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guiltgoreglory · 3 years

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Heat Waves (Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome)

(Very) Brief Summary: Reader is a government contractor joining the team in Benghazi. (Eventual Tanto x Reader) (2,684 words)

Chapter 2

Foreword: In this series, the reader will be loosely based off of Nikita from the TV show Nikita (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikita_(TV_series)). The reader has an extensive background in black-ops and is currently an independent contractor working with the department of defense in coordination with the executive branch. If you have any questions about the character, feel free to reach out to me and I can clarify. The story will generally follow the plot of the movie with the exception of a few scenes. Lastly, the POV will shift throughout the story, a change in POV will be signaled by a line.

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I have a full plot already set up but it has been a long time since I’ve written a fic. I’m so sorry if the writing is kinda shitty but I really wanted to get it down in writing. I hope you like it!

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the headrest, trying to find an ounce of comfort in the cramped seat. The dull hum of the plane was cut through by various murmurs amongst the travelers. After a minute or two, you deemed the effort fruitless, letting out a frustrated sigh. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked out the window, watching as the monotonous view trailed by. For the next several weeks, maybe even months, you’d once again become acclimated to discomfort. This shitty seat is probably as good as it gets, you thought. The department will likely have you shacked up in some storage closet on a grimy 20-year-old cot. You have had worse and at least you’d be occupied.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Silva shift. You turned, watching him from a row back, across the aisle. He grimaced as he took off his wedding ring, putting it into a small metal container. He didn’t appear to notice your gaze as you turned your attention back to the window, the heat already radiating in. You felt sorry for him. Leaving people behind is never easy, especially kids. Luckily, you didn’t have that problem.

As the plane began its descent you skimmed the team comp in your head. You’d been thoroughly briefed on the contractors, on top of all the research you had done on your own. You were joining alongside Jack Silva. A family man in real estate. Pushed to fly back overseas for the money to support his family. From all that you had seen, he’s a good guy. He seemed to be good company. It’ll be nice to not be the only strange face, you thought.

You readied yourself. Benghazi is far worse than most believed. Ever since the department even suggested you might be helpful here, you’d been keeping track of the chaos. It was only a matter of time before it erupted into a full-blown civil war.

As the landing zone came into view you checked your hijab, making sure not a hair was out of place. You wore a casual white button-down shirt with a gray tank top underneath. You unfolded the sleeves, covering as much of your skin as possible. Given the heat, you’d love to run out in something a little more breathable, but the beige cargo pants would have to do. Next, you checked your “cello” case that sat in the seat next to you. Moving the strap towards you for a quick and effortless disembark. Being you had its perks, one of which was bringing some of your own firepower.

You cracked your neck as a familiar ding came over the com.

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

The two men settled into the car, watching over all the civilians walking past. Rone leaned forward, pulling a handgun out of the back of his pants. “It’s loaded.” Jack accepted the gun readily, cocking it within his lap.

“How’s the team here?”

“Good. Three ex-marines, one ex-army ranger. It’ll be nice to have some more team guys around.”

Jack briefly glanced back at Rone. “Guys?”

“Yeah. We’re waiting on one more before we head out.”

“You work with him before?”

“Nope. Defense department assigned her.”

Jack furrowed his brow slightly, pursing his lips in surprise. “Alrighty then, what’s she look like?” Jack looked more intently for another westerner standing out like a sore thumb.

“No idea. I’ve been told that she will find us.”

“Oh how ominous.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lip.

Rone hummed in agreement as he eyed the rearview mirror. Out of the crowd, a body began to beeline towards the car. “Think that’s her.”

Jack nonchalantly stretched, turning towards the back of the car to catch a look.

You approached the dust-covered truck, already craving shade from the burning sun. Your sunglasses did little to protect your eyes from the glare off of the ground. As you got closer, you could see Tyrone eying you from the side mirrors. You adjusted the straps of both your cello case and your duffel, making sure not to make any sudden movements. You made your way to the driver’s side door, turning to face him. “You Tyrone?” you asked, knowing full well it was.

“Yes, Ma’am. And you are?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Hop in.”

You nodded, moving back towards the rear of the car. Swinging the back door open, you threw your stuff onto the ground next to the seat. Leaving just enough room for you to climb in. As you sat down, you angled yourself towards Jack so that you could have a proper introduction. He noticed your movement, turning back to face you. He reached out his hand for a handshake.

“Jack Silva”

You took his hand. “Y/N.”

He settled back into his seat as Rone started the car. “Just Y/N?”

“Just Y/N.” You affirmed.

As Rone made his way through the city they began to catch up, making friendly jabs at each other. You yanked your duffel towards you, rummaging through the various clothes. You could feel Jack’s eyes peeking at you ever so often through the mirror, making sure you weren’t doing anything unsavory. Trust is earned. Finally, you found your shoulder holster. You unbuttoned your shirt, throwing it on the seat beside you. You put on the holster, adjusting the straps as needed so that it sat comfortably. After you were satisfied you again began to look through your luggage, pulling out two black pistols. You loaded a magazine into both of the guns. The sound quickly drew the attention of both men as the conversation briefly paused before they returned to their conversation. You paid them no mind, knowing that any response would probably make them more antsy. You then cocked them before placing them within your holster. Grabbing your shirt, you put it back on, leaving it unbuttoned. It was opaque enough to conceal your firearms as long as no one looked too close.

“So, Y/N,” Rone directing the conversation towards you, “The Defense Department didn’t tell me much about you. What branch you from?”

You turned from watching out the side of the car. “Covert operations.”

That definitely piqued his interest. Jack let Rone do the questioning, but it was clear he was just as curious as him.

“Alright. SEAL Team?”

“Uh, no. It’s a little more complicated.”

“Oh I get it, you’re on some James Bond shit huh.” He chuckled to himself as you smiled and rolled your eyes.

“Pretty much.”

Rone left the questioning there, knowing he’d probably not get much more of an answer, at least not until you’d come to know him a bit better. The two of them shared a look before the car came to a sudden stop.

“Shit. No, no, no, no, no this isn’t good.” Rone’s body tensed as he assessed the situation.

Civilians began to run around the car, whimpering in fear. You straightened up, readying for a shit show. You positioned yourself in the middle of the back, between the two men so you could see as much as possible through the windshield.

“Fuck.” Rone’s discomfort quickly seeped through his cool resolve. “Who the fuck are these guys?”

“What do we got?” Jack stayed still, his eyes scanning over the various armed men.

“Brigade we coordinate with, February Seventeenth Martyrs. This ain’t them.” He looked back past you and he switched into reverse. Moving back a few feet, the path was blocked and the car jolted forward. “Shit we’re boxed in.”

You settled on your knees, carefully unclipping the straps keeping your guns in place, just in case. Both men leaned out of the window. Jack looking up towards the man on the balcony readied to run.

“We bailing?” He asked, voice calm and collected.

Rone, giving no response, pulled out his radio. “Base this is Rone. Come in, over.”

“This is Base, go Rone.”

“I’m in a Jam off Fifth Ring Road. I’m lookin’ at about 8 armed tangos here.”

“Copy that, sit tight.”

“Sit tight, that’s great advice.” Everyone in the car became increasingly more agitated as the armed militia made its way in your direction.

You took a deep breath. “If we’re bailing we gotta do it now.” You glanced at your bags. You could leave the duffel. There wasn’t anything particularly important in there. The case on the other hand couldn’t be lost to a rampant terrorist cell, if you did, the government would be up your ass about it for at least another 10 years. You fidgeted slightly, knowing that the opportunity to flee was about to pass.

Jack clenched his jaw. “They got a KPV.”

Fuck this is bad.

“Base we ain’t got all day.”

“Hey, Rone. They’re trying to get Feb 17 to back you up, but we’re coming.”

Deeming that transmission utterly useless, Rone whipped out his cell. “Oz I’m in a jam of Fifth Ring.”

“Ty.” Jack interjected as the men became uncomfortably close.

“Rone, 17 Feb QRF is being alerted.”

“Fuck that, the only Quick Reaction force I want is my guys.” Without an immediate response, Rone continued on. “Send them. I want my guys.” He said more adamantly.

“Negative, Rone. Just hang in there.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear. I’m looking at multiple radical insurgents with AKs and a 50-cal technical set to blow my rover all the way back to Zimbabwe. Over.”

You watched as a man dressed in a disheveled suit made his way around the vehicles and debris. He’s the big guy.

“It’s not my call, brother.”

Goddamnit. Looks like we’re either talking our way through this, or we go out quick. The thought gave you the slightest bit of comfort.

Rone looked towards Jack frustrated. You could sense he felt an inch of guilt for getting his friend stuck in this hellhole.

“Here we go.” Jack said nonchalantly as he could given the circumstances.

You crossed your arms, giving yourself easy access to your handguns without looking too conspicuous. A man stood at the front of the rover, yelling something you couldn’t understand. He pointed his AK right at you, maybe it wasn’t on purpose but you couldn’t help but mentally scoff. Well, that’s not very nice.

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

The man in front banged on the hood as the leader moved towards the driver’s side window. Jack raised his hands up innocently as Rone smiled at the man.

“Salaam.” Rone raised his badge up to the man in the suit as he gazed at him incredulously. “Libyan visa. Official. Libyan government.” The leader looked him up and down.

The guy with the AK was now in Jack’s face. His gaze shifted forward, doing his best to remain calm despite the barrel of a gun being inches from his forehead.

“Friendly? Hm? Friendly?” Rone again gestured with his badge.

Rone whatever game you’re playing it better fucking work because last time I checked a friend of Al-Qaeda is no friend of ours. You did your best to blend into the back of the car, feigning as the harmless woman.

“Pull over for inspection.” The leader said sternly.

Rone shook his head. “No.”

“Pull over for inspection!” He was now angry, his voice shaking with every word.

Alright, this is how it’s gonna go. You crept your hands slightly closer to your guns.

Rone’s voice remained steady. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

The man at Jack’s door yelled once more. Banging his palm against the dirty surface. Then the slightest movement came from Jack.

It’s showtime. You thought. You gripped your pistols and whipped them forward, pointing them as the secondary soldier positioned at the front of the rover. Jack and Rone acted similarly with Jack’s gun pointed across at the leader, and Rone’s gun pointed at the soldier beside the door. The soldier at the front adjusted his AK, pointing it more fervently towards the car.

“Look up.” Rone pointed towards the sky with his empty hand, never moving his gaze from the leader’s eyes. “Go ahead, look up.” Some of the aggression left the leader as he looked towards the sky, confused. “You see the drone?” The man looked back down. “No? That’s okay. The drone sees you.”

Nice play, Rone. You thought to yourself. A couple of Americans? No problem. We don’t pose that much of a threat. But good ol’ American air support? Now that carries a little weight.

“Sees your face. We know who you are.”

Jack, facing the soldier at his door, swallows hard. Keeping with Rone’s power play, he maintains eye contact.

“If anything happens to us, your home, your family, boom, gone. Give us the order to let us go.”

Jack, looking past the AK in his face, doesn’t flinch as the soldier gestures with his gun.

“I want the car!”

Within a brief moment, Jack and Rone switched their aim, with Jack now pointing his handgun at the soldier and Rone at the leader. You flinched ever so slightly at the movement, but you remained steady, watching for any worrisome movement amongst the militia. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You ignored the harsh metal of the rover digging into your knees. This was your guys’ only shot to make it out of this cramped alley. They had to think your little caravan of three had the power of the entire U.S. military revolving overhead when in reality, you were just three Americans with a couple of guns in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

“No, I’m not gonna do that.” Jack shakes his head, leaning forward towards the man. The energy around the car was beginning to shift. Despite the KPV having enough firepower to destroy your car, and about 5 cars behind you, you three possessed the upper hand. They recoiled at the barrel of your guns, not the other way around.

The leader’s eyes began to soften, his harsh exterior falling at the thought of losing everything. For a moment, you actually pitied him. “I earn the right to decide the future of my country.” You understood the sentiment behind his words. Once again the U.S. had shoved itself into the center of a country, with no right to do so. But you, and the men sat beside you, just wanted to keep others safe. You had no agenda.

“You’re talking to the wrong guy. How willing are you to die for your country? I’m ready to go right here, right now.” Easy, Tyrone. Don’t push it too far.

The leader’s frown deepened as he considered the weight of Rone’s words. He slowly backed away from the car. “Leave here. While you still can.”

You stopped yourself from relaxing your figure even though it felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted off your shoulders. Rone leaned back into his seat, beginning to maneuver the car between the debris. Jack slowly lowered his pistol to the door as the car inched forward. You followed suit and lowered your guns into your lap. You could hear the leader yelling to his men, and their posture relaxed enough to show they weren’t an immediate threat. Air filled your lungs for the first time in what felt like 5 minutes, before you looked behind through the dusty back window, making sure the leader was true to his word and you weren’t about to get shot in the back. You settled back onto your seat, leaning back against the warm metal. You debated holstering your weapons but decided it was best to have them at the ready until you were within the walls of the base.

“We got air support?” Jack’s voice was calm but demanding. You knew the answer to his question but left Rone to give him the bad news. Rone didn’t take his eyes off of the road as he did his best to make it back to base in one piece.

“We don’t have any fucking support.”

#Tanto x Reader #Tanto/Reader #Tanto x Y/N #13 Hours #Pablo Schreiber #Tanto #Kris Paronto #Kris Paronto x Reader #Kris Paronto/Reader

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royallyprincesslilly · 3 years

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Title: Kismet {9}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

The change within you was instantaneous, and your body fought it like a foreign virus. You’d barely slept a wink the night before. You tossed. You rolled. You took up your phone and hovered over Henry’s contact only to put it back down and toss and turn some more. Half of you wanted to talk to him so badly, but the other half wanted you to practice some restraint. There was no happy middle ground, and because there wasn’t, you struggled to find any peace in your mind. By the time you managed to fall asleep, it was one hour before you had to get up to prep for your day. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a message from the culprit to your sleeplessness himself.

MSG Henry: Good morning, beautiful. I didn’t sleep a wink. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I must have picked up my phone ten times to text or call you. It’s torture not being able to hear the one voice you want to hear more than anything.

As soon as you read the words, your heart literally melted, and butterflies filled your belly.

“Christ almighty,” you whispered as your fingers itched to rapid-fire. Before you could catch yourself, you’d already typed out a reply and sent it.

MSG: Good Morning to you too, handsome. I know what you mean. I didn’t sleep either. I almost called you so many times. I think you’re addicting.

You reread the message then groaned at the last sentence.

“Really, Aliya, addicting?” You rolled your eyes hard and pushed to get yourself ready for the day.

By the time you’d left the hotel, he still hadn’t replied, and you regretted responding altogether. So, here you were sitting in one of your four meetings for the day trying to keep your head in the game and your mind off of Henry’s lips, or his eyes, or the feel of his muscular arms around you. It was proving more complicated than it sounded. When you weren’t thinking of his lips, or his eyes, or his arms and kisses, you were overthinking your message and his lack of response.

A little more than halfway in your first meeting, your phone went off, and you had to make yourself slow down and not leap for it. Nonchalantly, you glanced at the screen and saw Henry’s name.

MSG Henry: Addicting, huh? I like that, but you should not be talking. I have been addicted to you since the day you bumped into me.

Any worries you’d had the last few hours melted away, and a smile spread across your face.

MSG: Do tell me more, Mr. Cavill.

Barely a minute passed before another message came in.

MSG Henry: I would rather tell you while looking in your eyes so you can see the depth of which I mean them in my eyes.

You bit your bottom lip and closed your eyes. He was different alright, you thought.

MSG Henry: I’m sorry it took me this long to reply. I’m trying to finish up all business between today and tomorrow. I had to hide my phone from myself, or else I would have been messaging you this entire time.

You couldn’t lie. That felt good to know that he was having as much of a struggle going about his typical day to day tasks as you were. The knowledge of that comforted you, but it also worried you. This thing was still so new. For the duration of your meeting, you texted on and off. It continued as you moved to your second and third meetings, and by then, your focus was shot. The only thing you cared about was what he was saying.

You loved how open he was. He always found a way to describe to you just what he was thinking or feeling while still remaining mysterious enough to have you wondering what he felt and thought. It was interesting. You’d always been able to predict every man that tried to enter your life. You could predict their motives, what tactics they’d use to try to weasel themselves in, and you often could predict how things would end. With Henry, you’d been having a difficult time with those predictions. It bothered you.

By the time you got back to your hotel room, it was nearing seven o’clock. You wasted no time putting your phone on silent to concentrate on a little self-care beginning with a soak in the jetted tub. You did your best to keep your mind open to allow the meditation track you played to really work at loosening the knots in your shoulders and tension in your neck. The stress of your life, mainly from work, was really beginning to show. It had always shown, you just never listened to your body whenever it told you to slow down or take it easy.

Many of your friends and family teased you that you lived to work instead of working to live. There were times you were inclined to agree with them because you didn’t need to work so much to maintain the lifestyle you were accustomed to. You had more money than you knew what to do with. You could afford to take time off to recharge but, you’d lived with the belief that the less time you had to be idle, the better it was for your mental and emotional health. Idle hands, after all, were the devil’s playground. You’d grown so accustomed to working nonstop that you didn’t know how to just do nothing.

After almost two hours in the bath, as you walked into the bedroom, you saw your phone light up. It was an incoming call from Henry. Sighing, you plopped onto the bed, trying to fight back the smile that wanted freedom. The smile won the battle.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you? I called earlier but--.”

“No, I’m awake. I put my phone on silent and took a long bath,” you clarified.

“Ah, that sounds relaxing. Maybe I should try that. I’m feeling this burnout more and more.”

“Those who are serious about their craft work too much.”

Henry sighed softly, and you wondered if there was a hint of mint and Guinness on his lips.

“I don’t want to work tonight,” Henry declared. “Tonight, I want to be with you.”

You dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, do you now?”

“Yes,” Henry confirmed, his voice dropping in baritone. Your belly fluttered, making you press your palm against it.

“Have you eaten?”

“I haven’t,” you breathlessly replied.

“Good. I’ll be around for you in forty-five minutes.”

You sprang upward. “That’s not enough time.”

“Oh no? High maintenance are you?”

You snorted and shook your head, hearing the tease and challenge in his voice.

“Forty-five minutes then, just don’t get mad when I don’t look like pictures in magazines,” you quipped.

“Come as you are.”

Your reflection caught your eye. Because you’d gotten your hair slightly wet in the tub, it was now in a half natural half blown out state, making you look crazy. You doubted forty-five would be enough to tame it.

“See you soon,” you said before hanging up to focus on getting yourself together.

Forty-nine minutes later, you were dressed and on your way down in the elevator. As it made its way down, you assessed your appearance, thankful you were able to straighten your hair again to add a few loose curls. Part of you hadn’t wanted to bother, but you knew the dress you were going to wear would be better complemented with a sleek look. Your eyes skimmed the half sheer and half bodycon black dress you wore, loving that it was the right mix between sexy and classic. You added another layer of your mauve tinted lip gloss and just in time for the doors to open.

It didn’t take long for you to spot him sitting in the lobby where one of the big-screen TVs were placed. He was watching a rugby match. You crossed the black and white designed tiled floors and approached behind him. When you dipped to his ear, his scent almost had a moan escaping you—almost.

