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buddyhollyscurls · 2 years

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Chapters 4+5 of my story

Been forgetting to update yall on the chapters of my story on Archive Of Our Own and i didn’t want to post 2 links to both of them so i just pasted em here do check them out :)

Roberta

Have you ever gotten the feeling that people don’t take you seriously? Being a woman, it’s a feeling that you get accustomed to. Sometimes you can even get placid about it. It’s a man’s world and sometimes it’s easier if you play along. You smile when they call you “sweetheart,” or “honey,” and you ignore all their tiny remarks about the “women-folk.” This is especially true if you’re one of those rare breeds of career gals working in a male-dominated area - such as myself. I’d been at the Patriot for years now, straight out of college. I had been just a fresh-faced kid, excited and ready for my first real job. I wanted to write, I wanted to be a journalist, I wanted to be a real reporter. But most importantly, I wanted to show the stuff I was made of. As it turned out the stuff that they thought I was made of was society reporting. I began working and immediately was put into the social section of our paper. After all, who better to connect with female readers and stay-at-home mothers than another woman? It’s only natural that I - as a woman - be fit for this role. I mean, isn’t society gossip just something all women love to discuss anyway? As you can imagine, I was never really thrilled about this position, but for the sake of my career, I went along with it. I did my duty: I smiled and oh so graciously accepted the role. I became good at it, too. So good, in fact, that I’m proud to say eventually I was able to get my own column. Roberta’s Sphere became one of our most popular sections. It brought in a huge audience and tons of readers. For a moment, you may even say I was content. I was pleased with the work I’d done and felt I had proven myself as a writer and journalist. Despite that, I won’t deny that I wasn’t fully satisfied. After all, I didn’t pursue a degree simply to become a society reporter. I dreamed of being a real journalist, and I wanted to report on stories that mattered to me. I decided to speak to my boss about getting an opportunity to work on different assignments, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Leave those stories to the other newspapermen,” He’d said to me, “A lot of these stories are foul and could disturb a young lady like yourself. Trust me, you’d be much happier staying on your column. After all, you’re doing a great service. You’re connecting with a lot of other young gals that relate to you and your writing. Besides, I can’t imagine you’re not having a good time working on these pieces. Writing on the society pages must be a cakewalk compared to all the other types of reporting. I’m sure dozens of other girls would love to do it. Take my advice, stick with what you’re good at.” And so, that was that. Or so I thought. I sat at my desk. I admit the thought of what I was told had me fuming. It just didn’t seem fair. I had one of the best damn columns on our paper. It may have been only the society page, but I poured all my effort into it. I deserved as much chance as any other newspaperman on the team to show I could work on other assignments. I was sick and tired of just grinning and bearing choices being made for me by men. While in my chair I felt a numbness fall over me. I don’t know how long I sat down just staring off into space, but when I finally came down to earth I knew what I had to do. I pulled out a piece of paper and quickly and calmly typed out my resignation letter. As I was typing, I heard the sound of the elevators opening up. I glanced up and noticed a tall man in a sharp suit enter. We made eye contact for only a moment before I carried on typing. When I finished with my letter I took it off the typewriter and carefully read it over. I can’t lie that I felt a heaviness in my heart. I had given so much of myself to this paper, and all I wanted was to do work I knew I was capable of. But I couldn’t hang around and hope that one day I would be given the opportunities I deserved. I couldn’t beg for scraps anymore. I didn’t want to quit, and I had no idea where I’d go next, but I knew it had to be somewhere I could be valued. With a newfound determination, I made my way to Mr. Braker’s office. I knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply. As I came in, I saw the man from the elevator standing by the door. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were with someone. I shouldn’t have just entered. I’ll come back some other time.” I nod to the man and turn to leave when my boss calls out to me, “Roberta! Impeccable timing. I was just about to fetch you. Come in, come in!” I glance at Mr. Braker and the stranger in front of me. “I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Mr. James Connor. Jimmy, this hears our little lady from the society column.” I grimaced at the words and shook his hands, “Nice to meet you.” I greeted him politely. He flashed an award-winning smile at me, “Your boss has been telling me all about you. Says your column is the best thing on this paper.” “Goodness,” I said surprised, “I’m flattered.” “Roberta likes to give herself an air of modesty,” Mr. Braker laughed, “But she knows it just as well as I do.” “Well, I trust your boss. He and I go way back. If he says you're the best here that’s good enough for me. Tom, how soon can you send her?” “I’ll have her on the next flight out there.” Jimmy nodded and handed me a card, “Wire me as soon as you’re on your way.” I took the card and watched as he left. I was completely baffled. What had I missed? Where was I going? My thoughts were still buzzing when Mr. Braker loudly clapped his hands in excitement, “Roberta, I want you to hurry home and pack. We’re sending you on an assignment all the way to Cuba!” None of what he said made sense, “Cuba?” “My buddy that just left is opening a new swank hotel out there, and he gave us exclusive access to cover the grand opening. This is the biggest thing to happen to our paper in a while, and you’re the one that’s going to be there. Think of what this could do for your career! Pretty soon, you’ll be taking that little society column international!” Panic rose up inside of me. International? I would never be able to branch out after that. “Thank you, Mr. Braker,” I said calmly, “But no thank you. I’m sorry, I have to decline the assignment.” He stopped in his tracks and stared at me in shock, “What do you mean decline the assignment? Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” “I do. Again, I’m sorry, but I won’t be going to Cuba.” “Roberta, this is an all-expenses-paid trip to Cuba! Think of what an upscale place this is gonna be. Think of your career!” “I am. If I go I’ll never get out of the society column. I want to do different things, not cover some posh hotel. My answer is a firm no.” “I see. And just what do you expect me to tell James Connor as he’s waiting for a reporter?” “Tell him the truth. That this assignment should have been discussed with me before it had been accepted.” I gulped as Mr. Braker gave me a death glare. Nonetheless, I wouldn’t back down. “Roberta,” He said in a low threatening voice, “You know I can fire you for this?” I was reminded of the paper in my hand then, “That won’t be necessary, sir,” I said as I handed it to him, “I came to give you this.” He snatched the paper from my hand and quickly skimmed over it, “Ok,” he said rubbing his temple, “How much more?” “Excuse me?” He spoke slowly, “How much more is the other paper offering you?” “There is no other paper.” “Then how much are you asking for?” “I’m not trying to get a pay raise, sir. But I simply won’t be covering your friend’s hotel.” “What will it take for you to stay? Name it.” “I want to be cover different stories. I want to branch out of my society column.” Mr. Braker let out a long breath, “We’ve discussed this before, Roberta. I’m doing you a favor. Trust me, this column is the best thing for you. Think about it, as a woman do you really think you can handle some of the more upsetting stories we get? What if you found a husband, what would he have to say about u gallivanting reporting on serious matters?” I fixed a thin smile on my lips, “Mr. Braker, with all due respect, I’ve had just about enough of this. Now, I’ve proven my worth time and time again. I have brought in tons of business for this paper. I think I deserve the opportunity to decide what reporting I can or cannot handle. Whether or not they meet the approval of some hypothetical man is irrelevant. If you’re not willing to meet my demands to keep me, then clearly your friend - Mr. Connor’s - hotel isn’t all that important to you. And it doesn’t matter if I cover the opening or not. Therefore, please consider my resignation effective immediately.” I turned on my heel and was almost to the door when Mr. Braker called out to me, “Wait a minute, damn it, wait a minute,” I stood by the door with my arms folded waiting for him to continue, “Alright. Alright. Fair enough. You have proven yourself to be a damn good writer. I guess it could be a good thing to let you branch out every now and again. We’ll make a deal: if you fly out to Cuba immediately and report on the opening weekend, once you come back we can discuss stories you want to write about.” I beamed at him and rushed to excitedly shake his hand, “It’s a deal! Thank you, Mr. Braker, thank you! I promise you won’t regret it! I’ll send over some excellent coverage!” “See to it that you do. And hurry! Mr. Connor isn’t someone you want to keep waiting!” I hurried home to pack and in a flash, I got to the airport waiting to go to Cuba. I had to admit, I was sweating bullets sitting in that plane. I had never flown before and didn’t expect I’d do it again after I returned to New York. But I didn’t stay nervous for long. Eventually, I just looked out the window and imagined the stories I’d cover when I was back. I was still in a bit of shock. I couldn’t believe that after this, I could finally work on the career I wanted. This is what I had wanted since I was in journalism school. And now it was actually in my grasp. I just needed to finish this one assignment. I stared out the window, watching the city escape behind me. My eyes fluttered, feeling heavy with sleep. One weekend in Cuba, I kept repeating to myself. One final weekend One final assignment. I drifted off to sleep, feeling a small smile on my lips. I was certain this was going to be the best weekend of my life.

Manuel

There’s something tranquil about the sound of the ocean. I stood near the entrance to the balcony, listening to the sound of the nearby sea as I awaited the owner of the hotel to arrive. I listened to the water, thinking about how unexpected life can be. It had only been a couple of weeks since I had regained freedom. The confines of a jail cell were behind me. I had originally planned to go back home to my family. I had wanted nothing more than to regain my footing in a place that was old, familiar, and comfortable. But here I was in Cuba - a long way from East Harlem. I decided to take a gander around while I waited. Funny, I thought to myself. I had waited a long time for my freedom. I had wanted to get my life back. But it seems that I just went from one room to another. I couldn’t even understand what compelled me to fly out here. I had gotten a letter just before my release, telling me of a great opportunity at some hotel called Pasado. I didn’t even know if the letter was legit, but the way the letter was written painted Cuba like a tropical getaway. An island paradise. Plus it had seemed that the owner -whoever it was - had known of my old bartending days and he wanted to hire me. I was in no position to pass up work. So, I used up a bit of my savings and hightailed it to Cuba. And now here I was, pacing this office like I used to do in my cell in the early days of my incarceration. From what I saw of the office, whoever the owner was had great taste. The office was neat and orderly, with a big mahogany desk in the middle. There was a black fashionable sofa near the door and two seats by the desk. I was still pacing through the room when I stopped at the big shelves lined along the back wall. I decided to peruse the books when I heard the door being opened. I paused for a moment and waited for whoever it was to enter. They entered and I could have sworn that time had stopped. He was the last person I expected to see again. Ever. At that moment I couldn’t even understand why I was here. He looked at me and gave me a smile that was as if we’d seen each other yesterday. “Hello, Manny.” “You? What do you want?” “Just to see an old friend. I had heard you were out of the pen.” “Don’t insult me. We were never friends. I’m going to ask you again, what do you want?” He chuckled, “Fair enough. I brought you here to offer you a job.” “What?” “I came to offer you a job,” he repeated, “As a bartender. Here. In my new hotel.” “This place… is yours?” He grinned, “Isn’t it great? It was what we always talked about.” It took everything in me to keep myself from punching him when those words left his mouth, but I had already given him too much of life. I listened to the ocean waves, letting them soothe me again, and started heading towards the door. “I wouldn’t leave if I were you.” “Why not? Give me one good reason why I would stay, or why I should work for you? In fact, give me one good reason I shouldn’t bash your head in within an inch of your life?” He smiled at me, seemingly unfazed, and said, “Aren’t you curious as to how I knew you were out? Or how I was able to find you to bring you out here?” “No.” He laughed then, “Come on, Manny. You’re smarter than that. Use your head.” “I mean, obviously you’ve been keeping tabs on me.” “Right,” he said, the smile never leaving his lips, “I’ve been keeping tabs. And not just on you. I dropped in on your family a little while ago. Had coffee with your mother. Amelia, too. You know, your sister is just as pretty as ever.” And just like that, not even the sound of the waves from outside could calm me down. I lunged at him and grabbed him by his collar, “If you ever come near my family again,” I told him in a low voice, “You’re dead. Do you hear me? I swear on my life if you ever see them again -” He chuckled lightly unbothered by it all, “Oh, come on now,” he said, pushing me back, “You don’t have to do all this. I don’t need to see them again. It was just a friendly little get-together is all. Totally harmless. I just thought you’d like to know. It was just a way to let you know that well… I haven’t forgotten.” “Forgotten what?” He clicked his tongue at me, “I’m surprised at you. That I haven’t forgotten about you. Haven’t forgotten what great friends we used to be. We had some serious times together.” “Don’t insult me. We were never actually friends. No friend would do what you did.” He shook his head, “Always one to hold a grudge. Come on, Manny. It was nothing personal. I just did what I had to do.” “Yeah. You were always one to look out for number one.” “Doesn’t everyone?” I rolled my eyes, “What do you want,” I asked again, “What am I doing here?” “Bottom line is I want someone here I know. Plus you were the best barman I ever knew. I only want the best.” I scoffed, “Of course. Man, it’s true some things never change. You still only think about yourself. But you still haven’t given me one good reason why the hell I would do anything for you, much less be your little lackey.” “You forget,” he said with an easy disposition, “You and I were like two peas in a pod way back when. We did everything together. Even some things neither one of us is particularly proud of.” “What are you getting at?” “Nothing,” he shrugged, “Just stating facts. We’ve both done things. Bad things. Things we’d promised each other we’d take to our graves. And I think it’d be great if we could work together again, for old time’s sake.” “Cut the crap,” I snarled at him, “You just want me around to make sure I don’t say anything that could ruin your new reputation as a businessman.” “Oh, no, I’m not worried about that at all. See, because I’ve come to find out people aren’t as… upstanding as you think. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would deter people from coming to the hotel if it was popular enough. And it will be popular. It’s going to be the hottest place in Cuba. And it’s going to be because of you. After all, who else can I rely on to give my customers the best drinks they’ve ever had?” “You’re insane. And you’re wasting both of our time.” “I don’t waste time. I’m telling you you’re going to do it. Or I’ll pay your family another visit. And it won't be friendly. Then I'll find you, and you know I'll always find you. Just like I did to get you here." I said nothing. I wanted to believe he was lying. I wanted to call his bluff. But I couldn't. Because he and I both knew this wasn't a bluff. We knew each other too well. He knew I'd do anything to protect my family. And I knew not even the devil himself would stop him if there was something he wanted bad enough. If I ran there was no corner of the Earth I could hide in where he wouldn't find me. We both knew that. I didn’t say another word. I slowly walked over to the balcony and listened to the ocean. My only consolation was that I would be able to listen to the sea anytime I wanted now. I inhaled deeply, taking in the salty air, and I could feel him watching me, waiting for me to give him an answer. Still, I didn’t say anything. I just stared out over the horizon, wondering how far away the beach was, and if I’d get to visit it soon. After all, if I was going to stay here, I had to make the best of it. I don’t know how long I stood in silence like that, but he let me take my time. Finally, though, I turned around and faced him. He smiled at me and I knew he knew that he had won. As usual, he got what he wanted. I gulped and nodded at him. He came up to me and shook my hand. “I knew you’d see things my way.” As if I had a choice. Suddenly he gripped my hand tight, glaring at me, “And by the way,” he said in a gruff voice, “never think you can rough me up again. I let it go this time, but if you ever do that again I’ll make sure your family never hears about you again, do you understand me?” He roughly pushed me aside without waiting for my reply. He began to leave. As he reached the door he turned to me and grinned, his demeanor completely changed, and said, "I'm glad you came around, Manny. It's great to have an old pal around. It's going to be just like old times, you'll see." He walked out and shut the door behind him. To me, it sounded like the bars of another cell closing once more.

#me #personal #and if u guys like this lmk if u want the link to the full story so far #my writing

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

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@sambuckylibrary

SamBucky Halloween Prompt 5: Mausoleum

Sam meets Bucky in a mausoleum in Brooklyn (This fic is set in Brooklyn because I could not make up a reason for Bucky to be in Louisiana despite the fact that I really very badly wanted it set in Louisiana. Bucky is also slightly younger because of fic reasons.)

Rated G: Discussions of death and loss (It’s set in a mausoleum, use discretion) (AO3 link in the notes)

Title from “Little Ghost” by The White Stripes, highly encourage you to listen to the song

One I’m Most Scared Of

Sam hated funerals. He hated that his father wanted him around for them. No other seventeen year old was surrounded by so much death and mourning.

“Sam, you have a gift,” his father said. “You put others at ease just by your presence.”

Sam thought everyone else should invest in a therapist and not a high schooler.

Petulantly, he kicked his heels back against a stone bench as he stared at the walls of crypts and cremains spots. Behind him, the funeral party milled and offered condolences to the bereaved, which actually seemed like everyone in the party. Sometimes, a funeral party seemed less bereaved than relieved at these things. Sam remembered the first time he heard a man’s daughter immediately plan lunch with a group of friends without a waver to her voice or a tear on her cheek. He vowed he’d never be the kind of person that had a funeral like that.

If he even had a funeral. Putting himself in the ground in whatever clothes he died in and then becoming a tree without telling anyone was becoming a nicer and nicer option.

So, he listened to the sniffling without turning around and thought about what kind of tree he’d become. He’d already done his duties of rubbing a wife’s arm, hugging kids, tickling grandkids, listening to the same three stories a dozen times. His father couldn’t expect anything else from him. So he wasn’t thrilled when someone his age sat down beside him.

The guy was handsome in a traditional, classical sort of way. Not as boring as the rich white guys who went to Sam’s school. His hair was side parted and only long enough to make an impressive arch on his head instead of laying in his face. He had a square jaw that was a little comical and his nose was a little fucked up in a kind of endearing way. The way Sam’s best friend looked after getting beaned in the face by a wayward baseball. Like most people who came through the mausoleum, he was sad.

There was no other word for it. Sam had tried to be poetic about his time in the crypts, but there was only so much the clinical-ness of bereaved and the dramatic-ness of tortured or sobbing or anguished could do. And they were rarely entirely true. Sad was just the word for people staring at remains of someone they once loved. Sometimes the simple explanation was the most appropriate. The rest of death and grief was already so complicated. It was easier to just feel sad.

The guy was too old to be a grandkid but too young to be a kid, unless the deceased and his wife had gotten freaky in their elder age. Sam hadn’t noticed him in his previous passes of the party or from the service, where he always sat in the back and made it a game to memorize as many shades of black or ridiculous hair styles as possible.

In fact, the boy wasn’t even wearing black. He was wearing a dark brown jacket, adorned with gold accents and pins. In fact… Sam was pretty certain it was an old military dress uniform.

“Uh...are you just visiting?” Sam ventured when the guy didn’t even bother to glance over.

The guy’s mouth quirked to one side faintly. “Yeah, you could say that. That one,” he said, gesturing to an entombment with a gravemarker that read James Buchanan Barnes March 10, 1922 - February 5, 1942. Son, Brother, Friend, Hero.

“Oh,” Sam breathed and understood the weird military uniform. “Are you related to him? You do kinda look like him.”

The guy turned finally to look at Sam and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m Bucky.”

“Oh, jeez, you were named after him too.”

The guy--Bucky 2, apparently--cocked his head in a half nod. “I’m actually waiting on someone. Do you think they’ll be here much longer?” he asked, jerking his chin over to the party.

“Well, these things don’t really have a limit to how long people can be here,” Sam pointed out. “But most people get the point when they start sealing the tomb and all. Uh, this thing you’re waiting for, is it about him? Like, some kind of memorial service?”

It was neither February nor March, so Sam couldn’t imagine why there would be a memorial service for Barnes now. It had been a while since Sam’s father had done a service in Brooklyn and he’d kind of forgotten the cult status Barnes and, to a much greater extent, Rogers had in this town.

“Nah, I’m just waiting on a friend,” Bucky said.

“Well…” Sam settled back against the stone bench. “I’ll stand in for a while.”

“You wanna be my friend? Should I be worried. I think horror movies start off like this.”

“Name one horror movie that starts off in a mausoleum.”

“Murder by the Clock. Mummy’s Tomb. All the vampire movies.”

“Dracula doesn’t live in a mausoleum,” Sam argued lightly. “And I’ve never even heard of those other movies.”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t watch classics.”

“Uh-huh. Or you were just scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder against Sam’s. “Did you know…” He gestured back to the waning funeral party.

Sam shook his head. “No. My dad’s the pastor. He did the service. He likes me to be here for moral support.”

“Hell, I don’t think my parents trusted my morals as far as they could throw me,” Bucky snorted.

Sam noted the past tense but knew better than to push for information, especially in a mausoleum during a funeral of all places. “Are you a student around here?” he asked instead.

“Can’t you tell?” Bucky answered as he popped the lapels of his jacket. “I’m a soldier.”

“Right. A soldier who’s home, spending his time in mausoleums in front of his great-great uncle or something.”

“I could be a great-great grandkid. I heard he got around.”

“I heard that was all manufactured propaganda to sell a story.”

“I read it in a book.”

“And I read about time travel and aliens in a book.”

Bucky shrugged. “There are weirder things out there.”

“Right, in a world of super soldiers and Nazis with no faces,” Sam agreed drily.

“You’ll see,” Bucky assured. “Aliens and time travel are both gonna be all anyone talks about soon.”

“Y’know, I didn’t think a guy dressing up as his great-great grandpa-uncle to meet someone at his burial site would be so into sci-fi too.”

“Multitudes and all that. You know, there were half a dozen sci-fi books in his bag when his belongings were recovered.”

“I’ve heard that,” Sam said. Only because it’d been a point in the Oscar-Bait movie a few years ago. “He’d read to Rogers when he was sick.”

Bucky looked a little wistful and then nodded.”I’ve heard that too.”

“Do you ever feel pressure to be like him? Or be somethin’ you’re not, just ‘cause someone looked at your little baby face and named you after a legend?”

That wry, sad grin came back and Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Not really. Do you, though? I mean, obviously not him. But someone.”

Sam traced out the letters of the name of someone who died in 1985. A L E X A N D E R. He nodded. “Feels like everyone needs me to be someone and I let myself play that part until people stopped noticing it was a part.”

“What’s the part?” Bucky asked as he leaned back on his hands.

“I dunno. Someone who-- Well, I mean… Maybe it’s not a full part. Maybe I’m just upset that people only want me to have one kind of personality trait. I mean, everyone knows I’m kind and I’m good with words and I care about people. And I really do want to be that guy. But when I want to be that guy, y’know? Not all the time. Sometimes I want to cry and scream and rage too. Sometimes I want to be quiet for a little while and not help someone else. Just for a few hours.”

Bucky nodded and stared at the rows of internments before them. “Y’know. I’m sure people would understand that if you told them. If you said, ‘I can’t do this right now. Please let me be quiet.’”

“I know that,” Sam said softly. He tangled his fingers together in his lap. “Maybe I’m mostly angry at myself for not being able to say something like that. I’m the guy who helps. If I don’t do that, if I beg a day off, then who am I? What am I bringing to the table?”

Bucky scooted closer and put a hand on Sam’s knees. It sent a jolt through Sam’s body and he worked very hard on not jerking his gaze up to Bucky’s face. “Sam, you just said you have other personality traits, other feelings, other hobbies that aren’t hanging out in a mausoleum. That’s what you bring to the table on the days you can’t be there for everyone else.”

Sam nodded and reached up to rub two fingers under his eye. He wasn’t at full tears yet, but he also didn’t want to get any closer. “Wait, did I tell you my name?” he asked suddenly.

Bucky lifted an eyebrow again. “You must’ve. Or someone else said it earlier. The point is, you’re still you. And you bring smarts and humor and a good head around, even when you aren’t offering free therapy or a crying shoulder. And, Sam, listen, even when you don’t want to be any of that, you’re still kind. I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes and you’ve been kind the whole time, even when you weren’t trying. It’s not a part you’re playing. Just be who you are and ask for your time when you need it. If people reflect even a quarter of the love you put out there back at you, no one will ever begrudge you some quiet.”

