d really like her latest book.”

He wanted to give her one of his mom’s books. That meant he’d have to come by and drop it off. And then come by to pick it up. Or she would have to go to him.

She… did not hate the idea. “Sure. What’s it called?”

“Snow on the Beach.”

Annabeth started. And then laughed.

Harder than she meant to.

“What?” Percy was defensive, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, nothing,” Annabeth chuckled, coming down from her momentary insanity. “I just–I already read it. In Brenda’s book club.”

“Oh.” He sounded unsure. “I um… hope you liked it.”

“I loved it,” she said, without hesitation. It had taken a few false starts, but the story of Joanna and Mr. Taylor had been so compelling, she had powered through dyslexia by sheer force of will just to be able to see how they slowly fell in love, despite the regency class pressures that surrounded them.” She felt a slight flush cross her cheeks and she didn’t know why. “Um, please tell her I really enjoyed it.”

But he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll definitely let her know.”

She kept expecting them to run out of things to talk about, or to be forced to revert to the war, to the demigod expectations that always hung over them a little.

But they never did. They made it through breadsticks and pasta bowls with anecdotes about mortal families and movies they’d liked and a little cafe up in Cabot Cove she just had to go to.

They fought over the check, and he won. But they walked out together.

“You were right,” she said as they stepped into the evening. It had been a long dinner, but summer was barreling towards them, so it was still mostly light out.

He blinked, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Me? Right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

But he was still smirking. “What was I right about?”

“Dinner with you was lovely.”

His smirk dropped, and she could see his blush in the not quiet setting sun. “Oh.” He coughed. “Um, yeah, it was really really great to properly catch up. We should do it again sometime.”

“How about Tuesday?” She said impulsively, before really thinking about it.

But the cat was out of the bag now.

“Um…” The hesitation was not what she wanted.

“We don’t have to,” she added, quickly. “If you’re busy, or if you have other plans–”

“Would it be weird if I asked to have dinner at your place?”

“My place? You mean my house?”

“Yeah.”

That gave her pause. No one had ever been to her place before. Ever. Not even Malcolm. And there were boxes she still hadn’t unpacked, painter’s tape she had left on the wall, kitchen cabinets empty of pots and pans… “I mean, we could, but we’d probably have to order a pizza.”

“No, I…” He paused, “I’d cook for you, if you’d let me.”

“You’d… cook in my kitchen?”

He nodded. “My boat has a galley,” he said, “but it can get a little cramped in there. I haven’t had the opportunity yet to make my mom’s famous blue chocolate chip cookies.”

She frowned. “Blue?”

Percy grinned, sly and easy. “Yep.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“They taste better when they’re blue,” he said. “Trust me.”

Trust me. He’d said that to her once before, the first time they’d met when they crashed into each other during a quest to the sea of monsters. She’d been looking for the Golden Fleece to save Thalia’s tree, and her spirit, from dying. He’d been doing it to keep Kronos from getting it. They’d ended up on a boat together, but despite his skill at sailing, she hadn’t wanted to trust him. She hadn’t trusted him. She had wanted to go to the beautiful world then sirens had offered her. But she’d done it, some little spark of her soul had wanted to trust him. He’d saved her from drowning.

And then she’d said those same words to him two years later, when she’d been on Olympus with him and had a knife in one hand, and Luke at his feet.

And he had.

“Alright,” she said. “My kitchen, Tuesday.”

She then spent the next three days summarily freaking out.

She had one, pathetically small sheet pan. Her oven wasn’t clean. Her sink was somehow overflowing, despite the fact that she had less than ten dishes overall. Her remaining bell peppers had begun to grow a brand new colony of mold. The fridge was full of leftovers she never remembered to throw out and the freezer-frozen dinners. And those were just the kitchen problems.

Her knitting had taken over the loveseat and was migrating to one of the end tables. She’d managed to put the leftover items from the flea market right into the spare bedroom she was using for a storage room while she continued to work on the house, but too many boxes had migrated out of it when she’d needed something, and never managed migrate into the recycling or back into the room.

And three days was not really enough ramp time to psych herself up for a major cleaning. And unlike Boston, Helena didn’t have a maid service she could call last minute.

But, she was honestly proud of herself for managing to throw out everything that had obvious mold or smelled really bad in the fridge, get all the dishes in the dishwasher and turn it on, though not unload it, and crochet a new afgan for the couch that matched the picture she’d painted of the ocean, inspired by the tour, that hung in the living room.

The last one probably wasn’t strictly necessary, but it had certainly seemed like it come Tuesday morning.

Annabeth had only just barely finished putting her mop away when there was a knock at her door. “Just a minute!” she called. In quick succession, she straightened the afghan on the couch, pushed in the wooden chair at her kitchen table, and checked her reflection in the mirror, moving a stray curl behind her ear. After some consideration, she had decided on the light blue dress from the back of her closet, pairing it with an old set of owl earrings that her father had gotten her for her birthday when she was young.

There was no hiding the big grin on her face as she opened the door.

“Hey!” Percy was smiling back at her, his eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. His arms were laden with plastic grocery bags, and she tried not to notice how tight the sleeves were of his black, Social Distortion t-shirt.

She stepped back, making room for him. “Come on in.”

“Your place is gorgeous,” he said as he stepped inside.

“Thanks,” She said, “I got it because I felt like it was a real diamond in the rough. I’m doing a lot of work on it, off and on.”

“You redesigned something that could please the gods, I think making a perfect house is something you can do in your sleep”

She blushed, and showed him into the kitchen. “I’m… I don’t have the most extensive kitchen set up, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “We can make do.”

And make do they did.

Percy had had the foresight to bring all the necessary ingredients at least, though they did run into a bit of a snag after dinner. (Percy had made her beef stroganoff. It was without a doubt one of the best things she had ever eaten. Not that she would ever tell him that.) “So,” he said, plopping his bag of flour on her counter. “Where’s your stand mixer?”

She blinked. “My… what?”

“Stand mixer. We’re going to need one if we want cookies.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t even sure that she knew what that was. “I… don’t have one.”

“Oh.” Percy blinked, taken aback. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. And made a mental note to get one, as soon as possible. Brenda would be able to help her. Or Susan. Or somebody.

He bit his lip, his eyes darting around. “That’s–that’s okay. We can–we can wash out the marinade bowl,” he picked up the dirty bowl in the sink which had held the raw beef, “use that to cream the butter, and then we can mix it by hand. Do you have a whisk?”

“Uh…”

Percy opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “You know what? That’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He took out the eggs from the fridge. “They made cookies before stand mixers were invented, right? I think we can manage.”

After a brief pause to clean some of the dishes, they were off to the races. Percy had unearthed a wooden spoon from the back of one of her cabinets, and was mashing the butter with the eggs and sugar while Annabeth sifted the dry ingredients together with a fork. She was perfectly aware that Percy had given her the easier task, but from her vantage point at her little kitchen table, she was perfectly content to sit and observe as Percy leaned against her counter, one arm cradling the bowl to his chest while he mashed with the other.

He was a lot taller than she remembered him being. During the war, she was only an inch or so shorter than him; now she wouldn’t be surprised if he had nearly half a foot on her. And he had filled out, too–broad shoulders and big hands and sturdy thighs. He had just the barest hint of stubble on his sharp jaw, and strong brows… one of which was raised as he looked at her, his lips quirked in a smile. “Hm?”

“I said, can you pass me the vanilla and the food coloring?”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, setting the bowl down so hard that the flour mixture jumped a little. “Yeah, sorry.”

He just chuckled to himself.

“So, what’s the deal with the blue food coloring again?” she asked as she passed the little bottles to him. Their hands touched and she tried not to think about it.

His face dropped, just a touch. “How much did I tell you about my mom?”

She frowned, taking her seat. “Not much, I don’t think. She’s a writer, and…” Screwing up her eyes, she racked her memory for something, anything, any small inconsequential detail he might have shared with her when they were younger. Back then, though, there really had been no reason to talk about their pasts. They didn’t spend that much time together. Not a lot of time for sharing in the middle of a war. “Was she married?”

He nodded. “Twice. Her first husband, he was a real piece of shit.” A scowl overtaking his face, he measured out the vanilla, but dumped nearly the entire bottle of blue into the flour. “I didn’t know at the time, but when I was really little, he would beat on her.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, Percy, I’m so sorry.”

Percy shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Almost… wow.” He paused. “Almost twenty years.” Shaking his head, he stuck his hand in, mixing the cookie dough. Slowly, inexorably, the color changed: from tan, to periwinkle, to cerulean. “They had this dumb fight–I don’t even remember what. But somehow, the topic of blue food came up. He swore up and down that there was no such thing. But my mom insisted. And ever since then, she would have blue food all the time. Blue tortilla chips, blue candy, blue gatorade–and eventually, she started adding blue food coloring, too. He hated it.” Percy grinned, reaching for a spatula. “Blue food was her way of fighting back. Her one act of rebellion. Eventually, it just became our thing.”

She could picture it, a young Percy looking up at his mother with those big green eyes as she whipped up a batch of blue cookies. “How is she now?”

His face didn’t change much, but it was almost like there was a glow about him, a warm little fire lighting him up from within. “She’s good. She’s working on a new book, and she remarried almost ten years ago.”

Oh, that was right–he had a sister! “You have a sister, yeah? What’s her name?”

“Estelle.”

She inhaled, something clicking. “The Little Star?”

The smile spread across his face, lighting up the whole room with his love. “Yeah. She’s pretty great.”

Together, they spooned out the cookies, fitting as many of them onto her sheet pan as they possibly could, and she settled back into her seat as Percy slid the tray into the oven.

“So,” she said, about six minutes into cooking. “Whatever happened to her first husband?”