“Either, no matter where you are, you gravitate to rugby, or I took too long,” you whispered.

Henry turned, and the moment his eyes landed on you, a dumbfounded look washed across his face. You tried not to bashfully look away as you watched his jaw drop when his eyes took in the full view.

“Wow.”

A giggle that would have been nauseating from someone else slipped from you, making you press your fingertips to your lips.

“You’re breathtaking.”

You smiled, then gently tapped his chest.

“Stop.”

“I’m being completely truthful.”

Those damn butterflies made their presence known once again.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Henry held out a single peony to you. “For you.”

As you took it, your smile widened. “Wow, one of my favorite flowers.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded.

“Hmm, happy coincidence,” Henry replied as he stood and buttoned his suit jacket. Once done, he held out his arm for you. “Shall we?”

You nodded and looped yours with his, ready for whatever the night brought on.

-Henry-

As you sat across from him under the hanging flowers and dim lighting of the restaurant perusing the menu, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It could have been the way the golden light bathed your skin, giving it an almost glowing aura. Or it could have been the soft smile pasted to your subtle painted lips. It could have even been the spell of the restaurant, the classical music playing, and the sweet scent of flowers that surrounded the two of you. Whatever it was, he itched to touch you, itched to get closer, and itched to do nothing but find a way to keep a smile on your face.

“What?”

Realizing you were now looking at him, he smiled back at you.

“Nothing.”

“No, no. That’s a something look,” you said, still not able to not smile.

“It’s nothing,” he repeated.

“Henry, seriously. What is it?”

You reached out and gently slapped his hand, then rested it on top of the table.

“Nothing, really. It’s just—I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of you,” he admitted.

Your smile slipped, revealing a serious expression for a few seconds before you smiled again and dipped your head in a bashful way. Unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, he closed the gap between your hands and took yours.

“Your parents must be proud to have raised such a charming son.”

He smiled, then shrugged. “She has five of them.”

“Bless her heart,” you added, making him chuckle.

A comfortable silence drifted between you as he enjoyed the softness of your hand in his and the way your warmth mingled with his. He could get used to this, he thought to himself. When the waiter returned to the table to pour the chosen wine into your glasses, you pulled your hand away, but he didn’t take offense.

“So, by this time next week, I will be off the grid,” he said after the waiter walked off again.

A quizzical look swept across your face.

“Off the grid? Are you a spy?”

He smiled. “I promise I’m not.”

Another waiter approached the table, this time carrying your selected third and final courses. He thanked the waiter as he laid the plates before you before he retreated.

“You were saying,” you prompted, lifting your dinner fork from the selection of three different ones to your right.

“I’ve earned some much needed R&R.”

With your fork paused at your lips, you smiled. “Oh, that’s great. Congratulations. When was the last time you took a holiday?”

He watched you chew and quickly got lost watching your mouth. It took him several seconds to regain his train of thought.

“Eh-em, uh—perhaps a year and a half, if we are talking about a true holiday.”

“Wow, that’s a long time.”

“What about you?”

You smirked, then scoffed. “Define holiday.”

He returned your smirk then rested his knife and fork atop the braised beef on his plate before he replied. “Time off, no work, nothing that you have to worry about that can cause stress, anxiety, or tension. Oh, and of course, sleeping late, drinking until three or four in the morning, fun every day, and feeling refreshed upon return.”

You smiled as you finished chewing. He watched you take another sip from your glass and knew the wine was only making your lips even sweeter than they already were.

“Ha! Jeez, when you define it like that, it’s been years upon years,” you replied.

“Not good at all.”

You nodded. “Tell me about it.” A soft smile was still on your lips as you placed another forkful of the pan-seared sea bass you were eating.

With those words, a thought formulated in his mind, and it was a thought he wondered if he put words to would you be receptive. The remainder of dinner passed comfortably. Another reason why he couldn’t stop thinking about you and enjoyed being around you was because your conversation was always excellent. There was never any form of discomfort or awkwardness between you. You easily talked about so many things, and the things you said were always thought-provoking and intelligent. While everyone thought you were just a pretty face, you’d repeatedly allowed him to see that the world knew nothing.

His hand was rarely without yours in it, and when he held your hand, you softly raked your fingernails against the palm and fingers. Every time you did it, the goosebumps that raced across his skin sparked a reaction that was visible much, much lower than his hand. Everyone else in the restaurant could have disappeared for all he knew because you’d captivated him and every single one of his senses.

By the time you left the restaurant, it was close to midnight, but you didn’t seem to care what time it was. You held onto his hand as you walked along The River Thames. He often did this late at night when he couldn’t sleep. It was really the only time he could come and not be bothered or recognized because he was more than likely the only one there. Tonight your laughter danced through the air, and the gentle ebb and flow of the water only helped the glistening light from the bridge and neighboring buildings shimmer that much more. It was quite romantic.

You stopped and pressed your back to the iron gating that kept pedestrians out of the river. You stretched your arms out, leaning back as if to really enjoy the gentle breeze.

“It’s a beautiful night,” you sighed out.

Just like that, he drifted closer to you until there were only a few inches between your bodies. When you came upright again, your smile was still bright, even realizing he was so close.

“Are you trying to push me in?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Never.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” he repeated, taking another step to you.

You bit your bottom lip then sucked it into your mouth, and he became even more painfully aware that he hadn’t sampled them since the night before.

“Unacceptable,” he whispered.

“What?”

Reaching out, he cupped your jaw and slid his thumb across your cheekbone while he slowly traced every inch of your face to his memory. When his eyes met yours, he fell another foot or two deep into the quicksand-like pit of his growing feelings for you. He was so close to going under it was alarming.

“It’s unacceptable that I haven’t tasted your lips in over twelve hours.”

He heard a soft gasp escape your lips, and it was the only sound you made before his lips pressed to yours. The only move you made was to entangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The feel of your fingers against his skin brought those familiar goosebumps. He moaned, then pulled you flush against him. The feel of your body against his made his heart thump rapidly, and when you moaned against his lips, the need to consume you took precedence.

When he delved his tongue into your mouth, he was shocked when you swirled yours around his, and the sensual move had him pressing you firmly against the iron behind you. It was out of character for him to do this so wide in the open, but he felt himself doing things that no one would ever guess he would do when he was with you. Your soft nibbled on his bottom lip brought his mind back to the rising dilemma, rising being the operative word.

Pulling his lips from yours, he rested his forehead to yours. Both of you didn’t speak; instead, you were both lost in trying to catch your breath. Long moments passed, and in those moments, he fought to regain his composure. He’d never reacted to anyone the way he reacted to you.

“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice shakier than he’d expected.

Your eyes fluttered open, and he didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, but he swore he saw actual stars in them that put the night sky to shame.

“Where?”

“Away on holiday.”

You pulled back a few centimeters and gazed into his eyes more intently. He watched them dart from his left eye, then to the right and back again. Slowly the stars vanished, and humor replaced them.

“Good one,” you said before you laughed out loud, pulling your body from his.

“Oh my god, you really had me going for a second,” you said through laughter.

You took two steps as if to continue walking, but he laced his fingers with yours and pulled you back before him. You gasped, and the sound of it made him close the space between you again, pressing you onto the iron bars. With his body pressed to yours leaving no evidence of there being two bodies, you moaned, and the sound almost had him capturing your lips again. If he did though, he didn’t know if his hands would remain respectful.

“I wasn’t kidding.”

Your eyes were on his lips, and the desire for you to take control, almost overrode his desire to be in control—almost.

“What?”

“Come on holiday with me, just the two of us, a beach wine somewhere—anywhere.”

He saw the moment you realized he was as serious as a heart attack.

“You’re serious,” you reiterated.

“More serious than I’ve been about anything.”

You didn’t speak for the next minute, but you also didn’t move away. He decided he’d give you the time to consider it.

You scoffed before you spoke. “What? Henry—we can’t.”

“Why?”

You gaped at him as if he were insane.

“Why?” That was when you pulled away from him and took a few steps sideways while still leaning against the gate. “We—we don’t--.”

You looked as if you were wracking your brain for a response, but you also looked like you were trying to catch your breath.

“We don’t know anything about each other.”

He took a step to you. You didn’t move.

“Which is why a private holiday would aid in us getting to know each other—uninterrupted without the pretexts,” he replied.

Your eyes widened before you shook your head then turned to face the water. You peered out silently, baffled. “Henry—we can’t.”

He approached you, and as he leaned against the gate, you looked at him. “Tell me why,” he requested.

“Why—because—I—I don’t do—that,” you stuttered.

“What holidays?”

He saw the exasperation wash across your face before it went blank. You stepped away again, then cleared your throat.

“I have an early flight out tomorrow.”

It was hard not to feel the rejection, but he hid it the best he could. Nodding, he held out his arm for you to take.

“Then let’s get you back to your hotel.”

The entire ten-minute walk, his mind went from one thing to the next. He worried he’d come on too strong, or that he’d said the wrong thing, or somehow offended you. Then he went back and forth with his decision to even ask you. Part of him felt like maybe he was jumping a little too far ahead, but the other part of him felt there was nothing wrong with inviting you especially based on how things had gone the entire night and the vibes he picked up. That made him wonder if he’d read the evening entirely wrong.

When he stopped with you in your hotel's lobby, he was in no hurry to ask you again. He’d begun to feel quite stupid. His hurt feelings needed the night to recover. He took your arm from the crook of his elbow and held your hand. Again, you didn’t pull away. Deciding he couldn't afford to give you the time to, he lowered your hand and stepped away from you.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“T—thank you,” you said barely above a whisper.

He nodded and debated his next move. He took a timid step forward and kissed your cheek.

“Have a safe flight.”

“Thank you.”

This one was a whisper.

“Good night, Aliya,” he breathed out before he quickly kissed your forehead then walked away out the door and down the street without looking back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x black ofc #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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maxattack-powell · 5 years

Text

The Freshman 2-11a

The Freshman Book 2 - 11a Chapter 11: Visitors

***Labeled as 2-11a in my masterlist - new chapters added to include more***

Masterlist - go here for other chapters and related original fics

Disclaimer: The following are fics (adaptations from actual game chapters AND original works) to Choices: The Freshman series. It is a fictional adaptation. I do not work for Pixelberry Studios, the game developer or own the rights to the characters Chris Powell, Nicole or any other IN GAME character. All of the ORIGINAL characters, storylines and events were developed, by me, for this adaptation of The Freshman story.

Comments: I enjoyed playing Choices: The Freshman… But it needed more. I’ve included certain things that aren’t really full fic size in order to add more substance to the story. I ALSO have quite a few full size fics throughout. I wanted to see MC and Chris through their college years, and more… with additional angst, fluff, sweetness, real life and overall detail - so here you go.

Word Count: 10,355

NSFW moments in some chapters - Mature Readers Only Please

Paring: MC x Chris

POV: ~MC~ or ~Chris~

~MC~

The man stands and brushes his sweater before extending his hand. “Hello, MC. I’m Peter.”

He shakes her hand as Kaitlyn's mother steps closer and grasps her hands gently. “And I’m Grace. We’ve heard so much about you!”

MC glances over to Kaitlyn, finding her friends expression unreadable. “You have?”

Grace smiles warmly. “Of course! You're practically all Kaitlyn talks about.”

Kaitlyn gasps. “Mom!”

MC watches as Peter looks around the room, almost as if he was assessing them each, his face holding a small smile.

“And, of course, we’ve heard about the rest of you as well.” He nods to each roommate and they all smile or nod back awkwardly.

Chris steps forward and offers his hand, to which Kaitlyn’s dad politely accepts. “An honor to meet you, sir.”

“I can see where Kaitlyn gets her good looks.” Zack flashes his trademark wide smile at her mother.

Abbie laughs lightly and shakes her head. “Come on you guys, let’s let Kaitlyn catch up with her parents.”

Tyler nods in agreement as he raises his hand to wave goodbye. “Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Liao.”

Everyone says their goodnights and head to their rooms. MC is about to leave too when Kaitlyn’s mom addresses her directly. Her eyes flick to Chris who was hesitating near the hallway.

“MC, from what we understand, you two have gotten pretty close.” She smiles like a happy mother would.

MC sees Chris give her a small smile before bowing his head and turning to continue towards his room. She turns her attention back towards the family in the living room and looks at Kaitlyn briefly, immediately noticing her best friend’s body language, picking up on how uncomfortable she was with her parents dropping in without warning.

She gives them all a friendly smile and moves closer. “More like really close. Kaitlyn has been my best friend since our first day.”

Grace clasps her hands together softly. “I’m happy to hear that she’s made such good friends at Hartfeld.”

“Speaking of good friends, how is Arjun doing? His father said he was excited about the transfer.” Peter turns to face Kaitlyn.

His daughter blanches. “Oh, well…” She spins to look desperately at MC, her face soaked with panic.

Not missing a beat, MC answers for her. “Arjun is doing great!” Her eyes flick to Kaitlyn's briefly, seeing her shoulders relax. “It’s been really cool having him here. He’s a lot of fun.”

Grace smiles. “That's good to hear. He and Kaitlyn go way back, you know.”

Peter actually smiles. “He's a good boy. Incredibly smart, too. Did you know he was treasurer of the National Honor Society when he was in high school?”

Kaitlyn can't help but smile. “You say that literally every time he comes up, Dad.”

MC laughs. “I didn't know that! Good for him.”

Grace smiles warmly at her daughter. “We’re happy to hear that you and Arjun still get along famously.”

Peter nods with a small smile. “We were hoping the three of you would accompany us to see the ballet version of Romeo and Juliet tomorrow.”

Kaitlyn’s face falls quickly, confusion crossing her brow. “The three of us?”

“You, Arjun, and MC.” Her father clarifies.

MC’s eyes widen. “Me?” She looks to Kaitlyn for direction, who gives an almost imperceptible nod. “Of course! I’d be happy to go to the ballet tomorrow. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Wonderful!” Peter smiles and looks lovingly at his daughter.

Her mother yawns. “Pardon me. It’s been a long day, and these late hours don’t agree with us old people.”

Kaitlyn laughs. “I’m just glad I got to see you. We can catch up before the ballet tomorrow?”

“We would love nothing more. We’ve missed you, honey.” Peter steps towards her and gives her a hug.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Kaitlyn sighs.

“Oh, by the way, we brought some of your things from home for you. They’re over by the door.” Her mother gestures towards the a few boxes near the suite door.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Peter nods at her, each taking their turn to kiss Kaitlyn on the forehead.

He gently shakes MC’s hand, waiting as his wife gives her a hug before reaching for her hand before they finally leave. Kaitlyn shuts the door behind them, turns to MC, and lets out such a huge sigh her hair moves around her face.

MC eyes her carefully. “Are you alright, Kaitlyn?”

She frowns. “Yeah… I’m glad my parents are here. Just been dealing with a lot lately.” She picks up one of the boxes by the door and glances at MC. “Help me carry these to my room?”

MC gives her a small smile and nods. “Sure.”

They walk in silence to her room, setting the boxes on the floor when they enter. MC looks around, noticing how things have changed since first quarter. Most of Kaitlyn’s room is the same but certain posters have been removed or replaced. It actually feels more like her raven haired friend than it did when they first moved in. She wonders how much Kaitlyn has hidden from everyone back home. Things she was now starting to feel secure enough to embrace at Hartfeld.

Kaitlyn turns and gives MC a small thankful smile. “Thanks for agreeing to come to the ballet. There’s no way I’ll be able to survive it without you.”

“No problem.” MC gives her an anxious frown. “I kind of got the feeling that your parents are trying to set you up with Arjun though...”

The dark haired girl sighs heavily. “Yeah. It wouldn't be the first time.”

MC tries to lighten the mood. “And you've got to love their choice of ballets! The irony! You may be a Juliet, but you're not exactly looking for a Romeo.”

It works as Kaitlyn laughs for a moment, but then she frowns again, her brow furrowing. She sighs and flops down on her bed. “Ugh. What a crazy quarter.”

MC tilts her head curiously as she sits next to her friend. “What do you mean?”

“I have great friends, I had the starring role in a play, I was finally starting to feel like I could be myself…” Her frown turns angry. “And then all these people from home had to show up and ruin it!”

“Aw, Kaitlyn… Come here.” MC reaches for Kaitlyn and she lets her hold her tight as she starts to cry. “Everything’s going to be fine, I promise. I mean, Arjun already knows, and your parents are just visiting, right?” She gently rubs Kaitlyn's back. “At this point, what else could happen?”

MC leans over, reaching into one of Kaitlyn’s boxes of stuff from home and pulls out a teddy bear, holding it towards her friend as she speaks in a cute stuffed animal voice. “Don't worry Kaitlyn. Everything's gonna be a-okay! You're my bestest friend.”

Kaitlyn cracks a small smile, looking at MC briefly before turning her gaze back to the bear. “Thanks, Mr. Bear.” She lets out a quiet laugh. “You know, seeing him now, Mr. Bear is actually pretty scary.”

MC’s eyebrows raise and she turns the stuffed animal to face her. “What?”

She studies the bear, only now realizing that it has red eyes and matted fur. “Holy crap, Kaitlyn, this is the most terrifying stuffed animal I’ve ever seen.”

Kaitlyn's smile grows. “I know, right? Isn't he cute?”

They both start laughing, but after a moment, Kaitlyn sighs so hard that her hair floats around her face. “One day, my parents are going to find out. I know they will. And I’ve tried hundreds of times to imagine what that’s going to be like, but I honestly can’t. And that’s scary.” Her frown deepens. “What if they disown me?”

MC’s eyes widen. “Do you really think they’d do that?”

Kaitlyn gasps. “I don't know! I don't think so? But the fact that they could scares the hell out of me.”

MC puts her hand on Kaitlyn’s shoulder and gives her a firm side hug. “Hey, we’re all here for you. Chris, Tyler, Abbie, and Zack…” She squeezes her shoulder. “And no matter what, you’ll always have me.” She gives Kaitlyn a reassuring smile.

For the first time in a while, Kaitlyn smiles. “Thanks, MC.” She pulls MC into a tight hug. “I don't know how I ever got by without you.”

After a minute she releases the blonde and gets off the bed to crouch down in front of one of the boxes.

MC watches as she begins to dig. “Why don't you just leave all of this stuff for later?”

Kaitlyn scoffs. “Are you kidding? It would drive me crazy to just leave it on the floor.” She grins as she picks up an item, her eyes going wide. “Plus, there’s all kinds of great memories in here.”

MC stands and joins Kaitlyn as she looks through the box. She pulls out a pile of books, including a sparkly, scented diary. Kaitlyn's mouth falls open in shock as she locks eyes on the flashy item.

“I can't believe they packed that!” She snatches it from MC.

MC looks as equally surprised. “You kept a diary?”

“In middle school I did.” She frowns suddenly. “Oh boy, I hope Mom and Dad didn't read it.”

MC’s eyebrow arches. “Why? What’s in there?”

Kaitlyn smirks. “Want to find out? We can read it together. Could be good for a few laughs…”

“You’d let me read it?” She laughs and grabs the diary. “Yes! I can't wait to see what little Kaitlyn had to say.”

“Don't tease, MC, or I won't let you read it!” Kaitlyn dares her to miss behave with her eyes.

MC clutches the diary to her chest. “I can see it now…” She playfully frowns. “Dear diary, it’s Kaitlyn. I had spinach stuck in my braces all day and nobody told me!”