Sam swallowed thickly and leaned against Bucky’s shoulder heavily. Bucky moved his hand from Sam’s knee to wrap his arm around his ribs instead. “You really think I’m funny and smart?” Sam asked eventually.

“You started spouting off propaganda theories and joking about where vampires technically live. Yeah, you’re something else, man,” Bucky laughed. “And I think you’re beautiful, which people always appreciate in people they hang around with.”

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored the last comment, thankful that his skin was dark enough to hide his blush and Bucky couldn’t see the swooping of his stomach. “Well, if you think that’s impressive, I’ve got a whole list of things I think are propaganda.”

“I’d love to hear all about it some other time.”

“Is your friend here?” Sam asked, sitting back a little and glancing around.

Bucky’s eyes cast around the mausoleum briefly too. “No. I just don’t feel like listening to any propaganda tonight,” he joked.

Sam jostled his elbow into Bucky’s rib and leaned back against his side. “I can’t remember the last time I actually talked to someone in one of these things. Everything’s always so surface level here. ‘Sorry for your loss’ ‘He was a good man’ ‘Of course we’ll come by the benefit.’ None of it means anything.”

“Well, I wasn’t part of the funeral, so maybe that was a plus. I’m just some guy. Hanging out in a mausoleum.”

“Ah, you’re the vampire,” Sam said with a grin. “Maybe I should get a stake in that casket.”

“There’s no body in it,” Bucky reminded him. “They never found Rogers’ or Barnes’ body.”

“Right, right. The train and plane.”

“It’s just for show,” Bucky said. He reached out to trace his fingers along Barnes’ last name and then held his palm against the stone for a second longer.

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s knee and said quickly, like ripping a bandaid off, “Do you want to get lunch or something? With me? Now, or later. I’m not picky. And then maybe again?”

Bucky turned blue eyes back to Sam and he really did look just like all those old pictures. That same sad smile came to his mouth. “Yeah, I really, really do. Maybe later,” he said and leaned over to kiss Sam’s cheek softly.

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut and his heart kicked up so rapidly in his chest it punched the air out of his ribs.

When he managed to open his eyes again, Bucky was gone.

#sambuckyhalloween2021 #sambucky #sambucky fanfic #sambucky fanfiction #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon #the winter soldier #captain america #writing #bingo #sambucky halloween

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layniapetrovnaaa · 4 years

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...Surprise!

[Part of The Howlett Family series]

I am making this into a series, I haven't figured out all of the parts yet or what order they will go in, but I do have a few more things planned. Also, writing this made me sweat.

Summary: Laura is at a sleepover, you and Logan take advantage of the empty house, but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Warnings: Smut, pregnancy, cursing, alcohol.

If the on coming morning sickness didn't give it away, then you figured the lack of disposable menstrual products in the garbage would. Logan may be getting old, but some things never leave you, and being wickedly observant was one of them. That being said you also relied upon the fact that he was also very oblivious at times.

You weren't as much worried about Logan finding out prematurely as you were Laura. The dark haired girl always had an incline to curiosity and mischief, and the worst part about it was that it was always completely innocent, so you could never really be that upset about her occasional findings.

Logan felt differently however, being the private person he is, and would put locks and/or “keep out” signs on things like your shared closet, bedside table drawers, or his trunk of sentimental objects. You couldn't help but find it humorous. He was fine with her curiosity, just not when it invaded his or your privacy, or when it would embarrassed him (a story for another time...).

This was one of the only times that you would not encourage that curiosity from your daughter.

***

“Have you told him yet?” Cassie, your co-worker, asked.

“No” you sigh, pausing on wiping down the bar countertop.

Cassie was in her late thirties, she had a sweet Canadian accent that you would only catch if someone pointed it out, and she always had a wonderfully sunny disposition. She was one of those people that reminded you of sunflowers and the color yellow (despite her dozens of tattoos, stark black and white hair, dark cherry lips, and career in bar tending).

She shook her head lightly as she turned back to the glass she was cleaning out.

“Your going to have to tell them soon, [Y/N]. You can’t keep stuff like this to yourself for long.”

You nodded, eyebrows knit, thinking of how you would confess to Logan and Laura.

“[Y/N], your man is here.”

“Thanks Joe!” you say quickly so he can hear you as he rounds the corner to the back.

You head towards the entrance of the bar and see Loan hanging his coat up on the rack. You put your arms around his neck and give him a kiss.

“Hey baby.” he says lowly and quietly. The affectionate tone he used was one that he didn't want anyone else but you (and occasionally Laura) to hear.

You led him to the bar and he sits on one of the stools as you walk around the counter and prepare his usual drink.

As you fill up the glass your mind starts to wander, faintly hearing the sound of Cassie greeting Logan in her usual bubbly manor.

How would you tell them?

What would he say?

How would you afford a baby?

What if something happens?

Still zoned out you follow with the routine, setting Logan's drink down in front of him. He gives you a weird look, as if he was about to ask you why your head was in the clouds, but he was interrupted by Cassie.

“Was Laura excited about the sleepover tonight?”

Cassie had one daughter who was a year younger than Laura. You usually took Laura to work with you until Logan would get done with his job and take her home. One time Laura had been in the back playing with her dolls when Cassie came in with her daughter, complaining to you about how their babysitter had to cancel at the last minute. That was when the two girls were introduced, and they hit it off instantly (despite Laura’s quiet exterior). They would see each other occasionally at the bar, and they would talk on the phone sometimes, but this was their first time getting to hang out together in a traditional sense.

Logan pulls the drink away from his lips and sets the glass on the counter. He licks his lips and arches his eyebrow slightly before answering.

“Seemed like it, considering she didn't even say goodbye to me before she booked it into the house.”

Cassie throws her head slightly back and laughs, clapping her hands together once as she does.

“Well I’m glad, I know how...hesitant she can be sometimes.” she smiles, and heads into the back.

Logan takes another drink, leaning in a little towards you, and looks around the bar.

It was unusually quiet for a Friday night, but you had to remember that it was a small town.

“Hey, you alright?”

You snap out of your trance, shaking your head lightly as you perk up and take a deep breath in.

“Yeah, just thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?” he prods.

“Its nothing.” you give him a tight lipped smile and shove your hands in your pockets.

Your answer doesn't satisfy him, but he doesn't push. He leans back, eyebrow arched, and finishes off his drink.

You grab the glass and start to take care of it as Logan speaks again.

“Y’know its pretty quiet round here tonight...why don’t you ask your boss if you can get off early or have Cassie cover for you, cause we have the house to ourselves tonight, and that doesn't happen very often anymore.”

You turn around and smile, stretching your arms out horizontally on the counter. You lean in slightly and flirtatiously blink at Logan.

“I’ll see what I can do.” you say, looking down to his lips.

You give him a quick peck before heading to your bosses office.

***

You could feel the anticipation radiating off of Logan during the drive home, and your could see how tightly his left hand held onto the steering wheel, his right rested on your thigh.

It had been quite some time since you and Logan actually had sex. Of course you both were insatiable, but you held off a lot of the time for Laura's sake. It was mainly oral pleasure that you gave and received, as it was more inconspicuous. There was once when you two had gotten a bit carried away while Laura was outside playing, but soon she reminded you of the struggles of being intimate while having a child when she came inside to show you the snowman she had built.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, quickly using his senses to scan the house for any danger, and apparently you were safe because when you turned back around from closing the door you felt the wall against your back and his lips on yours.

Your hands reach up and hold his neck, your thumbs resting gently on his jaw.

His hands grip the tops of your hips tightly before his arms move to wrap around your waist, almost as if he was hugging you.

As you kiss your hand moves up the the side of his head pushing him into you before you pull back slightly, his lower lip stuck gently between your teeth.

He lets out a breathy groan and you two dive back in, continuing to make out.

He kicks his shoes off and starts to take off his coat, soon after pushing yours off as well. Thankfully you had taken your shoes off as you shut the door.

He starts nudging you down the slightly narrow hallway towards your bedroom, never stopping kissing you.

You break away once you make it into the room, and start to undress him, taking your shirt off as well.

“Jesus--” he marvels.

“--Did your boobs get bigger?” he asks explicitly.

You feel yourself tense up slightly, but convince yourself to calm down, he probably wouldn't think to much into it.

“I don’t think so...” you chuckle lightly and bite your lip.

“I got a few new bras the other day, remember?”

His eyes never leave your chest.

“Hmm, well, they look fuckin amazing.” and so he dives in, kissing and nipping at the soft raised mound of your bosom.

You let out soft breathy moans, and you knew you would have to wear high collared shirts for the next few days.

Logan always got like this when you were intimate again after a long while. He reverted back to his old, more animalistic ways.

He lifted his head up to kiss you again, his hands comping up to squeeze and grope your breasts before shoving off your pants.

Your hands roam all over his still toned torso, feeling yourself dampen your black panties even more as you do.

You remove yourself from him and get down on your knees, occasionally glancing up at him as you start to take off his pants and underwear.

Ever since Logan's mutation had become less and less prominent he had started taking some of the characteristics that come along with old age, one of them being it took him a little longer to get up than it used to. When it happened for the first time he was annoyed and embarrassed (though he wouldn't admit it, you could tell). You assured him that you didn't think any less of him, that he would still be able to give you the same amount of pleasure that he did before, and that it was completely natural. Logan being Logan wouldn't accept that it was “just natural” (because he thought nothing about him was), but he learned to live with it.

You slowly started to stroke his member, spitting on the tip and rubbing it around for some lubrication, then spitting on your hand and doing the same towards the base of his cock.

He groans at the contact as you pump him slowly and starts becoming more erect in your hand. You start to pick up the pace, your arm moving up and down fast, causing your breasts to jiggle lightly. Soon you were using your mouth to pleasure him as well. Your lips attached to his tip, and you start using all the techniques that you know make Logan want to implode.

Staring into his eyes occasionally as his cock finds its way further down your throat. His hands thread through your hair, softly guiding you up and down, moans and groans falling from his lips.

You continue to jerk him off where your mouth can’t reach, your other hand reaching to squeeze his balls in a pleasureful manor, soon after giving them some attention from your mouth.

The noises that are coming out of his mouth make you moan around his cock and your panties wet.

A few times you would push yourself further and try to take all of him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you do.

“Ahh that’s good baby.” he sighs, gently pulling you off him.

You release him from your mouth, still working your hand, but slower now, you peer up at him and rub his tip across your top and bottom lip, taking him in your mouth once more for a last taste of him before releasing him with a wet popping noise.

He pulls you up so that you’re standing, before he speaks.

“How the fuck are you so good at that?” he asks rhetorically.

You giggle a little and kiss him. He grabs your hips and turns you around so that your barely clothed buttocks is pressing against his groin. You turn your head to look back at him so you can continue to make out and he reaches under your arms to squeeze your still pushed up breasts, your hands flying up to cover his.

Once he releases your lips you start to walk towards the bed, taking off your bra along the way.

You lay on the bed, your forearms propping you up, bare stomach and breasts pressing against the soft sheets, your knees bent so that your feet are in the air, arching your back a bit so that your ass sticks up just enough so that your cunt would be easily accessible to him. You look back and bite your lip, giving him your “I want you” eyes.

Logan gulps and walks over to the bed his knees creating a dip on either side of your thighs.

He rubs his hands up and down your bum, occasionally smacking or jiggle it.

Eventually he slides your panties down to your knees and growls at the sight in front of him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re really wet.”

Usually you needed some encouraging to get to the point where you would be able to have Logan inside of you comfortably, but it was never a time-consuming or painstaking task(you and Logan loved some good foreplay). But lately your hormones had been raging, causing you to not have to put much effort into getting aroused.

You hum, but then moan when his thumb traces from your clit to your farthest hole, circling it a few times easily because of the natural wetness he had spread around. Your hand makes it’s way into your hair as the top of you back arches lightly, your other hand gripping the pillow.

You feel the bed dip slightly lower on the left as he leans over to grab some body oil and a condom from the bedside table drawer.

He grabs the oils first and pours it on your back and ass, massaging your body as he rubs it in. You sit back up on your elbows, bite your lip, and bring your hair over to one side because you were trying not to get it in the oil.

“Mmm that feels good.” You moan out sensually.

You feel his hands leave your back, then they are on your thighs, wiping the excess oil onto the soft flesh.

You feel the bed dip again and look to see him reach out for the box of rubbers, but only pulling out an empty box.

“Shit. There aren’t any left.”

“Yeah, remember? They were out last time too.”

You immediately regret what you had said, cringing, you squeeze your eyes shut and face-palm. You knew now that he would remember and find out.

It’s quite for longer than you are comfortable with, especially in this potion.

“Remind me again, when was that?”

“Uhm, that time when Cassie picked up Laura to go watch her daughters soccer game.”

He sets the box down slowly on the nightstand.

“...Right...”

“How long ago was that? Like three months y’think?”

It’s silent for a moment as you bite your thumb and stare nervously at the head board in front of you, deciding it was best not to answer. He clears his throat, and you tense lightly.

“Did you uhm– did you get your period this month?”

You stay silent and he gets off of you, both of you sitting to face each other, and slightly covering your body’s with the sheet.

“Is there something you need to tell me, [Y/N]?”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes when you look at him.

“I’m–I’m uh–“ you take a deep breath in through your nose, blowing out your mouth, your tears threatening to spill over at any second.

“I’m pregnant.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you can’t seem to maintain eye contact with him.

“Are you serious?”

And for the first time in a long time, you can’t tell what he is thinking.

You get up from the bed and go into the bathroom to retrieve the positive sticks you had hidden, the tears falling as you do, and you quickly wipe them away.

You come back and hand them to Logan. He grabs his bifocals, they come to rest on the tip of his nose, and he stares at each one of the positive pregnancy tests.

“Jesus...” he lets out in a shaky breath, running his hand back and forth through his hair.

You bite your lip and rub your hands together, slowly but harshly, as you wait for him to say something.

He looks up at you over the tops of his glasses, noting the fresh tracks of tears on your cheeks. You don’t look at him, only at the tests that lay on your bed, your brows knit together.

You bite your lip trying to keep the sob that was stuck in your throat from escaping.

“How long have you know?”

“About a month, maybe a month and a half.” You whisper, worrying that if you spoke in your normal tone, nothing would come out.

You didn’t know why you were crying. Maybe it was the pressure, the expectation (or the lack of it), and you just felt so confused. Confused about what to do, confused about Logan’s reaction, confused about your own reaction, and just nothing seemed to be right.

In truth, you were scared.

Logan watched another pair of tears fall.

“Come here, baby.”

He puts his arm out and you throw yourself on to his scarred and hairy chest, finally letting yourself cry.

“I just don’t know what to do.” You wail.

“I know, but we’ll figure it out.”

Your arms are wrapped securely around his waist, his wrap around your shoulder, one hand running up and your back slowly, the other was holding your head to his chest.

You listened to the sound of his heart beat and slowly start to calm down.

You sit up, pulling your hair out of your face, sniffling, and wiping away your tears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was just scared.”

“Why were you scared?” He’s asks in a tender tone, one you had only heard maybe three times in all the years you had been together.

You were hesitant to answer, shrugging your shoulders lightly before speaking in a low tone.

“I thought you might leave.”

“What?!” He says a bit harshly.

“I would never leave you [Y/N/N]. I would never do that to you, or Laura, or that baby. Never.”

You give him a shy smile, faintly nodding your head. Your eyes flick down to his lips as you lean in and kiss him, and the same hunger that was there before starts to return.

You separate from him and chuckle.

“I can’t believe this is how you found out.”

“Me neither.” He mutters in his grumbly voice.

“But, it’ll be a helluva story to tell them when they ask how I found out.”

You laugh and slide your hand up onto his thigh. He then grabs you and rolls you over unexpectedly.

“Ahh! Logan!”

“Despite all of this, I’m not letting our one night alone go to waste.”

He kisses you again, but this time your nose rubs against his glasses slightly. You separate your lips from his.

“You might want to take those off first.” You tip your chin up as if to point to his glasses.

“Damn glasses.” He mutters.

“Mmm I think you look sexy with them.” You say sensually, running your hands up his chest and over his broad shoulders.

He gives you a look of disbelief and shakes his head before taking them off and reaching to set them on the table.

“Oh shit! Look at the sheets.” you exclaim, reaching out to run your hand over the spot.

He looks over to see where you had laid and sat, it looked almost wet from the oil that he had put all over your back side.

“Well we’ll have to wash those tonight.” You sigh.

“That won’t be the only reason.” He says cheekily, diving in to kiss and suck at your neck.

“Logan!”

#wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #old man logan imagine #old man logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan imagines #old man logan smut #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett imagine #logan 2017 #laura kinney #laura howlett

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the-final-sif · 4 years

Text

My head produced a scene, basically what happens after the ending to my blue core Katsuki vs Overhaul post where Dabi captures Katsuki after Katsuki defeated Overhaul. The whole fight/fights were broadcast out, and the heroes get free too late to stop Dabi from taking the heavily weakened Katsuki.

So, the LOV/PLF now have Katsuki. He’s still heavily weakened and injured, but they patch him up as best they can and he’s put on painkillers, which have the added benefit of keeping him hazy so escaping his harder for him.

Aizawa is losing his fucking mind, as are a lot of class 1-A, but unlike before they have no leads on where Katsuki is, given that the league now has way more resources to keep him hidden.

Or at least, they think they have no leads.

Hawks, a double agent, is working on fixing that. Sort of. It doesn’t take him long to find out where Katsuki is. The league is wary about letting him have any information on the matter, but Hawks is a charmer and convinces them he just likes the kid and wants to be sure he’s okay.

Finally, Hawks gets down to where Katsuki is being kept. He’s meant to stay quiet so Katsuki doesn’t notice him. That was his plan anyways.

His plan did not involve a wide eyed Dabi being in the cell already.

Katsuki is high on painkillers, gaze bleary as he recounts his mother’s anger and blame after the last time he got kidnapped. His words are slurred and voice quiet, sad, weak. Towards the end of his story, he refocuses, red eyes seeming to see Dabi again, for just long enough for him to get out a single sentence.

“Guess you'd understand what that's like, huh Touya?”

And then he’s passed out. Leaving Hawks and Dabi both equally stunned and confused.

Dabi recovers first, pushing his way out of the cell almost in a frenzy, brushing past everyone else to get up to the roof. Desperate for fresh air and to be alone. He is not alone. Hawks is stunned for several seconds longer, but once he regains himself, once all the puzzle pieces fall into place, he’s surging after Dabi, frantic to not lose him. Not again.

When Hawks gets to the roof, Dabi is on the far side of it, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling off the side. The door was silent, Hawks was silent, Dabi is not looking at him. That doesn’t stop Dabi from speaking the moment Hawks pauses in indecision.

"I know you're there."

Throwing on a smile Hawks tries to play it off, stepping forward as if nothing is wrong. As if this doesn’t change everything.

"Hey, uh, sorry, didn't mean to intrude, I just saw you and you looked kinda upset-"

"Don't lie to me, spy. I know who you are. I know you heard him."

Hawks blood freezes, but Dabi's made no move to attack him, so he steps a little closer against his better judgment. He’s not afraid. How could he be?

"... So I'm guessing the kid got it right?"

"... Go away."

"That's a yes then."

Hawks is still a few steps back, and he's got so many mixed emotions but in the end, he's a hero. He does what he does best. Besides, there’s no way he could walk away from this. Not again.

"Listen, I don't know what hap-"

"Fuck off. I'm not doing this. I'm not someone you can save, Hawks. Don't waste your time. Just take the kid and go. I figured out you're a spy, your cover was blown, blah blah, so you didn't have any other choice but to cut your losses and save who you could."

Hawks' eyes soften, hesitation slipping away as he steps forward, hopping up onto the roof's edge to sit next to Dabi. They’re sitting too close together, but Dabi doesn’t try to move away despite his words. Both their gazes look out over the horizon as Hawks tone shifts to something regretful.

"I can't save him."

That gets Dabi to look at him, blue eyes angry and accusing.

"The fuck are you talking about? You could cut those damn chains and be gone before the damn alarm even sounds."

His words, an odd hostile vote of confidence, only serve to make Hawks' expression fall further into soft apologetic sadness.

"You’re right, I could do that, but I can't save him.” He pauses for a moment. “I figured out his location two days ago. I've been lying to the Commission about it since I found out. I’m going to keep lying to them about it."

Now Dabi just looks confused, eyes narrowed and face scrunched up as he tries to figure out Hawks’ game.

"Why the hell would you do that? What's stopping you from just taking his ass back to his shitty high school?"

Hawks' voice turned cold, eyes hallow. He looks more defeated than Dabi had ever seen him, which isn’t saying much. But he also looks more defeated than Touya had ever seen him, and that says a lot more.

"Because if I bring him back, if any hero brings him back, he won't be returning to UA. At all."

Then after a beat, almost as an afterthought, Hawks continued. There’s too casual a tone to his words, as if he’s on the news giving an update on a bad situation while trying not to let his mask break.

"The Commission saw the broadcast. Everyone did. Everyone saw a 16 year old unleash the equivalent of a small nuclear weapon in under 10 seconds. According to one of his classmates, the kid can do it with no real prep and a 12 to 24 hour recovery. No long lasting damage if the attacks are spaced out enough. After the Commission saw that, they gave me new orders."

It takes a moment for Dabi to process that. He's almost gaping at Hawks in horror and revulsion. Hawks doesn’t need to say what his orders are. Both of them already know what the Commission does.

"They can't- I mean I know they'd fucking try it, but UA wouldn't give up one of their best students. Fuck, that homeroom teacher of his wouldn't put up with that shit."

"His parents already signed the forms. Hardly took anything to convince them. UA has no legal ground to stop anything.”

Dabi tries a different approach, still unwilling to believe it.

"It wouldn't work. He's too old, you know how stubborn that damn kid is. I can tell you for a fact we aren’t gonna be able to break him, and they sure as hell won’t either."

"They can. They’ll make it work. One way or another.”

That’s all Hawks has to say, both of them know how true it is.

“The public wouldn’t-”

Hawks barks out a laugh, and it is an ugly, angry sound of resentment.

"They've got it all planned out, No matter what state he's in when he's recovered, the story is he got brainwashed by you lot and required a specialized recovery program along with extensive therapy. That excuses the personality change and sudden cooperation. UA can't do shit about it, even with their PR influence, they let the kid get kidnapped twice and the public is already upset with how they’ve handled him."

Hawks' gaze turns bitter and his voice is near venomous.

"The Commissions’ already got a new name picked out for him and everything. ‘Firecracker’ because they thought it'd ‘create positive associations’ and ‘make him more marketable to children’."

Both of them need a moment after that. Dabi looks away, furious now. Hawks takes a deep breath and gives him a watery grin of helplessness.

"Like I said, I could get the kid out of here, but I can't save him."

Dabi takes a deep breath too. Then another. His anger focuses, turning from unfiltered rage to a targeted fury. He knows what Hawks was saying now. Knows just how this story goes. How it’s already gone. But things are not the same as they were back then, and Dabi is sick of this fucking story.

"Alright. So, the kid can't go back until those fucks are out of the way. We're sitting on the roof of a fucking villain organization that's already trying to bring down the government. I'm one of it's fucking commanders. That’s not a problem. Or at least it won’t be for very long."