Percy crouched, peeking into the oven. “Remember that time we ran into Medusa in Jersey?”

“Don’t remind me,” she said, shuddering.

“Well, I gave her head to my mom.”

“How did you even get–”

Annabeth stopped. She blinked.

“Wait. You gave… she…”

He smirked.

Dang. “Are you sure she’s not a secret viking?”

“She’d never wielded an ax, as far as I know,” Percy said, “but she’s a dangerous one.”

She did have a spatula, which she mainly used to get frozen pizzas off the baking sheet, though the cookies had to wait on a plate, because she didn’t have a cooling rack.

“Oh gods,” Annabeth said, ten minutes later when she bit into a still warm cookie. “Oh my gods. This is the best damn cookie I’ve ever had in my life.”

“I’m telling you, it’s the blue,” Percy said, having already swallowed his cookie whole. “There’s just something missing without it.”

“You might be right,” she said. “Might be.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” But he was smiling, “I’ll just have to keep proving it, blue food. It's the best.”

“What else can you make blue?”

“Lots of things: cakes, bread, pasta, mashed potatoes,” he shrugged. “I like trying new things. And my mom has been teaching me some of our family recipes.”

“Do you take requests?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.” Somehow, despite being taller, he managed to look at her from under his eyelashes. Expectant. Hopeful.

And really, what did Annabeth have to lose out on? Another fantastic meal? “Are you free on Friday?”

He was.

Friday rolled around, and Percy arrived, once again loaded down with groceries. Only this time, he stepped into a full kitchen. “Whoa,” he said, quietly stunned as he opened a cabinet. And then another. And another.

Annabeth felt her cheeks heat up.

“Where did you get all this?” he asked.

“Oh, here and there,” she said.

Maybe one day she’d tell him about driving to Boston on Thursday and practically buying out the Sears kitchen department. But not today. Not tonight.

That night, they made pastichio, and split a bottle of wine Annabeth had picked up from the grocery store.

The next week, it was Swedish meatballs. Then, the following Monday, Percy stopped by unannounced, bringing with him an extra container of vodka sauce for pasta, because he had just made too much and wouldn’t be able to eat it before it went bad. Eventually, he started showing up to drop off a cassette. Then to watch the game. Then just to say hi.

And he always stayed for dinner.

By the end of June, he was over every night, making great use of Annabeth’s kitchen. The fridge was still full of leftovers, but it was leftover soup or pasta or vegetables or to die for chicken. And she wasn’t worried about the onions in the crisper going bad. She even learned what the crisper was for, and what it was called.

She didn’t think she’d ever eaten so well in her life.

“Are you doing anything for the holiday?” he asked, after he had finished the dishes.

Annabeth shook her head, sipping her wine. “Dad’s in Europe, and Malcolm and his mom are visiting family in Virginia. You?”

“Paul’s family is taking a vacation in Chicago.”

“You weren’t invited?”

“I was, but I don’t think the risk of inciting dear old uncle,” he flicked his eyes upwards, “is worth flying out for it.” he shrugged, “and I might be joining my mom the day after, so I’d have to come straight back anyway.”

“Shame,” she said. “But I hear that Fourth of July here isn’t so bad. Apparently the local scout troop puts on a pretty great fireworks show on the beach.” According to Denise, it was quite the romantic evening. Asking a girl to the fireworks show was a very common step in the romantic playbook around these parts.

“So I heard! Polly says that the beach is always packed full of people, so I’m going to take my boat out a little ways away and watch there.”

“That sounds really nice.” She said, before chomping on a bite of the blueberry coffee cake he’d made them for dessert.

When she looked back up, he found him looking at her, half trepidation, half excitement in his face.

Percy took in a breath, and licked his lips. “Would you want to… come with me?”

His eyes reflected the color of the water outside her home, the sea where he lived, this town where they had come together by some twist of fate.

And she nodded.

They were both grinning as she showed him out that night, a sort of youthful giddiness bubbling up inside her when she looked at him.

She shut the door behind him, and as soon as he was out of sight, she felt the bubble pop.

The enormity of what had happened sinking in.

And the absolute imperative she not fuck it up.

She didn’t just go dress shopping, she went to Boston, and spoke to a magical tailor and Blizten had to talk her down four times while he fitted her for a dress for her… date… with Percy Jackson.

Because Percy Jackson had asked her out.

On a date. On his boat. To see the fireworks.

Even thinking about it like that sent a weird shock through her. It made her feel like she was sixteen, instead of pushing thirty. What kind of woman, on the eve of her twenty-eighth birthday, would feel butterflies in her stomach as she thought about going to see some fireworks?

Well, sure, when she’d been sixteen, she hadn’t even thought she’d make it to twenty-eight. But still.

And with Percy Jackson of all people.

Yeah, they’d kissed the night before the battle of Manhattan, and yeah they’d been on Olympus together and saved each other’s lives, and yeah Percy had turned down immortality for… for his mom.

But then he’d walked away. From all of it. From her.

Did he regret it?

Her dress ended up being a light blue with white pinstripes, with a wide collar and a cinched, belted waist, coming down right to the tops of her knees.

She stood in Blitzen’s shop, in front of the three way mirror, while he worked on accessorizing it on July third, and wondered how she was supposed to make it until tomorrow without throwing up from nerves.

But make it she did, and at 8:30 in the evening, she met Percy at the east dockyard, in her blue dress and brown sandals. She had spent upwards of three hours on her hair, teasing and curling and spraying until her hair was as poofy as it could possibly be. The humid ocean air still managed to penetrate the layer of hairspray, however, stray curls escaping at her temples.

“Annabeth, hey!” Percy waved at her from the deck of the Little Star. In the evening light, she could see that he had dressed up for the occasion too, trading in his t-shirt for a white button down and a pair of dark jeans. “Did you get some wine?”

She held it aloft. “Last bottle they had!” The grocery store wine selection had been nearly cleared out by the time she got there, but luckily she had managed to snag the last good red left. It was odd, though–she could have sworn she had walked past that shelf about four times before spotting the bottle. Maybe she had just missed it.

“Great,” he grinned. “Come aboard!”

In short order, she had boarded the Star, Percy had set off from the docks, and they were anchored a little ways away from shore, sharing the bottle of wine over a Greek pasta salad. They were sitting together on a bench at the stern, a blanket thrown over their legs. “This might be the best feta I have ever had,” she said. “Where the hell did you get this? Did you fly it over from the motherland?”

Percy laughed. “No, my mom brought it up from New York last time I saw her. There’s this little grocery in Astoria run by this old yiayia, Sophia, she’s got all the best stuff.”

“And the olives?”

“Same place.”

“Damn.” She picked off another olive, popping it in her mouth, savoring the deep, salty flavor. “If we ever go back to New York, you’ll have to take me there.”

A strange silence fell between them after that.

“Would you… ever go back?” he asked her, quietly.

“To New York?”

He nodded.

Annabeth rolled another olive between her fingers, frowning. “I… I don’t know.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. It wasn’t like she’d been thinking about going back–not permanently anyway. She liked Helena. She liked Brenda, and the little restaurants, and the pattern of people who waved to her during her morning walks on the beach. She liked the quiet, the peace, the space she had to relax and breathe and be, without the threat of monsters or gods. She liked not having to look up at the Empire State Building and be reminded of all her failures.

“Would you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, my whole family is there, you know? My mom comes up every so often but…” He sighed. “It’s hard, being so far away from them.”

Her heart panged.

She liked having him here. She didn’t want him to go.

His eyes flicked up to hers, softening as soon as they met. “But it’s been easier, recently.”

“Yeah?” she breathed.

“Yeah.” He smiled back at her, gentle as a sea breeze. “It’s… I’m really glad I ran into you.”

“Even though I pulled my knife on you.”

“Especially because you pulled your knife on me.”

In the back of her mind, she wondered if her mother would be mad at her. And then she remembered that she didn’t care anymore. “Me, too.”

They sat in companionable silence, drinking wine, watching as the stars came out over the water. Eventually Annabeth dropped her head on his shoulder, scooching closer.

“Are you cold?” he chuckled.

“A little,” she lied.

A pause, and then she felt him rest his head on hers.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

She felt the muscles of his chest shift as he checked his watch. “Almost ten.”

Then, a clap of thunder. Beneath her, Percy jolted. She sat up. “Percy? What is it–”

But out of the corner of her eye, there was a brilliant flash of light, a little yellow star exploding into showers of red and green and blue.

Percy relaxed. “Oh thank the gods,” he sighed, sagging back against the boat. “I thought Zeus was coming to kill me.”

It wasn’t funny, but she started giggling. “For what?”

“Does he need a reason?”

“I’m sure you’ve given him plenty.”

“Hey!” he pouted. “It’s not like you haven’t done plenty to piss off the gods, too.”

“Oh yeah? Who mailed Medusa’s head to Olympus?”

“And who turned her back on Hera?”

“Well, who turned down Zeus’ gift?” she shot back, kicking his shin.

He stilled, shifting closer to her. And he didn’t reply.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, turning from the fireworks to face him.

“Hm?”

“Turning him down.” In all of mythology, there was no greater boon from the gods than immortality. It was the ultimate reward for any demigod. After all that Percy had done–defeating Kronos, saving Olympus–she had been sure he would have taken it. And why shouldn’t he have? Demigods were scattered across the United States. Most of them never even knew that they were special, and how. She could count the number of times she had met her own mother on one hand. Percy had had the chance to live among the gods, with his immortal family, for eternity.

And he had turned it down.

He bit his lip. “Not really.” He looked off, not towards the shore and the fireworks, but out over the ocean, “I remember being just sixteen, and thinking when he made the offer, that I could stay in my prime.” he shook his head, “I don’t know what my prime is, or was, or might be. But I am so sure it wasn’t being sixteen. I… there might be a time I want forever, sometimes having that kind of power… it does have its appeal. But I realized that I didn’t want that.” Then he looked at her. “What about you?”