Her mouth falls open. “I never had braces!”

MC laughs. “Let’s crack this thing open, I’m dying with anticipation.”

The tall blonde sits down on the bed, and Kaitlyn plops down next to her. She peers over MC’s shoulder as she opens the diary to a random page. “I hope there’s nothing too embarrassing in here…”

“We’re about to find out.” MC grins and finds an entry to read.

‘Dear Diary,

Dad rented this lame old movie for us to watch tonight. I think it’s part of his sports thing. Yesterday, he took me to the tennis courts, which I’m AWFUL at by the way. Now, we have to watch some dumb soccer movie with an even dumber name. Seriously? Bend it Like Beckham? What do you even bend in soccer? Ugh, he’s calling me downstairs. Gotta go.

Love,

Kaitlyn.’

Kaitlyn laughs. “Oh, man, I was such a whiner. And dumb, too. Bend It Like Beckham is, like, one of my favorite movies.”

MC turns to the next page and reads.

‘Dear Diary,

Bend it Like Beckham is my new favorite movie!!

Dad wants to sign me up for soccer… I guess I’ll give it a shot.

They make it look really fun in the movie, and it’ll probably get Dad off my case.’

“So, your dad was on your case a lot?” MC turns her head to look at Kaitlyn.

She shrugs. “Kind of. I mean, I knew that my dad loved me…” She frowns slightly. “I was just kind of a loner. He thought a sport would break me out of my shell, you know?”

MC nods. “Yeah, I get that. Did it actually work?”

She lifts her hands as if to weigh options. “Sort of…”

MC flips through a few pages. “Oh! First day of soccer practice, this should be good.”

‘Dear Diary,

I had my first soccer practice today, and guess what?

Soccer sucks! I got kicked in the shin, like, six times.

Plus, Dad wouldn't leave even though it was just practice.

He seemed really happy though. And I made a friend!

Her name’s Mira, and she likes horror movies too!

She invited me over for a slumber party this weekend.

I hope my parents let me.’

Kaitlyn bites her lip and shuffles uncomfortably on the bed and MC instantly notices, glancing over as she watches her movements. “You okay?”

“Yeah… It’s just, I know what comes next.” Her lips turn down at the ends and she swallows hard.

MC suddenly feels like they've read enough, concern for her friend saturating her person. “Oh, well... should we stop?”

Kaitlyn shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “...No, it’s fine. Keep going.”

MC pauses to give her a chance to change her mind, but when her deep brown steady gaze sticks to MC’s hazel ones, she continues. “Okay…” She turns to the next page, takes a deep breath and continues to read out loud.

‘Dear Diary,

Last night was… weird. It started out okay.

Mira’s mom made cookies and we watched a movie.

After her parents went to sleep, though, we played Truth or Dare.

I dared Mira to kiss me as a joke. Only, she actually did it!

It was really fast. But… I can’t stop thinking about it.

Is something wrong with me?’

MC turns and finds that Kaitlyn is not longer peering over her shoulder, but laying on her back and staring up at the ceiling instead. The thoughtful expression mixed with the frustration in her eyes makes MC’s shoulders fall.

“Was that when you realized that you liked girls?” She asks softly.

Kaitlyn's face looks contemplative. “Well, not all at once, but basically, yeah. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders…” Her face quickly falls. “...and the dropped right onto my chest.”

“Well, look at you now. You’ve come a long way since then.” MC smiles gently and lays back next to her, bumping her shoulder into her friends.

Kaitlyn grins then turns to look into MC’s eyes. “Yeah. Yeah I have.”

She closes her eyes for a moment then climbs off the bed while taking the diary from MC, sticking it up on a high shelf before spinning to look at MC with a crazy grin. “Now, let’s stop reading this before you get to my 13th birthday party.”

MC’s eyes comically widen. “What?! Give me that diary!”

Kaitlyn blocks her as she stands from the bed. “Nope. The moment’s passed. Now, come on, help me finish up!”

They laugh as they begin to unpack her things and bond over Kaitlyn’s crazy memories from home. They hang out, chatting late into the night.

Kaitlyn brushes her hands off on her hips after tossing the last box near her door. “And… that’s the last of it. Thanks for helping out, MC.”

MC nods and smiles warmly at her friend. “Anytime. Now, I’m going to bed before I pass out on your floor.”

They say their goodnights and MC steps out into the hall, trying to be quiet as she walks back to her room. Just as she reaches for her door, the one across from her opens gently. She turns to find Chris standing there in a pair of boxer briefs and a white t-shirt, his movements somewhat sluggish.

She smiles and turns to face him. “Hey, sorry… I didn't mean to wake you.”

He gives her a tired grin, his hair a tousled mess, his eyes bright but heavy with exhaustion as he shakes his head. “You didn’t. I uh, wasn't sleeping that well actually…”

Chris looks down towards his toes as he rubs his stomach absentmindedly. “It might be because we didn't get to say goodnight. Kinda part of my routine now, yanno…”

He clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair awkwardly as he peers into her eyes. MC presses her lips tight, trying to hide an impossible smile as she takes a few steps to stand directly in front of him. She reaches up and grabs fistsfulls of his shirt from either side of his waist as she looks into his eyes. Even in the dark she can see the varying shades of blue as his eyes shift back and forth.

“Mine too, Captain…”

They both smirk at the same time and he lowers his hands to run his them down her arms, starting at her shoulders before falling to her elbows.

She studies his adorable sleepy face for a moment before she gets an idea. “How about I tuck you in… will that make it up to you?”

~Chris~

His grin grows twice the size in less than a second and he begins to step backwards, running his hands the rest of the way down her arms to find her hands, locking his wide ones around hers to keep her with him. “Yes, please.”

Chris nudges his door closed with his long legs as he continues to tug her further into the room. Once they reach his bed, he sits down on the edge and pulls her closer so that she standing in between his long legs. He runs his wide, warm hands around her jean clad thighs while leaning his forehead against her stomach.

Nuzzling into her midsection, his eyes close when she begins to run her hands through his hair over and over. He slowly glides his hands up the sides of her hips and lifts the hem of her shirt up slightly, giving his lips access to the soft skin on her stomach. He begins to slowly kiss around her bellybutton, making her flinch slightly on particularly sensitive spots. His breath fans out across her skin and she tenses under him until his thumbs rub soothing circles on her exposed hips.

She lets out a soft tickle induced laugh and grabs both sides of his face, tilting it up to look at hers. “I came in here to tuck you in, Powell…” She says with almost no seriousness to her clearly fake, stern tone.

Chris grins at her and playfully rolls his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

He starts to scoot back and she grabs the covers, raising them while he lifts his long legs up and slides them under. The moment he lays back she pulls the covers up around his chest and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He smiles with anticipation as he lowers his arms on the covers.

Watching her as she leans over, he softly groans as she reaches just enough to run her hand through his hair. She brushes it all up and away from his eyes, making him close bright blue pair automatically. He takes in a deep breath and lets out a sigh, his lips parting slightly. She leans down and softly kisses his forehead, making him smile again while his eyes remain closed. MC slides her hand from his hair, down his cheek and along his jaw as she kisses the tip of his nose. He chuckles lightly, but only for a second before he’s silenced by her lips on his.

He's startled, but only for a moment before he reaches up to run one hand behind her neck, pulling her in as he deepens the kiss. The other hand cups her cheek for a moment before it runs down her neck, his thumb rubbing across her pulse point, easily feeling her increased heartbeat. She moans into the kiss a little which only makes him more eager, his tongue running across her lips, making her gasp into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to slip in, finding her own ready and eager to meet his.

This time he groans and she places both of her hands on his chest to steady herself as he refuses to let her go. After some time silently battling each other for the irrelevant upper-hand, they break contact to suck in a few ragged breaths.

She narrows her eyes at him. “You’re not playing fair.”

He chuckles huskily and shrugs innocently. “I mean… this is your fault, baby. I like my routines.”

She smirks. “Alright, I’ll remember that…” She runs her finger down his face softly, starting on his forehead, down his nose and across his lips. “Goodnight, handsome.”

Chris begins to pout, sticking his lower lip out with extreme exaggeration. She leans down slowly, brushing her lips across his, making him lightly gasp and open his lips, before she softly and slowly kisses him again. His eyes snap shut as she gently sucks on his bottom lip before pulling away.

His eyes gradually open again, lazily studying her face as she raises to sit up straight. The corners of his lips slowly curve as his face begins to look very tired once more, his energy completely gone from the very stressful day.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” He says softly, already feeling the sleep seep into his heavy frame.

~MC~

The leggy blonde drags her fingertips softly down the side of his face, his eyes slipping shut as his breath begins to level out in a pattern of sleep. She sits there for a moment more, studying his face, noticing how his brows slightly pinch together. She lifts her hand to tenderly rub the spot, watching as he relaxes and lets out a out a large breath of air as his entire body softens into the bed.

Chris had finally fallen asleep. MC stands, creeping like a cat as she makes her way to the door, turning one last time to glance back at the gentle giant bathed in moonlight, stretched out across the barely adequate bed.

“Sleep well, Chris.” She whispers as she silently closes his door.

She steps across the hall and into her own room, still being as quiet as physically possible as she shuts the door and quickly changes before crawling into her own bed and falling into a much needed deep sleep.

-------

~Chris~

The freshman quarterback rolls over, his arm reaching towards his nightstand as he reaches for his phone. The alarm he set the night before just went off, but he was awake before it made its first sound. A multitude of thoughts had been running through his mind ever since he was woken up by his dream.

Nightmare, really. The same one he used to have years ago. The same one that begun to show its face again last quarter when he was struggling with his feelings towards MC. But since they had worked everything out, since she had given him another chance to show he wasn’t as indifferent as he tried to appear last quarter, it had vanished.

That is, until last night. This one wasn't the same though. MC had taken the place of the faceless person during his lowest point last quarter and it was still her, but this time he was able to actually reach her. Usually the dream left him feeling cold and numb, the darkness swallowing him in the wet, sand-like floor. But again, this time was different. Chris remembers how fulfilling it felt to get his hands around her shoulders, to lock his gaze with hers and see the warm, loving support in her big hazel eyes.

Unfortunately, the pleasant feeling he had from making contact with MC vanished as the ground gave away, sucking him down into the abyss as it always does. He woke up as he did every time before, his heart beating rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, feeling like he had been holding it for hours. The dream didn't make him feel as bad as it had in the past, but something was clearly bothering him. Seeing MC, actually reaching her this time though, that was reassuring.

Chris sits up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed after tossing his silenced phone back on the nightstand. He smiles softly as he runs his hand through his hair, knowing that MC has his back, that he can depend on her during frustrating moments like all this mess with Sebastian. He scrunches his nose up as he thinks about the smaller, older student and his behaviors.

Shaking his head he stands and stretches, unable to understand how someone can be so rude, so ugly to people he doesn't even really know. Moving towards his dresser to grab his gym clothes, Chris snorts at the thought of Sebastian doing something to MC in order to get to him.

“I dare him to try it.” He suddenly grins and laughs softly as he changes his shirt, his head popping through the neck hole as he speaks next. “I don’t like bullies; I don’t care where they’re from."

Chris rolls his eyes at himself as he grins. Quoting his favorite Avenger was something he did occasionally, and when Ryan or Ethan caught him in the act they usually started ragging on him and he would instantly regret it. Today though, right now, no one was around to hear it. He pulls on his shorts and laughs at himself again before sitting on the bed to put his socks and shoes on, instantly missing his best friends from home.

Ready for the gym, knowing he has only a few minutes to make it there in time to meet Logan and Darren, he steps into the hall but hesitates as his eyes fall on her closed door. Standing there for a moment he turns and sees all the doors in the hall are closed and the suite is still quiet. He wonders if MC stayed up after leaving his room, but then he realized he didn't actually have a clue what time she left.

Deciding it was best to let her sleep, Chris sends her a text, grimacing when he realizes she might not have had it on silent, hoping it would instead be a nice surprise if she woke up while he was gone.

~MC~

The leggy freshman reaches far, her toes pointing towards her closed door while her hands pull her upper body towards the wall in a long satisfying stretch. Her eyes flutter open and she turns to check the time on her alarm clock, blinking a few times when she notices that half of the display is blocked by an object that wasn't there when she went to sleep.

She leans up and props herself up on one elbow, reaching over with her other hand to grab what was obviously a large blueberry muffin. MC grins as she sets it down next to her on the bed and checks her phone, knowing exactly who it was from.

‘morning beautiful’

‘wow. so youre a deep sleeper.’

‘i came back from the gym and you were still out cold.’

‘have a muffin you slacker. you owe me one running date later.’

MC starts laughing, her fingers fumbling to type a reply as she shakes her head.

‘You'll have to catch me first.’

Within seconds her bedroom door flies open and a very large quarterback lunges towards her bed, his fingers barely smacking it shut behind him. MC’s eyes grow wide as she scrambles to grab the muffin, knowing the moment his weight makes contact with her mattress it would go flying.

When he lands on the bed, arms and legs on either side of her, trapping her under her covers with his weight, she cries out. “Ahhh nooo!”

She holds the muffin up and to the side as Chris leans down with a wolfish grin, kissing her jawline from her chin down towards her neck as she squirms under the tight prison he put her in. MC tries to kick her feet free but nothing helps as she does her best to protect the muffin while he tickles her with his lips and fingertips.

When he finally stops she scowls at him before glancing up at her outstretched hand. “You almost made me drop it!”

Chris laughs and rolls over to one side, laying on her bed with her as she brings the coveted baked good down to rest on her stomach. She looks over and sees him watching the muffin rise and fall with each breath, his gaze appearing further and further away with each second.

“Chris?” She says softly, reaching over to run her finger down the line of his nose.

His eyes shoot to hers and he blinks, the foggy look disappearing as he gives her a wide smile. “Ayuh?”

“Where’d you go?” MC asks as she turns on her side, setting the muffin down between them as they lay on their sides, face to face.

He shrugs and gives her a semi forced smile. She can tell.

“Just have things on my mind. Lot going on this week.” His eyes are soft and warm, so she knows he’s being honest.

“If you want to talk ab--”

He cuts her off with his lips on hers for a quick kiss before leaning back and propping himself up on his elbow. “I’m okay babe… just need to work on a few things today so I don't get too far behind.”

She gives him a small smile and sits up, holding herself up with her elbow as well. “Okay. I’m here if you need me.”

A genuine grin grows across his face. “Ayuh, I know.” He leans over and kisses her on the forehead. “Thanks beautiful. Zack told me Kaitlyn’s parents invited you to the ballet today… Have fun, okay?”

MC nods and he kisses her on the forehead once more, suddenly changing gears as a mischievous glint flashes through his eyes. She tries to move quickly, but Chris leans down and takes a huge bite off the top of her fresh blueberry muffin. Her mouth falls open and she pulls it back as if she burned her hand on a hot stove.

“Chris!” She hisses at him, the bed jostling from his movements as he launches himself over her and towards the door.

“Ya snooze, ya loose sweet cheeks!” He cackles as he slips from the room, the door clicking closed a millisecond later.

MC sits on her bed stunned, eyes locked on the door as she cradles her injured muffin. “Sweet… cheeks?”

-------

“WAKE UP, MC!” Kaitlyn yells.

Startled, MC sits up quickly. “Wha--?” She blinks a few times and sees Kaitlyn and Arjun standing over her bed.

“She's up!” Arjun smiles.

MC looks at them both, immediately noticing Kaitlyn’s beautiful red dress. When her eyes land on Kaitlyn’s, she sees her friend frown deeply. “MC, you overslept! The train leaves in 45 minutes.”

She looks at her startled and still a little confused. “Train..?” Everything comes back to her quickly. “Oh crap, the ballet! Give me just a minute to get dressed. I’ll be quick!”

Kaitlyn nods. “We’ll wait for you outside.”

As soon as they leave, closing the door behind them, MC launches out of her bed and heads towards the closet. She doesn't understand what happened. It was just after 11 a.m. and she could have sworn she set her alarm for 9 a.m. She glances over at her nightstand and sees the used paper muffin cup next to her phone and smiles, the brief moment with Chris from earlier suddenly flooding her memory. She must have fallen asleep again after grieving her disfigured muffin the only way she knew how, devouring every crumb.

“Hmm…” She focuses back on the task at hand, a mild panic setting in as she slides hanger after hanger across the bar, her eyes searching for a particular item. Spotting the colorful fabric, MC reaches in and grabs a deep teal dress with a high waist. The embroidered flowers on the front are in an elegant pattern that accentuates her slim figure. At least that's what her mother said when they went shopping during summer clearance last Fall.

“This is perfect for the ballet.” She mumbles as she frantically finishes getting ready and leaves her room to join Kaitlyn and Arjun in the common area.

The Texan pair are already standing by the front door, chatting somewhat awkwardly as they wait for her arrival. She knows the two have been talking since that night at the bar & grill, but things weren’t quite back to normal. MC’s low heels click on the tile once she reaches the kitchen side of the suite, causing them both to turn when they hear her approach.

She spins around to show off her dress, hoping she made the right choice for an afternoon ballet. “So? What do you think?”

Kaitlyn laughs with a smile. “Damn, girl! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get dressed up that nicely, that fast!” She snaps her fingers. “You look like a posh socialite.”

MC goes with it. “Maybe I’ll just walk around saying things like…” She clears her throat, raises her arm at the elbow and folds her hand towards her face, speaking in her fanciest voice. “...’Oh, yes, I frequent the ballet when I’m not summering in the British Isles.’”

Arjun laughs quietly. “Kaitlyn wasn't kidding about the quality of Hartfeld girls.”

She turns to him quickly. “Uh, hello, I’m right about basically everything.” She smirks. “But too bad, Arjun, my bestie is off-limits. For more than one reason. You’re gonna have to find someone else to drool over!”

MC laughs and shakes her head. “Are we ready to go?”

Kaitlyn claps her hands together. “Yep! Let’s do this!”

The pair turns and heads out the door but MC turns around, sensing now would be a good time to do so. Her eyes instantly find a familiar pair of bright blues as Chris leans against the wall in the hallway with a cocky smile on his lips. “Look at you…”

She bites her lower lip as he swiftly rushes over and scoops her up, energetically covering her lips with his own.

“Have a good time at the ballet, baby…” He kisses her one more time before setting her back down.

He winks at her as she steps outside, the door slowly closing between them, both sets of eyes locked together until the last possible moment.

-----

The conversation flows easily on the train, at least, until the topic of their last encounter comes up.

Arjun laughs, clearly trying his best to shake the awkward memory. “On the bright side, I don’t think I’ll ever have a first date that’s more awkward than that one.”

“I’m glad you two made up.” MC smiles at them both as she tilts her head slightly.

“We had a good talk while someone was snoozing away this morning.” She sticks her tongue out at MC.

“The Liaos called me last night to invite me to the ballet. And I realized, I couldn't let a case of hurt feelings cancel out years of friendship…” He looks at Kaitlyn with a lopsided smirk. “Plus, I probably should have seen it coming. No boy ever seemed good enough for Kaitlyn.”

She sniffs and smiles as she sits up straight. “You got that right!”