For the first time since he got the orders, hope sparks in Hawks' chest, and it's his turn to be wide eyed. If it was anyone else- anyone in the fucking world, there’d be no way. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Dabi. This is Touya. But doubt still taints his voice.

"I- It's not just one person. It's dozens and dozens, and they're all heavily protected.”

"So? We aren't one person either. There's a whole damn army here waiting to go."

Hawks bites his lip, but the hope only grows stronger. He used to have dreams of getting free. Of ending the people who trapped him here. It’d been a long time since he had those dreams. They’d been foolish, he had no where else to go but his pretty gilded cage. Nobody to turn to. No help, no savior. But that wasn’t true, maybe it never really had been. He’d gotten a feeling that someone had been bailing him out when he’d almost slipped up a few times as a double agent. Maybe someone had been.

"Will the kid be safe here in the meantime? This won't happen quickly. Even with all the resources in the world."

Dabi considers it, well and truly, before he nods firmly.

"Yeah, it'll be a pain to actually keep him here. Word going around is that he's a little escape artist. But Tomura's not gonna hurt him, he’s given a standing no harm order and nobody around here’s stupid enough to go against that. I'll keep my eye on him too. Just in case."

Then he pauses, plans taking shape in his head, growing and spinning, forming more completely.

"All we'll need from you is names and faces. We need to know who needs to go."

It's terrifying, it’s the wrong choice, it’s a stupid idea, but Hawks nods in agreement after a few seconds of internal debate. He wouldn't under any other circumstances- but fuck. He can't let them do what they did to him to someone else. He just can't. Hawks wants out of his cage, and he sure as fuck isn’t letting them drag another kid into it.

“I- I can do that. Give me a day to get everything together, I don’t know all the names, but I can get code names if nothing else.”

Dabi nods once more to affirm the plan, and the two of them sit in silence for a few more heartbeats, unsaid word lingering between them. It's Dabi who breaks the silence, an uncharacteristic softness to his voice.

"God, I can't believe you finally find out my name, and what, fucking five minutes later we're already back on our bullshit."

Hawks laughs, but this time it's light and childish like it used to be. Like it should be. He kicks his legs out, stretching out his wings behind him.

"What can I say? There was a reason the Commission hated it when I hung out with you, isn't that right Touya?"

It brings back memories Dabi had been suppressing for months now, pretending that they meant nothing to him, even as he let Hawks into the league, covered for him, erased camera footage and lied to protect him. He can't help but laugh too. His laugh is raspy from years of smoke and burned lungs. Hawks can’t help but take joy in hearing it again.

"I supposed so. You really haven't changed at all Keigo."

It's the first time in nearly 10 years Hawks heard that name, and it makes him grin ear to ear, silly and open and feeling comfortable like he hasn't since the last time he was called that. The last time he was Keigo.

Dabi takes another deep breath in and then twists to hop back onto the main part of the roof, pausing to meet Hawks' eyes with a long lost mischievous grin on his face.

"Come on slowpoke, we've got shit to do."

It’s not the first time he’s been called that. It’s the first time in a long time, but it’s just like every time before.

Just like every time before, Hawks' wings flutter in indignation (Touya was the only one who ever called him that, because he thought it was ever so funny how affronted Keigo got, so much so that no matter how fast he got, Touya refused to let it drop).

“You are the worst.”

Hawks grumbled, rolling his eyes as he hopped to his feet, snagging Dabi's hand to tug him back towards the door. Dabi is laughing at him again, but Hawks can't find it in himself to be actually annoyed.

How could he be? For the first time in too many years, he had his Touya back with him. He was allowed to be Keigo again, even if it was only for a short period. And for once, he had a feeling that things might be okay after all.

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onlysarah235678 · 3 years

Text

A Little Bit Part 2

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N: Here’s part two! Thanks to those who read the first part, or are just joining! Enjoy! I start work again this week, but I’ll do my best to keep writing ❤.

Warnings: Slight kitten angst? Gay panic and very brief harassment.

You hear from Billie Dean exactly two days later.

You’re actually at home since you worked the weekend, but you are just hanging out with your dog when the phone buzzed from the coffee table. You had just finished lunch and you were about to fall asleep when Milo’s head jerked up at the annoying sound. You sigh before leaving the comfort of the couch to see who it is. Hopefully it isn’t someone who needs anything from you because you had your Monday planned out already. You were staying at home for the rest of the day trying to relax for once. You might take a long walk with Milo later, but you weren’t so sure.

All thoughts of where to hike left your mind as you grab your phone and see you have a text from an unknown number. You don’t really get out much and only talk to a few friends, but all of their numbers are in your phone. It doesn’t even occur to you that it might be Billie. You honestly just thought she was being nice to you since she’d been super late to her appointment.

Despite the flirting smiles and curious looks she’d shot you during the appointment, you hadn’t wanted to think too much into it. You’d hate to get your hopes up for nothing.

What you were hoping for, well you weren’t going to admit that yet.

Once you managed to find the courage to actually look at what the message said—beyond her name of course, you took a deep breath and sat back on the couch.

Hi Y/N, it’s Billie Dean. Are you busy, sweetheart?

There the nickname was again. You ignored how reading it and of course imagining her saying it made you feel and decided to focus on the question she asked. You looked around your living room where the television was paused on a scene from The Blair Witch Project, and where Milo sat on the couch next to you, his giant paws on your leg. You shook your head muttering something under your breath about being silly before you typed out a quick response.

Not at all.

You contemplated typing more because you supposed you should ask if she needed something. However, once you saw she was already typing a response you had to stop yourself from throwing your phone. You shouldn’t be this flustered. Not by the prospect of answering questions about kittens. That’s all this was going to be. Of course it was. You were just helping -possible helping – a client. A beautiful and charming client.

Don’t be silly.

Billie Dean Howard had worked hard to get where she was. Her career was somewhere she wouldn’t have even dared to imagine just 10 years ago. She was an accomplished woman who used her gift to help people. It wasn’t always easy of course, but as she traveled to random, remote places around the world trying to guide stubborn lost souls, she knew she wouldn’t change a thing. She loved what she did, and she liked to think that she was good at it.

Today, however, she was realizing that despite her best efforts, she may not be good at everything. Try as she might, she couldn’t get a hang of this kitten thing. They were a lot more work than she had anticipated. After leaving the vet’s office on Saturday, she’d gone to the pet store and spent a small fortune on food, toys, litter, and a bed. You had told her that the kittens wouldn’t be using litter for a while and she’d foolishly thought that meant they wouldn’t need to go. How idiotic.

As she found out the moment she got home, after the kittens had gotten a meal from Bit, they had all needed to go. She spent a good twenty minutes cleaning out the carrier and each kitten that had gotten themselves dirty. She had set everything up in the house, placed all of the clean kittens on their bed in a nice quiet room, only to have Bit take each one of them into a different room. The laundry room of all places. Billie had let her because she really didn’t want to fight with her, but she’d been constantly checking on them to make sure everything was okay.

She had to make sure they were all warm enough and that Bit was doing her job feeding and grooming them. It was exhausting and Billie was definitely reconsidering this whole fostering thing.

By the time Monday rolled around, she was already stressing about work. She had found someone in the neighborhood who agreed to watch the kittens while she left to do some promotional work for her show, but she quickly found she couldn’t focus. She rushed through work and was home by noon checking on the kittens again.

They all seemed fine at first glance, but then she recounted them and realized that one was missing. She did her best not to panic immediately. She moved Bit a little, earning a hiss of annoyance, to see if the last kitten was hiding underneath her.

No such luck.

Next, Billie looked around the laundry room before moving to the closest room to start a wider search. It wasn’t until she checked her bedroom that she found the kitten just sitting on the comforter. She cursed under her breath as she hurried to check on the little furball.

He, Billie had decided the runt was a boy, was cold to the touch and she panicked. She thought about her options before she ran back downstairs to where she’d abandoned her purse. She held the little kitten close as she found her phone.

When you responded to her first text, Billie considered sending another one, but decided against it. She ended up just calling you, and the urge to curse was strong, but instead you took a deep breath before answering.

“Hi Billie.”

“Hi, Y/N. I’m sorry to bother you. You’re not at work, are you?”

You smile at the concern in Billie’s voice until it occurs to you it may not be for the reasons you think. Still, you shook your head before explaining that you had the day off and that you were at home. She didn’t say anything immediately, but when Billie did speak up, you could tell she was a little stressed.

“Oh. I don’t mean to interrupt your day off, but I had a kitten question.”

So Billie tells you about what’s going on. That she found the kitten away from Bit and the others, cold and just randomly in her room. You ask a few questions, and Billie’s answers are more concerning than reassuring. You decide to focus on the matter at hand before asking anything else.

“Do you have an electric blanket or something you could use to warm him up?”

Billie nearly laughs at the thought, but she stops herself just in time. She simply shakes her head as she heads up the stairs to the linen closet.

“In LA? I’m afraid not.”

You nearly roll your eyes at your stupidity. You had forgotten the fact that it rarely reached freezing in this city. You had moved from a state of unpredictable weather where you needed to be prepared for ice storms and heat waves, and you sometimes forgot that wasn’t normal. You nodded in acknowledgment before you went to the next suggestion you had.

“Right. What about towels?”

You stay on the phone with Billie while she puts some towels in the dryer to warm them up. Surprisingly Bit and her other kittens don’t seem to care despite being right next to it. She then goes to her bedroom and grabs the first blanket she sees that coincidentally already has cat hair on it. She had forgotten about that part of having a pet.

“Be honest. Should I be worried?”

You hold back a sigh as you stand up and begin to wander aimlessly around the room. You don’t want to lie to Billie, but at the same time you remember how on Saturday she’d already claimed that the runt, the boy, they’d decided was her favorite. You would hate for her to be upset by his loss. That said, you couldn’t really give her an honest assessment over the phone.

“Has he been nursing today?

Billie shook her head at this as she put her phone on the bed so she can wrap the kitten in the blanket. She speaks a little louder as she works on making a kitten burrito.

“I’m not sure about today. I had someone watch them while I worked, but yesterday he seemed fine. Normal at least.”

You thought about this before considering your options. Billie had already told you that other than the fact that he was a little cold, he seemed fine. You decided to go with your gut on this one.

“He could get worse, but if you can just keep him warm today and see that he eats, he’ll improve. Let me know if anything else changes though.”

I’ll be back at work tomorrow.

You almost say this, but decide against it because you don’t want it to sound like you wouldn’t be willing to…No. Would you? Of course you would. It was your job. You couldn’t just not see a kitten who was sick. You could of course just tell her to go to work and see another doctor, but you secretly wanted to see her yourself.

Your musing is cut off by the sound of the blonde sighing in what you realize is relief. You smile slightly as she thanks you, but don’t really know what to say in response.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing before I freaked out on you.”

You laugh slightly as you shake your head and turn back toward where Milo was still sitting on the couch. He was waiting for you to return so you both could go back to the movie you’ve honestly seen too many times. You didn’t realize you’d said this until it was too late. Fortunately, you didn’t get time to cringe at your word vomit before you heard Billie laugh.

You weren’t sure you’d ever heard something sound quite so nice.

“Don’t worry about it. I was just watching the Blair Witch Project which I’ve already seen about a dozen times.”

“You like stories about the supernatural?”

You don’t answer immediately because you can’t help but feel like this is a trick question. You do in fact like a good ghost story, but the question seems to be more about whether or not you believe in them. At least that’s where you see this going. So you jump the gun a little with a small smile as you plop back down next to Milo.

“I definitely like them. Good ones at least, but do I believe in them? It depends.”

At this point, Billie was seated on her bed with the kitten that she definitely hadn’t named Mickey on her lap. She could practically see you shrugging and she couldn’t help but ask.

“Depends on what?”

You’re not sure what possesses you to answer the way you do, but you’re smirking and speaking before you can stop yourself.

“Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”

You barely resist the frantic urge to start screaming at yourself for your out of character display of courage. You’re not usually the one to instigate things. You’ve been accused of being a wallflower in the past by many of your friends and a few people you’ve dated. However, there’s something inexplicably appealing about the idea of getting to see Billie Dean again.

It doesn’t occur to you until too late that your statement could be taken as flirting. Only after you hear her chuckle in amusement do you realize what you’ve done.

“Is that an invitation?”

Despite your initial hesitance about flirting with a client, you decide to throw caution to the wind and just see where this goes. The worst you could do was embarrass yourself, right? It’s not like you were at work now anyway. Not like last time.

“That depends. Would you be interested?”

You and Billie Dean agree to meet later that week. With both of your work schedules full until the weekend, you have a whole 4 days until you’ll see her again, but you’d manage. Somehow.

Well, she did agree to send you updates on the kittens, but that would most likely be by text. You wouldn’t get the perk of hearing her voice.

That thought made you pause. After hanging up the phone, you’d returned to your movie with Milo, but you paused it again before reaching for your computer. You tried not to feel like a creep as you opened your browser and searched Billie’s name.

You figured that you should know at least the basics about her and her show so you didn’t put your foot in your mouth when you saw her on Saturday. The first thing you see when you look is her award-winning smile, literally with some information written underneath it. You disregard the details about where to watch her show for now and go to her website.

For the next hour or so you read a lot about how she got started as a medium and what she’d been doing for the past ten years. You watched a few interviews and started an episode of her show when Milo reminded you of how late it was.

You decided to take a break from being too curious and take Milo on a walk like you’d originally planned. He jumped up at the word ‘walk’ and ran to grab his leash while you ran upstairs to change. On your way back down the stairs you grab your phone and keys before heading to the parking lot. You’re determined to enjoy your day off, so you follow Milo out to the car and do your best to ignore the growing anxiety associated with seeing Billie again. You’re excited of course, but you don’t know what to expect from the medium. Perhaps you just shouldn’t have any expectations for this…get together. You hadn’t called it anything in particular. You were just going to get lunch.

You still hadn’t convinced yourself not to worry by the time you got Milo buckled in the backseat.

Billie Dean hadn’t really given much thought to the idea of having children. Since her career had taken off, she’d convinced herself that she was too busy. She wouldn’t have the time for them and she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted them. She’d never really thought she’d be a good mother.

That said, if raising children was anything like taking care of kittens, then she was definitely right. This experience was very humbling.

Since she’d hung up with you, she’d been multitasking like a pro. She’d been spending time with the kittens, and making sure that Mickey had nursed and was cuddled up to Bit like the rest of his siblings. Billie had noticed quickly that Bit didn’t pay as much attention to the runt of her litter as she did to everyone else. This observation made her worry and as a result, she spent a lot more time caring for him to make up for it. She was getting a hang of this, but it was exhausting.

Between going over the rest of her week with her assistant and responding to emails from her producer, she was checking on the cats to the point that Bit was probably annoyed.

She hadn’t decided what she was going to do with the cats once they were old enough to adopt out. She knew with her work she couldn’t keep them. Not without changing her schedule significantly. She didn’t want to keep them just to have them stay with other people.

Unfortunately, no one had responded to the found posters she’d had her assistant print out and post around her neighborhood. This made her think that Bit really had been a stray, or at the very least no one wanted her. She sighed as she looked down at her watch again. She’d been checking on them about every half hour which seemed excessive, but she’d found that if she waited any longer, she’d just get antsy and not get any work done. She put out her cigarette in an ash tray, she’d only been smoking when she was away from the cats, and headed upstairs.

When Billie arrived to the laundry room, she saw Bit getting situated again onto the bed with all of her kittens. Or at least 5 of them. She sighed in annoyance before she confirmed who was missing, and immediately left the room in search for him.

This was the third time the Bit had moved Mickey to her room. She found him exactly where he’d been last time, on her pillow. She moved to pick him up and he stirred slightly before making the cutest little noise. Billie smiled before taking him back to the laundry room where Bit was busy grooming herself. She put him back among the other kittens, and after checking on them she headed back downstairs.

It was only a few minutes later when she heard the sound of quiet footsteps upstairs. She listened carefully and waited until she heard Bit jump up onto something to go investigate. She reached the top of the stairs at the same time that Bit was leaving her room and darting back to the laundry room. She groaned loudly as she saw Mickey lying on her pillow again shifting and mewling from being jostled once again.

“For the love of…”

You were still hiking at one of your favorite spots when Billie was struggling to deal with her cats. It wasn’t too crowded at the park you’d chosen because it was the middle of the day on a Monday. That said, there were still plenty of people and dogs around to keep your mind from wandering too much to Billie.

You had to be a little careful with Milo when out in public. Not because he was aggressive, but because it was easy for him to get overwhelmed. He was blind in one eye due to an injury he’d suffered when he was a puppy, and it was sometimes difficult for him to keep track of everything around him. That said, even though parts of this park were designated off-leash areas, Milo usually preferred to stay by your side. He could be a little anxious when surrounded, but he was getting a lot better from going to work with you every day.

For this reason, you weren’t too concerned when you saw a family with several children approaching you on the trail. Milo loved children.

After Milo got his fill of pets from the children, the two of you continued on your path toward the park. Your mind started to wander as Milo dragged you toward the wide-open space with at least a dozen dogs. The two of you were only half way through your walk, but you had a feeling you’d be stopping for a while to make friends.

At the end of the walk when you arrived back to your car, you realized that you had been without cell service for most of the walk. You had a couple of text messages from Billie Dean, one of which included a picture. That made you smile until you read the message that came with the picture of Mickey sleeping in Billie’s arms.

Why does Bit keep moving him out of bed and dumping him in my room?

You frowned at the thought of this happening, but before you could respond Milo barked and reminded you that you hadn’t opened the door for him. You sighed before getting him settled in the backseat before leaning against the car to type a quick response.

I’m not sure, but Bit may just not want to take care of him.

You consider how that might make Billie feel, but realize that you can’t really sugar coat it. Sometimes a mother abandoned their runts because she didn’t think they’d survive. You hoped that this wasn’t the case for Mickey, but hearing what Bit’s been doing doesn’t make you feel very optimistic. You realize that Billie had sent this message over an hour ago so you send another quick message before heading home.

Sorry I didn’t respond earlier. I’m out hiking with Milo.

The drive home takes a little longer than it usually would because you take a detour at the pet store. You made the mistake of making Milo wait too long in the backseat by himself and he’d chewed his leash in half out of spite. At least that’s what you told yourself. So you led him on a short leash into the pet store to find a replacement. You find one in a few minutes and are headed to the register when you hear someone behind you say your name.

“Dr. Y/L/N.”

You turn to see an employee that you had honestly hoped wasn’t working today. She wasn’t at the register like she’d been last time and you’d foolishly hoped that meant she wasn’t in. You tried not to sigh in annoyance as you turned around with a tight smile, waving the leash in your hand slightly.

“Hey. How are you?”

You ask as a courtesy because you honestly don’t want to spend any more time talking to this woman. You didn’t have anything against the brunette, except that she couldn’t take a hint. She was persistent to the point that it made you a little uncomfortable. The first time you were in here she’d asked you way too many personal questions, and since then you’d called the vet clinic here a few times and whenever she answered she’d flirt some more.

You hoped that this wouldn’t happen again, but when you noticed Claire’s smile you realized it was wishful thinking.

“Oh I’ve been fine. Just bored silly around here. You haven’t called much.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to this, so you shrugged before gesturing to Milo who seemed to remember the brunette. He tried to move forward to sniff her, but his leash wasn’t long enough.

“Well, I’m not at work today, as you can see. I just needed a new leash for Milo.”

Saying this was a mistake because Milo heard his name and his tail started wagging which was the only invitation Claire needed. She moved forward and knelt down to pet him making the same mistake a lot of people do. She reached for him on his blind side and he jerked back a little before turning his head so he could see the hand petting him. He panted happily once Claire took the hint before his tail resumed wagging. You tried not to glare at him for being a traitor. It wasn’t his fault.

“Aw did you eat your leash? Handsome boy.”

You were glad that at least Milo was having fun. You just nod before shifting slightly so you could look around you for an excuse to leave.

“Yeah, he wasn’t too happy with me.”

You pause as you spot the food aisle a little bit away before adding. “You’ll be lucky to get dinner after doing that, Milo.”

Your bluff had its intended effect and Milo pulled away from Claire and started pawing at you. You just rolled your eyes before leading him toward the end of the aisle. To your escape.

“Yeah, I know. Dinner time. We can go.”

Milo tugs you to toward the front door but you stop by the register first, not failing to notice that the brunette followed you. You went to the first open register and put the leash on the conveyor belt before shooting the person behind the counter a pleading look. She was on your side.

“Hi Emma.”

Help me.

The blonde looked between you and her coworker with a frown, quickly understanding what had happened. It wasn’t like Claire was subtle. She’d ask about you almost every day she was working in the clinic, not that she’d told you that.

“Hey, doc. What’s up?”

You offer the blonde a smile before you open your mouth to respond when you’re cut off. You watch Claire move so she’s standing right next to Emma, practically pushing her out of the way as she eyed you curiously.

“Yeah, if you’re not working you must be free tonight.”

There are a lot of different ways you’d like to respond to this, but you choose to do your best to hide how annoyed you are as you shake your head. You’re free as a bird tonight, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to tell her that.

The lie you come up with though isn’t one you had intended on using.

“Actually, I’m not. I’m going out with my girlfriend.”

Luckily it doesn’t seem like Claire’s prepared a response for this, and you just breathe a sigh of relief as Emma hands you your bag with a smile.

“Thanks. Good to see you two.”

You leave quickly and curse yourself the whole way to the car. What an idiot. Why would you say that?

You’re ticked at Claire for being so aggressive, again. You slammed the door shut behind Milo, without meaning to, and you hurried to get in the car to scratch him behind his ears. You shoot him an apologetic look before sighing in defeat. You hate that you’d lied and that your self-esteem took a hit as well, but what could you do? It’s not like you were going to agree to going anywhere with Claire.

“Sorry, buddy. Let’s get you home for some dinner, hmm? Then we can watch whatever you want.”

Part 3

#american horror story #murder house #ahs fic #ahs imagine #billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #a little bit #my fic #ahs #more Billie dean in the next part #promise!

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch15: That Tie Looks Real Expensive

Summary: On the run from SHIELD, Katie and Steve find Natasha at the hospital when they head back for the memory drive. Their search for the truth leads Steve on yet another trip down memory lane and, as more truths bubble to the surface, the three of them are left running for their lives and are forced to seek help…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Violence, and someone gets pushed off a roof but he’s Hydra so, meh.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Not one but TWO edits from @angrybirdcr in this one!!

Chapter 14

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

After a bit of a skirmish on the bridge out of the Triskellion involving a Quinjet and some nasty looking road blocks, they made it out relatively unscathed all things considered and headed to the boxing gym they trained at so Steve could change. Katie told him to leave his suit behind in the hope that the tracking systems would give whoever came looking for them a bit of a detour. At her suggestion, in an attempt to keep them as unnoticeable as possible, he also locked his shield in his locker, with the view they’d collect it when it was safe to do so.

They reached the hospital with no further issues. Katie was feeling the effects of the fight in the elevator and the leap of faith they’d taken out of it and was stiff and bruised but she did her best to keep pace with Steve as they strode down the corridor. When they reached the vending machine, Steve stopped and peered into it, frowning as he realised the row where he had hidden the stick was empty. Then someone appeared behind them, and he saw Natasha’s reflection in the machine, blowing bubbles from the gum she’d obviously bought to retrieve the stick.

Steve spun round, temper reaching boiling point as he grabbed her by the neck in a display of anger Katie had rarely seen from him, pushing her into a room opposite.

“What happened to you?” She looked at Katie’s face, her eyes taking in the bruising around her left cheekbone and the split in her lip.