She almost laughed, “It didn’t occur to me that it would be on the table until they offered it to you.” She shook her head. “I’d have taken it if they’d offered it to me first. I know that. I’m certain of it.” She smiled. “But I am so, so glad they didn’t. You’re right. Sixteen forever isn’t what I should have wanted.”

She saw him open his mouth, and then snap it shut.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly, with too much force.

“No, really, Seaweed Brain, what?” Between the boom of fireworks, all she could hear was her own heartbeat. They were already so close, but she leaned closer, like they were going to share a confession around a fire while they were camping out during the war. She wished she could roast a marshmallow. “You can tell me.”

“If they’d offered it to you first, and you’d taken it, I wouldn’t have…” She could feel his breath on her face. “I would have…”

Well, fuck. What else was she supposed to do, but close that centimeter gap and kiss him?

The fireworks exploded behind her closed eyelids, but that didn’t matter.

She could feel the sparks on her lips, and smell the sea air all around her.

She kissed Percy Jackson, and it was everything.

#my fic #darkmagyk #pjo fic #pjo #percabeth #pjo hoo bigbang #au #the rivalry ends here #new au woo!!!

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snowbellewells · 6 months

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CSSNS Fic: "Carolina Moon" {Chapter Three}

Oh my goodness!! I feel like all I do is apologize to you lovely folks, but I am truly sorry once again that it has taken me so long to update. This is a lengthy chapter at least, and we are really plunging into the meat of the action now. I could try to promise that you'll have the next installment sooner, but that doesn't seem to be the way my life is working lately. I'll do my best though.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this one, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.

Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.

Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.

Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.

What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”

Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.

Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.

Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”

Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’ But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.

“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”

Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact.

“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”

If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”

Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.

Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”

The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.

She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind.

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”

Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.

She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”

As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”

Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”

Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.

“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.

Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”

“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”

Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.

Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.

Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.

If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.

David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.

“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”

The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.

She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”

She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”

Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”

Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.

“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”

David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”

“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.

“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”

She’d placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”

Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door.

Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.

She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.

If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.

Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.

Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.

Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.

Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart.

He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault.

Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.

At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.

She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.

Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.

It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.

Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”

Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.

“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing.

Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.

Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.

“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”

But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road. He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away. I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before. That monster killed her. I saw it.”

The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @bluewildcatfanatic @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @anmylica @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

#cssns23 #cs ff #cs fanart #CS au mc #Carolina Moon #chapter three

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andydrysdalerogers · 11 months

Text

Sliding Into Home ~ The Future is West

Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)

Synopsis:

After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.

* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**

Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, eventual smut, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: It Doesn’t Stay in Vegas

Main Masterlist ~Sliding Into Home Masterlist

“Mary please!”

“No!”

“C’mon Nugget, we have to go.”

“NO! I don’t want to leave.” Sobs echoed through the door of the bathroom.

Frank groaned and hit his head on the door frame. The decision to move was not taken lightly but it was decided. “Mary, c’mon, please? I know it’ll be tough but it’s a new adventure.”

The silence now coming from the bathroom is louder than the screaming. Frank knew he would be lucky if she got in the car let alone leaving on time. He needed to finish packing up before the movers came but Mary refused to let him into the bathroom.

“Still not letting you in?” Frank turned to see his nanny, Scott, leaning on the hallway, popping his gum.

“No.”

“Told ya.”

“Yeah, I know. I know.” Frank rubbed his temples. “The movers will be here in an hour, I need to finish and then get us to the hotel before our flight tomorrow and she is being just like...”

“Your sister.” Scott smiled. “Let me handle this while you make sure the suitcases are in the car. I brought some stuff to help us relax after she goes to bed.” Scott squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “Its gonna be ok.”

“Thanks Scott.” Frank turned to leave him to it as he made his way to his bedroom. Scott Evans had been a godsend since the day he turned up for his interview for the nanny position. Mary took to him immediately and became a friend to Frank at a time when he had felt so lost. Bonus points that Scott was a man as well, as a female nanny would have just made the situation worse. Frank was grateful that Scott was ok with relocating his life five years later to stay with him and Mary with their move to Los Angeles.

Los Angeles. City of Angels, Hollywood, movie stars and his new team, the Dodgers.

After five successful years with the Red Soxes, Los Angeles offered a monster of a deal. Ten years, $106 million dollars and a change that was needed. Frank talked to Steve, Scott and Andy, his now closest friends, and made the decision to move. He needed a fresh start, a chance to move on after the shit show five years earlier.

He had heard that Abby had graduated from medical school last year. Well, he watched it from the shadows. He snuck in to watched the girl that he still loved accomplish her dream and graduate with top honors from Harvard University Medical School. However much Abby’s parents hated Frank for what he had done to their little girl, Frank insisted on paying for her schooling, keeping a promise he had made to her when he was drafted. He sent the money to her parents, and they made the payments.

But she had moved on, taking a medical residency outside of Boston for work. He didn’t know where, so he took the time to move when he had the chance. Maybe he could stop loving her, finally. Maybe he could find happiness.

He kept his promise to himself in that no other woman made a permanent place in their hearts. Sure, Frank kept the carnal needs to flings on the road, Friday night fucks away from home, away from Mary. She didn’t need the instability. She needed him to be present as she grew up. She was the only girl in his heart.

Apart from Abby.

He listened as Scott murmured to Mary, the door creak open and then Mary’s face peak into his room. Frank didn’t turn to face her, letting her get through her thoughts and emotions on her own, letting her decide when to speak. After a moment, she sniffled, and he turned. He watched as one solid tear ran down her cheek before he scooped her into his arms, and she cried. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I know Nugget. But I got traded and I can’t leave you behind. I love you so much that I would never leave you behind.”

She sobbed in his neck for a few more moments before he pulled her away. He inspected her blue eyes, eyes that had seen more than their fair share of heartbreak. “Is Scott going?” she asked again, needing to confirm that she was not losing everyone in her life.

Frank nodded. “Scott is moving with us. We have a big house now near the beach. There’s a room that has perfect light for my little artist with a balcony so she can set up her telescope and see the stars.”

Mary sighed and leaned back into him. “Ok,” she whispered.

“It's gonna be great, Nugget. You’ll see. I got you into the science school for next year and we have a pool so we can keep up with swimming and you can try out for the team. I promise you; we’ll be great in Los Angeles. Just you wait.”

A few hours later saw Mary pass out in bed while Scott brought out the whiskey bottle. He pours two fingers of the amber liquid and thrusted the tumbler into Frank’s hands. “Ready to leave Boston?”

“No.” Frank took a sip. “I feel like if I leave, I am giving up.”

“Giving up on what?”

“Whatever love Abby and I could still have.”

“She’s not even in Boston anymore.” She hasn’t been since May the year before. Its August. Fifteen months later and it still hurt him that she was gone

“I know. I understand it. But all of our memories are here.”

Fifteen Years Earlier...

Frank was sitting in chemistry class, doodling before class started. Mike was seated in the back, fucking teacher tried to seat everyone alphabetically but missed counted. Now Frank sat alone at the front of the class. The door opened but Frank didn’t acknowledge it. The next thing he heard was the teacher saying, you can have a seat next to Mr. Alder. His head snapped up as he saw a beautiful brunette walked towards him. She had the blackest hair he had ever seen with the most beautiful curls. As she walked closer, he couldn’t help but acknowledge her curves, but it was her eyes, deep brown with flecks of gold and green, that took him.

She studied him for a moment. “Hi. I’m Abby.”

Frank swallowed. “Hi, I’m Frank.”

“Is this seat taken?” She looked at his books spread out across the desk.

“Shit, sorry.” He gathered his stuff and stacked them in front of him. She giggled as she sat. Once the teacher reviewed the syllabus for the semester of chemistry, she set a simple worksheet for each set of lab partners. “So, I don’t think I’ve seen you in my classes before.”

“Oh, probably not.” She tucked a ringlet behind her ear. “I’m a freshman but I tested out of freshman and sophomore science.”

“Explains it. So you’re fourteen?”

“Just turned.” She kept her gaze down.

Frank studied her, noting the shyness in her face. “You look scared.”

“Upper classmen intimidated me a little.” She finally looked up at him. He could tell that she wasn’t comfortable with her intelligence just yet. She was shy, lost in the whirlwind of being set up in an advanced class.

“Well, stick with me and I’m make sure no one messes with you.”

“Why wouldn’t anyone bother you?”

“Because when you are a star athlete, no one messes with you.” Frank had just turned sixteen. A junior but the star first baseman for the school’s baseball team. He explained as much to her. “Friends with me and you’ll be going places.”

“You know, you’re a little cocky for being sixteen.”

“Have to be if I want to play professionally. So friends?” He stuck out his hand.

She took it with a beautiful smile. “Friends.”

Present...

As Frank, Mary and Scott made their way to LA, Frank couldn’t help but reflect on the memory. How stupid had he been to friend-zone himself that quickly. But, she had been a scared freshman, and chemistry was not the only upper-level class she been put in. She also had Trigonometry and English 3 as well, and Frank happened to be in all of those classes as well.

He had learned a lot about Abby. She had come from a big family of immigrants. She would be the first to go to college, her aspirations to be a doctor.

She made it, he thought as he studied the clouds in the sky. He did as well. He spent eight years with the Red Sox, the team he had cheered for as a boy. Moving away would be hard but a necessary change. He wanted to get away from all the bad memories he had there. Between his fuck ups with Abby and the shit show his sister and mother had put him through over Mary, being in Los Angeles made the most sense.