“The point is, I support you, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep this parent visit from getting weird.” He looks at her very seriously, grabbing her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

She gives him a friendly thankful smile in return. “I appreciate it, but considering my parents, I’m expecting it to get pretty awkward before act one even ends.”

MC nods in Arjun’s direction. “Don't worry, Arjun and I are on your team.”

A short while later, they arrive at the train station in Northbridge. As they step off the train Arjun looks around with a confused expression. “Your parents said they'd meet us here, right?”

MC’s gaze around the area stops suddenly. “Oh, there they are!” She points to a nearby bench where Peter and Grace are sitting.

Kaitlyn glances at her friends briefly and speaks in a low tone. “Okay, guys, remember: my parents will try as hard as possible to get me and Arjun together. For obvious reasons, that's not going to happen.”

Arjun nods swiftly. “Got it.”

The trio walks up to the bench and MC smiles broadly. “Hi there, Mr. and Mrs. Liao!” She leans in and gives them each a quick hug.

Peter startles at the contact. “Oh! Hello there, MC.”

Kaitlyn smirks and looks at MC. “Did I forget to mention that MC is a hugger?”

Her mother smiles. “You two have that in common. And a shared affinity for pretty dresses, I see.”

MC brushes her skirt down and studies the fabric. “You like it?”

Grace’s smile grows. “It’s beautiful!”

Kaitlyn laughs lightly, her nose scrunching up in a mock expression of disgust. “I feel I should mention that MC got ready in less than ten minutes this morning, and she still looks like a princess.”

MC mimics her friends expression as she looks at her best friend. “Aw, you're the sweetest.”

Arjun clears his throat. “Hey, as much as I love talking about pretty dresses, we should head to the theater. The ballet’s going to start soon.”

Peter nods and clasps the young man on the back. “Ah, brilliant idea, Arjun. Don't want to be late.”

Everyone agrees, and during the short walk to the theater Kaitlyn catches her parents up on her winter quarter at Hartfeld. “And the play ended up being a total success!”

“That's wonderful, darling.” Her mother smiles and gives her a small hug.

“But I still think you need more extracurriculars. It’ll balance out your resume.” Her father says with unwavering focus.

Her mother grins again. “Plus, it's a great way to find love. Your father and I met in the high school orchestra.”

He chuckles. “And you were dating that obnoxious Christopher Doyle.”

She smirks at him and turns to MC. “Are you seeing anyone, MC?”

MC smiles warmly. “I am, actually. You met him last night. Our suite-mate, Chris?”

Peter gives her a friendly approving smile. “Ah, good for you, MC. He seemed like a nice young man.”

Grace smiles wide. “And so handsome, too.”

MC can't help but nod in agreement as her smile grows. She runs her hand through her hair and clears her throat as they approach the door, instantly thankful they have arrived and the three students won't have to answer too much more about their personal lives.

The group heads inside and searches for their seats. Peter pauses and smiles. “Ah, here we are. According to our tickets, the order is MC, me, Arjun, Kaitlyn, and Grace.”

Kaitlyn shoots MC and Arjun panicked looks and MC doesn't miss a beat. “Actually, I was hoping I’d be able to sit next to Kaitlyn, if that's okay…”

Arjun smiles. “Sure! I’ll trade with you.”

Grace gently places her hand on his shoulder. “Arjun, there’s no need to do that. I’d be happy to switch with MC.”

Arjun opens his mouth to protest, but Grace’s stern look makes it clear she’s not going to hear it. They all take their seats and Grace and Peter immediately start whispering to each other.

MC leans towards Kaitlyn. “Well, that could have gone worse…”

Kaitlyn bites her lip. “Yeah. But the day’s not over yet. I guarantee there’s plenty more awkward to come…”

“We should distract them. If we just keep the conversation going on other topics, you and Arjun will never come up.” MC offers a solution.

Kaitlyn's face lights up as her whisper grows with excitement. “That could totally work!”

Arjun leans in, as he had been listening in as well. “I’ll try to keep the conversation on them and not on us.”

He winks at them both before sitting straight and tapping Mr. Liao on the shoulder. “So, have either of you seen Romeo and Juliet before?”

Grace smiles. “Oh, yes, it’s our all-time favorite ballet.”

Peter nods. “We used one of the songs for our wedding processional. I’ll point it out when they get to it. We’ve been telling Kaitlyn she should carry on on the tradition. With a nice, smart boy…”

Kaitlyn quickly cuts him off. “Shhh! It’s starting!”

They try to enjoy the ballet, but every time a romantic scene occurs, Mr. Liao glances over at Kaitlyn and Arjun with a smile. Arjun begins to look more and more uncomfortable and Kaitlyn, more and more angry.

As soon as the lights go up for intermission, Kaitlyn jumps out of her seat. “I need to get some fresh air. MC, come with me?”

MC’s eyes widen at her friends abrupt movements. “Uh, sure.”

She follows Kaitlyn’s lead and gives an uncomfortable smile to Mr. and Mrs. Liao as she passes them on her way out. Once they’re out front of the theater, Kaitlyn starts to pace agitatedly.

MC looks at her with astonishment. “I’m starting to get the sense that your dad wants you to marry Arjun. Like, he’s already got a venue picked out and all that's left is a china pattern and date.”

Kaitlyn scoffs. “Pfft, I wouldn't be surprised. In high school, I literally caught him praying that Arjun would ask me out.” She stops pacing and turns to face MC, her expression turning angry. “Twice.”

MC grimaces. “Yikes. So, this is kind of a long time coming.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Did you ever end up dating Arjun? You know, like just to try it out.”

Kaitlyn's mouth falls open in surprise. “No, we never dated. But…” She sighs. “We did kiss once in high school. I knew before I kissed him that I wasn’t into him that way. At the time, I thought it might be the only way to make my dad proud of me…”

She frowns, giving her friend a sad look. “I’m sure your dad is proud of you… How could he not be?”

Kaitlyn’s face turns dark. “It’s all so frustrating! Why is it so hard to tell them?”

MC frowns. “I know it’s hard, especially since they’re in town, but it’s not something you can rush.”

“Wouldn't that be nice?” Kaitlyn growls. “They’re my parents.” Her voice rises in her frustration. “I just want to shake them and shout ‘I’m gay!’ and have it be done with!”

MC glances over Kaitlyn’s shoulder and freezes. “Uh… maybe you don't have to.” She grimaces and looks at Kaitlyn apologetically.

Peter takes a few steps closer, his face twisted in confusion. “K-Kaitlyn?”

The raven haired girl turns around to find herself face to face with her parents. Her father looks stricken.

She gulps. “Mom? Dad? I was just… MC and I were…”

She trails off uselessly. There’s an uneasy pause as they all wait for someone to speak first.

Peter finally breaks the silence. “I…” He looks down with a frown. “We should go inside. The second act is about to begin.”

He turns and stalks away quickly. Grace tries to stop him, but he shrugs her off and walks inside.

Kaitlyn's face falls and she gasps out. “Oh no. This is all wrong.”

MC feels her heart ache. “Kaitlyn…”

Before she can do anything to comfort her friend, Kaitlyn’s mom walks over and wraps her daughter in a warm hug, the shock on her face evident. “Mom? You're not mad?”

Grace leans back and looks at her daughter with surprise. “Mad? No, honey, of course not. Your dad’s just a little… late to the party.”

MC leans back and looks at her with her own surprise. “Mrs. Liao… Did you know all this time?”

Kaitlyn’s eyes grow wide. “Have you always known?”

“I've had my suspicions…”

“You did?” Kaitlyn asks, completely shocked now

“Of course, baobei. My only daughter? I’d have to be blind not to see it…” Her mother tucks a loose strand of her daughter’s hair behind her ear.

Kaitlyn sighs and looks down towards the pavement under her feet. “And you never said anything because you didn't want it to be true.”

Grace’s face turns stern as she gives Kaitlyn a small shake. “Stop that.” Her expression softens as her daughter looks up with startled eyes. “I never said anything because you never said anything!”

Grace pauses, stroking Kaitlyn’s hair gently. Finally, she speaks. “He just needs some time.”

Her daughter sighs. “He hates me, doesn't he?”

“Never! You know how your father is about family… You’re our only daughter. Your father had dreams for you, and a lot of dreams for himself.” She frowns slightly. “Dreams of a white wedding and grandchildren. A dream he may never get to see.”

MC makes a frustrated face. “But that dream could still come true.” She looks towards her friend. “Kaitlyn can still get married and have kids if she wants. “And what about what Kaitlyn dreams of? Doesn't that count for something?”

“Of course it does! Why do you think we sent her to this school?” Her mother looks at them both earnestly. “I know this sounds cliche… but you'll understand when you're a parent yourself.”

She releases Kaitlyn but keeps a firm grip on her shoulders, looking her right in the eye before she speaks again. “We will always love you, Kaitlyn. No matter what.”

“But Dad…” Kaitlyn’s face looks so sad that MC feels her eyes burn a little.

“Your dad won't be upset about this forever, trust me. He just needs some space right now.” She gives her daughter an apologetic smile.

Kaitlyn bites her lip for a moment then finally nods. Her mom pats her arm gently. “Alright. We should get back in there before act two starts.”

Her daughter shakes her head slowly. “Actually, I think I’m just gonna head back to Hartfeld.”

MC studies her friend’s face. “Are you sure?”

She nods once. “You can stay if you want, I just… I can't go back in there.” She gives her mother a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Can you tell Arjun that I got a stomach ache or something?”

Her mother frowns deeply. “Kaitlyn…”

She untangles herself from her mother’s grasp and starts to back away. “I just can’t.”

MC and Grace watch her walk away, both with a forlorn look on their faces.

She turns to Grace and gives her an awkward smile. “Uh, I think I should go, too. Thanks for the… lovely outing Mrs. Liao.”

The older woman sighs. “Don't mention it…”

MC turns and quickly heads after Kaitlyn, catching her around the corner. “Kaitlyn! Wait up!”

She doesn't turn but her pace slows to let MC catch up. They fall into an uncomfortable silence as they walk.

MC finally clears her throat and tilts her head slightly to glance at her friend. “So, that was interesting. I’m guessing that probably didn't go like you imagined.”

Kaitlyn doesn't respond as they continue to walk so MC tries again. “Are you okay?” She shakes her head. “I know that's a stupid question…”

Kaitlyn’s frown just deepens as she stares at the ground while they walk.

MC sighs. “Of course you're not okay. You should trust your mom… your dad--”

“MC!” Kaitlyn snaps and stops in her tracks, turning to glare at her. After a moment, she sighs. “It’s just… too soon. Can we just not talk right now?”

MC swallows her startled reaction. “Sorry. Whatever you need…”

She then lets out a held breath and frowns deeply, waiting for Kaitlyn to say more, but her friend just turns and heads towards the train station in silence. After a long, silent train ride, they arrive back at the suite. Kaitlyn walks in and goes straight to her room. Zack watches as they enter, his eyes following Kaitlyn.

When she he can no longer see her down the hall, his eyes instantly snap to MC. “Yikes. Is anyone cold? It feels like an icy wind just blew in.”

They both wince when they hear her door slam down the hall. MC walks over and plops down on the couch next to him. “It’s really not the time for joking.”

His eyebrow arches. “Serious mode, got it. What happened? Was the ballet that bad?”

MC laughs softly at his obvious joke before her face falls once more. “The first half was fine. We left in kind of a hurry…” She sighs. “After Kaitlyn… accidentally came out to her parents.”

She grimaces when she turns to look at Zack. His eyes widen instantly and his mouth falls open as he leans back.

“WHAT?!” He takes a gasping breath and raises his hand to his chest. “How does one accidentally come out?”

MC fills Zack in on the events of the afternoon for a few minutes.

“...and then we just sat on the train in silence.” Her voice lowers in defeat as she ends the sentence.

“Well, don't just sit out here and hide!” Zack raises his voice.

She looks at him with deep confusion. “What?”

He stands and points down the hall. “She's your best friend, dummy. Go talk to her!”

She stands and takes a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

Zack stands to give her a supportive hug before moving out of her way.

“Maybe the second time's the charm…” MC slowly walks towards Kaitlyn's door, trying to decide what to say.

When she arrives she knocks softly, but firmly enough for her friend to hear, receiving a muffled yell in response. “Go away!”

MC turns to look down the hall when she hears one of the bedroom doors opening, immediately locking eyes with a pair of confused blues. She gives Chris a small smile before turning towards Kaitlyn’s closed door, her hand wrapping tightly around the knob.

“Kaitlyn, it’s me… I’m coming in.” MC doesn't give her friend a moment to refuse her.

When she opens the door and peeks inside, she finds Kaitlyn sitting on her bed, hugging her knees. Still in her dress, her eyes snap up at MC in anger.

“Is it too much to ask for a little privacy in this place?” Her eyes narrow. “What part of go away don’t you understand?”

MC closes her eyes for a moment, taking the verbal lashing before letting out a deep breath, knowing her friend is suffering. “The part where my best friend is upset and doesn't want to talk to me about it.”

Kaitlyn groans and falls back against her pillows. She rolls over so her back is to MC.

MC hesitantly steps closer. “Please, Kaitlyn, I’m so sorry your parents had to find out that way… I just want to be here for you.”

Kaitlyn doesn't turn, instead she mumbles into her pillow. “I’m really not in the mood, MC.” Her shoulders slump a little. “Did you see the way my dad looked at me? It was like I was a stranger. Like he didn't even know me…”

“Aw, come on Kaitlyn.” MC lays down on the bed next to her and stares up at the ceiling, her hands threading together as they rest across her abdomen. When Kaitlyn doesn't move at all, she begins speaking quietly. “You're one of my best friends, and there's nothing you could say that would change that.” She rolls over to face Kaitlyn’s back. “Please, just say something.”

Kaitlyn tenses next to her, still facing the wall, her voice level raising as she speaks. “You know what, MC? I do have something to say…” She sits up abruptly and spins to face the tall blonde, who sits up only a second after, their eyes level as they sit close. “And since you’re hard of hearing, I’ll say it really slow for you.” She glares at MC, her voice going very dark. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk.”

MC leans back, her heart beating hard as she starts to feel like she made a grave mistake. “But--”

Kaitlyn cuts her off. “No, no but’s.” She looks away quickly, her anger starting to disappear. “Look, I don't mean to snap at you. But I just really need to be alone. And yeah, you are my best friend. But given our history…” She trails off and doesn't finish her sentence, her eyes looking far away from MC. “I just don’t think you’re the best person for me to be around right now.”

“But Kaitlyn…” MC looks at her, instantly hurt that her friend is pushing her away. It almost felt like punishment.

She shakes her head and won't make eye contact. “Please. Just… just leave.”

She lies down again, face down this time and MC swallows before shifting off the bed.

“I…” Her voice cracks and she stops herself.

Instead of finishing her thought, MC gives Kaitlyn her wish and leaves the room. She feels terrible as she walks back into the common space, worried about her friend and somewhat fearful that she was going to lose her in all of this. When she enters the living room she finds Chris now sitting on the couch with Zack. They both turn when they hear her enter and when the tall freshman sees her face, he visibly becomes concerned.

“Hey, MC… Everything okay?” He quickly stands and walks over, gently wrapping his hand around her wrist.

She glances at Zack who frowns knowingly before turning her attention back to Chris. “Right now? No.”

His brow creases as he studies her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head and looks down at his hand, still firmly wrapped around her wrist as his thumb rubs up her forearm. “Not really. Besides, you’ve got your hands full with the campaign.”

He watches her for a moment and she can tell he’s deciding what to say, his eyes flicking back and forth as he continues to assess her current mood. “You can say that again, but if you’re not up for helping me practice for the debate tomorrow, that’s okay. I can find someone else...” His eyes narrow slightly as he leans down to try and get her to look into his eyes. “...or we can always postpone…”

Her eyes flick up to his then as she quickly tries to collect herself. “Of course. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

He steps closer and drops her wrist, only to wrap his arms around her as he pulls her into his chest. She sighs and closes her eyes, tucking herself into him. Her nose finds his neck as she snuggles into his warmth. Chris rubs one hand down her back as the other holds her tight against him.

“I’m always going to worry about you, baby…” He whispers as he leans down close, burrowing his own nose into her neck.

She pinches her eyes tight as she tries not to let the burning sensation turn into tears, focusing instead on his warm breath as it rolls across her skin.

~Chris~

Turning slightly he lifts one hand to wave at Zack, receiving a nod in return. Without a word he guides MC back towards her room, passing Tyler on his way to the living room. He gives Chris a small frown as he nods, obviously somewhat aware of what had happened thanks to a few of the loud shouts from Kaitlyn’s room a few minutes earlier.

Stopping in front of MC’s door he opens it and walks her inside. “Change into something comfortable. I’m going to make us something to eat and I’ll meet you in my room.”

He doesn't give her a chance to argue, knowing there’s a good chance she will try to go to bed without anything in her stomach in an attempt to avoid the way she feels at the moment. Chris goes back to the kitchen, smiling at Zack and Tyler when he sees they have started one of their games and were cackling at each other as they tried to beat the level but instead failing spectacularly.

Chris whips up a quick breakfast meal for dinner. He makes his famous, according to his brother Kyle and best friend Ryan, scrambled cheese eggs, some bacon and finishes it off with some cut up fruit. He nods to himself, satisfied with the results as he rushes to clean the area so he can get back to his room. Grabbing both plates, he heads through the living room towards the hallway, pausing briefly when the two on the couch perk up.

“You cooked?” Tyler’s eyebrows arch up and Zack elbows him in the side. “What? I didn't know Chris could cook…”

Chris snorts playfully. “Hurtful. I was actually the main cook at the Powell household my friend... My Mah taught me well. Maybe one day you'll get to try some of my masterpieces.”

Tyler’s mouth falls open in shock, stammering to come up with some type of response as Zack and Chris both laugh. The tall quarterback just shakes his head and continues on to his room, backing into the cracked door and closing it the same way.

His eyes immediately find MC on his bed, her hair laying randomly around her face with one of his shirts hanging on her shoulders, swallowing her short blue sleep shorts. She looks up and sees him smiling as he walks towards her, hand stretched out with her plate.

“Thank you Chris.” When he sits next to her, still smiling she gives him a confused look. “What…”

He shrugs and takes a bite of his eggs. “I donno. I like the way you look right now.”

MC lifts her plate from her lap and looks down as if she forgot what she was wearing before looking back up and arching an eyebrow at him. “Um… what.”

Chris smiles wide, making her awkwardly return it. “You’re in my shirt…” Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “And you're in my bed…” The shade grows darker. “Eating the food I made for you…”

She grins as she bites a piece of bacon. “It’s really good.”

His eyes crinkle a little on the corners. “I’m glad you like it beautiful.”

MC snorts and gestures towards herself as a whole. “Not really the word I would use right now.”

Chris reaches for her empty plate and puts it on the dresser with his before turning back to sit next to her, his eyes holding hers. “It’s the word I will always use, because it will always be true.”

She stares at him for a second before laughing and playfully shoving his shoulder. “Ohmygodshutup.”

Chris’s mouth falls open in mock shock. “Wow, really?!”

MC goes silent, her eyes searching his before she speaks. “Sorry… I guess I don't think of myself that way.”

“Get used to hearing it… ‘cause I’m not gonna stop.” Chris leans over and places a quick kiss on her cheek before standing and motioning to the bed. “Get in.”