“Rumlow.” Katie snapped back, unwilling to discuss any further. Her patience with this whole situation was running thin and she was sick of not knowing who she could trust. She had resigned from SHIELD for this precise reason, and here she was, getting dragged once more back into their shit.

“Where is it?” Steve demanded, looking at Nat as he reached up and threw down his hood.

“Safe.”

“Do better.” Katie suggested, glaring at the woman she thought was her friend, not sure anymore whether or not to trust the red-head.

“Where did you get it?” Natasha asked.

“Why would I tell you?” Steve countered.

“Fury gave it to you,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

“What’s on it?” Steve ask, ignoring her question.

“I don’t know,” Natasha answered.

Steve lightly slammed her against the wall his patience thinning quickly, anger blazing from every inch of his body. “Stop lying,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I only act like I know everything, Rogers.”

“I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn’t you?” Katie said, looking at her.

“Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in…”

Katie let out a frustrated laugh before she spun around away from Natasha, groaning.

“I’m not gonna ask you again,” Steve threatened.

“I know who killed Fury.” Natasha spoke as Katie turned to face her again. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“So he’s a ghost story.” Steve concluded releasing her and taking a step back.

“Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran and somebody shot out my tires near Odessa.” She said, looking him straight in the eyes “We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him, straight through me.”

Natasha pulled up her shirt, revealing a scar on her lower left abdomen.

“Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye bye, bikinis.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.” Steve half joked.

“Going after him is a dead end. I know, I’ve tried.” Nat stated before she pulled out the thumb drive and held it out for all of them to see.

Steve eyed her before taking it and putting it in his pocket before he looked at Katie then back to Natasha.

“Let’s find out what the ghost wants.”

*****

“You know you could have picked something a little more subtle.” Nat hummed as she lounged in the backseat of the truck that they had taken from an industrial estate opposite the gym when they had stopped to pick up Steve’s shield and ditch Nat’s Corvette on their way out to New Jersey.

They had gotten what they needed from the Mall, including the location of where the AI that kept countering Natasha’s commands on the pen drive was coming from, which to Steve’s shock had been Camp Lehigh, the place he had trained and been selected for Operation Rebirth. After a close shave with the STRIKE team, in which Katie and Natasha’s stealth skills really had been put to the test, although Steve hadn’t objected to one part in particular where he’d had to kiss his girl on the escalator, they had bolted for Natasha’s car and made it out, unscathed and thankfully with a few new changes of clothes each.

“It’s a truck, lots of men drive trucks.” Steve replied, as he comfortably drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift, eyes focussed on the road.

“Because they think it looks cool when in fact it just makes them look like douchebags who are compensating for something.” Nat responded.

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t help but quip back playfully. “Maybe I am.” “Well I know that’s not true” Nat replied, her voice full of a smirk. “Katie told me.”

Steve felt his cheeks flush as Katie shifted in the seat beside him, whipping her head round to face the woman. “Jesus, Nat!”

“What were your exact words?” Natasha continued, a teasing expression on her face. “Oh yeah, if that thing wasn’t enhanced by the-“ “If you don’t shut up I’m gonna come back there and slap you into next week.” Katie hastily cut her off. She turned back round, glancing at Steve. His cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment but there was a faint trace of a smirk on his face, his eyes still focussed ahead. He could tell she was looking at him so he kept his eyes on the road, fully aware he blushing. But as far as discussing their sex life with her friend went, he supposed that there were far worse things she could be saying.

“So where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?” Natasha asked a few minutes later as Katie noticed that they were passing a sign welcoming them to New Jersey. All things considered they’d made pretty good time.

“Nazi Germany” Steve looked over his shoulder at her. “And we’re borrowing, take your feet off the seat.“

Natasha eyed him in the mirror, but did as she was told before she leant forward between the two front seats.

"Alright, I have a question for you both, which you do not have to answer. But I feel if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it, you know?”

“What?” Steve asked exasperatedly.

“So before in the Apple store… you guys were like engaged…” She began a hint of a smirk on her face. “Any chance of that happening for real?”

Katie moaned and, upon hearing her, Steve felt something in his stomach tighten.

"That bad an idea huh?” He asked stealing a glance over at her.

“I didn’t say that.” Katie sighed.

“No but it kinda sounded like that’s what you meant.” Steve continued.

“I not even gracing that with a response” Katie shot him a look.

“You gonna grace my other question with a response?”

“Which was?”

“Whether you’re gonna move in with me or not.” He stole another glance at her but before she could reply he felt Nat shift a little.

“You asked her?” She aised her eyebrows. “Will you fuck off?” Katie snapped. She’d had enough and well and truly reached her fill of Natasha’s sarcasm, of SHIELD, of everything.

“Take it easy Stark.” Nat drawled back, nonplussed. “You know, if you don’t want to answer a question straight you could try making something up.”

“What, like you?” Katie scoffed, looking at her over her shoulder

“You know the truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

"That’s a hard way to live,” Steve commented as he took in the red-heads words. Besides him Katie shifted, agitatedly and he knew she was pissed. Natasha was supposed to be her friend and all this had shaken her trust.

“It’s a good way not to die, though.” Natasha mused unconcerned.

“You know, it’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is.” Katie shot the red head a pointed look and Steve held his breath for the sarcastic response he was expecting back. He really didn’t want to have to split up a fight between the two. But knowing his girl as he did, he had a horrible feeling it would go that way if Natasha bit back. Thankfully, she didn’t, her tone was soft, almost wistful when she answered

“Yeah.” Natasha replied, looking through the window. “Who do you want me to be?”

“How about a friend?” Steve jumped in.

“Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.” Natasha smirked returning to her comfortable position in the backseat.

They sat in silence for a bit and Katie turned to look at Steve. If there was one person in all this she could trust, she knew it was him. She had no idea what they were going to find, what they were going to walk into but she trusted him with her life, and loved him with every inch of her being. And she wanted him to know, in case this all went wrong, just how much.

Steve shifted in his seat as he could feel her eyes on him for a while before she spoke finally.

“I’m not gonna move in with you.”

Steve’s head whipped round, his mouth dry at her refusal, before he returned his attention to the road, trying not to read too much into her rejection, as she continued to speak.

“Your flat is full of bullet holes, your bed is in the wrong place and frankly it’s too small for all my stuff. You’ll have to move in with me.”

Wait, what? That wasn’t a refusal.

He looked at her, aware a grin was spreading across his face. “Seriously?”

She nodded, returning her gaze to the front, and he did the same as her fingers tangled into his right hand where it was resting on the pillar between their seats, gently pulling it into her lap so she could trace shapes on his palm.

And, surprisingly, there was no sarcastic comment from the back seats.

*****

“It’s some kind of recording,” Natasha frowned as she tried to make sense of what was happening in front of them. They’d scoured the camp and after a long search, just as they were ready to give up, Steve had spotted that the munitions building was in the wrong place. Further investigations had led them into a huge, underground bunker and, after an hour or so more of searching, they had discovered a secret Elevator that led down to a huge room full of ancient computers…and a more modern USB terminal.

Natasha had plugged in the USB device into the port, which had activated the system and now, well, now Katie had no idea what the fuck they were looking at.

“I am not a recording, Fraulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945.”

Steve sighed heavily as the computer screen showed a black and white photo of a familiar odd looking man with round glasses. Zola.

“Who is that?” Katie asked as Steve glared at the photo on the computer screen.

“Do you know this thing?” Natasha questioned sceptically.

“Armin Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He’s been dead for years,” Steve explained shortly as he walked round the back of the screen, looking for anything that would explain how it was working.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, that was worth saving. Two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.” Zola explained.

“How did you get here?” Steve questioned, returning to the front of the television monitor.

“I was invited.”

“Operation Paperclip.” Natasha supplied as her and Katie exchanged a look.

“What?” Steve asked.

“After the War Shield recruited German scientists with strategic value.” Katie replied, her eyes still on the screen.

“They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.” Zola continued.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull,” Steve snapped.

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” Zola said confidently

“Prove it.” Steve challenged and Katie had to stifle a sigh as she was pretty sure they were going to regret that.

“Accessing archive.”

The computer screen began to screen old footage of the Red Skull and of the original SHIELD founders.

“HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD. For seventy years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed.”

Various photos flashed up as he spoke of events through the course of modern history. Besides him Katie gulped when they reached the assassination of JFK, and the photo zoomed in on a grainy image of the masked man with the metal arm in the distance, aiming his rifle, The Winter Soldier.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” Natasha said quickly countering the computer.

“Accidents will happen.” The computer screen then revealed a very familiar item, the newspaper reporting Howard and Maria Stark’s deaths. Steve felt his mouth go dry as he realised what Zola was telling him, whilst besides him, Katie took a deep breath as she looked at the screen, her Parent’s faces looking back at her in black and white print. And then the ringing started in her ears.

Her parents had been killed. By HYDRA.

When she spoke again, her voice was as desperate as she was. Desperate for this to be nonsense. “No, that’s not… they died in an accident… it was a car crash…”

“Things are not what they seem.” The screen drawled back

“You killed them?” Katie’s chest was heaving, the anger now evident in her voice as it coursed through her veins, her voice loud as she balled her fists “HYDRA killed my parents? Why?”

A photo of Director Fury flashed up.

“HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security.” Pictures of three helicarriers were shown next, and Steve feltl the angry heat spread up his neck, blistering and raw. “Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum.”

Steve’s anger boiled over, and it appeared Katie’s had as well as the pair of them surged forward. Katie lashed out with her right foot kicking over a chair in anger and Steve brought his right hand crashing into the TV, smashing the screen. It only resulted in silencing the Swiss man for a moment, before he spoke cockily once again from a different monitor

“As I was saying…”

"What’s on this drive?” Natasha asked quickly stepping in front of both Katie and Steve to avoid the pair of them destroying anything else.

“Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.”

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Katie demanded.

“The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.”

Suddenly, the doors they came through started to close. Steve threw his shield attempting to catch them before they shut completely but it missed and he caught it as it ricocheted back.

“Guys, we got a bogey, short-range ballistics. Thirty seconds tops.” Natasha announced looking at her phone, her voice earnest.

“Who fired it?” asked Steve, as he starting to look for an alternative escape route.

“SHIELD.” She looked at him, then to Katie.

“Admit it Captain, it’s better this way. We’re both of us, out of time.” Warned Zola.

Katie looked around for any sign of a way out, knowing it was pointless. She spotted a grate in the floor not too far from where we were and yelled at Steve. Catching on to what she was saying, he easily threw the top off as Natasha pulled the drive out of the port that was on the desk.

“Get in!” Steve yelled. Natasha hopped down into the space, then Katie followed, the two girls getting as close to one another as they could to make room for Steve in the small space. He jumped down and pulled them both in close before holding his shield over their heads.

The missile hit a split second later. Instantly, heat, smoke and pressure surrounded the three of them. Steve could feel the ash in his throat and he had to fight with all his strength to keep his shield above them, as the debris from the collapsing building above rained down into the space they were hiding in. Letting out a groan he braced himself and simply stayed as strong as he could, and eventually the noise subsided. He could hear Katie’s heavy breathing as she struggled to maintain her calm, coughing slightly as she spoke.

“Nat?”

No answer.

Steve grunted again as he pushed against his shield trying to clear away the debris on top of it just enough to get out. He let out a sigh of relief as, following a third huge heave, light flooded down into the chamber. With another almighty shove, he managed to clear a path for him to climb out. He scrambled up, checked around to make sure it was safe and the he glanced down at the two women.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am, but Nat’s passed out.” Katie blinked up at him, awkwardly shifting Natasha around carefully in order so Steve could lift her out. Carefully he set her down on the floor and then wrapped his hand around his girl’s wrist and pulled her out of the hole. Immediately she crouched next to Nat.

“Her pulse is strong. I think she just fainted, she doesn’t do well in tight spaces, like me.” Katie coughed harshly before she paused at the sound of a familiar hum growing steadily closer.

“Quinjets.” Her eyes grew wide.

“Let’s go.” Steve ordered quietly, scooping Natasha up in his arms. Ensuring Katie was in front of him at all times, they quickly began navigating their way out of the rubble as they headed back to the truck.

Katie climbed into the backseat and Steve laid Natasha down so that her head rested in Katie’s lap before he jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the car and taking off down the dirt road.

Neither of them spoke for a good five minutes. Katie was still trying to make sense of what Zola had said. HYDRA had killed her parents, for no other reason that she could think of bar the fact her dad had worked tirelessly against everything they stood for, as part of SHIELD. Her eyes misted over and she tried to blink back the tears, keeping her breathing even. She knew if she started crying, after everything that had happened, she wouldn’t stop.

In the front of the truck, Steve’s head was also reeling. All this time, HYDRA had grown within SHIELD, he’d gone into the ice for what? He wiped his hand over his face and glanced in the rear view mirror. Katie was looking down at Natasha, gently carding her hands through her friend’s hair, but he could see her eyes were wet. He felt another flash of anger. How could Fury have not noticed? How could Peggy have not noticed? So many goddamned questions.

“What…” Natasha’s voice was croaky and Steve glanced back again to see the red head’s eyes fluttering as she looked around.

“You passed out” Katie looked down at her. “We’re alright now, we got out ok.”

She sat upright and blinked again, “Thanks…”

Steve turned back to the windscreen as the car fell into silence.

“So, where to now?” Nat asked the question. No one answered which caused her to suggest “Tony?”

“No” Steve and Katie both said at the same time.

“For one thing he isn’t in the country.” Katie shook her head. “He’s in Aus working on some deal.”

“And they’ll be watching the Tower.” Steve continued, “It’s not safe”

“We need to get hold of Hill.” Katie licked her lips. “She’s the only one in any of this I trust now.”

Steve pondered, and then had to concede she was right. “Alright, but we need to lay low whilst we do. Any ideas?”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded. “And it’s a crazy one, but one that no one will ever suspect as no on in SHIELD knows the guy exists. Not yet anyway.” Steve shot her a questioning glance in the mirror, which turned into one of realisation as she finished. “Sam Wilson.”

“Honey we hardly know the guy.” Steve shook his head.

“Well trusting people we do know hasn’t exactly worked for us so far, has it?” Katie snapped back, a little tetchily. Steve opened his mouth to argue but Natasha cut him off.

“Nova’s right. Sometimes the person you have to trust is a stranger.” *********

Once they had tracked down Sam’s address, which was fairly easy to figure out when you had access to JARVIS via a StarkPhone, Sam let them in without so much as a question, the fact that the three of them were battered, bruised and filthy declaring everyone they knew was trying to kill them told him all he needed to know. He offered up his guestroom and Steve, being the gentleman that he was, let both Natasha and Katie go before him, giving Sam a brief overview of what had happened.

Katie and Natasha both showered quickly, and now they were currently sat quietly in the guestroom while Steve used the en-suite. He washed his face and looked in the mirror, letting out a sigh as he glanced back at his reflection, various bruises already covered his arms and upper body thanks to his accelerated healing but that wasn’t what bothered him. He was completely and utterly at a loss as to what to do next. Turning, he opened the door and saw Katie sitting behind Nat on the bed, drying the back of the woman’s red hair. He locked eyes with her, gave her a small smile and then looked at Natasha who was staring into space.

“You okay?"

"Yeah,” She replied quickly, too quickly.

Steve set down the towel he was drying his hands with and entered the room then sat on the chair across from the girls. He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at Natasha carefully. “What’s going on?”

“When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight. But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra,” Natasha confessed, looking down at her hands. “I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but I guess I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business.” Katie teased earning a small smile from the redhead.

“I owe you.” Natasha sighed quietly, “Both of you.”

“It’s okay,” Steve smiled.

“If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your lives – and be honest with me – would you trust me to do it?” She asked quietly, her green eyes locked onto Steve’s.

“I would now,” said Steve. “And I’m always honest.”

“Without question.” Katie added as Nat turned to her, a smile growing on her lips.

“Well,” She said as she looked back at Steve. “You seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing.”

“Well, guess I just like to know who I’m fighting,” Steve sighed in response, although she had hit a nerve.

“I made breakfast,” Sam’s voice came and the three looked to see him leaning up against the doorframe. “If you guys, eat that sort of thing.” He added as he left.

Steve inclined his head slightly, smiling as Natasha stood up and left the room, shouting after Sam to see if he had a hair dryer, earning her a sarcastic response about him not having had an afro since the late eighties. Katie made to follow her but Steve caught her arm gently as he too rose from his chair.

“Doll.” He started, wanting to talk to her about the discovery but she cut him off, shaking her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. It was too painful and the fear of what Tony would say was eating her up.

“You know, after mom and dad died, Tony lost it.” Katie sighed gently, voicing her fears. “When he finds out they were murdered it could push him over the edge again.”

“Don’t tell him then.” Steve found himself suggesting. He didn’t approve of lying, but sometimes if knowing the truth was detrimental then…

“And then if he does find out, and then realises I knew and didn’t tell him?” Katie swallowed, shaking her head “I don’t know what’s worse, Steve.”

She looked utterly lost and broken and Steve felt a lump catch in his throat as he pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head. He was desperately trying to think of something that would raise her mood, and then he found himself for some strange reason thinking back to the banter the three had shared in the truck and he knew just how to do it.

“Did you really tell Natasha I had a big…” He looked down at his girl as she gave a small chuckle, the sound music to his ears.

“No I said you were a big dick…she must have misheard me”

He rolled his eyes and a sarcastic “ha ha” fell from his mouth as she smiled, sliding her hands up his chest.

“What I actually said was that if that thing…”she glanced down at his crotch before looking back up. “wasn’t supersized at the same time you were, I have no idea how you managed to stand upright before the serum.”

Jesus she was incorrigible at times. But Steve loved her for that. And he was also secretly pleased she thought he was packing, so to speak. He smirked as his hands slid to her hips. “You’re a nightmare.”

“Yeah but you love me.” She grinned.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” His lips met hers in a soft kiss before the pair of them sighed, the moment of humour and good nature slipping away as they both remembered exactly where they were and why they were there.

“Come on.” Steve took her hand and together they headed down the hall into the kitchen area, the smell of food hitting his nostrils made his stomach grumble.

“You all look a hell of a lot better.” Sam commented as Katie grabbed a few things for her plate- a couple of pancakes, fruit and toast. Steve smiled a bit at the quasi-compliment before he sighed, biting into a piece of toast.

“Well, it’s been an eventful twenty-four hours.” He responded as he slipped into a chair.

“I aint got anywhere to be.” Sam shrugged as he looked at Steve “I know you gave me the overview but how about you give me the details?”

Katie sat down next to Steve at the table and looked at him, then to Natasha before they launched into a detailed explanation of what had happened as Sam listened intently asking questions and serving coffee out to them as they continued explaining over the next thirty minutes or so.

“So, the question is, who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?” Natasha asked from where she was stood, leaning comfortably back against Sam’s countertops.

“Alexander Pierce,” Katie confidently answered, finishing her coffee. It was amazing how much of the situation now was starting to slot into place following food and caffeine.

“Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” Natasha walked towards the table, standing behind Katie, almost snorting at the irony of the situation.

“He’s not working alone, Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.” Steve continued.

“And you told me that Jasper Sitwell was too.” Katie added, as the three of them shared a glance. There was another piece of the puzzle.

“So, the real question is,” Steve looked at Katie then to Nat “How do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

“The answer is, you don’t.” Sam dropped a file on to the table to the right of Katie.

“What’s this?” Steve asked, standing up as Natasha picked up the file.

“Call it a resume.”

Katie stood up as well so the three of them could look at the file.

“Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission-that was you?” Natasha asked and Sam nodded. She then turned to Steve. “You didn’t say he was a para rescue.”

“Riley?” Katie asked nodding to the photo of Sam and another man.

“Yeah.” Sam answered gently.

“I heard they couldn’t bring in the choppers because of the RPGs,” Natasha recalled. “What did you use, a stealth chute?”

“No. These.”

Sam handed Steve another file and he opened it, his eyes growing wide as they looked down at Sam soaring through the air using what could only describe as a pair of mechanical wings. He shared an impressed look with Katie before he glanced at Sam.

“I thought you said you’re a pilot?”

“I never said a pilot.” Sam countered with a little chuckle and a smirk.

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.” Steve shook his head.

“Dude, Captain America needs my help. There’s no better reason to get back in.” Sam almost scoffed.

“Where can we get our hands on one of these things?” Katie asked, looking up.

“The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve inch steel wall.” Sam supplied, his tone a little dejected.

Steve looked to Natasha who nodded with a shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” He almost smiled, looking at Sam with a smirk before he turned to Katie. “Reckon you can track down Sitwell?”

“Sam, you got a Laptop?” Katie looked to the man who nodded. “Then yeah, I can track him down.” She affirmed, dropping her StarkPhone onto the table.

********

The plan was as solid as they could make it. Steve and Nat were taking Sam’s car to Fort Meade to break out his kit whilst Sam and Katie stayed behind to track down Sitwell. It wasn’t ideal splitting up, but it was the best option they had. All four of them travelling would have attracted attention, plus this way if two of them did get caught, the other two still had a chance of getting the job done.

Steve drove the truck down the freeway, Nat lounging in the front seat as she looked at the plans of the base that they now had courtesy of some expert searching via Google Maps.

“If we go in from the East Side we should have the element of surprise.” She spoke and Steve nodded.

“Right, we get in, we get out, minimum casualties, minimum fuss.”

Natasha hummed her agreement as Steve stopped at a red light.

“So, you actually asked Stark to move in?” Nat grinned.

“Yeah.” “I’m impressed. Your forty��s programming has been well and truly broken.” Steve rolled his eyes “Well I figured I want to spend the rest of my life with her so what does it matter?” He realised what he’d said instantly and let out a groan as Natasha grinned.

“You wanna marry her…” She said in a sing-song voice.

“People don’t always get married now.” Steve tried to shrug it off and Nat snorted.

“Bullshit Rogers! Soon as you can get a ring on it we all know you’re gonna.”

“Who’s we?”

“Everyone.” Natasha added sagely. “You two are like ultimate couple goals. It’s cute.”

Steve took a deep breath, staring ahead as he drove before he took a deep breath. “You know I kinda already asked her.” He looked back at Natasha who turned to him, mouth open. He had no idea why he was telling her this, absolutely no idea, other than the fact it felt nice to talk about something positive. “Well, not properly, but when I asked her to move in she was teasing me about us not being married so I said we could get married if she wanted, and-” “Great proposal.” Nat cut him off with a snigger. “What did she say?” “Told me to ask again with a, and I quote, big, fuck off tiffany diamond.”

“Every girl deserves a bit of sparkle.” Nat mused. “Unlucky for you, you’ve chosen a Billionaire to date.” “She’s not like that.” Steve instantly jumped to his girl’s defence.

“I know.” Nat soothed with a smile. “I know.”

They fell into silence for the rest of the way and, upon arriving at the base, they crept round to the best point of entry, following the heat scanners on Nat’s phone. Steve easily dispatched three guards, Natasha another two before they reached the room they were looking at. Natasha easily hacked the security codes thanks to something on her phone, Steve didn’t ask what, and they met no one on their way out.

Frankly, it went far too smoothly for Steve’s liking but he wasn’t going to complain. He just hoped Katie had got on as well with locating Sitwell.

***** Once Steve and Nat had left, Sam fired up the laptop for Katie and she plugged the end of her StarkPhone into the USB port.

“So you know this guy we’re looking for?” Sam asked, placing a coffee down next to her as she waited for the programme to run its magic.