After landing, Frank found the car that the team sent to pick them up from the airport and take them to their new home. Frank had purchased new furniture so they wouldn’t have to ship all of their stuff from their old home. He had kept the home in Boston for when they visited friends for breaks and holidays. Christmas in Boston would still be a must and he wanted to make sure that those traditions would be kept on track.

The home was in Pacific Palisades, roughly an hour from the stadium but Frank wanted to have space away from the downtown area. The ocean views and gated community made the decision but what sold Frank was the space Mary would have to be herself. Her school was just a few minutes away, making it easy for Scott. No, it wasn’t Boston, but they could make it a home.

The next couple of days were filled with getting used to the area, finding their local grocery shops, restaurants, coffee shops and such, with the arrival of their things from the moving company. It was mostly boxes of their things, clothes, Frank’s beloved 1968 Camero, but one thing that was most important. It was the solid wood rocking chair from Mary’s room. Frank couldn’t bare to part with it. He bought it to rock a six-month-old Mary to sleep, read her stories when she was older, hold her as she dealt with her emotions. It was the only heirloom they had. He immediately set it up in her room, placing her beloved penguin, Max, on it.

On their fifth night in Los Angeles, Frank reminded Scott and Mary that he had a meeting with the team president, medical director and legal team, along with Andy and Steve, to sign his contract and fulfill his physical to start the season.

“Why do they make you take a physical?” Mary asked, shoving a fry into her mouth.

“To make sure I am healthy and in tip top shape,” Frank replied. “I should probably tell them I have a bad back from loading up your telescope into the truck. Thing weighs a ton.”

“You bought it for me so that’s your own fault,” she sasses back, making Scott snort. “You should have made Scott carry it if you are too... delicate.”

If Mary got anything from Frank, it was her ability to sass. Frank was a smartass, from diapers according to his mother. Frank rolled his eyes as Scott roared with laughter. “Shut up,” he groaned. “On another subject, since we have to head into the city, do you know what is near the stadium?”

“Parking lots?”

“Seriously, stop,” he grumbled. “No, we are close to that Funko store.”

Mary’s eyes lit up. “Really? Can we go?”

Scott laughed, “I don’t know, you’ve been sassing him pretty hard there Nug.”

“Please? Pretty please?” Mary used her one weapon at him: those damm blue eyes.

“Fine, I guess,” Frank said with a sigh, hiding his smile. It was always his intention to take her. “Scott is going to take you to get breakfast and then a haircut while I am in my meeting and then we will go.”

“Thank you, Frank!” She ran over to hug her uncle.

“Welcome Nugget. Now finish up, you can read for an hour before bed.”

The next morning, Frank was looking at a Los Angeles icon, Dodger Stadium. It was his new home, his new team and hopefully his new life. He asked a security guard where to go and was met at the door by an assistant. She was a shameless flirt, commenting on Frank’s forearms and his tattoos, cooing about how good of a player he is. There was zero chance of Frank being interested. His Friday Night adventures were reserved for road trips only. His one-night stands worked out just fine, in his opinion.

As he was guided into the conference room, Frank was met with the president of operations, Nick Stanton. “Mr. Stanton.”

“Frank! Good to see you again.” He shakes hands with Frank. “We’re waiting for everyone so can I offer you a drink?” He gestures to Frank to sit at the table.

“Just a cola, thanks.” Frank took the seat next to the head of the table.

“How was the move?”

“Smoother than I thought it would be. Mary, my niece, threw a couple of tantrums but between me and my nanny, we managed to get her here.”

“Nanny?”

“Oh yeah, Scott, he’s great. He was willing to move with us, which is great since Mary seems to only listen to him.” Frank chuckles. “Who would listen to your uncle/pseudo father?”

“I remember that story,” Nick replies. “You are brave to take on a baby right after bring drafted.”

Frank shrugged. “Its not that big of a deal. You would do anything for family, especially Mary.”

More voices float towards the conference room and Frank stands as he sees his agent and lawyer walk in and shake his hand. Then the general manager for the Dodgers comes in, making small talk with Frank.

“Ok, I think we are just missing the team doctor and our legal team,” Nick tells everyone. “Its not Natasha, she’s busy with another client. She’s sending in their new associate.”

Frank just nods as the GM goes over the training schedule and when he would meet the team. The conference room door opens and another couple enters the room. Frank turns to see and his stomach drops. He feels himself become clammy and pale. Because this shouldn’t be happening.

He’s not supposed to be here.

Fuck.

He looks at the brunette that walked in with him.

And she’s definitely not supposed to be here.

What the FUCK!

Abby Hernandez walked into the room.

Holding Mike Weiss’s hand.

Taglist: @patzammit @firephotogrl74 @texmexdarling @slutforchrisjamalevans @jennmurawski13-writes @tinkerbelle67 @before-we-get-started @bunnyforhim

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #chris evans fanfiction #frank adler #frank adler au #mlb au #dodger au #ofc abigail hernandez #sliding into home #chris evans #mike weiss #johnny storm #baseball au #frank adler smut #slow burn #chris evans au #cliffhanger queen

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lsvdw-blog · 1 year

Text

Drained (3/?)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings; Rating: Angst; General

Premise: Serena makes moves and Ethan finds out.

Author’s Note: I'm sorry ☠️ I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖 **HSM reference included

Serena comes to a halt in the middle of a crosswalk. Rebecca continues to lay out the terms of the contract, but time stands still as Serena drones out, shocked.

An offer.

This is exactly what she wanted. A dream come true for her younger self.

So why does she feel so conflicted?

~~~~~~

Serena hangs up the phone just as she’s stepping into her apartment, all of her roommates, along with Bryce and Rafael, are gathered in the living room, watching a movie.

She stands at the edge, absorbing the laughter and camaraderie filling the space. Silently taking in what she would be giving up.

Although becoming Head of the Diagnostics Team has been far from what she expected, she’s comfortable here — it’s familiar. She knows the ins and outs of Edenbrook now, a far cry from the intern that got lost in the hallways. She has an incredible friend group that would drop everything if she needed them. She knows the language, the culture, the unspoken rules and etiquette.

She’d go from a three hour flight home to being across the ocean. She’d miss birthdays, holidays, and impromptu get-togethers. She'd miss the mundane things: days out in Boston Common, going on shopping trips with the girls, getting lost in the farmer's markets.

But this was something she had wanted her entire life. What she’d worked nearly a decade for.

By everyone else’s standards, for anyone on the outside looking in, she’s flourished in her three and half years at Edenbrook. Yet she feels like a trained falcon: tethered and only able to fly when told how high and how far.

She owes it to herself to make her dream a reality, to spread her wings, and not only fly, but soar.

Her eyes grow misty the longer she stands there, contemplating all of the things that would change. It isn’t until she’s deep in her spiral that Elijah calls out her name.

“Serena, are you okay?”

The backlight from the television reflects the tears in her eyes. “I’m really gonna miss you guys.”

Understandably, she’s met with a room full of confused expressions. While they know about her struggles as Head of the Diagnostics Team, they don’t know about the events of the last forty-eight hours.

Serena walks towards them, plopping down in the middle of the floor, and begins to fill them in.

By that night, Serena had signed a year-long contract, shipping out in six weeks.

~~~~~~

The next few days are a blur: making phone calls to potential movers and storage unit companies and having conversations with her new team.

It seems as though Ethan finally took the hint that she wanted space. His interactions are gentle, but few and far in between.

Serena knows it’s not fair to keep him in the dark, but she’s still too hurt and overwhelmed to bring herself to do the right thing.

Ethan interprets her space as her just needing to work through it first, that she’d be ready to talk soon.