She gives him a curious look as he walks towards his guitar, currently leaning against his desk on the other side of the small room. When he returns he’s glad to see that she has done exactly what he asked, crawling under his covers and curling around his pillows. Chris sits down on the edge of the bed, spinning to face her with one leg hanging off the side as he tweaks the tuning.

He looks up and finds her eyes watching him, peeking from under the covers curled around her head and shoulders. He begins to strum the acoustic guitar softly, his warm blue eyes leaving hers as he begins to sing Future Looks Good by OneRepublic quietly in his room.

“Woke up starin' at this, starin' at this empty room

Looked at thousand different pictures that your mother took of you

You see I had this crazy dream last night, this man he talked to me

He told me everything that's good and bad about my history”

Chris looks up then, his eyes holding hers as she stares back, unblinking as he continues.

“But he said that you are, you are the future

He said that you are, you are the future

And the future looks good

The future looks good”

He can see she’s starting to smile by the way her cheeks are peeking above the covers and his heart begins to race. He speeds up his strumming, his voice and energy raising slightly with the next verse.

“Oh, call me any time that every time you're losin' it

And tell me anyone and everyone who makes you feel like shit”

MC laughs and he knows she understands that he’s got her back whenever she needs it. He was happy to see her smile again, deciding she should do so as much as possible.

“Because you know anybody, everybody else can lie

But honey I won't see you with a, see you with a broken set of eyes”

MC sits up then, the covers pooling around her as she scoots closer to him. She rests her hands on his bent knee, her eyes shifting down to watch his hands move across the strings and frets as he continues to play. Chris takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he continues.

“I swear that you are, you are the future

I swear that you are, you are the future

And the future looks good”

Her smile grows even wider and he can’t help but laugh a little as he continues.

“Oh, yeah

The future looks good

Oh, yeah”

Without warning he pauses for a moment, leaning over to kiss her. MC startles, but only for a second before she reaches up and cups his face with both hands holding him there as she deepens the kiss. When she releases him, Chris sits back, licking his lips as he can still feel hers pressed against his. He takes a deep breath and lets it out through a wide grin before he looks down to find his place on the guitar.

“The future looks good

Oh, yeah

The future looks good

Oh, yeah”

“You, you, you

You, you, you”

He watches her bite lightly on her bottom lip as she tries not to smile more than she already was.

“Woke up starin' at this, starin' at this empty room

Looked at thousand different pictures that your mother took of you”

The room grows quit as Chris stops playing. He gets up, leans the guitar on the nightstand before he strips down to his boxer briefs and climbs into bed when she holds up the covers. He reaches over to turn off the lamp and lays on his back as MC curls into his side, her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her.

She nuzzles into his chest and he takes a long deep breath, burrowing his nose into the top of her hair as she yawns. “Thank you Chris.”

“You’re welcome MC… I just wanted to make you smile.”

“Nailed it.” She says in a low whisper, making him chuckle softly before they both drift off to sleep.

Tag Lists

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Chris x MC Tag: @flynnomalleys @walkerismychoice @elyannagray @mckenzie-powell @jellybean-marshmellow @alepowell @sunflowergirl-25 @weaving-in-words @kinkykingliam @foghedgehog @greyeyedsmile14 @katurrade @easyobsession @elbenmond @heatherfilliez

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winterbaby89 · 6 years

Text

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke - Chapter Five

A Captain Swan, Season 1 Canon Divergence Collaboration by: @hollyethecurious, and @winterbaby89

Beta’d by: @ilovemesomekillianjones

Amazing Artwork by: @xhookswenchx

Rated M for language and dark themes (and maybe (probably) some sexy times… later ;o)

Summary: Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile. Twenty-eight years later, Killian Jones awakes in Storybrooke expecting just another ordinary day, that is until a number of abnormal occurrences disrupts his otherwise scheduled life. The greatest of which is a new face in town. A young woman by the name of Emma. Emma. What a lovely name…

Disclaimer: Canon dialogue and scenes from various episodes will appear within this fic. To Adam, Eddie, and the OUAT writers goes all the credit.

Line breaks indicate change in POV or Scene.

Also available on ao3, my fic page, and Hollye′s fic page And if you want to catch up on the last chapter.

This work is no longer available on FF.net. Unfortunately the site does not allow authors to co-publish collaborative works.

Chapter Five

The weather was mild for late October. Only a slight chill remained in the air from the night before, and Killian took comfort in the thought that if Swan hadn’t taken his suggestion to seek shelter in the pawn shop, at least it hadn’t been too terribly cold for her in that metal contraption of hers. Hopefully she’d been able to get some measure of sleep over the long night, unlike him.

He’d spent many long hours trying to ascertain just how it was that The Dark One’s memory had come to unfold in his mind the night before. The only answer he could come up with was that it had to have something to do with Emma. She seemed to be the answer to many things related to the Dark Curse, a product of being The Saviour no doubt. Just as her name had awoken him and unlocked his personal memories, his continued interaction and time spent in her presence seemed to have gained him access to The Dark One’s memories as well. In limited amounts, at least, for he did not have all of the Crocodile’s memories, just those that seemed to relate to the fact that Emma, the product of True Love, was The Saviour.

Saviour.

A title in sharp contrast to any of his, and one that had him once again re-evaluating his thoughts about how to manage the secret of the curse, his identity, and his relationships with both Henry and the Swan girl. Warring with himself over his own self-preservation versus aiding them in fulfilling her destiny, and ultimately losing both her and Henry once they realized the truth of his villainy, Killian had found himself no closer to a clear path of decision as dawn crested the horizon.

The only path he was sure of was the familiar one to Granny’s, which was where he found himself that morning. Having just entered the small tabled courtyard out front, he quite literally ran into Henry as the lad sprinted out the door and down the stairs.

“What’s the rush, lad?”

“Killian!” Henry exclaimed, excitement tinting his cheeks pink. “He woke up! Mary Margaret read to him and he woke up!”

“He what?”

“Well, he didn’t fully wake up,” the lad hedged, “but he grabbed her hand! We’re on our way back to the hospital so she can read to him again. Come with us!”

Killian found himself tugged along by the boy’s unnaturally strong grip. He was helpless to decline, especially once he saw Emma emerge from the diner with her mother, Mary Margaret, an amazed skepticism etched along her features as she made her way down the front steps. She glanced up as she hit the last step and faltered slightly at the sight of him.

“Jones? What are you doing here?”

“I had come for Granny’s fine coffee and breakfast special, but your lad seems to have other ideas,” he explained while Henry still pulled at his hand as they hit the sidewalk.

“I told Killian about John Doe and asked him to come with us. Is that okay?” Henry asked, large pleading eyes working their magic on the unsuspecting woman who most likely hadn’t had much opportunity to build up an immunity to them yet.

“Uh, sure, kid. Why not.”

Henry beamed and then fell into step next to Mary Margaret, pressing the woman for every detail of her encounter with the coma laden man from the night before. Killian felt Emma’s presence next to him as he followed the pair and he scratched behind his ear uncomfortably before engaging her.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, Swan. Your boy can be quite persuasive.”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” she assured. “It’ll be nice to have someone there to help temper Henry’s disappointment when he sees that this… thing that happened last night was just a fluke. Especially now that I’ll have Mary Margaret’s disappointment to deal with as well,” she said in low tones so she wouldn’t be overheard by their traveling companions.

“Are you so sure that it was a fluke?” Killian questioned, trying to gauge her stance on the curse.

“It has to be,” she declared. “I mean it’s not like he’s actually cursed, or Mary Margaret’s long lost true love, or… my father, right?”

Not a believer then, he concluded.

“None of that has to be true in order to explain his change in condition,” he parsed carefully. “Perhaps Ms. Blanchard was simply able to get through to him and make a connection at just the right moment? The mind is a mysterious place, Swan. One never knows when just the right touch might unlock the recesses and pull one back into reality.”

He hadn’t meant to give so much away, but he knew with her ability to see through falsehood that he’d have to offer his words carefully and wrap them in elements of truth. They fell into silence for several long moments as she seemed to consider his words before she changed the course of their conversation.

“I wanted to thank you for telling me about the cot in the pawn shop,” she said, casting a furtive glance at him as she continued. “You were right. It was more comfortable, and warmer than the bug.”

A smile pulled at his lips and he couldn’t help his teasing reply, “I’m only too happy to offer you another comfortable and warm bed for tonight should you wish it, Swan.”

Her head snapped toward him, a startled and wary expression taking over her entire face, though he did note the darkening of her eyes as she took in his suggestively raised brows and the enticingly seductive bite of his lip.

“In your dreams, buddy,” she responded tightly, putting more space between them as they approached the front of the hospital.

“Relax, Swan,” he appeased with a chuckle. “I was talking about my offer of the house in exchange for you working for me,” he clarified. “Though, now that I have your consent, I’ll be sure to make better use of my dreams.” He winked at her and quickened his step to reach the doors before Henry and Mary Margaret did, pulling them open and earning him a thanks from Mary Margaret and Henry, and an eye roll from Emma.

He fell in line behind the group as they made their way to the ward that housed John Doe, or Prince Charming, depending on who you asked. Henry’s exuberance spilled over at the sight of the Sheriff and hospital staff milling about the man’s room.

“You're right. He's waking up,” Henry exclaimed as he rushed ahead only to be halted by the Sheriff.

“Henry, you should stay back,” Graham warned.

“What's going on? Is it John Doe? Is he okay?” Mary Margaret inquired, her concern spiking with each question.

“He's missing,” Graham answered grimly before casting a look over his shoulder back toward the room.

A group of doctors and nurses exited the room revealing Regina standing next to John Doe’s bed. Of bloody course she’s here.

Spotting the group of newcomers, Regina rounded the bed and made her way out of the room toward them. Her eyes were trained on either him, or Emma next to him, it was hard to be certain. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked accusingly. Before either of them could answer she turned her ire toward Henry, and both he and Emma had to restrain themselves at her harsh grasp on the boy’s arm. “And you. I thought you were at the arcade. Now you're lying to me?”

Seemingly oblivious to any other action or undercurrent surrounding her, Mary Margaret pressed again about the patient’s absence. “What happened to John Doe? Did someone take him?”

“We don't know yet,” Graham answered. “His I.V.s were ripped out, but there's no clear signs of a struggle.” Graham seemed to be relaying that last bit of information to Emma specifically, before glancing in Killian’s direction. Confusion and contempt clouded the man’s features as he assessed the close proximity between Killian and Emma before turning his focus back on the Mayor and her son.

“What did you do?” Henry accused.

Killian smiled at the boy’s gumption in spite of himself.

“You think I had something to do with this?” Regina hissed.

“It is curious that the mayor is here,” Emma chimed in, changing his smile to a smirk as he waited for Regina to explain herself out of the situation.

“I'm here because I'm his emergency contact,” she explained coolly.

“You know him?”

“I found him on the side of the road years ago with no I.D. I brought him here.”

“Mayor Mills saved his life,” Dr. Whale interjected, causing Killian to take a page out of Swan’s book and roll his eyes in disgust before staring pointedly at Regina.

“Will he be okay?” Mary Margaret inquired, trepidation lacing her words.

“Okay?” Whale scoffed. “The man's been on feeding tubes for years, under constant supervision. He needs to get back here right away, or quite honestly, ‘okay’ might be a pipe dream.”

“Well, then let's quit yapping and start looking,” Emma suggested. She turned towards Killian to address him just as Regina interrupted.

“That's what we're doing. Just stay out of this, dear. And since I clearly can't keep you away from my son, I guess I'm just gonna have to keep my son away from you.” Regina turned her withering gaze from Emma to Graham, “Sheriff. Find John Doe. You heard Dr. Whale. Time is precious.” As she passed him on her way to the exit, Regina gave Killian a pointed smirk that screamed victory.

He grit his teeth at the damnable woman.

Silence followed Regina and Henry’s departure as the remaining members considered the next course of action.

“Well,” Mary Margaret chimed in, “where do we begin looking?”

“We?” Graham gaped.

“Yes. We,” Emma confirmed. “You’re going to need all the help you can get, so let us help you.”

Graham eyed Killian, his jaw clenched so hard Killian could visibly see it from across the room, he was amazed he couldn’t hear the man’s teeth crack under the strain. It was clear that he had no interest in his assistance, and without Henry there as a buffer Killian began to feel the familiar discomfort he knew others felt in his presence. Emma’s attention bounced between the two men, and Killian could feel her agitation at the posturing.

“Right,” Killian conceded, keeping his focus on Graham. “I am actually quite perceptive, and can tell when I’m not welcome.” He turned toward Emma and gave her a sincere nod, “Good luck with your search,” he bid before turning to leave.

“Killian, wait,” she called after him, catching him as he entered the hallway leading back towards the entrance. “You don’t have t-”

“It’s alright, Swan,” he interrupted reassuringly. “You need to focus on finding John Doe, and it's clear the Sheriff does not welcome my assistance. You heard Whale and Regina, time is precious. Go find him before it's too late,” he urged, watching the indecision swirl in her eyes before she nodded and headed back to the Sheriff and Mary Margaret.

As Killian made his way back toward the docks he considered his actions at the hospital. It wasn’t in his nature to back down, and it had taken all of his self-restraint to conform to the Sheriff’s unspoken wishes, and bow out of the search. But Killian hadn’t done it for him, he’d done it for Emma.

Killian knew that the Prince’s situation was dire. Regina didn’t give a damn whether or not he was found, and Killian knew it would serve her purposes better if he simply succumbed to the elements and whatever medical issues still lingered. If he’d joined the search the Sheriff would have been more focused on Killian and his motives than the missing man, and Emma would be caught juggling their animosity and contempt for one another, rather than finding her father in time. And as he’d said back at the hospital, Regina had been right. Time was precious, and they had a prince to find.

The three of them had been traipsing through the woods for the better part of an hour when Graham came to a sudden halt and dropped to one knee. He ran his hand along the ground in front of him as though he were reading a book.

Emma couldn’t take the quiet suspense any longer, and finally asked, “What is it?”

Not even looking up from his position, Graham muttered, “The trail runs cold here.”

Unable to resist needling Graham, Emma quipped, “You sure? 'Cause I thought tracking was one of your skills.”

Graham stood and moved his arm in a placating motion, tinged with a hint of agitation. “Just give me a second. This is my world. I got it,” he spoke as he stalked away from both ladies.

“Right.” Feeling like a bit of an ass, since they were all trying to find John Doe safe and in one piece, Emma decided she ought to apologize. “Sorry.”

Graham didn’t even acknowledge that he heard her speak as he continued to move off a bit deeper into the trees.

“What does he mean, his world? Isn't finding people your thing, too?” Mary Margaret looked confused as she turned to Emma, posing her question.

Emma could tell that Mary Margaret was distracted, her head on a swivel between her and Graham’s retreating form, as she responded, “Sure. Just people I find usually run to places like Vegas.”

Curiosity apparently not yet sated, Mary Margaret continued on with the small talk. “It's an interesting job - finding people. How'd you fall into it?”

“Looking for people's just what I've done as long as I can remember.”

“What made you start? Your parents? Henry told me that you were from a similar situation to his own? Did you ever find them?” Emma continued to indulge the meek yet sweet woman, while simultaneously wishing she would just stop. Though she could now see why Mary Margaret had warmed to Henry, and given him the fairy tale book, they both had the ability to be endearing and trying at the same time.

“Depends on who you ask,” Emma answered cryptically. She was thankful to see Graham reemerging from the underbrush, saving her from this well-intentioned enquiry.

“So ladies, I’ve picked up his trail again, he’s heading that way.” Graham pointed off into the direction at a left slant from where they currently stood.

Emma could see the hopeful anticipation as it veritably rolled off Mary Margaret, as she quickly headed in the direction Graham was pointing.

Graham fell into step next to her, as they followed in Mary Margaret’s wake, finally broaching the subject that she could tell he had been curious to explore. “So… Emma, why was Killian Jones with you when you got to the hospital this morning?”

“Henry dragged him along, I have no idea why.” She tried to be nonchalant about it since she could practically feel Graham’s distaste for Killian, as well as genuinely having no clue why Henry was so insistent Killian come.

“Well, this being the rare exception, there’s not a whole lot of work in Storybrooke for a bail bonds person. Have you thought of alternate job options?”

Temporarily confused as to where this question came from, Emma decided to answer truthfully, if not completely. “Actually. Killian made me an offer.” As soon as the words left her lips she could see the color rise in Graham’s face as it scrunched in consternation and contemplation.

“Emma, whatever you decide to do is up to you, but please heed my advice… do not get in bed with Jones.”

Emma chuckled, giving Graham an amused look as she lifted her brow at his remark.

“You know what I meant… although, don’t do that either...”

“I’ll take that under advisement Sheriff,” she sassed before firmly turning their attentions back to more important matters, “but I think we should be more concerned with finding John Doe right now, than whatever vendetta is warring between you and Jones.”

“There isn’t-”

Emma raised her hand, cutting off whatever it was Graham was going to say. She was completely done with taxing conversations from well-intentioned people today. “Now’s not the time. We need to focus on this search, and find the man in need of medical attention.”

Looking a bit chagrined at his less than professional behavior, and being called out about it, Graham nodded his head and responded, “Right. After you, Ms. Swan.”

Killian arrived back to the Jolly Roger only to find Henry waiting for him below deck. Startled by the presence of the little spitfire sitting on his bunk, and mystified at just how he’d managed to slip past Regina, again, Killian blurted, “Henry?! How did you-”

“Did they find him yet?” Henry asked, cutting off Killian’s flabbergasted comment.

“They’re well on their way, lad. Not to worry,” Killian assured, still shaking his head at Henry’s tenacity as he leaned against the doorway of his cabin.

“We need to go help them,” Henry asserted, hopping off the bunk and coming to stand before Killian. “I think I know where Prince Charming is, and if anyone should be out there looking for him, it should be me. I started all of this.”

“Lad, you are not to blame for any of this.” The fault lies solely on Regina’s shoulders, not the boy she claims as son, Killian seethed to himself, careful to keep his features neutral.

“But I’m the one that convinced Emma and Mary Margaret to read to him,” he argued as he began pacing the length of the room, “and now Prince Charming is out there looking for her.”

“Who?”

“Snow White!” Henry exclaimed as he came to a stop in front of Killian’s desk.

“Henry,” Killian soothed as he made his way over to the distraught boy. He fought the compulsion to once again confess the truth, holding steadfast to the decision to avoid that particular revelation until the last possible moment, and placed his hands onto the boy’s shoulders as he attempted to placate the lad. “He's lost and confused, Henry. He's been in a coma a long time.”

“But, he loves her, and the book says he’ll always find her,” Henry countered, not to be deterred. “We need to find my mom and the Sheriff so they know that Prince Charming will be looking for his Snow White.”

“Henry,” Killian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose at the lad’s incessant belief and hope.

“Killian,” Henry whimpered, his tone betraying the vulnerability that Killian now saw pooling at the corner of his brown eyes and quivering at the tremble of his lip. “You heard what Dr. Whale said. If anything happens to him it’ll be all my fault,” he said, with his gaze pointed towards his feet before looking up at Killian with pleading eyes. “Please. I have to do something.”