“Vaguely.” She sighed out, knowing it would be easier if she knew him better. “But I can work with what I have.”

“So using what you have, how do we find him?”

“Simple, I’m going to check his work calendar.” Katie nodded at the laptop

“And you can do that?” Sam asked

“Not on my own.” She grinned

“Good morning again Miss Stark.” JARVIS’ voice rang out from the laptop, causing Sam to slop coffee down his shirt in surprise.

“Hey JAR, I need a favour. Again. And it’s urgent.” “Of course.” “I need you to by-pass the SHIELD firewall and access someone’s calendar without them noticing.”

“Certainly, but permit me to ask,is everything ok Miss Stark?”

“Nope it is not…” she sighed “I’m in trouble J, but I’m hoping this is gonna help…”

“Should I alert Mr Stark? Maybe call him back from Australia?” “Absolutely not.” Katie shook her head. “There’s no time, in fact I forbid it…”

Once she had explained what she needed, JARVIS set to work, informing her he was going to scramble the IP address and set up a ghost server which would, in turn, allow him to access the information without being detected.

It didn’t take long. Fifteen or so minutes later Sitwell’s calendar flashed up and Katie gave a little yell of triumph.

“JARVIS, you are a genius, buddy!”

“Why thank you, Miss Stark. But I only have about sixty seconds before I will need to close down the connection.”

“Understood. Right let’s see where you’re at, you fucker.” Katie mused, as Sam peered over her shoulder.

“Look, briefing over lunch with Senator Stern at Occidental… 13:00 hours…” He read, pointing at the screen.

“Then he has another meeting at 14:30 back at the Triskellion… so Lunch is our window.” Katie looked up at Sam.

“Gives us an hour and a half.”

“Cutting it fine.” Katie mused. “Ok, thanks J, you can disconnect.” “Certainly Miss Stark. Good luck.”

Just as the AI had shut the link down her mobile rang.

“We got it.” Nat’s voice instantly spoke as she put the phone on speaker. “All ok your side?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Katie replied

“Any luck finding Sitwell?” this time it was Steve

“Yeah, he’s having lunch at Occidental with Senator Stern at 1pm.”

“Oh, how nice, they have a Senator involved.” Nat snorted sarcastically.

“And that’s going to be our only window before he’s back at the Triskellion at two-thirty.”

“Doesn’t give us much time…” Steve mused.

“What’s your ETA?” Sam asked.

“About twenty five minutes.”

“Okay, so let’s do the brain storming whilst you’re on the phone.” Katie tapped at Sam’s laptop. “The restaurant they’re going to is in the Business District, so we need somewhere secure that’s close by to take him for a little chat.”

She brought up the Google Map images so Sam could see.

“There.” Sam tapped at the screen, “There’s a multi-storey parking lot a few blocks down. We can take him up high…”

“And kick him off the edge.” Katie nodded.

“Stark, I like your style.” Nat replied, and Katie could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Okay so we got the where, now we need the how.” Steve sighed. “We can’t just pick him up at lunch. If the Senator’s there security will be a nightmare.”

"So we wait until he’s finished.” Sam shrugged

”But how do you get him to get in the car?”

“Simple. We give him a choice.” Katie eyed her gun where it lay on the table. “Do it or die.”

***** It turns out fear of death is a very, very good motivator.

Their plan went off perfectly. Natasha spoofed a phone number which Sam used to call Sitwell once he emerged from the restaurant after lunch. As predicted, Sitwell had been his usual cocky little shit of a self, asking Sam why on Earth he would what he was being instructed to do.

And then Katie had aimed her gun sight at him from her hiding place, the red laser sight clear in the middle of Sitwell’s chest.

“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I’d hate to mess it up.” Sam smirked.

Sitwell, resigned to his face, followed Sam instructions and as he left the little plaza upon which the restaurant was situated, Katie stepped out from her hiding place behind the wall of the bar Sam was sat at and pressed the muzzle of her gun into Sitwell’s lower back.

“One move and this goes straight into your spine. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t kill you, just leaves you with no feeling from the neck down…” She informed him, her voice low. Sitwell instantly tensed. "Miss Stark.” He grumbled out, seemingly more annoyed than scared. “Of course you’re involved with this.”

She took in a breath and glanced around, making sure none of the security team with him had realized what had happened. Sam was a few paces behind them and he gave her a nod to say they were clear before she turned back to Sitwell.

“You made me a wanted fugitive.” She shrugged. “Didn’t have much choice.” She stopped walking. “Now, get in the car.” She ordered, sternly.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Get in the car.” She repeated. Sitwell stared at her, looked down at the gun before he swallowed and decided to do as he was told.

"We good?” Sam asked. Katie let out a breath and swiped a loose hair away from her face.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They drove two blocks away and pulled up outside the large Starbucks on the main road.

“You know I could have got a coffee at the Restaurant.” Sitwell sighed, sarcastically. But his cocky demeanour soon dropped when both the rear car doors opened and Steve slid in one side, Natasha in the other.

“Good afternoon Agent Sitwell…” Steve turned to him, aviator shades covering his eyes. Sitwell looked at Steve, then to Natasha before his shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

“Shit.”

******

Sitwell really was an arrogant little bastard, Steve had to give him that. The soldier easily manhandled the Agent onto the top of the Car Park roof, demanding to know what the Algorithm was, backing him up right to the edge where Sitwell had almost laughed, stating that it wasn’t Steve’s style to throw people off the edge.

Well, he had a point.

“You’re right. It’s not.” Steve released Sitwell, smoothing out his suit, letting the man nearly sigh in relief. Katie exchanged a glance with Natasha behind Steve’s back, the corner of her mouth twitched up slightly as Nat looked back. They were both going to enjoy this.

“It’s theirs.” Steve finished, before standing aside as both Katie and Natasha aimed strong kicks to Sitwell’s chest, sending him tumbling over the edge.

“So you’re definitely moving in together, then huh?” Natasha asked, peering over the edge as Steve and Katie did the same, listening to Sitwell’s screams growing fainter.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled, looking down off the side of the room, hands in his pockets. “Although I’m not sure how I’m going to cope surrounded by mess.”

Katie rolled her eyes, as Sitwell’s screams started getting louder again and suddenly Sam flew over with him in his grasp and dropped him back onto the roof, before landing a few feet away. The three of them turned toward Sitwell and he stuck his hands up in surrender, telling them everything.

"Zola’s algorithm is a program, for choosing Insight’s targets!” He rushed out.

“What targets?” Steve demands.

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City. Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who’s a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future,” Sitwell continued to rush out failing to catch his breath.

“The future? How could it know?” Steve asked in confusion. At this Sitwell laughed as he stumbled back to his feet, looking at Katie before he glanced at Steve.

“How could it not? The twenty-first century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it,” He said getting confused looks from the Soldier in return, “Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e‐mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores! Zola’s algorithm evaluates peoples’ past to predict their future.”

Steve swallowed. He’d heard and seen more unbelievable things.

“And what then?” He asked, already thinking he knew but didn’t want to know the answer. Sitwell shook his head in disbelief as Katie exchanged a glance with Sam who was stood behind Sitwell. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh, my god. Pierce is gonna kill me.” He mumbled to himself and he tried to back away from the advancing super-solider but Sam reached out, holding him in place with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“What then?” Steve demanded louder.

Sitwell sighed as he looked at Steve. “Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time.”

**** Chapter 16

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfic #captain america #chris evans #chris evans characters

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c-optimistic · 4 years

Text

forgive

or, it takes sixteen weeks and one day for lena to forgive kara

She’d once had a nightmare about Lena discovering her secret in the worst possible way. It consisted of Kara being outed in the middle of a superhero-villain showdown, with her on her knees and with Lena’s wide-eyed look of betrayal burned into the back of her eyelids.

When she was feeling particularly masochistic, she’d continue the nightmare, trying to twist it and force it to conform to a reality she wanted. Lena would look betrayed, yes, but with Kara’s life on the line, a lie would seem trivial in comparison. (Never mind the fact that it was a series of lies, over the course of years, all despite the fact that Lena had trusted her with everything when Kara couldn’t do the same.)

They’d win in this scenario of Kara’s making, managing to twist the ending such that Lena would choose to vent her emotions by pulling Kara into an angry but relieved kiss and after a few days of space, Kara would reintroduce herself as Kara Danvers/Supergirl with an apology on her lips, and the promise of more shining in Lena’s eyes.

The reality she got, unfortunately, was much worse than her worst nightmares. It was cold eyes and an emotionless, vacant stare after the reveal. It was radio silence, it was a bitterly cold shoulder the one time Kara attempted to make contact, it was learning through Alex that Lena and James had decided to give it another go (and learning through Nia that it had fallen apart), it was blocked phone numbers and the loss of one of the most important people in her life.

Gone, as if she’d never been there—a clean, surgical cut.

And Kara....well, she sort of fell apart.

Week One

She’d never been addicted to anything, but she rather thought that this must have been what withdrawal felt like.

(Shockingly, she’d never quite realized just how integrated her life had become with Lena’s: it wasn’t just lunches and game nights and coffee dates, it was more. It was phone calls after a long day, texting throughout working hours—even if Lena’s responses sometimes came slowly, timed between meetings—and even spontaneous meet ups for Kara’s newest food craving or satisfying Lena’s need for a good work out.

She didn’t realize just how much she and Lena were intertwined until it all came to an end.)

The first day without Lena was agonizing. She kept turning to her phone, willing it to ring, willing it to vibrate with a notification, wondering where on Earth she’d ever gotten the idea that she’d be okay in a world where Lena Luthor hated her.

The second and third day, she spent an inordinate amount of time as Supergirl, purposefully flying past Lena’s building if only to get a hit, needing to hear Lena’s voice.

On the fifth day without Lena, Kara called in sick and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling as she wished for her best friend back.

And at the close of her first week without Lena in her life, Kara found herself in her sister’s arms, sobbing as she realized she really had no one to blame but herself.

Week Five

It wasn’t easier, it could never be that, but it was different.

(Sometimes, when she was least expecting it, she thought her chest rattled with a heaving breath, a repressed sob attempting to shake loose her lungs.

More often than not, however, all she felt was a dull ache, a hole—an emptiness—where her heart was supposed to be.)

She didn’t fly by L-Corp anymore. In fact, she was proud to say she was actually clean, not having watched Lena’s interviews online in order to take in her voice, not having asked Alex how her research project with Lena was going, and even smiling at James (mending her friendship with him, unable to keep pushing him away when he’d done nothing but care about Lena).

Lena’s absence was everywhere. Kara felt it literally all the time. But where it once paralyzed her, made her unable to keep her head on straight, it was now just something that dogged her every step, heavy and cumbersome.

(She wondered, idly, if this was what it meant to get over someone.)

Week Seven

The first time she spoke to Lena since revealing her identity should’ve been a bigger moment than it actually ended up being. She rather thought it should’ve been accompanied with fireworks and other fanfare, but instead it was a quiet moment at the DEO, when the latest threat on Lena’s life had left her no other choice but to call for Supergirl’s help.

“—and you can keep an eye out for anything suspicious from the sky, Supergirl,” Alex was saying, relaying her orders to the DEO agents before turning to Kara. “Provide backup.”

Lena snorted indelicately from where she stood, a large tablet in her hands, her eyes fixated on something on the screen with a focus Kara was sure was being faked. She must have noticed that everyone’s eyes were on her because she cleared her throat as she looked up, shrugging remorselessly. “What? No need to keep up the charade anymore, is there? We all know who’s under that cape, you can use her name.”

“Supergirl’s identity is secret, Lena,” Alex said, her tone harsher than anything Kara could remember her using with Lena before. They had remained friends, despite Kara’s estrangement with Lena (though Alex had assured Kara dozens of times that she would cut off ties as well if it would help—seeming to understand far too well when Kara had insisted Alex maintain her relationship with the Luthor).

“Alex, it’s fine,” Kara tried, placing her hand on Alex’s shoulder in an attempt to placate her. “I’ll just go. My comms are on if you need me.” She forced a smile, only briefly glancing at Lena before striding off.

She wondered if she was only imagining Lena’s gaze burning into her back, and she realized as she struggled with the weight on her back, that she most certainly wasn’t over Lena.

The wound she received from Lena’s would-be assassin wasn’t, by any measure, a bad one. In fact, Kara was rather sure it was similar to the papercut she’d gotten after she’d blown out her powers. She didn’t even need to spend any time under the sun lamps at the DEO, choosing instead to stand on the balcony to absorb the last of the sun’s rays as night began to slowly fall.

Thus, she was understandably surprised when she heard someone in heels walk up next to her, leaning against the railing, and even more surprised to realize that that someone was Lena.

“I heard you were hurt,” Lena said curtly, causing Kara to look at her in shock. Not that Lena noticed—her eyes were focused firmly on the setting sun. “Had to make sure that I can’t be blamed for anything that happened to Supergirl,” Lena continued coldly, “so I thought I’d check in.”

“I’m fine,” Kara said softly, unsure if her voice truly sounded so defeated or if that’s what she heard because that’s what she was feeling. Odd, really, after so much that it would be losing Lena that would break Kara down and surrender.

(Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so odd. Perhaps it should’ve been obvious. While Kara wasn’t sure she’d go as far as say that she was in love with Lena—loves her, sure, but in love was another matter entirely—she was in touch with her emotions enough to know that Lena’s presence and friendship was...priceless. It was everything. Even without all the romantic feelings tossed into the mix.

And to lose it? To watch Lena’s eyes grow hard and turn her back on Kara, on everything that was between them, all that history and affection, and yes, love? Well, it was heartbreaking.

All the more heartbreaking because Kara could’ve prevented it all. If only….)

“You’re bleeding,” Lena said dispassionately, gesturing to the small cut above Kara’s left eyebrow. It wasn’t even bleeding, and Kara was rather sure it would disappear in the next few minutes—with or without sun. Yet, with Lena’s eyes on it, Kara couldn’t help but reach up and press her fingers against the small wound, wondering if she was crazy and just imagining the look of concern in Lena’s eyes at the motion.

“I’m honestly fine,” Kara said quietly, dropping her hand and gaze, unable to meet Lena’s eyes anymore. Perhaps that was a good thing, because Lena’s next words nearly brought her to tears.

“Thank you, for saving my life today. I didn’t think you would—I didn’t know if….” She trailed off with a huff, as if unable to finish the sentence, but Kara heard her anyway. She wasn’t sure if Kara would want to help her, protect her, be on her side. And that, more than the disappearance of texts, more than the cold shoulder, more than the hard gaze, it was that that truly broke Kara’s heart.

How could she have strayed, done so much wrong, that it was enough to make Lena think that?

“I know my word doesn’t mean much to you anymore—for good reason,” she added when she could feel Lena take issue with her sentence, “but I promise you, I’m on your side. I’m here for you. Always.” Lena didn’t respond, merely cleared her throat and turned away, clearly about to head back inside. Kara’s eyes followed her and before she was even fully aware of what she was doing, she was speaking again, desperate to say something, desperate to explain somehow, someway. “Lena, wait.” To Kara’s ultimate surprise, Lena actually did pause, even turned back to face her, meeting her gaze evenly, as if merely looking at a stranger. “I...” Kara began, floundering now that she had Lena’s attention (after wishing for it for so long). “I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. You’re my best friend, I love you.”

For a long moment, Lena was silent. Then, so quickly even Kara with her speed and super senses was unsure she saw it, pain flashed in Lena’s eyes. (Pain that she, Kara, caused. That she brought about.)

“That’s funny,” Lena finally said, her voice soft and tinged with so much that went unsaid. Things like, why; things like, how could you? “The only reason it hurt was because I loved you.” She waited just long enough for the words (and oh, the tense) to register, eyes raking over Kara’s face before she turned on her heel and walked away.

And she left Kara feeling as though Kryptonite was hanging on her neck: physically sick and ready to fall to her knees from the pain.

Week Twelve

“I told you she would hate you,” were the first words out of Lillian Luthor’s mouth when Kara visited her in prison, the guard grunting and eying Kara suspiciously before he slid out of the room. “You should have told her sooner.”

“Mrs. Luthor,” Kara tried, swallowing hard, “my name is Kara Danvers, I’m a reporter with CatCo Magazine. We’re publishing an issue about the lasting effects of the recent events involving Lex Luthor’s attempt to take over the world. Again. I was hoping you could answer a few questions about your son for the piece.”

(She had begged James to send someone else. Anyone else. But he’d been adamant: Lillian refused to speak to anyone but Kara and the magazine was desperate for her to go on the record for the first time.)

“I told Lena not to trust you. You’re all the same in the end, you...reporters.” Lillian stressed the word just enough to send a shiver of panic down Kara’s spine, making her itch to somehow find a way to contact Clark and make sure he was okay even off planet and far away from the Luthors.

“Mrs. Luthor—“

“—Dr. Luthor is fine—“

“—Lillian, then,” Kara said, setting her shoulders and raising her eyebrows. For her part, Lillian just seemed amused, leaning back in her chair and smiling, motioning for Kara to speak. “Like I said, I only had a few questions.”

“I’ll answer whatever you like, but only if you answer one question of mine.” Lillian grinned when Kara just nodded stiffly, clutching her notebook a little tighter. “You love like a Luthor, Kara Danvers. Lies, secrets, double-crossing...it’s how we show affection. I did wonder why Lena seemed to warm to you so quickly, you must have reminded her of home.”

“That’s not a question.”

Lillian laughed, every bit as regal and dangerous in the navy inmate outfit as when she was on the outside in thousand dollar dresses and heels. “Well, why waste a question when the answer is already written all over your face?”

Week Fifteen

As it likely was always destined to be, it was Alex who finally sat Kara down and gave her a much needed talk.

“Do you remember when you were fifteen and you broke the snowglobe dad gave me?” Alex asked, handing Kara the potstickers without bothering to ask if she could have one (most likely because she already knew it was a lost cause).

“Vaguely,” Kara mumbled between a mouthful of food.

(That was a lie, of course. The truth was that the memory of breaking that snowglobe was etched deep into her mind, always a point of confusion and pain and guilt.

She’d crushed the snowglobe in a fit of rage, upset over a myriad of things: the loss of her planet, Alex’s obstinance, losing her foster father, the pain of Clark’s emotional and physical distance. And Alex had been so...broken. She hadn’t cried, but had instead taken one look at the crushed globe then one at Kara before just walking away, leaving Kara to drown in silence.

It took nearly a week before Kara managed to get Alex to speak to her again, a week of silence that felt just as damaging as all that time in the Phantom Zone.)

“Do you remember what you did to get me to forgive you?” Alex asked, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m not sure breaking the snowglobe is the same as lying about who I am for years, Alex,” Kara said with a groan, looking at her potstickers dejectedly as she lost her appetite.

“But do you remember what you did?”

“I’m pretty sure I annoyed you until you gave in,” Kara said with a roll of her eyes.

Alex chuckled as she sat down next to her, allowing Kara to lean against her, offering a loose, one-armed hug. “You apologized. In about a million different ways,” Alex whispered against her temple. “I know you want to allow Lena her space, let her dictate the boundaries, and that’s a good thing. But Kara, you didn’t even try to apologize, to show her you’re sorry. You didn’t fight for her at all. Why?”

(Why?

Because Kara wondered at night if Lillian Luthor was right, she wondered about herself and how she’d allowed it to go so wrong. She thought about the pain she caused Lena, the trust she shattered, and the feeling of breaking her own heart through her own actions.

Why?

Well, because Kara didn’t deserve another chance with Lena.)

Maybe she spoke aloud, maybe Alex could read her mind, or most likely, maybe her sister knew her so well that she could see the answer in Kara’s eyes, hear it in Kara’s silence. Because after a moment, she pressed a kiss to Kara’s forehead.

“Maybe,” she said softly as she pulled away, motioning towards the freezer where Kara had stocked up on ice cream to get through the heartache, “it’s okay to ask for another chance and let Lena decide whether or not you’re worth it. And if you ask me, Kara, you’re always worth it.”

Week Sixteen

Four months after her nightmare scenario was realized (and ended up much worse than Kara could’ve even begun to imagine), Kara gathered the courage to seek Lena out.

She landed on the balcony outside Lena’s office, not as Supergirl, but as Kara Danvers (it was risky, it was stupid, but she thought it was worth it). It took three taps on the glass before Lena noticed her, looking up from her work, brows furrowed. For a long second, Kara didn’t think she would let her in.

But then, miraculously, Lena stood and pushed the glass door open, letting Kara step into her office.

“It’s still not an entrance,” Lena muttered, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she took Kara in. “What are you doing here? Need my help with DEO business? A quote for Cat Grant? I hope you appreciate how busy I am, so—”

“—to be perfectly honest, I didn’t tell you at first because of your last name,” Kara interrupted, much to Lena’s shock, her arms falling to her sides as she studied Kara with narrowed eyes. “I knew you were different from the second we first met, that you were good and kind and had the biggest heart.” She swallowed, took in a deep breath, and forced herself to look into Lena’s eyes. Needing her to see the truth of what she was saying. “I trusted you from the second we met, Lena Luthor, but between Clark and Lex and your mom and the Alien Amnesty Act and just...it seemed safer for you and me to not say anything.”

“Kara, I—”

“—and then, when it would have made everything easier to just tell you the truth, I...I ruined things. I got scared, I lashed out, and suddenly, you couldn’t stand Supergirl. And with Reign, I figured it was safer for you and me to just...not say anything.” Kara took a step forward, disheartened when Lena took a step back. “And this past year, with the backlash against aliens and the Children of Liberty, I convinced myself it was safer to just not say anything. But the truth is...well, the truth is, I’ve been lying to myself.”

“I don’t understand,” Lena said, shaking her head.

“I haven’t had a good reason to keep who I was from you since Medusa,” Kara admitted quietly. “Probably even before that. I just didn’t want to see you look at me like you’re looking at me now.”

(It was a cold stare. Hard. Unforgiving.

And it broke Kara’s heart.

Again, and again, and again.)

“It was selfish, I knew it was selfish. I even tried to tell you once, but I...I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t want you to hate me.” She blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the tears she knew were coming. “I’m sorry, Lena. And I will show you how sorry I am every single day for the rest of my life if I have to, I will earn your trust back. But please, please, don’t shut me out. Don’t hate me.”

Lena’s jaw clenched.

One second.

Two.

She took a deep breath.

(Five seconds passed, Kara counted.)

“I really think you should leave, Kara,” Lena said, her gaze boring into Kara’s.

(It was a confused stare. Perplexed.

Soft.)

Week Sixteen and One Day

Kara opened the door before the knock even came, revealing Lena with her hand still raised, a flicker of amusement on her lips.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, a clear and obvious test.

“Super-hearing,” Kara shrugged easily, “and I have x-ray vision, you know.”

“Interesting,” Lena said, smiling at Kara for the first time in what felt like centuries. “I thought a lot about what you said yesterday. Maybe let’s start with coffee, a conversation about Krypton, and go from there. What do you say?”

Kara didn’t need five seconds—she didn’t even need one.

“Perfect. Lead the way.”

#supercorp #fanfic #old #kara danvers #lena luthor

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internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

Fabulous Friday Evenings

Summary: You were having a really bad day. Conner decides to help cheer you up and make sure your drunk ass doesn’t face plant on the side walk.

masterlist

word count: 2,652

a/n: Special thanks to @anothertimdrakestan for helping with the ending and helping with editing! Love you, Elle!

warnings: alcohol and swearing and author does not know how alcohol works. No one is under the drinking age. This may benefit from more editing.