How wrong he was.

~~~~~~

“Great work today, Carrick. There might be some hope left for you after all.”

Tobias chuckles.

“Gotta keep the lead on her toes!” He does a little boxing move, causing Serena to laugh. “This will be my team before you know it.”

Serena sobers at that comment, remembering the big news she has yet to share with anyone other than her family and roommates.

Tobias notices the sudden change in energy, a cloud of sadness settling over them.

“Tobias… take a seat. There’s something we need to discuss.”

His brows furrow and his head tilts to the side in confusion as they both take a seat at the round table. Serena huffs out a long breath, sitting with her back ramrod straight, hands clasped in front of her. Any and all traces of joviality are gone.

“This should be your team."

“Serena, I was just kidding. You know I respect you as Hea—”

“I know. This has nothing to do with that. I wasn't ready then and I'm not ready now."

“You’re doing a fanta—”

Serena's hand shoots up to interrupt him.

“It's okay. I know you see the way I’m being treated and have heard some… not very nice things said about me.”

“Well, yeah, but they’re all just boomers who have a stick wedged so far up their asses that they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a decent human being.”

Serena snorts. “While that may be true, you know it’s more than that.”

Tobias leans forward, placing a hand over Serena’s that she hasn't stopped wringing.

He looks at her earnestly. “You are doing an amazing job. And when have you ever cared what other people think? I say fuck ‘em.”

“If only it were that easy.”

She brings a hand out from under his, placing it on top.

“It has been made very clear, time and time again, that I am not wanted here.”

“That’s not tru—”

“I’ve accepted another position.”

Tobias blinks rapidly at Serena.

“With Médecins Sans Frontières.”

His jaw goes slack.

“In Myanmar.”

At this, Tobias’ eyes look like they’re about ready to pop out of his head.

“No.”

“What?”

“I reject this.”

“Tobias… This is something I need to do.”

“You’re an invaluable member of this hospital! Anyone who means anything knows that — I know that, the DT knows that, the Chief—”

At that, Serena scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“What are you ta—”

“I’ve already signed the contract. I’ll deploy in five weeks.”

“What?”

A booming voice echoes around the room. Serena jumps backwards, extricating her hands from Tobias’, and looks at the floor.

This is so not the way I wanted to tell him.

Serena gives Tobias a curt nod, letting him know that it’s okay for him to leave the room.

“Page me if you need anything,” he whispers before exiting.

“Serena, what the hell is going on?”

“Ethan, sit down.”

“No! I’m not going to ‘sit down.’ Tell me what’s going on right now.”

Serena sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ve accepted a position with Médecins Sans Frontières in Myanmar. I start in five weeks, so you can count this as my four week notice.”

“Is this one of those pranks from social media that I don’t understand?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Well, you must be. You were just made Head of the Diagnostics Team! This is your dream job.”

“It was. It’s not anymore.”

“Oh, but moving to Myanmar is?!”

Serena gets out of her chair. “You’re missing the point.”

“Then enlighten me!”

Ethan knows he needs to get a grip and control his emotions, but the utter fear coursing through him is paralyzing.

“I have been so busy supporting you in the last three years that I lost sight of myself.

“And I’m not saying it’s your fault, it’s not, I happily put you first. I wanted to put you first. With Naveen, Louise, Edenbrook possibly shutting down, everything.

“But I had always dreamed of leaving our planet a better place than we’d found it. Of traveling the world while volunteering with different organizations… Did you even know that?" Serena whispers.

“You’re making a difference here.”

Serena shakes her head furiously. “It’s not the same! Life kept getting in the way and I lost myself in the process, don't you see?!”

“So what?! You felt sorry for me, is that it?! You saw me as some pet project — someone you could fix and mold into your perfect vision, so you stayed. My savior."

The word drips with disdain, mockery, disgust.

Ethan expects Serena to yell obscenities at him, but when she speaks, eyes locked on his, she's deathly calm.

Which causes Ethan to become even more frantic.

"I never wanted to save you. You were never broken, not to me. The things you see as flawed and jagged all fit together perfectly to create you.

"'The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.' And you, as a whole, as your entire being, is the man I fell in love with.

"But my love for you has nothing to do with the struggles I've faced in my short tenure as lead.

"I've done my absolute best to carry this team to new heights, to carry on the legacy and the mission. But it's become practically impossible to do when everyone in this hospital constantly undermines me, questions my competence, and makes bets on when I'll fail."

"Not everyone. I don't—"

Ethan is interrupted by a barking laugh of disbelief.

"It seems you've already forgotten, so let me remind you."

~ 2 Months Ago ~

Serena exhaustedly walks through the door of Ethan’s apartment, the tail-wagging greeting of Jenner always a welcome, and much needed, dose of serotonin.

Ethan follows closely behind the golden retriever, greeting Serena with a lopsided grin and kiss.

They have a nightly routine whenever she stays over, which is more often than not nowadays, and tonight is no different.

Ethan notices that Serena is quieter than usual as they go through their ritual. He doesn’t bring it up, but keeps a close eye on her, ready to talk if and when she feels ready.

Cuddled up on the couch after dinner, watching some brain-numbing show, is when Serena decides it's a good time. She pushes herself off of Ethan’s chest and sits criss-cross applesauce as she turns to face him. Her hands are in her lap, fidgeting in nervousness, internally trying to hype herself up.

Ethan places one hand over hers in a reassuring gesture, patiently waiting for her to speak.

“I’ve, uh—” Serena clears her throat. “I’ve been having some management challenges. Senior personnel in other departments have created a hostile work environment that isn’t letting me adequately step into the role as Head of the Diagnostics Team.

“There is no level of trust and this is shown day in and day out, in any decisions I make; I receive constant pushback, refusal to cooperate, and at times, am completely ignored.”

Serena’s heart is hammering in her chest and her palms are sweaty as she waits with bated breath for Ethan’s response.

“Tension is never one-sided. Be careful and cognizant of how you are treating others as well.”

Serena is taken aback. “That’s not me and you know it. There was practically no handover period, let alone adequate training. I was left to my own devices. Everyone assumed I would ‘figure it out,’ but it seems to have been forgotten by literally everyone that I don’t have anything to base this on in order to ‘figure it out!’”

Ethan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that what this is about? I can’t just give you handouts because you’re my girlfriend.”

“When have I ever asked you for a ‘handout?’” Serena stands from her spot on the couch. “Why are you being so unsupportive? Don’t join the ranks of the people who think I slept my way to the top,” Serena says, a challenge in her tone.

Ethan is stunned into silence, bewilderment in his eyes.

The tension between them fills the penthouse, engulfing them in a silent standoff, neither backing down.

Until Ethan says something that completely breaks Serena’s resolve.

“Maybe you’re not mature enough to handle this yet. Perhaps I should have given the team to Tobias.”

Ethan’s statement is coming from a place of hurt, her previous flippant remark cutting deep, as if his greatest fear concerning their relationship is becoming a reality. But it is also coming from a place of mentorship, invoking the “tough love” tactic he is so renowned for. The tone reminiscent of the very first day they met, following the thoracotomy in the waiting area.

Tough love that pushes her to be better, to reach the staggering heights he knows she’s capable of, to fulfill her full potential.

But all Serena wishes for is the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She wishes she hadn’t said anything at all, that there was a time machine that would take her back. Because how foolish of her to assume that Ethan could set aside his role as Chief to be the loving and supportive boyfriend she needed, not only in this moment, but also in the past four months.

"You single-handedly tore a wound that I've been bleeding from ever since. I wasn’t confiding in you as Dr. Harlow; I was confiding in you as Serena. As a woman who, in that moment, needed the man she loved to love her.

Ethan is utterly horrified by the conversation from a couple months back and he grows ever more appalled with himself as Serena continues to put her feelings into words — yes, taking over as Chief was a bigger task than he had anticipated, but how could he not have noticed her cries for help?

*"What about us?"

Of all the thoughts and emotions swirling within him, this is the only one Ethan cares about right now.

“What about everything we’ve been through?” Ethan presses.

"You told me that you don't need me to take care of you. I realize now that I threw myself on the fire to keep you warm, but you'd say that you never asked me to. So I'll keep myself warm from now on."

“What am I supposed to do? I don’t want to lose you.”*

The words come out jumbled, rushed beyond measure, as if they'd be lost to time forever if Ethan didn't get them out right that instant.

His heart is beating like a hummingbird's wings, but it stops dead in the next second.

"You've been too distracted to realize that you've already lost me a long time ago.

But you got what you wanted after all — this is Tobias' team now.”

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #playchoices #choices open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey open heart #dr ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan fic

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mesillusionssousecstasy · 9 months

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TSITP 2x07 - "Love Affaire" : Review

It was finally looking like a summer vibe type of episode.

Did anyone notice that in this episode we didn't have any Belly's POV / voice-over. I would have loved to have her thoughts on the kiss she shared with Jeremiah.

I was honestly shock by Laurel attitude toward Belly at the beginning, the slap wasn't necessary.

We got robbed of any Taylor and Steven's moments.

The house plot got resolved quite easily it just needed for Laurel to get sooner to Cousins. Aunt Julia is not to be blamed, but Adam.... I honestly still don't get the necessity of why this character was created in the first place. Even worse the movers move all the stuff from the house to replace them exactly in the same place again? Very convenient. As for Adam I will become homeless with his solution? Isn't the principal house in Boston also full with Susannah's memories?

I'm glad that Belly and Conrad got to talk and appeased the situation.

I'm also glad that Jeremiah and Conrad got to talk on the beach and share thoughts. To have a mature conversation for once.

I loved every touching moment between Jeremiah and Belly, and there were a lot.

I would have loved for Belly to confess the feelings she has about Jeremiah to Conrad, but maybe not just before a super important examen.

I honestly cried during Laurel and Susannah's flash back. It was emotionally intense.

I really didn't see the bromance coming between Steven and Conrad.

Belly and Steven's moment was nice in this episode.

We finally learned that we are currently in June, because the 4th of July has not yet passed.

Furthermore, I firmly believe that it's Belly last time at the Cousins house during this season. The way she looked at the front of the house when Jeremiah drive them away.

Then it was the best part where Jeremiah got to show Flinch College to Belly. The complicity of those two together is phenomenal. The way they were flirting but without getting in not to hurt each other. He is definitively her best friend, the boy she knows better than anyone else. The ideal partner that every girl wants in their life. And during the tour, we could really see a glimpse of their future together on the campus as boyfriend and girlfriend. The all scene made me think about an ad for "Abercrombi & Fitch".