Killian felt guilt clamp around his heart and squeeze as if caught in a vise. I’m no better than Regina. Killian thought he’d made the right decision withdrawing himself from the search, but Henry was right, he should be out there helping. He’d never forgive himself if they failed to rescue the prince in time and he had to watch Henry carry around such a burden, knowing he’d done nothing to help.

“Fair enough, mate,” Killian replied. “What do you suggest I do then.”

“Not you. We,” Henry responded. He wiped away the wetness that had tracked down his cheeks then gathered himself enough to let the mischievous, scheming nature Killian had grown to adore about him bloom behind his eyes as he challenged, “You have two choices: either you take me with you to join the search, or I go out there alone.”

He’d have been quite an asset to my crew, once upon a time, Killian mused. Knowing when he’d been bested, Killian picked up the spare motorcycle helmet he kept on a shelf and handed it to Henry with a heavy sigh.

“I suppose I’m taking you then,” he conceded, and watched a jubilant grin break out across Henry’s face as he raced off towards the motorcycle.

As Killian prepared them to head off in search of Emma and the other’s, Killian looked over his shoulder at a still elated Henry and grumbled, “Bloody hell. Emma is going to kill me, then you, then me again.”

Killian and Henry located the group not far from the Toll Bridge, just as Henry had suspected they would. Pulling off to the side of the road, they could see the beams from flashlights piercing through the dense foliage along one of the trails. Killian would have preferred to use a bit more stealth in their approach, but couldn’t keep Henry from crashing through the underbrush, startling Emma and Mary Margaret as he professed to know how they would locate the missing man.

“You're the one that woke him up,” he explained to Mary Margaret. “He’s looking for you! You need to stop chasing him and let him find you.”

“Kid, you need to go home,” Emma stated as she shot Killian a look that expressed her frustration, and had him hanging back within the tree line. “Where's your mom? She's gonna kill me, and then you, and then me again.”

Taken aback by the parroting of his exact words, Killian noticed a wide grin come over the lad as he smirked and gave Killian a look he didn’t quite comprehend before he answered Emma’s question.

“She dropped me off at the house then went right out, so I asked Killian to bring me with him to find you guys.”

Henry took quick steps to catch up to Mary Margaret and began engaging the Princess again with his theories of how she was the key to finding the missing Prince. Killian stepped out of the tree line and sheepishly tried to explain his actions to a still agitated Emma.

“Coerced, actually,” he muttered before offering up his apologies. “I’m sorry, Swan. He threatened to come out here on his own if I didn’t bring him, and I couldn’t very well let him go off in the woods by himself, at night.”

After a moment’s assessment, Emma gave him a quick nod and an appreciative smile for the care he’d shown for her son. Turning to Henry, Emma tried to convey her wish to not have him there. “Well, we need to get you back home immediately.”

Killian understood her concern. Neither of them wished for the boy to witness the dire outcome that could ensue.

“No!” Henry was vehement in his refusal to be sidelined, still feeling the weight of responsibility on his young shoulders.

“Guys?” Hearing the sheriff’s voice call out from the edge of the clearing that led to the river bank, Killian met Emma’s wide eyes as they both heard the foreboding note in his voice.

Crouched along the trail, Graham’s flashlight was aimed at a thin strip of something Killian couldn’t quite make out at first. As he drew closer he realized what the Sheriff had found. John Doe’s hospital bracelet smeared with...

“Is that?” Mary Margaret whispered, as if afraid of the answer that came only a second later when Emma answered with a determined edge to her voice.

“Blood.”

The heightened urgency pressed at them as they came through the clearing, continuing to follow the trail.

“Where is he?” Mary Margaret called out, desperation hanging from every word she uttered. “Can you see him?”

“The trail dies at the water line,” Graham announced, casting their focus and efforts towards the rushing river in front of them.

Beams of light bounced across the water as everyone scanned the river with their flashlights. Suddenly Mary Margaret flung hers aside and raced towards a point off in the water with shouts of Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

Seeing that she had located their missing man, Graham called for assistance over his radio as he and Emma ran to join Mary Margaret.

“Henry, stay here,” Killian commanded as he joined the trio attempting to pull the man from the water.

Working together they managed to lay him out along the shore, a distraught Mary Margaret collapsing at his side.

“Is he okay?” Called out a distraught Henry. Killian watched Emma run over and embrace her son, turning him from the frightening and potentially fatal scene.

“Henry, don't look, okay? Don't look.”

Killian caught Emma’s eye as Mary Margaret began compressions on the Prince, and his heart broke. He knew all too well the pain of losing one’s family and love, but he at least carried the memory of his brother and Milah with him now. Would Emma and the Princess ever know what they had truly lost should the Prince perish? Would The Saviour still be able to break the curse if the bond of True Love died there on the shoreline?

A sound Killian had heard too many times in his long sea-faring life interrupted the quiet despair that had settled around them at Mary Margaret’s perceived failed attempt to revive the man, the sound of water being expelled from one’s lungs. Relief swept through Killian at the gasping breath he heard the man take in, and he shot a wide smile in Henry and Emma’s direction.

“She did it. She did it,” Henry repeated. “She woke him up.”

“Yeah, kid,” Emma confirmed, looking at the newly revived man in utter disbelief before her eyes flickered to Killian’s to share an incredulous look as she declared, “she did.”

Moments later the ambulance arrived, they loaded the man onto the stretcher with Mary Margaret only releasing his hand when the paramedics insisted. The search party made their way back to the hospital in close pursuit of the ambulance, Henry now riding with Emma in the bug while Killian followed behind.

A flurry of activity welcomed them as they made their way into the ward once more. Killian hung back, not wishing to be in the way and unsure whether or not his continued presence was even welcomed. He was therefore the first among them to see the blonde woman rush past as she called out for someone named David.

Killian turned at the sound of heels clicking along the floor, and knew he’d find Regina making her grand entrance. His fists clenched at the insipid smile she gave as she set her sights on her true objective. His stomach turned as she wove a web of lies about the man, David Nolan, and his wife. He suppressed all manner of scathing rebuttals to refute the farce playing out before him. He could have called Regina out any number of times, but he didn’t.

And that might be what grated him most of all.

Killian just stood by and watched as Henry, Mary Margaret, and even Swan’s hopes were dashed by the cold, fictitious reality the Evil Queen had concocted. He found himself unable to meet anyone’s eye, not wishing to see the hope dissipate or the belief fade from their depths because of his inaction. It wasn’t until he heard Henry whisper a final impassioned plea to Mary Margaret that he allowed himself to fully take in the scene around him once again.

“Don't believe them. You're the one he was looking for.”

Killian couldn’t help himself, Henry’s steadfast belief brought a smile to his lips as the lad passed him and waved goodbye. Slightly bolstered by the boy’s resilience, Killian chanced a look at Swan and could see the skepticism written across her brow. She wasn’t buying Regina’s tale for a second and he grinned even wider as she shot out of her chair and chased the Mayor down the hall.

How much did she question? Was she any closer to giving credence to Henry’s belief in the curse? Oh, how he would love to see her go toe to toe with Regina once again, but felt it prudent to remain where he was. Even if that meant sharing space with a bereaved Mary Margaret and having no idea what comforts to offer.

After several more minutes Emma had yet to return, and Killian began to wonder if she’d left. Surely she wouldn’t leave without checking on her friend and saying goodnight. Killian made his way down the hall only to find Swan and Regina still engaged in their confrontation.

“That's why I'm willing to forgive your incessant rudeness,” he heard Regina offer up magnanimously. “Because all this has reminded me of something oh so very important. How grateful I am to have Henry. Because not having someone, well, that's the worst curse imaginable.”

Killian’s gut twisted at her words. Words he had spoken to Swan the first night they’d met. Words that he knew cut both of them deeply, which had him rushing to Emma’s side as Regina exited the building.

“You alright there, Swan?”

His presence always seeming to catch her off guard, she jumped slightly at his approach before putting her tough exterior in place to answer him.

“Yeah, Jones. I’m fine.”

“Don’t let Regina get you down, love,” he said as he took another step closer, attempting to close the gap between them without causing her any more discomfort.

“Don’t worry about me and Regina,” she waved off, masking the hurt he could sense just beneath her collected exterior as she redirected the conversation. “I wanted to thank you, for all your help tonight. Not that I’m thrilled that Henry showed up, but I appreciate you looking after him the way you did.”

“Of course, Swan. As I told you, he’s a good lad, and I don’t mind watching out for him.”

Was it just his imagination or had they somehow drawn even closer to one another? The air seemed to crackle around them and Killian couldn’t help but notice the way she licked at her lips as her eyes flickered back and forth between his own.

In a flash the moment was gone as she took a step back and stated, “Well, I should probably get back to Mary Margaret.”

“Swan,” he called after her. “Look, I don’t know if you’ve had time to consider my proposal, and despite the salaciousness of my teasing earlier, I want you to know the offer of room and board still stands. I’d hate for you to have to sneak back into the pawn shop, or sleep in your car, not when I’ve got plenty of room to accommodate you.”

It wasn’t until the words left his lips that he truly understood the full motivation behind his proposition. As much as he didn’t want her to be alone after everything she’d gone through, even though she had no idea the full breadth of what had been at stake, he didn’t want to be alone either.

Not anymore.

That revelation shook him, even as the implication had him holding out hope that she might relent. That she might provide him the solace he’d been desperately seeking, and never thought he’d find again. In that moment she was so much more to him than he ever considered she could be, which made his heart sink all the more at her response.

“Actually, I’m going to stay with Mary Margaret tonight. She said she has an extra room at her loft, and I think she could probably use the company.”

“Of course,” he nodded in understanding as he tempered his disappointment. Suddenly feeling the need to distance himself from Emma and the exposed feelings that were stirring within him, he quickly added, “Well, then I guess I should be off. Night, Swan.”

Barely waiting to heed her reply, he set off into another lonely night.

Chapter Six

Tagging some lovelies that have asked to be tagged, as well as some we believe might enjoy. Please let us know if you do, or don’t wish to be tagged.

@abeylin1982 @aprilqueen84 @artistic-writer @ashar663 @bschratter @captain-k-jones @captain-swan-coffee @downeystarkjr @flipperbrain @florenzu @freakassbuthunter @gingerchangeling @golfgirld @greenleaf777 @i-island-breeze @ilovemesomekillianjones @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @laschatzi @leiaswanjoneskid @like-waves-on-the-beach @mcbrideannemgt @rookiehookie @seriouslyhooked @smutqueen27 @teamhook @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @yayimallamaagain

#cs ff #cs canon divergent #cursed killian #dark hook #season 1 #Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke #cs fan fic #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #Captain Swan #captain swan fic #captain swan fan fiction #cs #winterbaby89writes #words by hollye

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 7 years

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TrekFest 2017

Four times you fell for Bones, and the one time he fell for you, pt5: The World-Ender

Word Count: 2272 Tags: @dolamrothianlady, @supermoonpanda, @kirkaholic123, @shewhorunswithfandoms @youdonebeengarthed, @starmission @emmkolenn @auduna-druitt @outside-the-government @yourtropegirl @pinkamour1588 @impalaanddemons @flirtswithdanger @southernbellestatues @engineeringtrashcan @rayleyanns@sistasarah-sallysaidso @samaxraph99 @lonolulu @distinguishedqueenofbooks @superwholock734 @feelmyroarrrr Author’s Note: The first two sections are from Bones POV before it shifts back to the reader.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The Enterprise received the distress call. Just barely. It had been picked up on a subspace repeating frequency and was dated from weeks ago. It didn’t matter. Jim had immediately changed the course of the ship to intervene in the disaster. Or at the very least, look for survivors. So little was known about Stazlatz Prime. There’d been a single diplomatic undertaking to the planet when it had first come in contact with the federation, but otherwise had kept itself separate from the Federation - choosing to remain neutral because of the proximity to the Romulan neutral zone. Stazlatz leaders felt it would be more beneficial to maintain trade options with both the Federation and the Romulan Empire. And for a small planet with a smaller population and limited resources, they were probably right.

Doctor McCoy busied himself in MedBay, supervising the preparation of supplies and disaster kits. There was little information that had come with the distress call. Just that there had been a natural disaster and help was needed. And because of the location of the planet, the Enterprise was going the need to take a cautious approach, ensuring that it didn’t drop out of warp space into a Romulan rescue effort, and thereby cause a war.

“Bones, we’ve dropped out of warp and will be at Stazlatz Prime in three hours. How are your preparations?” Jim’s voice came through McCoy’s communicator, jolting him from his thoughts.

“We’re just finishing on the nourishment kits. My information shows Stazlatz Prime is quite arid, so I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of dehydration,” he replied.

“Initial scans of the planet show catastrophic seismic activity,” Jim offered.

“Good to know. We’ll increase available supplies for trauma as well.” He started clicking through protocols on his PADD and making selections.

“I’ll update you as I learn more. Kirk out.”

When the scans started coming back, it was worse than they could have imagined. A single seismic event had set off a series of volcanic eruptions, which in turn had triggered a number of other earthquakes, causing a catastrophic trigger effect of earthquakes and eruptions across the planet. The event was a world-ender. A diplomatic envoy had been present at the time of the disaster, but there had been little more than silence from the team since the initial earthquake, and from what the Enterprise scans could gather, the entire team had perished.

Jim was standing in MedBay with Leonard when the most recent update beeped on his PADD. He read it and sighed heavily, shaking his head and passing the PADD to Leonard.

“Dammit.” It was soundless, forced out by only air. “She was a good person.” There, on the list of crew, was Y/N’s assignment - humanitarian mission to Stazlatz Prime. Your team was listed below your name, all unaccounted for, no transmission received since the emergency beacon was set three weeks previous.

“I know you were fond of the Ambassador, Bones. Once we’ve assessed the situation on the ground, we’ll recover the Starfleet personnel, including her.” Jim clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed.

“God damnit,” Bones murmured, shaking his head. He was no stranger to death, no stranger to loss, but this one burned in his mind more than any in his recent memory. It didn’t come close to the anguish he felt when Jim fell in the reactor core, but it stung. He had been fond of you. He’d enjoyed your quick mind and willingness to debate with him, as well as your ready smile and kind heart. You might have even been a woman he could have started over with again, he realized with some small amount of surprise. With a deep breath, he redoubled his preparation efforts.

Uhura managed to locate a large encampment of survivors, and the shuttle set down the first team of responders, led by Doctor McCoy. Scotty began teleporting down crates of supplies and operations crew to set up a mobile medical unit at the outskirts of the site while the medical team approached. The survivor’s camp was well organized, he noted as he walked through the tent city. It was set up like a wheel, the roads like spokes leading to a centre hub. Above the makeshift dwellings he saw a red cross flag, suggesting they had some kind of medical centre already set up. He picked up his pace, rushing toward a series of large canvas tents that was visible at the end of the road.

It was an impressive set up. McCoy walked through the main fly into a patient ward being tended to by a single nurse who was sitting beside a patient wrapped in bandages, administering a medication by intravenous. It was rare to see, but not unheard of. He looked past the ward to a desk where a humanoid alien was sitting, dressed in scrubs, making notes on a PADD.

“Leonard McCoy, CMO of the Enterprise. We picked up the distress beacon,” he introduced himself. The alien, a species he’d never encountered before, nodded.

“Not a moment too soon, Doctor McCoy. I’m Calliope Xanx, director of emergency medicine at what was the Stazlatz Prime principal medical centre. We’ve burned through all the supplies we’d salvaged from the city, and everything the Federation diplomatic team brought with them -”

“The diplomatic team brought medical supplies?” McCoy interrupted, his brow furrowing.

“Yes, I understand it was actually at your recommendation,” Xanx continued. “Ambassador Y/L/N has been a godsend. Probably not where she wanted to consolidate her skills, but it certainly has been an excellent field test for your pilot project.”

“My pilot project?” McCoy asked, confused. Xanx tilted her head, like she wasn’t sure McCoy was all there, and nodded.

“Y/N told me about your recommendation that Ambassadors have medical training. This was her first diplomatic mission since she finished her accelerated instruction. I don’t think she was expecting to wind up in the thick of things,” Xanx explained.

“The Federation hasn’t had any mission reports since the disaster.” McCoy was careful with his words. “Just a distress signal initiated approximately three weeks ago. The Federation envoy was able to assist? After the earthquakes and eruptions?”

“The diplomatic team has been helping every day since,” Xanx clarified.

“Are you telling me Ambassador Y/L/N is alive?” McCoy exclaimed. Xanx nodded. “Here?”

Xanx picked up the comm sitting on the desk. “Y/L/N, please report to MedBay One, stat.”

“On my way, Y/L/N out.” Your voice cracked over the speaker.

You pushed through the back fly of MedBay One, sweaty and grimy. It was unending, the dirt. The planet had been arid and dry to begin with, but the humidity had dropped to next to nothing since the disaster, every drop of moisture evaporating into the endless heat. The ground was cracked and dusty, withered weeds where there had once been sparse wild grass. Trying to stay clean was difficult. Trying to keep your patient’s wounds aseptic was worse. Trying to do it with a limited amount of supplies was a ridiculous nightmare.

Xanx usually only called you midshift if something had changed with one of the casualties. More and more frequently, it was the shift between living and dying, and changing the plan of care from aggressive treatment to comfort measures. You’d just finished inventory. There wasn’t enough pain control meds for the living, let alone any to spare for those going through the agony of death from their wounds.

“Is it Zaeniff? I didn’t feel good about him last night, and was worried the infection was spreading,” you asked, not looking up from your PADD.

“Y/N?” A voice you didn’t think you’d ever hear again spoke, and your eyes snapped up. You dropped your PADD. You could feel your pulse begin to race, and a sudden sheen of sweat break out, swiftly cooling you. Your vision began to tunnel right as your mouth went completely dry.

“Bones?” You croaked. You swallowed thickly, and grabbed for the desk as everything went spotty. The last thing you saw was his eyes go wide as he reached out to catch you.

You wakened gradually, aware of the bright light above you, and the complete and utter absence of scent. The past weeks had been nothing but the combined bouquet of body odor, decaying flesh and bodily waste. And now, you could smell nothing. You drew in a deep breath, the hint of a smile playing across your lips. And slowly, so slowly, you finally forced your eyes to open.

“You’re one helluva piece of work, Bambassabor,” Bones was sitting beside you, an indulgent smile on his face. “When you fainted, you cracked your head on the side of the desk.”

“That explains the hallucination,” you nodded, closing your eyes again. “I didn’t think there was such thing as an olfactory hallucination.”

“You’re not hallucinating, Y/N. You’re on the Enterprise. I had Scotty beam you aboard when you crashed,” he explained. You tried to sit up, but he put a hand on your chest, forcing you to stay laying down. He compromised by raising the head of the bed so you were in a seated position. “None of that, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t you be supervision the evacuation?” You asked. “I mean, if you’re real?”

“Xanx was mighty protective of her patients and of you. She’s insisting that she stay in charge, so that I can make sure you’re okay,” he replied.

“I can’t believe you found us,” you sighed, closing your eyes again. You felt his hand settle on top of yours, and instinctively laced your fingers between his. You were too tired to be embarrassed by the move, and he didn’t pull away. You smiled.

“Xanx tells me you just finished an accelerated nursing program,” he broached. You nodded, not bothering to open your eyes.