"Mosht people are jusht the careful scaffolding of complexshesh," you slurred, your face red, head half buried in your arms, and golden ear cuffs winking under the dim bar lights.

"You somehow still sound like a fucking nerd even you're when drunk," Conner laughed throwing his head back, handsome face stretched with a cheeky smile. "You look like a mess," he said softly, reaching out for your cheek.

"Fuhk you! Not eberyone can be born too pretty for their own guhd- how did yah evehn know I was here? It was Tim wasn't it! "

"Good guess buuuut it was actually Bart" Conner explained casually taking a seat next to you as you lifted your head momentarily before plopping it back down to stare at the amber gloss of the drink. The light from the ceiling seemed to dance so elegantly in your eyes even as you wrinkled your brows. "That rat," you cursed miserably into your arm.

Across from you, a pretty brunette shot you two a wink and without looking you could tell Conner flirted in kind. Normally, you'd have the audacity to steal the girl's attention away before Conner could even make a proper move but tonight you were in absolutely no mood to be charming. In fact, you were sloshed. You didn't know whether it was the fourth or fifth drink that did it but there you were sitting next to one of the most attractive people he knew with your makeup smeared and eyes still swollen and puffy. You kind of just want a portal to open up and swallow you.

The brunette made a motion to her friends which indicated that she was gonna try her luck and you wished her the best of luck. You bit your soft lips before pressing them into a pout. It took everything in Conner not to kiss you on the spot. Be the responsible one they said. It would be fun, they said.

"We should go. You're-"

"Have fun," you said, patting him on the shoulder, cutting him off curtly; placing some cash on the bar before leaving. The buxom brunette approached Conner placing a hand on the shoulder you’d just touched moments before. He didn’t seem to notice her, his mind still lingering on the warmth of your hand. Before she can say anything, he pivots and runs towards you .

The casual slump in your shoulders in place of your usual elegance was a pretty good indication that you would probably fall in a gutter before you got home. Conner highly doubted you could see straight.

"I can’t believe Roz let you get this sloshed without checking on you," He joked bringing one of your arms over his shoulder and slinging his own arm around you for balance. You walked like a newborn horse. It was incredibly embarrassing and you wanted to die. Conner, on the other hand, just found it incredibly hilarious.

"She's out getting into her own brand of sloshed at a bachelorette party,"

"Huh. Didn't know she was the wedding type. Thought she hated going to those,"

"She's the stripper," You deadpanned, sounding abnormally sober. With that Conner let out a genuinely hearty laugh. You would trade all the martinis, dackories, and margaritas in the world just to get drunk on that laugh.

"That reminds me," Conner drawled, adjusting his hold feeling just how shaky you were from the late October Metropolis weather pressing you closer to his warm body. You kind of wanted to melt into his side but you had too much pride. "Bart never said why you were out here getting shit faced," You frowned at him but couldn't really muster any sharpness into your expression.

There were lots of reasons to get 'shit faced' even in shiny Metropolis. You twitched your nose and mouth side to side gathering the makings of a sentence. Where do you even start? Your little sister got suspended, your mother (who somehow found out you were in Metropolis) is either demanding money or for you to drop everything to go back home to help around the house (translation: help out with the bills while babysitting your siblings), Bats and some other league members were on your ass for the last mission (probably the only thing on this list you found reasonable), this morning, you got fired from your library job so they could hire Marco's girlfriend (who is in fact a perfectly nice person which means you can't really hate her), or the dozens of little annoyances such as Bart not being able to keep his trap shut.

"This week was just a little much,"

A long moment of silence passes between you. Uncharacteristic for Conner but it was cute that he thought silence would make you fess up.

"You know I could have gone home on my own. That brunette looked like she was up for a good time,"

"Yeah right. Also you're welcome."

"You're right. Thank you for getting blue balled this fine evening to escort me" you didn't want to be prickly but Conner was being too nice and that made your skin crawl. Why couldn’t he be mean to you right now like a normal person?

"First off, she wasn't even my type-" You raised a brow.

"Kon, her tits were the size of Jupiter-"

"Did you really just say 'tits'?"

You threw him a scowl clearly sobering up from irritation.

"Shut up. Point iiiis, you didn't have to-"

"You just said-"

"Oh for the love of- yes, I said tits. Speaking of which you should be staring at some instead of having to lug my sorry ass around on this fabulous Friday evening." Your hand fluttering, gesturing vaguely in the air.

"Eh. There'll be other Fridays" Kon shrugged. Pulling you closer and some selfish part of you felt relieved.

----------

Much to your surprise (you really ought not to be), Roz wasn't home yet which meant you had to dig out the keys from the secret hiding spot- another hassle. You reached out peeling a hilariously well concealed hole in the wall and fished out the set of jingling keys. Conner looked like he was between amusement and bewilderment. Good enough. At least, this stopped Conner's 30 minute TED Talk about the new 70s sitcom he'd found.

You two entered the shoe box apartment clumsily thanks to your disastrous limbs.

You blew out a breath and muttered a thanks as Conner helped you plop onto the couch. Though, it was more like gravity decided to magnetize your body to the couch and Conner just let it happen.

You shut his eyes for a moment wrapping a ragged blanket around you. You made a mental note to raid the thrift store for a new one. Preferably one void of holes.

"So what's up and don't you dare say it was nothing. I've never seen you this hammered before," He said handing you a mug of steaming hot chocolate.

"Does it occur to you that I might get hammered like this often and you might just not see it? Who knows maybe I'm actually a functional alcoholic?"

"Ok, first off, you are barely functional. Second, that might be your weakest deflection yet. Try again,"

"Ok... did it occur-"

"I didn't mean it lite- just tell me what happened. Everyone's worried,"

You stared at the steam rising from the fresh cup of cocoa. It was none of Conner's business. It was no one’s business. Your friends were too goddamn nice. Blowing out another breath, you said "You might wanna sit down too,"

Conner takes his own mug of hot cocoa and sits next to you because for some reason eye contact made you a better liar and Conner for all his dumb decisions wasn't gonna let you off the hook that easily. You shifted uncomfortably and muttered about either Cassie or Roz ratting you out. He assumed it was the eye contact thing. Conner felt a little offended. He might not be Tim but he’s smart enough to figure it out on his own. Despite his hurt feelings and bruised ego, he decided to table that and focus on the current issue or, likely, issues.

"Do you want it in alphabetical order?"

"Please tell me you can actually do that," Conner teased with a wide grin. You couldn’t fight off a smile forming on your face. "Sadly, I am not Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. My brain cells work like a normal person's,"

"Didn't you die?"

"Death only fixes stupid when you stay dead. You've seen Red Hood and whichever other Ex-Robin has been to the pearly gates,"

"You say that as if Jason wouldn't tell the big man to fuck off,"

You blinked and turned your head up to the ceiling. "Ok that's true," You conceded, your mouth twitching rapidly from side to side making you look like an exasperated rabbit. Cute.

"So what's up?"

All the good mood from the past few minutes dissipated in an instant. You looked down solemnly at the still steaming mug. You were silent for what felt like an eternity.

"It's family- Immediate. And the source of all evil-"

"Lex Corp?"

You snorted a shy tired smile cracked across your face. You shook your head. Those little gestures just make Conner feel a little warmer. You, on the other hand, cursed at how easily Conner could make you laugh. You were supposed to be sad damn it.

"Money," Conner knew immediate family was always a sore spot for you. No one knew the specifics except Roz but that was inevitable when you're cousins. Money was also a sore spot and based on your near dead tone. You’ve either lost a lot of it or you’re in a tight spot but not ready to elaborate.

"Wanna try buying a lottery ticket?"

"What?"

"Who knows you might get lucky?"

"You could have gotten lucky you if you-"

"Are you seriously gonna keep bringing that up?"

"Yes, most likely. Depends,"

"On what?!"

"On whether I can think of something funnier to give you shit about or if you can convince me-whatever the fuck you're thinking of doing stop!"Conner's cheeky grin did not disappear nor did the faint flush on your cheeks.

"I wasn't thinking of anything, you sick pervert" he laughed. You really should have been exasperated with Conner. You tried damn it. You looked at him skeptically before violently letting his head rest on Conner’s shoulder causing the other boy to fall over.

"Aaaaaaawwwww babe , if you wanted to cuddle you could have just said so,"

You wanted to. In fact, both of you wanted to. But unfortunately neither of you were martian and neither of you was willing to say jack. You closed your eyes trying to pretend Conner wasn't a little shit. Conner radiated too much smug for that though.

"Shut up," You mumbled into Conner's shoulder already feeling sleep pull him under. You clung to him. Maybe just for tonight you can indulge in this. Just for a little while you can cling to Conner's warmth. Maybe in the morning your head will ache too much to remember this. Waking up alone wouldn't be too painful then. Hopefully.

---------------

You woke up feeling like a troop of Can Caning hippos decided to host a live performance all over your head. You sighed remembering that you had in fact run out of Aspirin just days before so you decided on just lying there and praying that Roz also needed Aspirin and had more energy to run to the store.

You settled in nuzzling in to the warm-

Wait. It was October.

Nothing in the apartment should be warm.

NOTHING.

Then, you heard it. A LOUD snore. It honestly sounded more like the roar of an engine than anything. Everything else followed. The slow rising and falling of the chest beneath you, the press of stubble against your forehead, and the strong arms loosely wrapped around you.

Yeah. You died again. Yeah. You finally went to heaven. Yup. You were ok with that. You were definitely 100% A Ok with this if this was heaven. Being held tenderly by the guy you liked while you got a good night’s sleep was definitely heaven. God, you were such a sap.

How the hell you missed all of that baffled you.

Oh wait. Dancing hippos. Fuck.

Your head felt like it was threatening to crack open but somehow you honestly could not mind even if you tried. You were laying on top of a hot (literally and metaphorically) guy mutually cuddling. You nuzzled into the junction between Conner’s neck and shoulder in an attempt to steal more warmth. Sure, you were probably gonna go deaf from the snoring. Sure, you were definitely irritated by the stubble pressed against your face. And sure, you would probably die of embarrassment once Conner woke up. You could worry about all that later. All you could think about was how nicely your arms fit around Conner’s neck and how Conner’s arms wrap around you a little tighter in return.

Click.

You could hear the distinct sound of your own camera shutter. Each sound chipped away at your peace of mind. You lifted your head only to see Roz holding your camera.

TAKING PICTURES.

Your cousin was nothing if not a petty opportunist.

“I would tell you to get a room buuuut the only bedroom iiiiis preeeeeeetty occupied,” Roz drawled smugly way too pleased with herself. You opened his mouth to ask but you’d already made the mistake of walking in on Roz and a guest once and you were pretty sure you needed more therapy for that than you did for your murder. You just sighed as Roz took another picture.

“Come on, (y/n), smile a little,”

“I’m not smiling for your blackmail material,”

Roz gasped trying to sound scandalized. She failed, only sounding amused beyond belief. “It’s only blackmail if you’re ashamed of it. Personally, I think you’re scoring big time,”

“Roz please just fuck off before you wake him up,”

“Too fuckin’ late for that. He’s been awake for awhile,”

You could feel Conner smiling into your hair and his arms wrap around you a little tighter. You tried to straighten up. To tower over him. To look intimidating.

But…. you couldn’t. You were kind of trapped because, yanno, super strength.

You were seething and threw a scowl at Conner who only chuckled at you in response.

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” You snarled, clearly exasperated and feeling the hippos start their encore performance.

“ Mmmmmm, it depends,” Nope. The hippos did not only come back for an encore. They brought friends. Based on the absolutely smug look on Conner’s face, you were in for an entire parade.

You let out a breath not sure if you wanted to play this game but not really seeing any other options. “On what?“

Conner paused and hummed and hummed and hummed some more as if he was actually thinking but you knew from the crook of his lips that he had this planned out. Maybe not this exact scenario but something close“Go out on a date with me,”

You blinked then rolled your eyes theatrically enough that your head rolled along with it. “And be seen with you in public?” You teased, an almost sheepish smile tugging at your features.

Yeah, Conner wasn’t exactly expecting you to say yes.

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?” You said playing it off as casually as possible but you couldn’t help but mirror the absolutely goofy grin plastered on Conner’s face. His happiness was infectious. You felt weightless. It was probably the fact that you were floating with him but you were pretty sure you were just on cloud nine. You were doomed. Definitely, inevitable, indubitably doomed. Even though everything has been shit up to now. The happiness radiating off of Conner was enough to make everything feel a little better.

Thank you so much for reading!

tag list:

@idkmanicantenglish

@batarella (I thought you might like it?)

#conner kent x reader #conner kent #conner kent imagine #My writing #dc fanfiction #DC comics #kon el x reader #kon el imagine

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years

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Check Ignition: Part IX

That Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts au that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

This fic is wrapping up and I love writing longform, so send me your new requests! (or ideas for oneshots, I love those too)

Robbe was ashamed to admit many of the things that made his apartment home. Here it was, the truth of it: everything here was in some way tainted by sickness. He didn’t talk about it while he was at school. He didn’t talk about school while he was here. It made sense to keep the two lives distinctly separate, save from a few consolation sessions with Jens and the occasional fact for Sander.

He bumped his shoulders on the narrow doorframe as he lugged his trunk inside, his mother right behind him. In the entryway, on a tiny side table, three bottles of prescription medication waited their arrival. Each had a sticky note designating the time of next dose. Past that, the hall led straight to a kitchen at its end. Three rooms—two bedrooms, one bathroom—broke off before then. Their living room branched from the kitchen, big enough for a couch and a flatscreen TV as well as a small-ish Christmas tree.

This apartment worked in a way that his friends’ magic-filled homes did not. Sure, when his father was around, they never did the dishes manually or resorted to blankets when the heating went out, but it wasn’t what Jens had. Perhaps that was why Robbe did not see Jens much over the holidays.

Robbe crossed the threshold to his bedroom and dropped his things on his bed. His thoughts returned, as they were wont to do, to Sander. Sander must be all alone at Hogwarts right now. Robbe didn’t know what to make of him.

“It’s Christmas,” said Robbe aloud to jar himself from that rabbit trail. He put away everything that mattered. Scattered everything that didn’t across the floor. There, now it felt like his dormitory at school.

Against his better judgement, he scrawled out something on a scrap of paper. Maybe if he could contact Sander, things would make more sense. Or maybe he was stupid. Either way. A simple tracking spell, an open window, and it would zip its way to its recipient at Hogwarts. He doubted he’d get in trouble for such a simple use of underage magic.

Happy Christmas. Sorry you have to spend it alone. Yeah, it totally didn’t sound sarcastic.

Robbe let the message go. He watched it disappear over the London skyline, dancing above the twinkling lights of the city. This view had nothing on the view from Hogwarts. After that, he was exhausted from exams week. He curled up on his mattress—the sheets on this one were a nice touch—and went right to sleep. There was time for life to happen tomorrow, and he didn’t fancy making conversation with his mother so soon into their two weeks of forced proximity.

***

Robbe spent most of the next days hiding out in his bedroom. Jens took care of his required communication rather early in their separation; the owl arrived at Robbe’s window before lunchtime the second day: Robbe, my parents invited Jana for Christmas dinner. She'd going to be there. Please inform me of your plans as soon as possible, so I can join you instead. Not really. I honestly think we're going to get back together. Wow, it sounds dumb as I write it. Have a Happy Christmas, if I don't write again before then, and make sure you eat all your vegetables. Love, Jens. Robbe hastily scrawled a reply and sent it right back: Jens, I never have any plans. You can come whenever you want to. Love, Robbe.

Around dinnertime on the fourth day, Robbe walked back into the hallway and down to the kitchen, where his mother poured hot chocolate powder in two mugs. She dumped a can of soup into a pot and set it to simmer on the burner, stirring occasionally, while she microwaved a measuring cup of water. Something rammed into the window at full force, startling her into dropping her spoon.

She put a hand on her forehead as if checking for fever. “Robbe, what was that?”

“Owl, Mom,” said Robbe. He tried not to be frustrated with her. There was just so much on his plate, and he wasn’t supposed to be here, because he was supposed to be with Sander at school. If Sander was doing okay.

Robbe’s mother had never gotten the hang of a magical household. Robbe didn’t have the right to be bitter about it.

“Should I open the window?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

His mother slid the window open. A barn owl flapped into the apartment building, despite their landlord’s explicit animal-of-any-kind prohibition. It landed on top of their refrigerator and ruffled its brown and white feathers. Clutched in its beak was a folded piece of parchment, tied with a long twine thread, sealed with a stamp of red wax. Robbe recognized the owl from the Hogwarts owlery. They were general-use.

He jumped up to take the note. Jens did not usually send two owls in one day. Aaron’s owl was white.

“I’ll never get used to that,” said his mother as the owl flew back out the window. An alarm on her cell phone beeped several times. “Oh, pills. I’ll be right back.” She rushed into the foyer.

Robbe surveyed the apartment in her absence. A sprig of mistletoe hung over the space connecting the kitchen to the living room. Several wrapped presents rested beneath the tree, one or two with his name in brightened cursive that he could see from this far away. He spotted the special picture ornament he made for his mother when he was little, the photograph of her and him riding on a swing in a public park. They used to get along.

He looked down at the paper in his hands and broke the seal.

There were no words written. Only a telephone number. Jens and Aaron did not have phones in their houses; muggle technology was useless in areas permeated with magic. Moyo owned one for clout purposes, sometimes, and this could be him—except, he did not use the school’s owls if he could help it. He borrowed from Jens.

That left one person who might want to contact Robbe.

“Alright, soup,” said his mother, reentering the kitchen. “Tonight, I was thinking we should catch up on TV. Honestly, I don’t know how you survive without it at Hogwarts.”

“There are other things to do,” said Robbe.

“Maybe, but not as exciting.” She took the soup pot from the burner and poured it into two bowls, which she then carried into the living room. They stored a small folding table under the couch. She set it up like a coffee table and left their bowls there. If they had any class, they might have the money to afford something made of wood, at least.

“Can I actually—” Robbe began. He gestured to the phone number.

“You’re spending your quality time with me,” said his mother. She patted the spot beside her on the couch. “C’mon. I’ve been recording everything. Oh, hang on.” She waited until he sat down to lean over. “What’s been going on at school. Tell me all about it. You never write.”

“You never got used to owls.”

“That’s an awful reason.”

“Nothing important happens,” he assured her. “I’d write if it mattered.”

“Nothing? No one special?”

“No, Mom, nothing you’d want to hear about.”

“You know I don’t believe that,” she said. “Handsome boy like you.” But she sat back and turned on the television. Christmastime here was TV shows, silence, dancing around one another. This was why Robbe would’ve liked to stay on campus with Sander, when Sander still wanted him there. If Sander ever wanted him there. They watched three whole episodes of Call the Midwife without saying a single word to each other.

Robbe’s mother was a good person. He knew she was a good person. She tried so hard to be things for him, to be involved in his life. He understood her illness wasn’t her fault at a basic level. He understood that he was wrong to be angry about an innocent, poking question that any parent would have likely posed.

But there was a part of him missing that she couldn’t give back after she’d taken it. What kind of parent leaves their fourteen-year-old in the house to care for everything while she lies in bed all summer? What kind of parent—

There was someone special, there was Sander. Sander and his mother were apart because they needed to be, because school and home did not mix.

Robbe rose from the couch during the credits of the third and motioned apologetically to his mother. He pointed toward the bathroom. On the way there, he snatched her phone from the kitchen counter. His fingers shook as he dialed the number.

Someone picked up on the second ring. “I just got home,” said Robbe. He didn’t know why he felt so bad about not calling sooner.

“You got my letter,” said Sander. Robbe’s heart turned into a dozen origami butterflies. He tried to catch them in a net and stomp them underfoot.

“Owls are cool,” Robbe said.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.”

The line went silent. Was that it? Did Sander send a whole-ass latter to hear Robbe’s voice for two seconds? Kind of romantic, yes, but it didn’t do anything to fix anything. Robbe couldn’t reconcile the way Sander spoke to him with the way Sander acted around him, the way Sander acted around other people.

This could have been their time. Two whole weeks of kissing, or whatever it was couples did went they were unsupervised.

“Listen,” said Sander. “I’ve been thinking.” His sentences took on a sort of pregnant quality, as if each contained multitudes more within it. Sander was fighting down dozens of others to say each one.

“About what?”

“About, um, you. I guess.” Sander cleared his throat. “You really liked me?”

“I guess so.”

“How is—how’s your mother?”

Robbe didn’t know where something like that would come from. “She’s fine for now. We’re watching Call the Midwife.”

Sander’s laugh sounded forced. “My mother likes that too. Is it… not good to be there?”

“Well, she hasn’t drowned me in a bathtub yet. You sound like you have something to say.”

“I was thinking we could just—talk.”

What the hell was this? “Sander,” said Robbe, doing his very best to sound like a prefect. “It was a Christmas card. If you have something to say—” He tried to channel the voice Jens used when he was disappointed after a Quidditch match, the kind of steely cool that could only come from a place of care. As it was, he knew Sander could hear the hope festering beneath his skin. He wants to tell me he loves me.

“I—I don’t have anything to say,” said Sander, but it was an obvious lie.

“Then I’ll hang up.” Robbe braced himself against the bathroom counter. Polished marble reflected his face almost as clearly as the mirror ahead. “I said I didn’t want to be friends. I can’t handle being friends yet.”

“No, don’t hang up.”

“Any more questions about Mom?”

Sander’s breath caught. “You don’t like me.”

“Not this again.”

“No, really, you don’t.” Sander spoke faster. “You said so. I don’t know, when it was fake, I thought—” He coughed. “I can’t go back to nothing.”

“I said I liked you,” said Robbe. “You don’t make any sense.”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you really send an owl back to talk me out of a crush? Or are you in love with my mom?”

“No, I—”

“Good.” Robbe knocked his toothbrush cup off the sink, sending it clattering to the floor. He heard his mother shifting around in the living room, poised to come check on him any minute. This conversation would have to end sooner rather than later. “I have to go. If you’ve still got something, spit it out.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Robbe could hear the beginnings of a sentence several times, nothing quite reaching the air.

“Okay,” he said. “Goodbye.” He tapped the end button. That might have been a little harsh, yes, but it was Christmas. The couch and Call the Midwife awaited. He rejoined his mother in the living room, leaving her cell phone plugged into its charger beside their toaster.

They watched another whole episode. It pained him to think of her loitering about the house while he was gone, rearranging the cabinets and recording television shows, even if he hated the thought of staying with her more. He didn’t get Sander’s interest… come to think of it, Sander was concerned about her during their make-out session in the workshop.

The phone started ringing.

“I’ve got it,” said Robbe, before his mother could get off the couch. This time, he took it all the way to his bedroom and locked the door to answer it.

Sander was quieter this time. “You called the number.”

“It would have been rude not to. You didn’t sign it. It could have been anybody.”

“You knew who it was.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Robbe waited instead of responding. Sander filled the gap after a while, in something even smaller than a whisper, something that sent shivers down Robbe’s spine. “I miss you.” A whistle sounded somewhere in the distance.

Too much. Ugh, why did Robbe think he could handle something like this? He did what he always did when Sander was involved: he was honest. “Look, you don’t make any sense to me. I hear from Noor that you’re head-over-heels in love with me, I hear from you that you’re back with Britt. Well, you’re not, so I’m hearing you’re a liar, too.” Robbe bit his lip to keep from getting choked up. “We barely even had anything, Sander, but I loved every second. You can’t keep pulling on my strings, okay? I can’t handle it.”