And then the moment that everyone was waiting for since the beginning of the season finally happened, but everything made it more messy, because finally everything was settled and went "back to normal", but Belly decided to kiss Jeremiah in Brown and not during their tour in Flinch, creating this all mess in the first place. In a way, I think she did it because she became aware of what she could have during their journey back to Brown and she couldn't miss her chance. She wants Jeremiah and the future they will have as she told him so well inside the Volleyball court. I really could picture them there living a beautiful couple life. But then Conrad caught them, that's why Belly was wearing the Brown sweat, never exchanging it with the Flinch sweat, as a foreshadowing that Conrad is still there. As for the kissing part on the Ranger Rover, some people are saying that's Conrad's car, but I honestly don't see the point in it, because I'm pretty sure that the true owner of the car is their father who had the money to buy this type of car in the first place.

As for the kiss it was very hot, the most intense kiss two characters has shared in this series. Jeremiah was true to his world, he really couldn't stop kissing her and touching her too. At one point, I thought he would put down Belly on the front of the car and take her here and there (oh my mind.... what are you doing to me). But Conrad appeared at the wrong time and the wrong moment.

As for the cliffhanger it's really a kind of season's ending scene. I could honestly see this episode to be the last before season 3.

#tsitp thoughts #tsitp season 2 #tsitp 2 #tsitp #tsitp 2x07 #love affaire #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty season 2 #belly x jeremiah #belly x jeremiah x conrad #team jelly #where are taylor and steven #tsitp review

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greenteabtch · 9 months

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don’t know what the MQ entails but I’m nosy haha.. what does Lucille get up to after the main quest?? does she go home?

Oh my goddddd i’m still reeling!

She opted to save her 10 year old son Shaun in the capacity he existed in (such strange words for a reason) and obliterated the Institute with the help of the Minutemen.

Though I really revel in destructive characters and definitely see her trying to work with the Brotherhood of Steel to satisfy the anger brewing after her loss, I wanted to accommodate her well intentioned nature by letting Nick influence her for the better. He convinces her that like himself, she doesn’t need to be a testament to her past circumstances and can make the choice to act mercifully, though justly.

She started the story alienated and lonely in her marriage, and spent her journey through the wasteland finding power in her own physical strength/intimidation (and to an extent, her brutality). Discovering the reason her husband was killed and Shaun was taken engulfed her with the need for vengeance.

Luckily, seeing communities form, synths gain independence, and the commonwealth become a place of peace thanks to her actions made her realize that she wasn’t the same forgotten person she once was. And she remembered something important about her old life: she’s compassionate.

For now, she still has work to do! Now that her son has returned to her side, she’ll make a home for herself in Diamond City, the center of the Commonwealth! Nick will continue to be Boston’s greatest Detective (and now Dad + HUSBAND WOAH 😳) and the pair of them will continue to do good deeds as they come for the Minutemen. With Dogmeat, of course hehe.

The movers and shakers in the Wasteland always have need for a butcher like her 🫣 (channeled into more honorable deeds than self-service, thankfully)

Whether its helping Deacon and Desdemona continue to liberate Synths of their Institute ties, or doing what it takes to beat back the Brotherhood of Steel, there’s no doubt Lucille has interwoven herself into the fabric of the broken beaten and damned Commonwealth people.

As for the companions, I doubt she’s met them all! But the friends she began with truly became her confidantes. Nick, Piper, and Preston remain at the top of the list, with the good fellows of Good Neighbor and the Railroad staying close as odd couple allies.

After rejecting Danse and the Brotherhood, though, the two have vowed never to meet again, lest their differences lead to bloodshed. Will that happen? Who can say…

That’s all I know for now— at least till i play the dlcs and get a redo on all these companions! I definitely missed so many personal quests and opportunities to learn more. I can’t wait to see what happens next 💕 thank you for asking jay ❤️❤️

#asks #lucille fraiser

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arabellaflynn · 9 months

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I've been in my new place for about two weeks now, otherwise known as 'long enough to decompensate'. Despite taking apart all my standing racks and piling all my shit up in the living room, neither of the other roommates noticed I was leaving until the night before, when the Useless Narcissist asked if I was moving.

"Yes."

"Oh, when?"

"Tomorrow."

Stunned look. "Why?"

"Because neither of you pay your rent on time."

(Note that I had been telling them for the past two months that I could not continue fronting the rent for everyone indefinitely. The landlord insisted on having the check by the first but didn't cash it until some random time between the 15th and the 25th of the month. Both roommates had gotten around to giving me the money later and later -- for June, the Useless Narcissist paid me just over a week late, and the other one was two weeks late.)

Indignant look. "Oh come on! I paid you back every time!"

"That's not really the same thing."

Appalled look. "What are we going to do about this month?"

"Beats me."

(I might have had a more sympathetic response had he not asked me this on the second of July, having apparently assumed that I had just gone ahead and paid everyone's rent for them, so as not to bother him with piddly things like deadlines.)

I used the same movers I called the last time, because I'll be damned if I carry the heavy shit myself ever again. They were pretty surprised when they showed up. Apparently by moving company standards, I was almost psychotically prepared. What do I do when I know I'm about to move? The same thing we do every night, Pinky! Try to take over the world Buy more giant plastic bins and start heaving shit into them. It's not a complex plan. The Useless Narcissist had been unsuccessfully "moving" for like the past two and a half months and had had all of his crap heaped up in our living room the whole time; I considered asking him to shift some of it out of the way, but decided I didn't feel like dealing with the temper tantrum. The path of least resistance was buying colored duct tape for all the bins and boxes and hanging big tags on all my luggage, so that's what I did. They're green. The movers were almost confused when they brought up the giant roll of plastic wrap and realized they didn't need it, because I don't really own furniture that doesn't come apart for transport, and I'd just packed all the rat's worldly possessions into his cage and then zip tied it shut.

Predictably, the landlord messaged me a few days later to say he hadn't gotten the rent check that month. I said I was sorry to hear that, but I didn't live there anymore, and gave him the phone numbers of the two remaining deadbeats so he could pester them for money. I have no idea if they've paid him or not, because this is no longer my problem.

The new place is back in the same area where I landed when I first moved to Boston, in a sprawling field of Edwardian houses where nothing is plumb or level. The hardwood floors are flat as a funhouse mirror. I'm a reasonable walk or bus ride from all my old haunts, and I am pleased to note that a sushi place I used to patronize is actually still around. Not that I'll be eating there anytime soon -- I bought the last couple of things I had grant money earmarked for, and I'm back to pretending I'm flat broke, just now with 2-3 months rent in savings. The groceries list is back up on Amazon now that I have a stable address again. If it lands on my porch, great; if not, I know where the supermarket is.

Cheese, it turns out, does not travel well. At all. Getting him out here was a ten minute walk to the T, three stops on the train, and a ten minute walk to the new house, and he spent all of it trying to beat his way out of the carrier with his wee little skull. Fortunately, I'd already replaced the plastic mesh in that thing with metal window screen he couldn't chew through as easily, or the Green Line might have acquired an extra rat. He also did not enjoy going to the vet that weekend to see if she had any better ideas on how to stop him going hnorp all the time, which she didn't. A lot of his discomfort was probably because outside is hot and muggy and full of grass pollen. (To be fair, a lot of my discomfort is also because outside is hot and muggy and full of grass pollen. I just have access to allergy meds on demand.) He still has a continuous sniffle, but inside a climate-controlled room it's more 'kind of an annoying snoof' than 'terrifying shortness of breath'. At this point, I've just concluded that it is what it is, he's probably going to make a hnorp noise for the rest of his life, it's probably fine.

We moved in on the afternoon of the 3rd and Cheese spent the night hiding in a box, mostly because he had thrown himself around his carrier so hard he hurt one of his feet. I tried to keep him from climbing too much, but when I opened the door on the 4th for breakfast, he scaled me and decamped on the roof of the cage, refusing to come down for love or money pudding. I don't so much care if he wants to be on the roof of his house as I want him to not throw himself off the roof of his house, and since he shows no signs of wanting to jump, I've just given up. I opened the top door and hung a strategic hammock so he could get up and down without my help. He can be tall if it makes him feel better.

The Fourth was stormy here. I spent most of the day unpacking with a migraine so catastrophic I didn't realize that was what it was until it was over, despite having to stop and lay face-down on the floor several times to keep myself from throwing up. Fun thing about migraines, they subject the part of your brain that solves problems to rolling brownouts, which makes dealing with them difficult. I just kept running through the food-water/electrolytes-caffeine-meds checklist over and over, hoping that one of those things would fix the problem. None of them did, although my attempt at dinner did teach me that there's a really good fried chicken place nearby, and Cheese appreciated the bones.

(Cheese has regained most of the weight he dropped when he went off his food during the first round of Baytril. He ate almost an entire pudding cup by himself while I was unpacking. That's 70 calories of pudding, according to the package. I don't know that he needs 70 calories total, per day. I am impressed by both his determination and his stomach capacity.

He has decided that his favorite kind, by a country mile, is butterscotch. This is a bit of a problem, because that flavor is currently unobtanium. It's been out of stock everywhere for weeks. Is the world's only source of cheap artificial butterscotch flavoring located deep in Ukraine? I do not know. The only way to get him more of it was to order a case on Amazon, so $20 of my grant money went to buying pudding for my incredibly picky free rat.)

I divested myself of surprisingly little when I moved this time. I went through the same thing I did when I moved to Boston originally, where I looked sadly at all my "fun" clothes and makeup before tossing them, and then realized that I couldn't -- I actually used that for work. I still have the nagging feeling that anything I enjoy is expendable. That's what being an adult is, isn't it? Having to choose between things you enjoy and things you need, and understanding that your happiness is less important than everything else. But I like my bins of makeup and costumes and props and electronics, and I use all of them to make money one way or another. The lack of conflict is frankly destabilizing.

The last tenant still had a king-size mattress here when I came to look at the room. They offered to get a TaskRabbit to haul it to the curb, but I was like no, no -- I don't want to move a bed either, just leave it. The most convenient solution was to just make Amazon magic a new frame onto the porch. The bed is so big. The biggest futon I ever bothered buying was a Full. I spent a whole three-tenths of a second trying to figure out which way the bed should face before realizing it didn't matter, because a King is basically square. I shoved it into a corner, put some sheets on, and built a nest. Being an adult is also getting to decide that making the bed is for chumps, and I can sleep in a pile of miscellaneous pillows and chenille blankets just fine. I'm so used to being on a Twin that it took me about a week to stop sleeping curled up on the edge.

I bought an 18" frame and it's lifted on 8" risers. Mostly I did it so I could store a bunch of luggage under there, but it also gives me almost enough space to sit upright next to all the suitcases. Which sounds like I'm trying a little too hard to be quirky until you realize I've just started a project that will eventually require me to record a voiceover, and the quietest spot in my room is almost certainly going to be underneath the giant cushion.