“I took your suggestion to HQ, and they loved it. It was a brutal year, but I took a trauma rotation, and I learned so much. I honestly wasn’t sure I would ever use it, but there I was, first mission back in service, and dealing with nothing but trauma. I still have a pathology and infectious disease rotation to do, and then HQ will revisit the trial. They’ve been talking about med school for a couple of the students currently in the diplomatic faculty,” you replied. “Not me, though, I’m too old.”

“So you’re a nurse now,” he prompted. You opened your eyes and nodded.

“I am,” you admitted.

“Because of a conversation we had over poker over a year ago?” he pressed.

“Has it really been a year already?” You asked.

“It has, and you’re still as beautiful as the first time I met you,” he laughed.

“Now you’re just flattering me,” you laughed. “Am I dying?” He squeezed you hand and you looked at him, silently. He looked worried and relieved all at once, the deep lines in his forehead and beside his eyes showing obvious signs of recent tension release. And the expression on his face was bemused and affectionate.

“No,” he reassured you. “I thought you were dead, Y/N.”

“But I’m not,” you sighed. “And I’m not dying?”

“You’re really not. Your electrolytes are all out of whack, and I think stress is all that’s been holding you on your feet, but you aren’t in any danger of dying,” he laughed. “In fact, other than the residual exhaustion, you’re taking up a valuable biobed.”

“I’m sure there’s a cot available for me somewhere,” you tried to push yourself to sitting again, and again he put his hand on your chest to make you stay down.

“I thought you were dead,” he repeated. “It was when I thought you were dead that I realized how much you’d come to mean to me, Y/N.” You looked at him, and felt moisture gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“We haven’t seen one another in ages, Bones,” you protested, your heart rate jumping.

“Doesn’t seem to matter,” he shook his head. “Despite being a headstrong pain in my ass, I’ve always been soft on you. And then Xanx said you’d taken my idea, given me credit for it even, and you walked into that tent. In scrubs. And dammit, if you’ve ever been more beautiful, I’ve never seen it.”

“I don’t understand.” You couldn’t find any other words, what he was saying was so surprising to you. Was he really telling you he had similar feelings for you as you did for him?

“I’m going to discharge you, and take you to my quarters. I’ll open my ration for you so you can have a hot shower, and give you my gym clothes so you’ve got some pjs. While you scrub up, I’ll replicate you my mama’s chicken and dumpling stew. And then I’m going to tuck you into bed so that when I’m off shift, I can monitor you,” he explained. Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Because I think I’m in love with you. And I don’t want to let you out of my sight for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh.” You licked your lips and looked down at his hand, fingers entwined in yours, and back up at him.

“I mean, if you’re okay with that?” He looked insecure suddenly and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Remember when you kissed me, on Malvar III?” You asked. He nodded. “Does that not letting me out of your sight include more of that?”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours. “It might.”

“I could be okay with that.”

#trek fest 2017 #star trek imagine #imagine star trek #Leonard Bones McCoy #Leonard McCoy #Bones #bones x reader #leonard mccoy x reader

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earlgreytea68 · 7 years

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On Co-Writing

When I first started writing fic, it was entirely co-written.

I should back up. I’ve written stories since I can remember, but my stories were entirely original stories. I didn’t know fic existed until I was in my 20s (let me tell you, I wish I’d come of age in a time when I knew fic existed), and then I wasn’t actually actively engaged in fandom activities until later in my 20s (THANK YOU, TELEVISION WITHOUT PITY, FOR CHANGING MY LIFE), and then I met these people who wanted to co-write some fic. And at first I was like, “No, no, I don’t do fic, I think I’m too attached to my own characters.” These were clearly FAMOUS LAST WORDS. (Although I have often felt that the fic I write is so heavily full of original characters, and at the moment I’ve landed solemnly on a pair of characters so tenuously based in canon they might as well be original, that I’m not entirely convinced I was wrong with my original assessment of myself as a writer.)

Anyway, I started co-writing with this group of people and I had an unexpected blast. I had never co-written before, and it was interesting to write in that environment, and I had fun.

But then what happened was I got more comfortable writing fic and suddenly I wanted things that were mine? Which sounds selfish, but I think writers are all selfish to some extent. I started writing a babyfic on my own because one of my co-writers hated the genre, and then I got attached to my babyfic. My characters (most of whom were original, by the end of that series the stories were ENTIRELY about my original characters with tiny little side cameos by fic characters) became mine, and I’ve never been one of those writers who doesn’t want other people to play, like, people wrote fic about my original characters and I thought that was delightful, but I didn’t have any desire to share the creating of them with others. Like, I wanted what happened to them in my head to be entirely mine. And, also, I was having so much fun writing that I didn’t want to relinquish that to anyone else. I was so delighted by what I was writing that I didn’t want to give up writing any word of it. There were times when the words were hard but I still felt protective over that process, over that time I had with all of them, in my head.

But the great thing about fic is that you can, over time, write so much of it, in so many different ways, that your writing process is allowed to keep changing again and again and again. You write fics for people, you write fics in reaction to people, you write long fics, you write short fics, you try new genres, you try new characters, you try new verb tenses, you try new POVs. You write the same moment over and over again, you write the same story over and over again, seeing what you like about it and don’t like about it. And every time you do it you can do it slightly differently. So sometimes I write in furtive secret and no one knows I’m doing it until it’s done and revealed, ta-da. And sometimes I write much more collaboratively. Like, Next Big Thing was an incredible shift in writing process where I felt like I was co-writing with dozens of people, and it taught me a lot and it made the fic much better.

All the same, I never really felt this burning desire to co-write properly again. Wait, I should clarify that. I’ve never felt a burning desire to do it fic-ly. I have periodically thought it would be nice to do it for original stuff, because then I could have someone to do plot and I could just write banter like I do for fic. Like, wouldn’t that be nice?? SOMEONE ELSE could do all the hard parts!! You could wake up in the morning and your story would ALREADY BE WRITTEN.

So. I am happy to say that I have found SOMEONE ELSE to do all the hard parts, and it is fascinating.

The first time I co-wrote, I was a very young writer, and I had never put anything out into the public, and I’d never really gotten feedback, and I’d never really thought about writing. Now I have spent so much time thinking about writing. I worked myself through my relationship with writing while depressed at the law firm, and then I rediscovered my relationship with writing, and then I wrote original stuff, and then I wrote more fic, and then I found a balance between original stuff and fic, and the whole time I was doing this I was thinking so hard about all of this, because then in addition I made my job thinking about the process of creativity, and so this is all to say that co-writing at this stage in My Life (™ old person having midlife crisis or something???? I mean, not really, but who says “this stage in my life,” I am ridiculous) has been so interesting.

It started earlier this month, and I don’t even really remember how it was that @bookshop happened to DM me a question. But the question spiraled and spiraled and spiraled and spiraled, into this complicated plot that I characterized as “Hipster My Fair Lady” and then she turned into “Hipster Emma” because she is obsessed with Emma (if you didn’t know this, YOU WILL once I am done fully documenting this process, I have no doubt), and by 3:04PM on Sunday we were writing scenes together and by 6:36PM we’d established our ship and literally by 6:40PM I was like, “Wait, I feel like I might need to start writing this RIGHT NOW.” So then there was a document (it’s called “Look What I’ve Done,” which is not a title except for how now that I reflect upon it it’s kind of a fitting title and let’s not even get into titles, lolololol) and then there were scenes and then another scene and then, I don’t know, 20,000 words later or something not only is there also a three-thousand-word outline (AND I HAVE NEVER OUTLINED A WRITING PROJECT EVER, THANKS, AJA) but Aja is busy trying to figure out the plot of *future novels* around these characters.

See, for instance:

Aja: jane's book would be hysterical

Me: That's if you were a responsible writer.

Aja: her voice would be amazing

Me: Because I'm me, every one of these books would just be Matt being like, "Now we set these two people up!" And in the end they would all be about Matt. Because that's how I roll.

Aja: that's not true, you'd fall equally in love being in everyone else's head as you went along

Me: Ha, you are like the Jane Voice of Wisdom. Like, "Snap out of it, you'd be fine, you're so over-dramatic."

And meanwhile I’m like, “It’ll all just happen, just let me live in Matt’s head for a little while, la la la.”

And because I write that way, which I would call maybe instinctive or intuitive if I didn’t think that sounded obnoxious (I said later that my writing has had a trajectory toward “thoughtless sprawl of fluff”), I often don’t realize the point of what I’m writing until later. Which cracks Aja up, who spots the point of it almost immediately. So we have conversations like this:

Me: It just occurred to me how obvious Matt's need for affection is personified by how compulsively he is constantly cuddling Patrick's cat.

Aja: did you just now notice that

This process had been about watching how much our writing styles are similar enough to mesh but different enough to complement. Like, very early on I wrote a scene where the main group of characters are all at a bar together. My focus in this scene was on this very particular plot point that I felt had to happen here to drive the story forward. There were too many characters for me to deal with it, so I shoved a few of them off into a conversation by themselves and stuck with my POV character and a couple of others who I felt were relevant.

And then Aja came and carefully and cheerfully integrated everybody back into the conversation. As we discussed later:

Me: Ha, like literally I wrote a big group scene and ignored half the characters. And Aja was like, "BUT THEY ALL HAVE AN EMOTIONAL JOURNEY AT THIS PARTY," and went back and added it in, lol And I was like, "I would have just cut all of these characters."

Aja: And my first question was WHO'S SITTING NEXT TO WHO

So then, when the next group scene came up, the very first thing I did was make a seating chart in my head, and make sure that I was worried about the emotional journey of every single character, and not just my OTP. I have never done that before, just like I’ve never done an outline before.

But Aja is a planner. Aja is constantly processing things first. Aja will say, “This needs to happen,” and I say, “What? No. Why?” and then Aja has this really cogent, well-thought-out thing about it, and I’m like, “Oh, okay, wait, you’re right.” *I,* however, literally cannot do this. I cannot plan this way. I keep writing and writing and writing scenes of this story because it’s the only way I can make it make sense. I’ll say kind of vaguely, “I know what has to happen, I know I can make it work, just let me write it.” And then I write it. And then Aja very nicely comes in and is like, “But the structure and the pacing,” and makes the plot make sense again.

It’s just been interesting to watch how I operate as a writer and have it thrown into stark relief because of how I see her doing it differently and so I thought I would try to document this process as it moves forward because half of the fun of the project has been watching the surprising-to-me ways in which it has taken shape. So there will probably be periodic co-writing updates and everyone should prepare themselves for that. For now, here is some of what we have discussed:

Me: Okay, so this is so funny. Because I am currently co-writing something with @bookshop And she is like, "What's the structure? What's the pacing? We should have an outline." And I'm like, "NO WAY, I WILL JUST RAMBLE ON FOR SEVERAL THOUSAND WORDS AND YOU CAN FIGURE THE PLOT OUT LATER." Writing is so cool, everyone does it such a different way! I said something last night that was like, "The worst thing in the entire universe is having to re-write something." And she was like, "All I do is re-write.” And I was like, AHAHAHAHAHA

Aja: it's a lot of fun because we both have totally opposite approaches to the characters, too, because all I want to do is make them all flawed and giving them CONFLICT and sending them on personal growth journeys and explore who hates who and why, lol, and EGT is focused on making sure they are happy and reassuring them that they are loved and it is kind of beautiful

Me: OMG this is SUCH TRUTH.

Aja: (But we both want to do this through banter and UST lol)

Me: Every single thing I wrote last night was like, "Matt's going to have a super-great night and everyone's going to love him because he's going to have a tough time ahead of him when Aja gets back to him"

And I also think it’s interesting how we’ve revealed how our views of ourselves are slightly skewed. Like, I watch Aja characterize herself as being very worried about pacing, and being the one who is willing to let her characters suffer, while I just want everyone to be happy and nice all the time. And it’s true, I do want everyone to be happy and nice all the time, but I find her to be incredibly kind. Like, much kinder than I am, frankly. Much more worried about every single character. I tend to do this thing where I fall so much in love with my main characters that others can get short-changed. This came out in this conversation:

Aja: ugh i want jonah to end up with someone nice and hunky though let's face it, it will probably be someone named Royce or Gentry

Me: lololololol You are so nice to everybody. You are actually a way nicer writer than me, lol Everything we know about each other is a lie.

Aja: ahahaha see i just want to advance our sympathy for everyone through conflict akdfsja;s you just want everyone to be nice all the time

Me: Ahahahaha That sounds so boring when you say it that way!

Aja: no but i don't mean it to be ahaha and if they cannot be nice then you want to like make it clear why they are fundamentally opposed to Our Heroes

Me: Yes. And Not As Wonderful as Our Heroes. Who are mainly Wonderful In All Ways.

Her: whereas I am like, no! Our Heroes are Fundamentally Flawed which prevents them from seeing how their Nemesis are Also Struggling and How They Are More Alike Than They Realize, and If They Could All Just Communicate Honestly Like Adults they could all MOVE FORWARD AND BE FRIENDS, OR AT LEAST TOLERATE ONE ANOTHER PEACEFULLY

Me: WE ARE JUST STARTING OUR STORIES AT DIFFERENT POINTS. Like, I just had this moment of realizing that. Because you wrote all that and I was like, "Right. Exactly. And then after that everyone is nice." And that's where I would start.

Aja: this is a nice thought but also it is wrong because I genuinely read all 84,205,934,520,342,943 words of NBT expecting that you would eventually give Alec a tragic backstory that explained all of his actions and allowed him to eventually reconcile and find common ground with A/E hahaha

Me: But no, that's why I never did that. YOU would have done that. I was just like, "He's hopeless." I actually was going to make him MORE of a villain and pulled back. Because I decided I just wanted him pathetic, lol You would have TOTALLY been worried about Alec in every single scene. This is hilarious to me.

Aja: I was prepared for him to be hopeless but i was also thinking he would be, like, a pathetic hopeless villain who we were eventually going to empathize with unwillingly to some degree and i was i was very worried about alec haha

Me: You were legit the only person worried about Alec.

She is worried about EVERYONE. She wants EVERYONE to be happy. It’s very sweet. I write a scene that I find important solely because it allows the OTP to share what I considered a sweet inside-joke-y moment, and she was like, “Right, but Jonah? In the background? I’m expanding that because x,” and I was like, “Ohhhh, I didn’t even realize that about Jonah.”

(Also, I would like to lodge the complaint that I have been running around worried I’d let people be happy too soon, and Aja has the OTP kissing on literally the first page.)

Aja, btw, also doesn’t really care for babyfic. She has already gently prepared me for the fact that our OTP probably shouldn’t have a baby. She’s not wrong. BUT STILL. I am doomed to seek out co-writers who are my opposite. And, as she pointed out, that’s not actually a bad thing.

The best part of the whole thing is when things accidentally work out perfectly. When I write a very long exchange of dialogue entirely because I like the joke (this is a thing I do pretty much constantly, I sense it will drive her crazy by the end, this morning she rightly vetoed a plot point and I was like, “I already had a line about it!”) and then she adds a secondary character’s line that I ignored because I have OTP tunnel vision and then suddenly my funny dialogue literally becomes CHARACTER MOTIVATION, like, it’s amazing. And then she says, “We are the best writers ever,” and I say, “Yeah, we kind of are, huh?”

And in that way, we are perfectly complementary.

(I’ll get back to you when we talk about titles again. This was the conversation we’ve had so far about titles:

Me: Let's not think title because you're going to want a long one and I'm going to want a short one and we'll have to have an epic falling out over this, lololol

Aja: scream)

P.S. I said, Aja, are you okay with my posting this? And she responded:

you should make it clear that YOU HAVE DONE MOST OF THE WRITING

while i am just angsting about the writing hahaha

And I feel like maybe that is our understanding of our writing styles in a nutshell

#personal #long post #co-writing

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marvelyningreen · 3 years

Text

It Will End in Rain

Part 2 - Establishing Care

(Previous | Next)

[Summary: If somebody’s sole counterpoint is ‘I’ll be fine,’ or ‘I’ve had worse,’ Hank knows better than to take their word for it.

Warnings: references to injury

Notes: Generally in line with XCU canon. POV character this time is Hank. It’s funny; I usually find that OC fics work better when written from the OC’s point of view, but these first two parts just felt more natural with Logan and Hank’s perspectives. Go figure. Skye finally gets her turn next time, though!]

Hank McCoy was used to being distrusted. Humans were suspicious of him because he was a mutant. Many mutants didn’t want anything to do with him because he was a doctor, which was at least understandable. So, while the feeling was still unpleasant, it was familiar.

But it didn’t stop him from trying to win people over. It exasperated Raven at times. She’d shake her head, saying that he was just as bad as Charles. Hank chose to take that as a compliment.

The long and short of it was that Hank had gotten fairly good at the whole thing, which is why he waited a few days to visit their most recent guest. To be honest, his biggest hurdle was learning to smother his own curiosity. The newcomer was some variety of teleporter, he’d been told, and what he’d heard had him fascinated already.

But she was also pretty aloof, and allegedly with good reason. Hank wasn’t sure of the specifics – just that she’d spent time with the GLA and left under a cloud. Charles wouldn’t say much beyond that, pointing out that it wasn’t his story to tell. Logan said much the same, but finished by muttering that he needed a drink just thinking about it.

It’d surprised Hank that Charles brought Logan in to speak to her. Logan was a man of many admirable qualities, to be sure, but tact wasn’t one of them. Usually, it was Kurt who was sent to befriend newcomers. His unassuming nature and genuine kindness made it practically impossible to dislike him. It was little wonder the young man was studying to become a counselor.

But in the absence of Kurt, and with Hank already a bit concerned about the newcomer’s wellbeing, it fell to him to make a house call. He knocked on the door of her room, and waited.

Several seconds later, the door opened, and the newcomer peered out. She cast her eyes over him, and Hank saw her expression harden ever so slightly at the sight of the medical-looking bag slung over his shoulder. But she didn’t slam the door in his face, so that was something.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Not exactly a welcoming tone in her voice, but it wasn’t unfriendly, either. Hank could work with that. He smiled.

“I’m Hank McCoy. And you’re Skye, is that right? Is it alright if I come in?”

Skye winced slightly as she shrugged.

“It’s your mansion,” she said. She stepped aside to let him enter.

“Thank you.” It never hurt to be polite.

As Skye had sized him up, Hank was doing the same. He could usually tell if a patient was going to get hostile or aggressive, but he wasn’t picking up any indications of that from her. She seemed reluctant to let him in, wary of him, but more resigned to his presence than anything else.

She’d kept the room neat, as well. Her own belongings – the contents of that large backpack, Hank assumed – were contained to a small area. Just several items placed on the nightstand, but not much else. There was a radio on the desk, and books that he was certain came from the mansion’s own library.

Skye herself watched him wordlessly.

“I’ll get right to the point, then,” said Hank. “I heard you ended up with a few cracked ribs the other night, so I was hoping you’d let me take a look at you, just to make sure that everything’s healing alright and that there’s no signs of pneumonia.”

Skye’s expression somehow went even more blank than before.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, “But I’ve had worse than this. I’ll be fine.”

That first bit was delivered very politely, for an obvious lie. Of course Hank didn’t want to push her too much on the issue, but if someone’s sole counterpoint was ‘I’ll be fine,’ he knew better than to take their word for it.

“I’m sure you will,” he said, offering a lie of his own. “Still, for my own peace of mind.”