“I don’t mean to be pulling,” said Sander. Something ruffled against the receiver. “Your mother, though, she—”

“Good, then don’t bother calling again unless you have something new to tell me. Goodbye.” Robbe smashed the end button this time, scratching the screen protector with his nail. He promised himself he’d fix it later, provided no one got him trouble for his magical Christmas card to Sander.

Back into the living room. His mother lay down across all the cushions and monopolized the space. She pulled a crocheted blanket across her legs, her eyes glassy as she stared at the TV. Robbe flashed back to his worst year again—getting up for school and seeing her there, unmoving.

The last Christmas they spent together, her medication mixture made her violently ill at the slightest hint of indigestion. That could happen this year, it could. There was too much going on in Robbe’s life to deal with her right now.

They’d make blueberry pancakes together. She’d microwave soup for dinner. This was his life.

The phone screen lit up once more with an incoming call from the number as before. Robbe let it ring out. Another came. When he let that ring, another. He answered on Sander’s fifth attempt.

“Please don't hang up this time. Your mother is sick,” blurted Sander on the other end, almost as if he read Robbe’s mind. If his speech was unhinged earlier, now it was a runaway train. “She’s sick and you hate her and I’m sick so you’ll hate me. That was it.” He took a deep breath and the phone line crackled—Hogwarts wouldn’t have the best reception, would it? “I have liked you for forever, okay? That’s my something new.”

Wow. Okay. What the fuck.

“What?” managed Robbe.

“That’s what I needed to say. Before. You don’t like me because you can’t. It has to be over because it can’t ever happen.” Sander’s voice lowered. “I thought it might hurt you less if you knew. But I also can't sit around and pretend that nothing's wrong.”

Robbe rehashed every conversation they ever had in a second. He did not talk about his mother much in any of those—he tried to keep her out of it. She frustrated him to no end. Her stupid pills, the stupid genetics that doomed him to a future of dealing with the same problems, his stupid father walking out. If it wasn’t for her, everything would be fine. But he didn’t—he didn’t hate her.

Why would Sander think he hated her? What was going on?

The library, the offhand comment on Lexapro. The workshop, how he said he didn’t want to return to her because she’d ruin Christmas. The way he referred to her on his and Sander’s second astronomy tower rendezvous: “sick in the head.” Every little thought he had about her.

“It was always going to be like this,” said Sander. Wind blew against his end of the phone; Robbe had to strain to hear most of the words. “I thought when it was fake, it could be okay, because, well, you know, but then you kissed me and I just—There’s no hiding it forever, is there? It's got to come out.”

“What did you say about my mom?” Robbe demanded.

“I stopped it because it isn't what you want.”

More than that. Britt came to Robbe in the astronomy tower with a slip of paper and a warning of sorts—He isn’t going to tell you. And what had Willem said to his friends, when Sander was asleep the day after they kissed? Was that something that just happened? Were there times that Willem couldn’t wake Sander up?

Robbe knew what that meant. Britt’s voice echoed in his head. It’s hard to tell between what he wants and what’s a symptom. He’d thought it controlling at the time, and it was, but he also understood the feeling. When you loved someone, you wanted to keep them safe. Robbe was a certified idiot. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

Sander did not slow down. “You were going to stay here with me to avoid being there with her. But we’re the same. We’ve always been the same. It’s bipolar, Robbe, and it’s fine that you don’t want it. What matters is that I can’t live with nothing from you, okay? We can’t just not talk.”

Robbe’s hand went numb from gripping the phone so hard.

“I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want you to hate me like you hate your mom.”

“I don’t hate my mom,” said Robbe. “I won’t hate you—don’t hate you.” He felt bewildered, standing in the middle of his living room, with this crisis happening a whole train ride away. What the fuck was going on? His mother raised her eyebrow at him from her position on the couch.

“You do, you said so. And you’d hate me. I didn’t want to upset you, I didn’t—” Something in the background blared, loud enough to mask the rest of Sander’s sentence. Wind? Rain?

“Where are you?” Robbe asked. Britt’s piece of paper—what did it say? He should have taken the time to set it aside, stupid stupid stupid—

“This was stupid,” said Sander, suddenly even more rushed. “I’m sorry. I should have sent another letter. I let Jens talk me into it—” Robbe waved his wand in the general direction of his bedroom—the Ministry of Magic could expel him for underage sorcery—and summoned Britt’s paper. Still a mess of cursive lines. Still blurry.

His mother made a face like, is everything okay? He nodded back.

“I’m putting too much on you,” Sander continued on the phone. “I don’t want to be another thing you have to worry about. That’s why it has to be over. We’re over. But I don’t want to never hear from you again. That’s not what I want.”

“Are you alright?” Robbe whispered.

“I’m fine. I’m, out--” Sander sounded a million miles away in a snowstorm. The end of the sentence got lost. "Moyo and Jens said you'd be here, and free, so...I'm in love with you. This is my something new." The line clicked dead, although Robbe couldn't tell if it was Sander's decision to end the call or fate had intervened. His arms dropped to his sides, the phone to the floor. Something sounded at the door to the apartment. A knock? Robbe remained rooted to the spot.

There wasn't a list he could put together for this situation. He did not hate his mother. Sometimes he hated her. He hated what her disorder did to her. He hated coming home and finding her somewhere, not doing anything, holding a glass of water without the will to bring it to her lips. He hated having to search all the cabinets for bowls when she reorganized their kitchen at three in the morning. Everything he said to Sander, he meant. Everything about her. That could be number one on the list. Number two, he loved Sander. Sometimes he convinced himself he didn't. He thought of his mother wasting away on their couch, lying about taking her pills, camping out on the bathroom floor during rough weeks. Home and school were supposed to be separate. He did not want to think of Sander throwing up blueberry pancakes after taking a handful of pills. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He needed time to think.

The knocking came again, harder. Robbe walked over as if in a dream, barely touching the floor. He vaguely remembered Jens saying something in his letter about visiting, though this seemed short notice. He only said yes to the proposition because he knew Jens would never actually make good on the offer. Robbe opened the door to Sander, hair ruffled, eyes wild. Fucking Sander. What the fuck. Sander's brown roots were more visible than the bleach blond, even though they did not seem to be any longer. He wore the same leather jacket as their first date wrapped tight around his shoulders. In one hand, he held Moyo's broomstick— Robbe could recognize it by the scrapes on the wood. He had the same look on his face that he had that night in the dormitories when he was drunk and reaching out for Robbe. This wasn't happening. What the hell was happening?

"We need to talk to each other," said Sander, without pause for breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about everything, and I'll ruin anything else, I know I will, but you have to tell me we can."

#sobbe fanfic #wtfock #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #hogwarts au #fake dating #requested fic

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theawkwardterrier · 3 years

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my whole trajectory's toward you, and it's not losing momentum (call it anything we want)

Summary: Anthony had expected a certain amount of trouble when he took over managing the Danbury campaign. He didn’t imagine this amount. He didn’t imagine that it might at some point become something other than trouble.

There was mention of rival political campaign managers Kate and Anthony and even though I couldn’t quite get there - or make a scene happen which directly featured Newton 😔 - I did manage rivals and political campaigning. So here’s something to serve as incentive, congratulation, or brief respite depending on how far @thesokovianaccords has gotten in her grad school application process. Sorry if it’s a bit OOC, Livia - maybe it’s just the right degree to make sense in a modern AU? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Read on AO3

A week into running Dr. Danbury’s campaign, Anthony realizes that he has made a grave error in allowing himself to give in when his mother requested “a bit of a favor.”

At the time she’d asked, he had just gotten the news that his previous candidate was dropping out of his own race for health reasons, and of course, Dr. Danbury has been a fixture for his entire life so he might well have stepped up merely because she needed help (despite knowing that the reason she needed the help was that she’d fired her entire previous campaign team). Besides that, he has rarely been able to deny his mother anything, and that’s even before she brings up the number of hours she spent in labor with him (twenty-two, as he well knows by now) but still...he damn well should have ignored all that this time.

For his money, the most annoying part of not being listened to by the candidate is that her instincts have mostly served her well. Three days after he started, she ignored the common wisdom of maintaining decorum and not insulting the opposition which he had reminded her of before she went on camera, and had only benefited from it; apparently the majority of the constituency agreed that the particular candidate she had been asked about was indeed a “first class wanker who should pray nightly for the brains God gave a goose.” At least she had heeded Anthony’s advice to refer to the man as “my opponent” rather than using his name and giving him free advertising in the soundbite as it was played on nearly every news broadcast for the next several days.

“Well, we seem to have come out of this one all right,” she says, sipping her coffee and looking just the slightest bit smug - he doesn’t lie to candidates, so he had been obliged to report that the latest polling numbers actually went up after the incident. “Anything else, Bridgerton?”

Swallowing the speech he wants to give about how easily things could shift during a campaign, not to mention the difference between what people told a pollster and how they actually cast their votes, he says, “Perhaps we might look to hire a policy director, ma’am? To help...guide the campaign a bit more?”

“If we did, I should wonder what I had hired you for.” She looks at him over the tops of her glasses as if she can tell he is dreaming of responding that ah, well, it seems he is unnecessary, and perhaps he will just excuse himself from the position now. He makes sure his expression remains neutral and finally she waves a hand. “Well, let me see some names and CVs after the weekend, and I shall decide then.”

“Very good.” He extremely purposefully does not sigh until he is out of her office and striding along the corridor of their campaign headquarters. There are plenty of people who will take a call from him on short notice and who will back him with the candidate. Yes, if he can’t quit altogether (and he can’t if he wants his regular seat at Christmas dinner) then having someone in his corner is just the ticket.

He arrives for work on Monday even earlier than his traditional first thing in the morning, wondering to himself whether it will be better to simply present his top applicants or if he should throw in a decoy or two to make his choices shine even brighter - although perhaps that’s just the sort of ploy that the candidate would sniff out in a heartbeat after a career of wrangling university students. Still debating, he turns the corner toward his office, only to find Dr. Danbury in the hall outside, speaking with someone. Anthony doesn’t recognize the person from the back, can only see a fall of shiny, dark hair, so he guesses it is one of the volunteers, perhaps someone new who has arrived early for orientation. He hopes that Dr. Danbury isn’t being too intimidating.

“Ah, Bridgerton,” the lady in question calls down the hallway, and something about her tone makes Anthony’s spine go straight. “Good morning.”

Still, he clings to his good mood as he greets her. “Let me put my things down, and then we can go over your schedule for the day. And I have those CVs you had requested as well.”

“Nevermind those,” she says, and the little smile on her lips makes every one of his nerves stand on end. “Did you know that your mother and I went out for a drink on Friday evening? Oh, yes, we had a wonderful time, and your brother Colin came around to escort us home. Such a lovely boy, had some delightful stories about his trip to Greece - and so interested in the campaign. In fact, he had a brilliant thought when I mentioned your idea for bringing on someone new to help shape things alongside the two of us.”

Whatever virtues his brother Colin might possess, interest in the campaign is absolutely not among them. Skin humming all over, Anthony manages a casual, “Oh?”

“Indeed, and luckily I was able to organize it all over the weekend so you wouldn’t have to do a thing.” She gestures toward her companion, and with a sick swoop in his stomach, Anthony knows who he is going to see before she shifts around.

“I believe you two have met before?” Dr. Danbury says, voice fading just a bit beneath the static in Anthony’s ears as Kate Sheffield turns to face him.

They have not actually met before, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t know of each other.

The first time Anthony heard her name, it was her sister saying it - about twenty times in a row, if he’s being honest. He met Edie Sheffield two years back at one of his mother’s galas. Edie ran a different prestigious kids charity than the one Mum was fundraising for, so he’d wondered if inviting her was somehow inviting the enemy or maybe bragging. But Edie was sweet, and passionate about her job, and looked absolutely gorgeous in sapphire satin, and he settled into a night of getting her drinks and chatting her up, despite the fact that she didn’t seem as interested in speaking with him as she did in mentioning that he really must talk with her sister.

He’d stayed the night in the hotel where the gala had been held (alone, in one of the rooms which had been set aside for guests from the event; he’d put Edie in a car at about 11) and was planning on taking his mother to breakfast after she came down from her own room. When he went to check out, however, the desk attendant handed him a message which had been taken down for him on hotel stationary.

Dickheads like you shouldn’t try to get with my sister. Don’t do it again.

“Is there anything else that I can assist you with?” asked the attendant, holding onto her poker face remarkably. Perhaps they taught that in hospitality programs.

He’d crushed the note in his hand before smoothing his own face placidly and handing over his credit card. His mother was all smiles and chatter during breakfast, but his mind was still on the note, which seemed to have burned itself behind his eyelids.

Dickheads like you - oh, so only other types of dickheads need apply? And get with? Were they twelve years old and couldn’t use grownup words? Not to mention the signature, such as it was. Trying to play mafia boss, expecting that he’d know who had sent it. He did, but it took a lot of bloody gall to assume that he would.

Not as much gall as Don’t do it again. He couldn’t even think of that part, the demeaning certainty of it, without a certain vein beginning to throb in his forehead.

In the two years since, he found himself falling back into analysis of the note - it was barely more than a dozen words, so how could there still be so much to parse? - whenever her name came up, which became more and more frequent as she moved from nothing campaigns in the most forgotten corners of the country to deputy deputy whatever on somewhat more consequential ones. She was gaining a reputation among his peers. They said she was smart and canny, that she had a knack for looking at the bigger picture and acting on her instincts.

(Someone who’d once worked with her had also mentioned that it helped that she didn’t have a high opinion of her looks, didn’t flaunt herself the way some women did around the office - she certainly didn’t have a reason to do so, but sometimes that didn’t stop them.

“Oh, be fair,” said the other man. “She does have quite a nice—”

They’d shut up when he’d walked into the room - everyone knew better than to talk that way around him, and it wasn’t just because of “all those sisters” the way some people said. Eloise had been interning with the campaign that summer, and for the rest of the day while he’d talked with human resources, he’d let her make mistakes on all of their lunch and coffee orders and give them the wrong data for their reports when they’d made her look it up instead of doing it themselves. When he’d fired them, he spread the word on why, but left the particulars out of it.)

The note returns to his mind whenever someone new has their one experience of suggesting Kate Sheffield as a potential hire, or when he thinks he’s seen her in the background of some press conference or event for another candidate, or if he runs into Edie at another charity function, where he absolutely does not flirt with her just that extra bit harder while part of his mind thinks Your move directly toward her sister who he has never actually met in person.

Until now.

“We’re acquainted,” he tells Dr. Danbury, managing to remain polite by avoiding Kate’s gaze. He leaves it at that.

They’re the first two in the conference room for the all-staff the next morning, and somehow he’s not surprised.

“Good morning,” he says as he comes in to find her over by the coffee. She’s doctoring it significantly, clearly already familiar with the quality to be found in a campaign office. He always buys his own; he can’t stand the amount of milk and sugar and oddly flavored creamers required to make the other stuff palatable (and don’t even get him started on the alleged tea).

Tone cool, she replies, “Mr. Bridgerton,” and takes a sip from her mug.

It isn’t as if the staff goes around calling him “Tony” or “boss,” and only the most knock-kneed newcomers call him “sir.” He’s Anthony to most. He has no inclination to correct her.

He works to keep his tone casual and courteous as usual when he introduces her to everyone (“And this is Kate Sheffield, who will be doing some consulting for us”) but something about it must catch Dr. Danbury’s attention, because she raises an eyebrow at him from her end of the table and rests both hands atop her stick.

The fact that the candidate is aware that something is going on between the two of them makes it all the more exasperating when two days later she signs off on Kate’s media and advertising plan over his own. He shows up for dinner with Daphne and Simon that evening as planned, knowing that Daphne would be completely willing to pull the pregnancy card if he tried to get out of it, but she sends him home before the waiter has brought the dessert menus because he keeps muttering about how more people travel by tube and railways and for longer distances but are more likely to take more individual rides on buses and what that means for posting print ads.

(The numbers are seared into his mind, considering she’d included a full breakdown with three kinds of graphs and bloody footnotes in her presentation.)

Getting released from the restaurant early gives him extra time to go back to the office for a bit and put together a preliminary get out the vote strategy. He calls in several favors as a part of it, including one from an old friend of his father’s who asks incredulously, “Really? For this?” clearly wondering whether Anthony’s reputation is deserved if he’s pulling out all the stops for something so routine.

It’s well worth it, however, when Dr. Danbury raises an eyebrow as she looks over the document he’d put together, and tells him, “Well done, Bridgerton, very well done indeed. I think this shall do nicely.”

He does not even glance toward Kate; there really isn’t any need to gloat.

Well, one tiny peek won’t hurt.

Her jaw is set and her eyes are flinty, but she gives him just the slightest nod, as if to say that he might have won this round, but she’d like to see him try the next one.

Just before three in the morning, he wakes himself, panting, from a dream that makes him think he might have to report himself for workplace sexual harassment.

“I would have hoped you’d have better self-preservation instincts,” he says aloud to his body. “Or at least better taste.”

Collapsing back against the pillows, he pushes his mind toward images of ex-girlfriends and celebrities, but no, there is Kate, strong and challenging and gorgeous above him, a vivid afterimage that refuses to go away, and he sighs and gives into it, trying to set himself to rights so he can get past this and find at least a bit more sleep.

Anthony has never been the sort of boss who shouts at people in the office - he has always tended toward cold anger and “you know what you’ve done, now fix it” stares, and doesn’t intend to act differently now. But as he stalks over to Kate’s desk, he finds a fiercer anger taking over, just a bit.

“You changed my media statement,” he says, voice silken with it as he leans his palms down on her desktop and rests his weight on them. He is speaking low, the words just for her, although his eyes roam over the others moving busily around the main space of the office.

She turns her chair slightly, so that he feels the brush of her hair on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up; it shifts his attention fully in her direction. Her hair tie had snapped earlier, and the thick topknot she tried twisting for herself has collapsed, leaving it free around her shoulders. He snaps himself back from examining the shining curls as she says, “Yes, I did.”

Part of him admires her straightforwardness, that she takes responsibility without even trying to deny it. The other part...well, the anger hasn’t exactly disappeared.

In a level tone which would have his siblings looking over in alarm, he says. “I had worked that statement out with the entire communications department.”

“The entire communications department does what you tell them to do. It’s what you pay them for.”

“And what, exactly, do I pay you for?”

They are facing each other now, their bodies a bit too close for it. She is looking directly at him, voice sharp and clear as glass. “I was hired by the candidate, to help run the campaign that she wants. Your statement was just a polite walkback of her words.”

He has the sudden thought that the brown of her eyes could be warm, that her gaze probably is warm when she’s looking at her sister or the dog whose photo she has framed on her desk (a plump, panting little corgi wearing a bright blue bow tie, absurd), but he’s never seen her that way. He’s only ever gotten this, annoyance and disdain and perhaps disappointment.

Still, he responds, “Her words need to be walked back if she wants to someday be more than the candidate. In this constituency, colonial reparations aren’t a popular enough issue to increase turnout for those who weren’t already interested, and it’s exactly the sort of thing which will put off those who were on the fence. We’re trying to flip a seat by reminding people of what their current MP is doing wrong; we have to stay on message, not muddy things with topics too few understand. Sending out a statement moderating the comment is the right move.”

“But that statement isn’t what the candidate believes, and her future constituents should know what her actual position is - they likely aren’t as stupid as you seem to think. And besides that, she has the right stance in the first place.”

In the weeks since she arrived, he’s found that the things people said of her were true: she is smart, perhaps too smart for the good of either of them, and decisive, easily seeing what’s been done and what needs to be and acting on it, the exact sort of person you would want at your side as you plot a course forward. But he hadn’t realized that she was a believer.

There are fewer idealists in politics than one might think, or at least who have risen to her level. He always finds them a bit off-putting, and it startles him even more with her - he had thought he recognized in her a sharpness and pragmatism which reminded him of his own.

“Don’t do anything like this again,” he says, trying to temper his own abruptness even as he is somewhat unsettled by the conviction in her. “Or I’ll fire you, and I don’t care what the candidate says about it.”

“I think she would have quite a lot to say in that circumstance,” Kate tells him, but she turns back to her keyboard and doesn’t argue anymore.

At least until the next day, when they end up nearly nose to nose in his office as Anthony maintains that they can’t get anyone’s hopes up with a promise of immediate action on climate change, especially considering the priorities in the party platform and the likely makeup of the next parliament, and Kate practically shouts that they’re showing people where their convictions lie and that Dr. Danbury will fight for them if she gets the chance.

When Anthony dreams of her again that night, they are not talking about policy at all. But when he wakes up, edgy and aching as he is, he finds himself hoping one day to see her smile at him the way he did in his sleep; he wants to know if her eyes really are as warm as he imagined.

On Saturday, there’s such persistent nagging in the older sibling groupchat that Anthony finally gives in and agrees to leave the office for a night out. Forcing him into some allegedly relaxing activity is a time-honored tradition when they’re coming into the final stretch of a campaign; he’s certain the others have been discussing tactics in one of the numerous other chats that are always going on. (The last he’d glimpsed, the sibling group which didn’t include Gregory, Hyacinth, or himself - but did, irritatingly, include Simon - was named “Anthony’s Scary Forehead Vein.”)

“Please tell me that we aren’t going to paint ceramics again,” Anthony says as he walks, hands in his pockets, beside Benedict. Their group is too large to all move together on the sidewalk, which is a bit of a relief. “I don’t think I could put up with another night of Eloise reminding me that there are stencils if I need them.”

Benedict very narrowly and very obviously avoids laughing at him. Now that Anthony thinks about it, actually, his brother had spent that particular outing using a dozen colors to intricately decorate a mug, spending so long on it that they had nearly closed the place around him. Their mother drinks her tea from it frequently, however. “Thankfully there won’t be any pottery or painting tonight.”

“And it’s not—”

“Not a club,” Benedict assures him, then grins. “Can you imagine Simon trying to make certain no one came within a foot radius of Daph on the dance floor?”

Anthony shakes his head, looking ahead of them to where his sister and brother-in-law are walking together, not holding hands, but so close that they might as well be. He still feels a bit strange about the two of them together, especially after all the drama on the way, but he can see that they’re in love each other, even if he can’t really imagine why anyone would want to be, and they’re extremely obviously happy, so he’s trying to grow accustomed to it. He can also absolutely see Simon working himself into knots playing mosh pit bodyguard.

“So where are we going, then?” he asks, but before Benedict can answer, Eloise, broken away from her friend Penelope, tosses her arms over their shoulders and wriggles her face between them.

“You’ll just have to see,” she says, and Anthony doesn’t have to look at her to know that she is twitching her eyebrows at them. He probably could get it out of her if he tried, but he actually is finding himself feeling a little lighter being out with everyone, so he just waits and ten minutes later, they’re entering an already fairly crowded pub. Colin and Eloise go over to register them as a trivia team - or more likely to bicker over what name their team should have. As if realizing the same, Daphne squeezes Simon’s hand once and pushes over to join them.

(Her stomach is still flat, even for someone looking, but Anthony notices that she places a protective hand over it as she walks through the crush anyway.)

The rest of them go to claim a table and start putting together an order for drinks and appetizers. Anthony is leaning across, shouting a promise that if Penelope doesn’t finish her chili loaded potato wedges, they’ll certainly be taken care of, when someone behind him asks, “Excuse me, can we borrow this chair?”