I have the rest of July to do pretty much whatever I want. I'm not not looking for work, but I'm aware that there isn't likely to be a lot of it until the fall season starts. Someone asked me to work a private event at the end of the month, and I actually got to sit and think about if I felt like taking the gig, rather than taking everything I'm offered and figuring out how to make it work. I'm absolutely terrified that now that I've committed to paying the higher rent, the work will all suddenly vanish. I have no idea why I think that. As soon as people realized I could run things in the tech booth, they all trampled over each other to book me. My calendar says I worked on 15 events in 16 weeks, in capacities ranging from "show up with camera" to "perform multi-hour live set" to "camp in booth and run literally everything except the lights". And I don't run the lights mainly because I don't own the widget that talks to them via USB, and I'm not really comfortable trying to work a manual board and QLab at the same time. (I was told that the software license for the USB doodad was $1000+, but I'm seeing open source hardware/software combos on Amazon for about $300ish? I don't know what the difference is, and I'm not prepared to buy one until I do.)

Whenever I have a long stretch of time to do "whatever I want" that almost always translates to "have the breakdown I've been putting off the whole time I was required to do things whether I wanted to or not". I'm really good at just gritting my teeth and surviving/ignoring stressful situations until I can extricate myself -- see: my entire childhood -- but the downside is that when it's over I get to feel all the horrible consequences at once. It's a lot like pumping yourself full of stimulants to power through a difficult day. It works by borrowing resources from future!you to keep present!you functional. I start panicking over really random, non-sensical things, tiny problems that can be easily fixed if any of them even exist in the first place. I hate this and the only way I can really deal with it is keep it tightly locked up whenever I have to talk to people, then go home and hide until I can human again. It's not fun, but at least now I can do it in the air conditioning.

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#IFTTT #Blogger #Unsolicited Advice

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lilymoonstars · 2 years

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How do I love thee?

Chapter 1 - New Beginnings

Note: This story will be centred around female parker and male Cas. This will also contain spoilers so please proceed with caution!

The afternoon sun blazed bright in the sky. The autumn leaves aglow, making a crimson canopy of fire as you drove along the sleepy New England roads. It was clear to see how Crimson Beech had got its name. You sighed as grassy fields passed you by, already feeling a lifetime away from your life back in Boston. After your dad had left you, it had just been you and your mum in your tiny two-bed apartment. She’d thrown herself heavily into her work to help keep a roof over your heads and it was bound to catch up with her at some point. As it turned out that was 2 months ago. Your mum loved her job as a medical examiner, but she also loved a mystery. There had been several times you’d had to drag her home from her office at midnight or peel newspaper clippings from her face as you ushered her off to bed. This had led to several delays with her cases, which then led to her butting heads with her supervisors. Tensions reached a boiling point when your mum had refused to close a case, a decision that meant you now found yourselves on the way to Crimson Beech. This new job had appeared just when you needed it, a brand-new start. She hadn’t been able to talk about anything else. Resting your head against your window, you wished you could share her enthusiasm. You were starting your senior year in a small new town, in a small new school. Great. As if being the new girl wasn’t already hard enough, you had to do it in a town where everyone had known each other since they were in diapers.

“Not long now Parker,” your mum said looking over from the driver’s seat. “You’ll love the new house. The yard is even big enough for us to get that dog you always wanted.” Her eyes began to shine with unshed tears. “This is it, Parker. The new start we’ve been waiting for, I can feel it.”

With a half-hearted smile, you turned towards her. “I really hope so, mum.”

“Aaaand! Think of all the friends you can make!”

She was practically vibrating with glee. Rolling your eyes, you huffed a laugh and turned to stare at the ocean. Furrowing her brow your mum continued.

“Parker, it’s your senior year and about time you started enjoying yourself. I know you’ve had to step up since your dad left, but you can’t spend your whole life worrying about me.”

“Mum, we’re a team. We look out for each other, always,” you said as you took her hand.

She squeezed your hand back tight, “always.”

***********************************************

Dusk settled overhead as you pulled into your new driveway. The house was nestled at the end of the lane, a stone’s throw from the forest’s edge. It was surrounded by identical looking two-story homes, complete with white picket fences. It was a long way from your small apartment in Boston.

“Come on, we’ll take a box each and be done in no time,” Your mum called from the porch steps.

The first floor was mostly taken up by the kitchen diner, a small breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the living room. On the opposite side of the house, just to the right of the front door was a small alcove surrounded by windows. The evening sun filtered through the and you could see a handful of stars in the night sky. The high ceilings in the room were accented with wooden beams, giving the house a homey feel.

Making your way up the stairs, you headed to the room at the end of the hall. It wasn’t overly large, but it was yours. You walked in, wheeling your suitcase along the wooden floorboards. The movers wouldn’t be here until tomorrow, but you’d kept the most important things with you. Unzipping the case, you pulled out a picture of you and your mum and placed it on your bedside table. It had been taken a few years ago on Halloween. You’d both dressed up as vampires to go see Dracula at the theatre. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, you thought most other people would do the same. It turned out they did not and you two had been the only ones in fancy dress, leading to a lot of strange looks being thrown in your direction for the rest of the evening. You had both laughed so hard, tears had streamed down your face, making your make-up run.

Next, you carefully untangled your fairy lights and strew them across the window ledge above your bed. Your mum had given you them when you had been much younger. You were able to put them up on an evening after your dad put you to bed and to roll them up quickly on a morning and hide them in your closet. You had been terrified of the dark as a child, something which you were still scared of to this day. The darkness made you feel claustrophobic and vulnerable. It had frustrated your dad to no end and his solution had been to lock you in your room without any light to help you “conquer your fears.” No matter how much you screamed, he’d refused to open the door. You don’t think he did it to be cruel, but it was something that at the age of 6, you couldn’t understand and only served to help your fears grow.

On the wall to the right of your bed hung a cork board that was littered with photos, mostly of you and Tessa. You had been best friends since your school years and were inseparable. She was your sister in all but blood and leaving her behind was the worst part of the move. In typical Tessa fashion she had invited herself to come and stay with you, a demand rather than a request. You didn’t know if one town was enough to contain all of her excitement. You moved to unpack the rest of the suitcase. The last few personal touches making the space feel more like your own.

Exhausted, you collapsed backwards onto your bed, scrolling through your phone. Most messages were from people you knew you’d never hear from again, wishing you well and hoping “to stay in touch.” You kept going until you saw a message from Tessa.

“Hey P! Safe travels, let me know when you get there. T x”

“Hey Tessa, arrived in one-piece 😊 x”

“About time P! I was about to call a search party to find you!”

You rolled your eyes at her, at least you could count on Tessa to be the same. “Ever the drama queen T? I’ve only been gone half a day”

“But it was the longest half day of my life 😔 How are you settling in?”

“Haven’t seen much of the town yet, but the house is lovely, it’s just at the edge of the woods. It’s so pretty.” You went to the window and sent a quick picture.

“Small towns always hide something, plenty of things to go bump in the night! But that does look cuute! You’ll have to take me exploring when I come visit ❤”

“You’re starting to sound like my mum Tessa 😉 but for sure, once we’re all settled, you better get your ass down here!”

“Just try and stop me! Catch you later Parker x”

Placing your phone on the nightstand you got ready for bed, switching on the lights on the windowsill. You lay there for a moment, thoughts drifting

Nerves swirled in your stomach as your mind turned towards your new lives here. You were anxious for yourself but mostly though you worried for your mum. She needed this and you only hoped she’d stick to doing her job this time. Placing your phone on the nightstand you got ready for bed, switching the lights on by your windowsill as you went. Shadows danced around the room, mimicking the thoughts in your mind as you drifted off into a restless sleep.

Notes:

You can also follow the story here: How do I Love Thee? - Chapter 1 - MemphisBelle - Choices: Immortal Desires (Visual Novel) [Archive of Our Own]

Hope you enjoyed chapter 1!

#choices: immortal desires #immortal desires #choices stories you play #Parker Reese #cas harlow #gabe adalhard #spoilers #non canon #HDILT?

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anand07723 · 23 hours

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Beantown Moving Company: Your Trusted Partner for Local and Long-Distance Moves in Boston

Welcome to Beantown Moving Company, your premier choice for professional moving services in Boston and beyond. With a commitment to excellence and a dedication to customer satisfaction, we specialize in providing seamless and stress-free moving experiences for individuals and families relocating locally or across the country. Whether you're moving to a new home, office, or apartment, you can trust Beantown Moving Company to handle every aspect of your move with care and professionalism.

Moving Company Boston: Expertise You Can Rely On

As a leading moving company in Boston, Beantown Moving Company has earned a reputation for reliability, efficiency, and personalized service. Our team of experienced movers is fully licensed, insured, and trained to handle all types of moves, from residential to commercial. Whether you're moving across town or across the country, we have the expertise and resources to ensure a smooth and successful relocation.

Our comprehensive range of moving services includes packing, loading, transportation, unloading, and unpacking, all tailored to meet your specific needs and budget. We understand that every move is unique, which is why we take the time to listen to your requirements and develop a customized moving plan that works for you. With Beantown Moving Company, you can rest assured that your belongings are in capable hands from start to finish.

Moving Company: Your Partner for Stress-Free Moves

Moving can be a daunting and stressful experience, but it doesn't have to be. At Beantown Moving Company, we're committed to making your move as smooth and hassle-free as possible. Our team of friendly and professional movers goes above and beyond to ensure that every aspect of your move is handled with care and attention to detail.

From carefully packing and wrapping your belongings to safely transporting them to your new location, we take the stress out of moving so you can focus on settling into your new home or office. Whether you're moving locally or long-distance, you can trust Beantown Moving Company to deliver exceptional service and peace of mind every step of the way.

Moving Company Local: Your Neighborhood Moving Experts

As a locally owned and operated moving company, Beantown Moving Company understands the unique challenges and opportunities of moving in the Boston area. Whether you're moving within the city or to a nearby neighborhood, we have the knowledge and experience to navigate the local streets and ensure a smooth and efficient move.

Our team of local movers is familiar with the nuances of moving in Boston, from navigating narrow streets to coordinating with building management and parking authorities. We take the time to plan every aspect of your move in advance to minimize disruption and ensure a seamless transition to your new location. With Beantown Moving Company, you can trust that your move will be handled with care and professionalism from start to finish.