Hank phrased it almost as a question, but Skye was silent, neither agreeing nor arguing back. Outwardly, she didn’t look scared or irritated or uncomfortable, just… well, resigned. There wasn’t really another word for it. It was like she was awaiting orders. Hank tried again.

“Listen, there are a lot of people here who don’t like doctors,” he said. “I understand that. I’ll be quick, and if you change your mind and want me to stop, just say the word and we’ll be done. May I have your permission?”

“It’s fine,” said Skye, then clarified, “You have my permission.”

Resignation, still. His bedside manner undaunted, Hank smiled.

“Alright, just have a seat, then,” he said, gesturing to the bed while he set down his bag, retrieving a thermometer and stethoscope. “Let’s check your temperature first.”

Skye had what had to be the world’s most patient thousand-yard stare. She didn’t even look up as she let Hank place the thermometer under her tongue, and sat perfectly still while he waited for its reading.

“One hundred point nine. Under normal circumstances, that’d be considered a low-grade fever,” Hank said, frowning. “Does your temperature usually run high?”

“Only after an injury,” said Skye. “It’s part of the accelerated healing, I guess.”

“Hmm, good to know,” said Hank, making a mental note to make sure the girl was staying hydrated.

On a more scientific level, he noted it as a baseline for Skye. And he wondered if Logan was similarly affected. Of course, Logan’s healing generally took seconds, so an elevated temperature wouldn’t be noticeable. But it would explain why he didn’t like sleeves.

Hank stowed the thermometer in favor of the stethoscope.

“Now I’ll just have a listen to your lungs, make sure there’s not any fluid building up. Alright?”

Skye nodded as Hank stepped behind her. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and noted two more things.

First, in spite of her unconcerned attitude, she was incredibly tense. Second, the bony shoulder confirmed his suspicion that Skye was far too skinny for her frame, and definitely hadn’t been getting enough to eat for a while now. Neither of which he’d bring up at that moment, of course.

“Alright, now I need you to take a deep breath for me, please,” he said, positioning the stethoscope. He listened carefully as Skye breathed slowly in and out. “Good. And again, please.”

On the third time, Skye’s breath seemed to catch for a second. She leaned forward abruptly as her body was wracked with a coughing fit, which she tried to smother in the crook of her arm. Worrying, no doubt about it, and certainly painful with cracked ribs.

Hank glanced back at Skye’s belongings. She didn’t seem to have any pain medicine of her own, and she hadn’t requested any so far. But accelerated healing or no, she was clearly still in pain.

As the coughing fit subsided, Skye took a few shallow breaths as though to steady herself.

“Sorry,” she said hoarsely.

Apologizes for no reason – that was another thing to note.

“You’re fine,” Hank said gently. “Are you able to give me two more deep breaths? Then we’ll be done.”

Skye nodded. “Sure.”

Finishing his assessment, Hank went back to put away the stethoscope.

“Well, things sound alright at the moment,” he said, “But we should keep an eye on that cough. Here – this should help you breathe a little easier.”

Skye took the bottle of ibuprofen from him, and Hank figured it was time to make his exit. Skye hadn’t started looking agitated yet, but he didn’t want to risk overstaying his (admittedly tepid) welcome.

“Well, thank you. You didn’t try to stab me, which is more than I can say for some of my patients,” said Hank.

Skye’s expression went blank again, then slightly worried. “You’re… joking.”

The sentence was a statement, but her expression was a question mark. Hank smiled.

“Not hardly. Like I said, you’re not the only one who doesn’t like doctors. No, it’s alright,” he said hurriedly. Skye’s shoulders had started to tense up again, and she seemed to be slowly shrinking into herself. “I don’t mind. Really. All I ask is that you let me help, if and when you need it.”

Skye nodded, but didn’t straighten up. She didn’t just look nervous; she looked guilty, and Hank was having a hard time figuring out why. Just because she thought she’d offended him? Maybe.

“Well, before I go, is there anything that you need, or want?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” said Skye.

Was he imagining the hesitation in her reply? It was hard to tell. Hank folded his arms, smiling faintly down at her.

“Skye…?” he prompted.

“Is it-” she paused and grimaced briefly. “Is it alright if I walk in the hallway later? Just to stretch my legs a little. I thought I saw a, a window seat at the end of the hall…? I won’t go any farther than that – I promise.”

Maybe it was just the years of having to keep the students out of off-limits sections of the mansion that made Skye’s request sound so strange to him. Hank wasn’t sure he could remember anyone else asking permission to simply leave their room. It was almost funny, until he thought about it a little more. Then, it was just concerning.

“Of course,” he said. “You’re free to look around anytime. I could go with you, if you want, or find someone else to.”

Kurt wouldn’t be back for a few weeks yet, unfortunately, but most of the people Skye had already met would probably be willing to help. Jubilee often took responsibility for showing guests around. The Maximoff twins were pretty obliging, when they weren’t up to shenanigans. Even Logan might be prevailed upon, seeing as Charles brought him along to his first meeting with Skye.

But Skye herself was shaking her head. “That’s alright. I’ll just wait until tonight, so I won’t be in the way.”

Hank wasn’t so sure that Skye realized she was a guest here, but he didn’t want to push the matter.

“That’s fine, if that’s what you prefer,” he said. “I’ll come back to check on you in a couple days. Try to take it easy until then. If you need anything in the meantime, don’t hesitate to ask, alright?”

Skye nodded again. “Right.”

As Hank walked away from the room, a nagging sense of unease settled in the back of his mind. Physically, the girl was about as well as could be expected. That’s what he’d gone to asses, after all. He could leave it at that. Perhaps he should. And yet…

Skye willingly put herself in harm’s way for a stranger. She was the reason Jubilee hadn’t been injured. Something else was clearly ailing her, and Hank wanted to do something about it. They owed her that much.

Charles would be no help – he kept overheard thoughts to himself except in instances of imminent danger – but it didn’t stop Hank from asking him for his opinion.

“You went to see her yourself,” said Charles. “What’s your assessment?”

Hank sighed. “She’s all resilience and no fight. She could easily survive getting hit by a bus, but I don’t think she’d bother to avoid getting hit in the first place.”

If Hank wanted more information, and wanted to gain it without bothering Skye herself, he’d have to look elsewhere. He may as well start with the other people who’d spoken to her.

Jubilee said she that was sorry, but that she couldn’t tell him much. She’d been hoping that Skye would venture out of her room at some point so that she could thank her, but no such luck. When asked what she remembered about Skye’s abilities, Jubilee said that she’d gotten a strange feeling before the teleportation switch.

“Like you were being watched?” Hank had asked, recalling mentions of a psychic link.

“Not exactly. More like… being watched over, I guess.” Jubilee had laughed. “Or like I was being haunted. It’s hard to describe.”

The Maximoff twins, it turned out, had paid her a visit. It seemed that they hadn’t forgotten how everyone had made them feel welcome when they first arrived at the school, and now they wanted to do the same for the newcomer. The radio Hank had seen in Skye’s room was on loan from Tommy, and the books were from Billy.

“She’s… spiraling, I guess,” Billy had said. “It wasn’t that bad when we met her, but the next day-”

He’d shrugged, saying he hadn’t felt right about looking any further into her thoughts when she was already having such a hard time with them.

Strange. Why would that be? Was it something that Charles or Logan had said? Or was Skye just genuinely uncomfortable staying at the school? If so, that’d throw a wrench into Hank’s plan. He’d been going to suggest sending Skye to Genosha after she recovered.

He and Erik may have more than a few differences of opinion, but Hank had thought that his guidance might be more in line with what Skye needed. That, and Genosha was a good alternative refuge for a mutant who was too old to attend the school.

Most mutants were, generally speaking, relieved and reassured to find a community of their own kind. Skye… not so much. Genosha might be out as a solution, but Hank didn’t like the idea of letting Skye just go back to living on the road. It clearly hadn’t been a healthy situation for her.

Hank went down to the kitchens as well, seeking further information. Remy asserted that he wouldn’t be much help, since he mostly brought the food up to Skye’s room and came back later to take away the dishes. He said that Skye usually looked like she’d just woken up when he saw her, and he felt a little bad about interrupting her sleep.

When Hank asked if she’d been getting enough to eat, Remy grimaced. The first couple meals, he said, she’d cleaned her plate but always refused to accept his offer of seconds. Since then, he’d started sending up larger portions. When she’d start leaving food uneaten, then he’d know she was getting enough. Good man.

Remy also mentioned that there were a few things she flat-out didn’t eat – oatmeal, pudding, and jello. He wasn’t sure why, but Hank had a feeling he knew. Subpar hospital food often included those items.

When Hank considered his observations, the picture that all the disparate details painted was… concerning. He kept his worry in check, though, and waited another two days before paying Skye a second visit.

It seemed very little had changed. Her condition hadn’t worsened any, and she was a little less pale. But she hadn’t relaxed at all. Her belongings were still confined to a small area, and the only real change was the different books on the desk.

Well, those, and the bottle of ibuprofen he’d left for her. As for that…

Hank picked up the bottle, hearing the pills inside rattling around. Now, he’d left just enough for two days. Even if Skye had only taken half the maximum amount, it would’ve made a noticeable dent.

“You haven’t taken any of these,” he remarked.

Skye hadn’t moved, but her gaze flicked away from him the instant he turned back to look at her. She hesitated just a second too long before replying, just long enough for Hank to be certain she hadn’t wanted to be called out on this.

“I didn’t need them,” she said.

Hank frowned slightly. “Skye, I’ve had cracked ribs before, and I like to think I’ve got a pretty high tolerance for pain. I don’t believe for a second that you aren’t hurting right now.”

“I’ve had worse,” Skye said quietly.

After what he’d heard from Charles and Logan, Hank didn’t doubt it. He sighed, setting the bottle back down.

“Like I said, it’s your choice to take them or not, but I’d rather not have any patient of mine let herself suffer unnecessarily.”

Hank turned away, absently reorganizing the contents of his bag. Not because they were out of order in any way, of course. It was just a way to give the poor girl a break from feeling like she was being scrutinized.

“By the way,” he went on, “It sounds like you’ve been on the road for some time. Is there anybody you wanted to contact – family, or friends? Just to let them know you’re alright.”

“No, thank you,” was all Skye said.

Well, that wasn’t much to go on. Hank tried a different route.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped there,” he said. “Quite a few of the students and staff don’t have much family to speak of.”

“That’s not-”

Skye hesitated. As Hank suspected, she wouldn’t volunteer information, but she’d readily correct his misconceptions. He glanced back at her, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“My parents do a lot of traveling,” she said at length. “I left a message for them a few weeks ago. I doubt they got it yet. They won’t be worried.”

“Oh, I see.” Hank nodded as though he understood. “I bet your family did a lot of traveling when you were young, then.”

Skye shook her head. “Never, actually. They always planned on traveling when their kids were grown up, but… Well, my sisters are twelve years older than me. Once I was old enough to drive, our parents got back on track, though.”

It would hardly take a genius to read between the lines there. Normally, it’d be rude to respond with an unrelated anecdote of one’s own. But in this case? He didn’t want to press Skye too hard.

“Is that a fact?” he said. “A friend of mine – his name is Scott. He’s about your age. Anyway, he had a brother who was almost twenty years older than him.”

“‘Was?’”

Instead of looking blankly ahead like a soldier, Skye had turned to look at him.

“Ah, yes. He was, uh…”

Hank was thrown off. He hadn’t quite thought it through when he steered the conversation this way, and he hadn’t expected the sympathetic curiosity in Skye’s gaze. He cleared his throat.

“It was before Cairo. Alex was killed trying to protect Professor Xavier.”

“Oh,” Skye said quietly. Her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Hank shook himself, smiling apologetically down at her. “And I’m sorry. Talking about that sort of thing is not at all what I was here for.”

As Hank turned to go, the corner of his bag clipped the chair, knocking it from his hand to land near Skye’s feet. He paused for a second, almost amused by his own clumsiness. He shouldn’t have hesitated.

Before he could move or say a word – the second the bag hit the floor – Skye with her half-healed cracked ribs swiftly knelt down to pick it up.

She immediately let out a smothered groan. Even as she gripped the bed with one white-knuckled hand, she lifted the bag with the other to return it to him.

Hank quickly took it from her and tossed it onto the desk. Instinct taking over after the second of stunned horror, he knelt down next to her.

“Skye! Here, lean on me. Steady, now.”

Blue or not, Hank was still strong enough to easily help Skye up again. He half-expected her to refuse his help. Instead, she gripped tightly to his arms as he got her back sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were still squinted shut in pain, and her breathing was quick and shallow.

“Try to breathe deeper if you can,” Hank instructed gently. “In, and out. Just like that. In, and out.”

Skye nodded. After a few more breaths, she seemed to be through the worst of it. Hank straightened up, taking a few deep breaths himself. What on earth had possessed her to do that?

“I could’ve easily picked that up myself,” he said.

Skye shrugged – or winced, it was still hard to tell. “I was closer.”

“You were cl-” Hank broke off abruptly and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It was difficult to argue with that kind of logic. She was completely in earnest, wasn’t she? Hank tried again.

“Skye,” he said patiently, “Please don’t go throwing yourself around and aggravating your injuries. At the very least, don’t do it right in front of your doctor. I’m going grey fast enough as it is.”

“Sorry.”

In spite of his incredulity and exasperation, that quiet, defeated little ‘sorry’ hurt his heart a little.

“I’m here to help you, not the other way around,” he said.

Hank had never once seen Skye smile. For a moment, he thought he was about to see her cry. But her expression simply smoothed itself into its default blank state.

“Just take it easy for a bit, alright?” he said. “I’ll have them bring up some icepacks with your lunch.”

Skye nodded and said nothing, her gaze once again fixed on the floor. More uneasy than ever, Hank took his leave.

He knew this wasn’t really a cause for alarm. Skye healed at an accelerated rate and this likely wouldn’t set her back much. But it was just… It was reckless; that’s what it was.

It didn’t seem calculated, though. It looked like instinct, or force of habit. If one was close enough to help, then one must help – injury or no injury. And the more he thought about it, the more that worried him, too.

From what he understood, that’d been Skye’s role with the GLA – to help regardless of injury. And with her repeated assertions that she’d had worse… Hank was starting to wonder how much worse that worse was. But Skye had volunteered very little information about herself. Maybe it wasn’t any of his business.

… No, it was his business. As primary caregiver – Hank highly doubted that Skye had seen a doctor in years – this absolutely was his business. He sat down and picked up the phone.

“Hello, this is Dr. Henry McCoy. I’m requesting a complete medical history. … The patient’s name is Skye Schultz. … With an ‘e,’ yes. … I’d like it faxed to me as quickly as possible.”

Hank entered Charles’s study without knocking. It’d be difficult to sneak up on Charles in the first place; Hank was certain he’d heard him coming.

Charles himself was near the window, admiring a bowl of fresh-cut flowers. He looked up curiously as Hank marched in.

“I’d been expecting you to stop by sooner or later,” said Charles, “But not in this state of mind. What’s happened?”

“Just… look at this. Please.”

Hank set the file folder he’d been carrying on the table. He took a step back, giving Charles room to approach.

Charles raised an eyebrow as he looked at the cover page. “Skye’s medical records?”

Hank nodded, gesturing for Charles to continue reading. He was too worked up to answer out loud; he’d just start ranting. This’d at least give him a chance to regain his composure, and give Charles a chance to understand his agitation.

And, judging by his grave expression as he leafed through the pages, Charles definitely understood. “And this is all from-?”

“Her time with the GLA, yes,” said Hank. “I’m… I… I can’t even articulate how sickening this is. The cumulative effects of repeated concussions alone, not to mention every other injury she sustained- And she doesn’t regenerate! Accelerated healing is not the same as regeneration. Did they just not bother to understand the difference, or did they just not care?”

“Hank-” Charles began, but Hank wasn’t finished.

“These were mutants, Charles! This wasn’t Trask, or Stryker. She was exploited and used by other mutants – by her own kind.”

Hank broke off, taking a deep breath. He’d go blue in a minute if he wasn’t careful. He sank onto the sofa, rubbing at his temples.

“No wonder she doesn’t trust us,” he said quietly. “After reading through that, I can’t say I blame her. Charles – did you know?”

His face still grave, Charles shook his head. “I didn’t know the extent of it. All I knew was that there were memories she was trying to keep buried.”

An understatement. Hank leaned his chin against his hand. At its most basic level, Skye’s story was hardly unusual. Nearly every mutant he’d ever meet had experienced hardships, neglect, outright abuse – and those were the ones who lived. Hank didn’t know why this particular story troubled him so much.

Maybe it was because he was a doctor. It’d be impossible to read that litany of injuries and not be alarmed. Repeated orbital fractures, dislocated shoulders, spleen bruised a few times and ruptured once – there were professional cage-fighters who hadn’t accumulated as much damage as this girl had. And Skye’s former teammates just let it keep happening. Encouraged it, even. How could Hank not be infuriated?

Or… maybe it was the fact that the GLA’s failings echoed his own. He thought of his younger years, of how his insecurities and internalized prejudice led him to hurt and alienate someone he cared about. He’d grown, and learned from his mistakes, and been forgiven.

While that couldn’t undo the past, and while the circumstances weren’t the same, maybe he could help someone who’d suffered because of the same sort of mistakes.

If only he had more time.

Charles smiled faintly, shaking his head in response to Hank’s unspoken thought.

“We can’t force her to stay here, Hank,” he said.

“Then we have to find some way to convince her to,” said Hank. “If we let her leave, she’s going to get herself killed.”

Charles was silent for a moment, watching him. Hank had long since grown used to the feeling of being scrutinized like this.

“It’s more than scientific curiosity or professional concern for you this time,” he said, and it was almost a question.

Hank nodded. He was always interested in every mutant he met – getting to know them, learning about their abilities. But Charles was right. This was different. Hank wasn’t sure if he himself could quite explain it.

As a younger man, he’d allowed himself to be pushed around, made a doormat of himself in an effort to be accepted. And Skye, made to feel unwanted at home and exploited by the people she thought were her friends…

She was just a kid – just a kind person who only wanted to help. There’d been no Charles Xavier to reach out to her, to believe that she was more than what others perceived her as.

Hank looked up again, and Charles nodded, able to glean some coherence from the jumble of thoughts. Charles glanced once more at Skye’s medical records before closing the folder, letting his hand rest on it for a moment.

“You stood by me in my darkest hours, old friend,” he said. “I’ll follow your lead in this, and assist you in any way that I can.”

“Thank you,” Hank said quietly. He took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “You’d think that after all this time – after all the stories we’ve heard and the tragedies we’ve witnessed – we might get desensitized to it all, but we haven’t. I can’t give up on this any more than you could give up on your students.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the faint smile on Charles’s face.

“Don’t give me that look,” Hank said wryly. “You take on protégés all the time. I’m allowed one.”

Charles was grinning in earnest now. “Raven’ll never let you hear the end of it, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

Hank smiled fondly at the mention of his wife, but the brief moment of levity faded quickly and took his outrage with it, at least for now. He was resolute. He had a responsibility to Skye, and he was going to help.

#x men oc #x men fanfiction #hank mccoy #charles xavier #fox x men #xcu #xmen oc #xmen fanfiction #iweir #skye schultz #just shouting into the void #who ordered the angst?#x men

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