Conclusion: At Beantown Moving Company, we understand that moving can be a stressful and overwhelming experience. That's why we're committed to providing reliable, efficient, and personalized moving services to help make your move as smooth and stress-free as possible. Whether you're moving across town or across the country, you can trust Beantown Moving Company to handle every aspect of your move with care and professionalism. Contact us today to learn more about our services and discover how we can make your next move a breeze.

#moving company boston #moving company local #moving company

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seosharks · 6 days

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All About Premier Boston Moving Company For Seamless Relocation Solutions

Moving to a new place can be both exciting and stressful. The excitement of starting fresh in a new location is often overshadowed by the daunting task of packing up your entire life and transporting it to a new destination. That's where the premier Boston Moving Company comes in. With years of experience and expertise in providing top-notch moving services, we are committed to making your relocation experience as smooth and stress-free as possible.

Whether you're moving locally within Boston or embarking on a long-distance journey, our team of skilled and professional movers is here to assist you every step of the way. From the initial planning stages to the final unpacking at your new home, we as a reliable movers in Boston handle every aspect of the moving process with utmost care and efficiency.

One of the key factors that set us apart as the premier moving company in Boston is our unwavering commitment to customer satisfaction. We understand that each move is unique, and we tailor our services to meet the specific needs and preferences of our clients. Whether you require full-service packing and moving or just need assistance with loading and transportation, our affordable moving services Boston have the expertise and resources to accommodate your requirements.

Our team of experienced movers is well-trained in the art of packing and handling belongings of all shapes and sizes. Whether it's delicate china or bulky furniture, local moving company Boston treat each item with the same level of care and attention to ensure that everything arrives at your new home in pristine condition. We use high-quality packing materials and techniques to safeguard your belongings against damage during transit, giving you peace of mind throughout the moving process.

In addition to our exceptional packing and moving services, we also offer a range of supplementary services to make your relocation experience even more convenient. From furniture assembly and disassembly to storage solutions, we have the resources to handle all your moving needs with ease. Our goal is to alleviate the stress and hassle of moving so that you can focus on settling into your new home and exploring your new surroundings.

At the premier long distance moving company Boston, we understand the importance of transparency and communication throughout the moving process. From the moment you request a quote to the final delivery of your belongings, our team is readily available to address any questions or concerns you may have. We provide clear and accurate estimates upfront, so you know exactly what to expect without any hidden fees or surprises along the way.

As a locally owned and operated business, we take pride in serving the Boston community and building long-lasting relationships with our clients. Our reputation for excellence in moving services has earned us the trust and loyalty of countless homeowners and businesses throughout the area. Whether you're moving into a new apartment in the city or relocating your office to a different neighborhood, you can rely on us to deliver exceptional service every time.

As the premier Boston Moving Company, we have the experience, expertise, and dedication to make your relocation experience a seamless and stress-free one. From local moves to long-distance journeys, our team of professional movers is committed to providing top-notch service that exceeds your expectations. Contact us today to learn more about our moving services and experience the difference firsthand.

#long distance moving company Boston

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stairhoppermovers-boston · 28 days

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Boston Area Mover's Tips and Tricks to Streamline Your Move

Moving can be a daunting task, especially in a bustling city like Boston. Whether you're relocating within the city or moving to Boston from another area, proper planning and organization are key to a smooth transition. Boston area movers understand the unique challenges of navigating through the city's narrow streets and bustling neighborhoods. To help streamline your move, here are some tips and tricks to consider. Declutter Before Packing Before you start packing, take the time to declutter your belongings. Boston local movers recommend sorting through your items and getting rid of anything you no longer need or use. This not only reduces the amount of stuff you have to move but also makes unpacking easier at your new place. Donate, sell, or dispose of items responsibly. Pack Strategically When packing your belongings, Boston's best movers suggest packing strategically to make unpacking easier. Start by packing items you use infrequently and label boxes clearly with their contents and the room they belong to. Use sturdy boxes and packing materials to protect fragile items during transit. Plan Ahead Planning ahead is crucial for a successful move. Boston area movers recommend creating a timeline leading up to moving day, including tasks such as changing your address, transferring utilities, and scheduling professional movers. Make sure to book your movers well in advance, especially if you're moving during peak season. Take Care of Logistics In a city like Boston, logistics can be challenging. Boston local movers advise considering factors such as parking restrictions, building regulations, and elevator reservations when planning your move. Communicate these details with your moving company to ensure a smooth and efficient process on a moving day. Consider Hiring Professionals While DIY moves may seem cost-effective, hiring professional Boston area movers can save you time, stress, and even money in the long run. Experienced movers have the expertise and equipment to handle your belongings safely and efficiently, navigating through Boston's streets with ease. Utilize Storage Solutions If you find yourself in need of temporary storage during your move, consider utilizing storage solutions offered by Boston local movers. They often provide short-term storage options to accommodate your belongings until you're ready to move them into your new home. This can be particularly helpful if there's a gap between moving out of your old place and moving into your new one. Label Essential Boxes Before you start packing, designate a few boxes for essential items you'll need immediately upon arrival at your new home. Boston's best movers recommend labeling these boxes as "Open First" and packing them with essentials such as toiletries, a change of clothes, bedding, and kitchen essentials. Keep these boxes easily accessible during the move so you can quickly locate them when needed. Bottom Line Moving to the Boston area can be a breeze with the right tips and tricks. By decluttering before packing, strategically packing your belongings, planning ahead, taking care of logistics, and considering hiring professionals, you can streamline your move and make the transition smoother. For a stress-free moving experience, consider reaching out to Stairhopper Movers, a trusted moving company in the Boston area, for all your relocation needs.

#Best Movers In Boston #Boston Local Movers

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stairhoppersmovers · 1 month

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What You Need to Know About Local Moving Company Insurance?

Amidst the excitement of moving, there's a practical aspect to consider – ensuring the safety of your belongings during the move. This is where the importance of moving company insurance comes in. Understanding the different types of coverage and what they entail is crucial in choosing the right moving company.

It serves as a protective layer for your items, giving you peace of mind that they're in safe hands. In this article, we'll explore the essential aspects of moving company insurance and how it can be a game-changer in your relocation journey.

The Importance of Insurance Coverage

When you hire a local moving company in Boston, MA, or another place, you're entrusting them with more than just moving boxes; you're handing over memories, valuables, and parts of your life. That's why insurance coverage is not just an additional service; it's a necessity. This insurance acts as a promise from the movers to take responsibility for the safety of your possessions during transit.

Exploring Coverage Options

Local moving companies typically offer various insurance options to cater to different needs. The most basic is the standard liability coverage. This is often included in the service fee ofBoston local moving companies and other ones while also providing minimal compensation based on the item's weight, not its actual value.

For more comprehensive protection, you can opt for full-value protection coverage. While this option comes at an additional cost, it offers peace of mind by covering the full replacement value of damaged or lost items.

Coverage Limitations

While the insurance provided by your movers offers protection, it's essential to understand its limitations. Certain items, like expensive art, jewelry, or heirlooms, may require additional insurance. Also, if you decide to pack your belongings yourself, be aware that the mover's insurance may not cover damages to these items.

Always discuss with your moving company what their insurance covers and any additional coverage you might need.

Making the Right Insurance Choice

Selecting the appropriate insurance coverage involves evaluating the total value of your belongings and your level of comfort with risk. If your possessions include many valuable or irreplaceable items, investing in full-value protection insurance with local Boston movers or other local ones is advisable.

However, if you're moving mostly everyday items, basic coverage might suffice. Remember, the cheapest option isn't always the most beneficial, especially when it comes to the safety of your belongings.

The Process of Filing a Claim

In the unfortunate event of damage or loss, knowing how to file an insurance claim is crucial. Document any damages or losses as soon as you discover them and contact the local movers immediately.

Keep all documentation related to the move, such as contracts and receipts, as these will be essential when filing a claim. The smoother the claim process, the quicker you can resolve the issue and continue enjoying your new home.

Summing It Up

Choosing the right local moving company with appropriate insurance coverage is key to a stress-free moving experience. It's about striking the right balance between cost and the level of protection you need for your valuables. When it comes to making your move as smooth as possible, Stairhopper Movers stands out as an expert local moving company in Boston. They assure you that your belongings are in capable hands, allowing you to focus on the excitement of settling into your new home.

#Local Movers Boston #Local Movers Near Me #Local Moving Company Boston #Local Moving Company Boston MA #Boston Local Moving Companies #Boston Local Movers #Local Boston Movers

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snowbellewells · 1 month

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Self Promo Sunday: "Carolina Moon"

First off, let me say that I know it has been ages, and I am really sorry for that. I sort of lost my muse and my energy - as well as my time to write - there for a bit. I am grateful if you have stuck with me and are ready to see where else this story goes. Finally, FINALLY, I have a new chapter almost edited and proofed and ready to go in the next couple of days, so I thought this week's self-promo might serve as a recap for the story so far to refresh everyone's memory (mine included!) The new chapter should be up in just a day or two, and if all goes well, another by Friday, to then return to my weekly (or closer to it) posting schedule.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this little look back, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Can be read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

#self promo sunday #carolina moon #chapters so far recap #cs modern au ff #cssns23 mc ff #new chapters coming soon

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