“Sorry, there are more of us coming,” he says politely, turning to face the woman. She’s thirtyish and tall, but that’s all he takes in before he spots, over her shoulder, the rest of her group. They’re all chatting with each other, wearing matching T-shirts in a variety of bold colors which declare them the Quizzie Bennets, and in the center, her hair up in a ponytail and definite warmth in her eyes, is Kate. Edie stands beside her, picture perfect nose crinkled in a teasing way, but all Anthony can notice is that he’s never seen Kate in jeans like this, that the odd, bright purple of her shirt looks electric instead of ugly against the dark of her hair, and all he can think is that he never imagined her as relaxed as she is, weapons laid down.

She seems to detect his gaze then, and as she meets it he expects the weapons to be picked right back up. There’s certainly surprise, a guardedness to her eyes as they meet his, but then she narrows them in his direction, as if saying game on.

So that’s how she wants to play it, he thinks, then turns to the others and says, “No alcohol.”

Benedict blinks. “What do you mean by that?”

“In solidarity with Daphne,” Anthony offers.

“Daph does know that it’s pub trivia,” Simon says. “And she’s not—”

“Fine,” Anthony interrupts before the compliment train can get rolling. He sets his jaw. “I mean that we need to keep clear heads if we’re going to absolutely trounce everyone here.”

Penelope looks a bit alarmed by the vehemence in his tone and Simon quirks a brow, but the others are game enough - Bridgertons have always had a competitive streak, and apparently the rest of them actually chose this particular trivia night because it’s done aloud, infinite bounce style, instead of on paper.

“We play with live ammo around here,” Eloise declares gleefully once she’s returned and been updated on what she missed.

“Damn right we do,” Anthony mutters to himself, glad that he is seated with his back to Kate so he can resist the temptation to see how irritated she looks just now, or how face might be a little flushed and her ponytail loosened from the heat of everyone packed together inside…

“Who exactly do you keep looking for?” asks Colin, who’d plopped himself into the chair Kate’s teammate had asked about. He cranes obviously around, and Anthony turns firmly back to the table before his brother can follow his line of vision.

For all that they didn’t pick their team in order to be serious contenders, they do cover the bases fairly well. Anthony has politics and current events, obviously, along with history. Penelope plays backup there as well, and covers literature alongside Colin, who handily takes on geography too. (Anthony has always inwardly wondered how reasonable it was to build a career around wanderlust and Instagram and freelancing for travel magazines, but if it brings them victory tonight, he will never question again.) Benedict apparently took in more about nature than any of the rest of them who grew up in the Kentish countryside, and knows quite a bit more about art and art history than Anthony had expected. Daphne, unpredictably, knows a lot about sports - she claims that it’s what happens when you spend your life being rambled at as “another one of the boys” - and, more predictably, music.

Anthony hadn’t expected Simon’s skill with numbers to be particularly helpful, but now he’ll have to buy him a drink at some point, both for doubting and for pulling them out of a sticky situation involving Bernstein's constant. He wishes that Francesca wasn’t too young to have come out with them - there are several instances where they could have used her chiming in with quiet calm about anything related to economics or science, but they instead have to all give questionable contributions in that regard. They all chip in for pop culture, too, although Eloise is clearly the master - she actually yawns as she announces that of course the country where Monica’s boyfriend Pete Becker took her on their first date was Italy, and Anthony has never been more grateful that he lets everyone sponge off his Netflix login (although would it really kill them to not be using all the screens on the rare occasions he actually has the time and inclination to watch something?).

The trouble is that there are plenty of other teams who are clearly regulars, and they were put together in order to be serious contenders. The questions and answers are flying through the air, the quizmaster, a skinny older man with big hair shouting “Correct! For ten points,” more often than not, and most importantly, the Quizzie Bennets are availing themselves nicely. (He should have guessed as soon as he saw the matching T-shirts.)

Questions his team can’t answer correctly bounce to them next, and he can’t help but toss Kate an incredulous look after she not only answers that Angela Merkel was voted chancellor of November rather than October 2005, but also rattles off the margin for and against. Her eyes meet his as if she was expecting his glance, but she just shrugs before wrapping her lips around her straw and taking a dainty sip of her drink. He has to look away then.

Still, Team Quizerton (apparently the name that both Colin and Eloise had hated enough for Daphne to negotiate them to agreement) has done well enough that Anthony feels confident as they move into the final round.

“And what will the twist be tonight?” the excitable quizmaster asks, although he then just presses a button on his phone rather than spinning some kind of enormous wheel. His face lights up as he announces grandly, “Ah, the ladder!”

He quickly outlines the rules: each team will have five questions selected for them in ascending order of difficulty, with point values from ten to fifty. For each correct answer, they will receive the corresponding points and the option of requesting a related bonus question for half the initial question’s value. Wrong answers mean a point deduction, double for bonus questions, and the end of play for that team. You can also pass, choosing another team to answer and forfeiting further questions for yours but freezing your points where they stand.

It’s more like a game show than any trivia night that Anthony is familiar with, but he actually appreciates the strategy element; he can understand why this would be Kate’s preferred contest.

He considers giving a pep talk to the table, but all of them - except for Simon, who’s looking somewhere between vaguely amused and bored - are dialed in, ready to claim victory, so he settles back and readies himself for it too.

It happens in the final round. Anthony is just allowing himself to feel the slightest bit smug at having earned them another 75 points by not only correctly responding that Sri Lanka was the first country to have a female prime minister, but answering the bonus of her name (Sirimavo Bandaranaike) and year of election (1960) as well. The quizmaster nods, turns, and reads off the next question: “This famous playwright’s last words were reportedly ‘I knew it! I knew it! Born in a hotel room and, goddamn it, dying in a hotel room.’”

There’s a strange, deep silence, then a buzz of whispering among the Quizzie Bennets, and Anthony is struck by the realization that they don’t know the answer. He certainly doesn’t either, and a glance around at his group tells him that they would have been screwed had they gotten the question, but it doesn’t matter. Excitement licks up his throat, victory so close he can taste it…

And then Kate’s head comes up from the huddle, and her eyes meet his, and he knows exactly what she is going to do before she does it.

“Ten seconds!” says the quizmaster.

“Trust me,” Kate mouths to her teammates, and then says aloud, “We’d like to pass, and give the Know It Ales a chance to answer.”

Anthony’s mouth goes dry. Stupid team name aside, they’ve been confidently answering questions all night, and this time is no different. Their leader is nearly bored as he immediately says, “Eugene O’Neill.” And Anthony can barely hear the room around him over the blood rushing in his ears as they answer the follow-up too.

When the quizmaster declares the Know It Ales the champions for the evening, Kate slings her arms around her teammates and cheers as if he’s announced her name instead. The other Quizzie Bennets look puzzled, but when she stares defiantly at Anthony, chin raised, beaming, glowing not like she’s in the spotlight but like she’s the light itself, he somewhat suspects that she’s the winner indeed.

“Isn’t that—” Colin starts somewhere close to Anthony’s ear.

“No, it is not,” Anthony tells him firmly, and wrestles him off to pay their tab.

Later that night, after he’s somewhat successfully distracted himself with work and somewhat less successfully distracted himself with looking for something to watch (why isn’t everyone asleep, and even if they are up, could they really not leave him one available screen?) he finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed with his work phone in one hand and his personal one in the other. And even though he knows exactly how bad an idea it is, he very carefully references the campaign contact group and keys one number into a new text message in his personal phone.

Sorry that this didn’t seem to be your night. Best of luck to your team next time.

He shoves out a breath and stands as soon as he’s sent it, forces himself to start getting ready for bed; she’s probably asleep now, or she might read it as rude or sarcastic and choose not to respond, and the text is just going to sit there, awkward and interminable…

There are plenty of ways to be lucky, thanks very much, and I think we found one - although I look forward to reclaiming my rightful title someday soon. See you on Monday, Bridgerton.

Regardless of what he tells himself, he can’t quite get the stupid grin off his face as he shuts off the light. He’s under no illusions about who his dreams will feature tonight.

Monday night before the election, Anthony leaves the office past eleven. He rubs his eyes as he walks past dark cubicles and conference rooms - unsurprisingly, he’s the last one around - and decides that what he needs more than sleep is something to eat, and not whatever cup noodles or single egg he might come up with at home. No, he needs comfort food, something generous and hot and greasy as Benedict’s face the year he was thirteen (not that his at fifteen was much better).

His favorite hole in the wall is open until midnight, so he stumbles over there and buys the biggest order of chips he can, the enormous burger nearly an afterthought. The place is tiny and not the sort of spot that has ever even heard of ambiance, but he’s tired and the idea of waiting to get back to his flat and eating in its emptiness isn’t particularly appealing. He turns with his food in hand and finds Kate looking up at him, startled, from one of the three tables.

He could take one of the others, leave them to eat in awkward peace, or he could pretend he had always intended to have his food to go. Instead he comes over and asks, “Can I join you?”

Her capable hands moving just a note too slowly, as though giving him time to reconsider, she collects the documents from the opposite side of the table, tapping them into order as he waits patiently. She folds her fingers atop the neat stack in front of her once she’s finished, watching as he dives into his meal; he should probably be embarrassed about it, but he doesn’t really have the energy.

They talk about inconsequential things - how the weather forecast might cause trouble with voter turnout, the unfortunate office incident with Johnson and the speakerphone last week, mutual political acquaintances - and Anthony realizes that it’s the first time they’ve ever done this, just made small talk without disagreeing. Kate doesn’t lose her sharp tongue simply because they are in casual conversation, but it’s different when her remarks aren’t directed at him; hearing her pert analyses of other candidates and campaign staffers actually makes him laugh.

She’s left half a piece of cold fish and polished off more than a few of his chips (completely unthinkingly, he’s sure) when they’re informed that closing time’s come and they have to clear the table. It would be completely natural for them to part ways and see each other in the morning for another round of sparring, but he finds himself saying, “I think I might go get a drink,” and finds her answering, “I think I might join you.”

He regrets it just a bit when he’s balanced on the bar stool (he really is exhausted; this is the earliest he’s been out of the office in days) but then Kate raises her wineglass and says, “To the homestretch,” and smiles just a bit as he touches his glass to hers. The light falls cozy and dim around them and he can still see exactly how long and competent her fingers are, wrapped around the stem, the places where strands of hair have escaped their pins, trailing down to rest against her exposed throat.

Right, he thinks inanely to himself. Right, excellent, this was a good choice, and belts back his scotch before signaling for another.

“Those were your siblings?” she asks, taking a sip of her own drink. “At trivia the other night?”

“Some of them were...are…” He shakes his head, trying to straighten out his own meaning. “It was some of my siblings, the oldest four, and my brother-in-law, and my sister’s best friend.” Then, before he can stop himself, he adds, “I saw your sister was there as well.”

“Hmm,” she says, taking another sip of her cabernet, and he can see her spine stiffening, armor reasserting itself.

For the first time, he realizes that she could easily hate Edie, her younger sister - her younger half-sister, even - who is sweet and accomplished and more apparently pretty, the one people’s eyes turn to when the Sheffield girls are around, but what Kate displays is no begrudging love.

It would probably be better for him to change the topic, get them back on safer ground, but though he might be smart, he’s not necessarily wise, so he tosses back his second scotch and asks, “Why did you warn me off her the first time? You didn’t even know me.”

“Yes, but I knew of you,” she says. As always, she faces the comment head on, doesn’t even pretend not to remember exactly what he’s talking about. “I was starting in the industry, I needed to have an ear to the ground and at least a general sense of the players, and I didn’t like the sense I got about you. It didn't make me think you were the kind of person to trust with my sister.”

“I’ve never—I would never—I don’t think I’ve—” he says, stumbling, slightly stricken. He knows that there are whisper networks about the people - the men - in their field, knows exactly who some of the whispers are about and has done his best to be the type of person who helps make those whispers into shouts. It would kill him a bit to find out that he’s done something that would make someone feel the need to speak about him that way.

“Not necessarily on a personal level,” she says, suddenly gentle, then circles her finger around the rim of her glass and amends, “Well, not that way. People actually said you were very smart and a good employer, but when I learned more about your history, the jobs you’d worked on in the past, it didn’t feel like there was any principle to your choices. As if you were just willing to sell yourself to whoever asked, or at least whoever looked good on a resume. Edwina deserves more than that.”

She is looking at him extremely frankly, as if she hasn’t just shrugged away the idea of the career he’s built, but with the way she says her sister’s name, the softness of it, how she somehow makes the full, old-fashioned version more personal than the nickname - he understands that sort of devotion. Hearing it from her steals the irritation beginning to build even as she continues. “I could never even entirely figure out why you went into politics rather than something else. You’re reasonably intelligent, you could have done any number of things if you weren’t particularly invested in the issues.”

Somehow, instead of the protest he was expecting, that he was intending, what comes out is simply, “It’s the family business.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The Bridgerton Group. My father started it.” By her expression, she doesn’t think that two generations exactly makes a family legacy, but for once she holds her tongue, and his, loose with drink and exhaustion, can’t hold back.

“I grew up playing under the table at a dozen campaign offices across London and having poster mock-ups as my placemats. When I was a bit older, I was allowed to volunteer, and I loved seeing him there, in his element, listening to proposals and then telling everyone, ‘Well, here’s what we’re going to do.’” He swallows. “He—My father died, just after my first year at university, and I wasn’t old or experienced enough to take his place. The staff went off to work for other people, and all I could think about was how disappointed he would have been, to see this thing he’d built, this thing he loved, fall apart so easily. The entire time until I graduated, while I was getting experience with other consulting firms and working on other campaigns, I was just waiting until I could do justice to what he left behind for me.

“He nearly called it ABC Consulting, but my mother told him that it sounded too juvenile. My parents had me and my brothers fairly young - he was still a student when Benedict and I were born - and he wanted to name it after us.”

He realizes as soon as he’s said it that he’s only ever admitted that once before, to Simon on a similarly drunken night during their final year at school, forgetting the way that Simon and his father were, or weren’t, with each other; his friend’s face had closed up as soon as the words had left Anthony’s mouth, and they’d never talked about it again. But Kate’s face is open, listening, more than he thinks he’s ever seen from her, in such a way that he thinks he could reveal anything to her.

He could tell her about the trouble he and his brothers got up to as children, or how he likes watching baking shows to relax even though he’s not worth a damn in the kitchen, or that he can’t stop himself from adding another mile to his morning run each time he finds a gray hair. He could start talking about how complicated his feelings have grown regarding the man who was once his best friend, or about the way his entire chest had burned as his mother placed a squalling Hyacinth into his nineteen-year-old hands before closing her eyes and about how he never wants either of them to know that he’d tried to force himself not to tremble and had trembled anyway. But this isn’t the time for any of that, so he continues.

“I wanted to put it back together for him. There were candidates I took on in the early days who were stepping stones, necessary to building a reputation but who I wouldn’t work with again now that I have the reputation and the choices that come with it. And I have my own opinions on the issues - some of which might match yours more closely than you’d expect - but I’m there to make sure that the candidates who hire me succeed in getting where they want to be. I’m good at that, and I’m committed to it, and I’ve never run a campaign I wasn’t proud of. Sometimes, though, being around you, I wonder if you're going to eventually talk me into a different philosophy.”

His glass is full again though he isn’t sure when that happened, and a group of middle-aged men with ties undone and suitcases beneath their eyes fumbles past the bar behind them toward a booth, but the only thing he is paying attention to is Kate’s considering gaze on him as she absently swirls the wine remaining in her glass.

“I have the feeling,” she finally says, “that when you say a different philosophy, you consider it a more naïve one. And I’m not certain that our opinions on the issues would really match up considering that you grew up with family money.” Her voice is not arch or insulting, though, and he would certainly know.

“We were...comfortable,” he admits. She raises a waspish eyebrow in response.

“No one who’s actually middle class would ever put it like that,” she informs him. “You most definitely have a trust fund.” But she actually smiles at him, and for once he knows what it’s like to have Kate Sheffield look at him with warmth in her eyes.

He’d quite like to have that again.

“Do you think—?”

“That we should dignify the remarks with a response? No, I absolutely do not.”

Anthony glares down at the article he has pulled up on his phone, then looks over at Kate, striding down the hall beside him, eating slices of peach out of a reusable container. For a moment he’s distracted from the rumormongering on behalf of one of their opposing campaigns; he thinks of Kate’s hands carefully working the knife around the fruit, of the way her tongue flicks over to catch the juice when she takes a bite…

“I could reach out,” he says, too loudly, before he walks into a wall. “I know the head of the campaign over there, I can remind him about the spirit of fair play and all that, especially this close to the finish line.”

She looks over at him incredulously, snapping the top onto her empty Tupperware. “I don’t care if you were the best man at his wedding, he’ll laugh you off the phone. I’ve had at least three listicles of our candidate’s best insults toward her opponents forwarded to me just this morning.”

“I had the feeling that wouldn’t work.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Just three days left, for better or worse. “Fine, so we say nothing and hope that it passes out of the media cycle quickly and doesn’t do too much damage to the absentee votes.”

“As I said from the beginning.”

“You are far too determined never to let me have the last word,” he says, just the slightest bit amused, as they circle around the desks of the main office, edging their way over to hers.

She snags the toe of her ballet flat on a computer charger trailing across the floor, stumbles, but he catches her hand just in time and sets her upright again. She continues walking as if it hadn’t even happened, raising her voice enough to be heard over the chatter and buzz of phone calls as she teases, “What would be the fun in that?”

Aghast, he says, “We aren’t here to have fun, Sheffield.”

“Oh, did you actually want to win?” She tosses the empty container onto her desk as she drops into her chair, then looks up at him, swiveling slightly from side to side and shaking her head. “You really are a cliché.”

“Yeah, well, here’s another one: get to work.”

“I’m not sure that’s technically a cliché, but I suppose I could do that,” she says, with a shrug and a grin, turning toward her computer. He watches her for another few seconds, and then takes himself off to his office before he becomes too much of a cliché himself.

Despite the phone call he had earlier with his mother promising her that he wouldn’t, he falls asleep on his desk the night before the election, startling himself awake hours later.

“Too bloody old for this,” he mutters to himself, grimacing as seemingly every joint and muscle in his body quite firmly announces itself when he stands. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he gathers his things and makes his way through the darkened office.

Except it isn’t as dark as he’d expected. He scans the desks to try to figure out who left their lamp on, and finds Kate with her head resting on her arms, essentially imitating him from ten minutes prior.

Briefly, he stands there, not entirely sure what to do, but then he walks over, hand hovering by her shoulder before he gives her a light shake.

“Kate,” he says softly, crouching so he’s closer to her level. Her loose ponytail drapes over the burgundy of her blouse, quite close to his hand. He had not realized that he would recognize the scent of her, clean and straightforward with a subtly delicate edge; he should have known - he’s been smelling it in his dreams for weeks. He swallows and shakes her once more. “Kate, you should go home.”

“That was meant to be my line,” she says, far more lucidly than he would have expected. He shifts back as she stirs and sits up, massaging her fingers over her eyes. “I had the feeling that you weren’t going to leave at a sensible time, so I was planning on reminding you before I went home, only apparently I can’t leave at a sensible time either.”

“No, I suspect that sensible times to leave the office don’t involve the letters A or M,” he agrees. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

As she readies herself to leave, he tries to remember that the way she stretches out her back or takes down her hair, how she swings her bag over her shoulder, the quick, assessing way her eyes cover the room to make certain everything is in its place: all of that should be unremarkable. But there’s a moment, just the tiniest sliver of time, when she’s flicked off her desk lamp and they begin to walk out together in the glow of the emergency exit signs and the dim light of windows from other office buildings - she glances over at him, his hair rumpled, tie and briefcase dangling from one hand, and he thinks that he sees her swallow in a way that he recognizes all too well.

And then the moment is gone, and they’re out on the sidewalk, about to go their separate ways, the car he’d called for her already waiting.

“Big day tomorrow,” he says over the top of the door, holding it open as she climbs in. “Are you ready for it?”

“I’m always ready.”

He laughs, soft as the night around them. “Yes, I suppose you are. Good night, then.”

She looks at him one last time in the yellow beam of the streetlight, still a bit sleepy-eyed but no less aware for it. “Good night, Bridgerton,” she tells him, and drives away, and he can’t help but wonder about what if she hadn’t, what if he’d said something or she had made a choice, what if she didn’t drive away from him again.

The day of the election is always the worst for him - all the work behind him, nothing really to be done but let the people vote. He’s in the office earlier than usual anyway, early enough that he isn't certain it was worthwhile going home, but this, at least, he can control. He manages to keep himself busy throughout the day, but it’s all just a countdown to that night.

Somehow, despite - or perhaps because of - the sleeplessness and planning and stress, it isn’t one those contests that drag on. Dr. Danbury is brought on stage at about a quarter to one alongside the other candidates; the results, when the returning officer announces them, are decisive.

She’d brushed away his offers to help or choose a staffer or hire someone to work on her speech with her; instead she’s written it herself, and although brief, it’s as firm and irreverent as she is. He suspects that no one will ever pack as much sarcasm into referring to certain colleagues as “the right honorable.”

He makes some calls and receives congratulations from his mother and siblings, who have long since ceased to find these sorts of things interesting enough to attend but who make certain to keep up from home. As Dr. Danbury frees from handshaking and small talking, he makes his way over to her.

“Congratulations, ma’am.” He holds out his hand, which she eyes with a lifted brow.

“Anthony Bridgerton, I’ve known you since you were charming people from your mother’s arms, and considering that - not to mention all we’ve been through together over these last months - I think you can stand to give me more than just a handshake.”

He hugs her, which feels odd and tells him more than anything that the campaign is over. When he pulls away from her, she pats his cheek. “Now, go celebrate. You’ve earned it. I’m certainly going to.” And she winks.

The campaign staff is making plans for drinks and dancing and even just going home to raise a glass with loved ones. He wades into the group, patting backs and shaking hands, speaking briefly to some of them, smiling all the while.

And then he sees Kate, toward the edge of the crowd, chatting with one of the young guys from finance. Edwina is beside them, likely not as inured to the excitement of the night as the Bridgertons.

Kate, the taller of the two, spots him, leaning over to say something to her sister before weaving her way over. He tips his head toward a quieter little hallway, and they go over together, leaning against parallel walls.

“Congratulations,” they say to each other at the same time, and then immediately after, “I only wanted to say—”

He nods at her to go first. It’s only polite. But there’s an unusual sort of trepidation about her face, a pause that he doesn’t expect, that makes him wonder if she wishes that he’d taken the initiative. Still, she’s Kate, so she takes a breath and comes out with, “Edwina is here tonight, and if you still wanted—Clearly I misjudged you, and so if you were still interested in her, I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Oh,” he says, and that is all he can manage for the moment, standing frozen and watching Kate force her shoulders back and her gaze to his.

He does not know precisely how to communicate the depths to which he has realized that he does not want to date Edie Sheffield, that he never wanted to date her, that his interest lies entirely elsewhere. What he says instead is, “I had wanted to ask you to stay on with the Group. Permanently. You’re very, very good at what you do, and I think that...You know, your perspective and your clarity during the campaign was extremely helpful, extremely valuable, to me.”

He can picture it plainly, has been picturing it already: Kate taking him to task about every little issue, forcing him to remember the things outside of the campaign itself, the bigger things. Kate, with her hair swept up and her eyes bright and furious, challenging him to be the best version of himself, or at least to want to try.

But then she looks up at him and says, “I’ve actually had another job offer recently. The candidate—I’m sorry, the MP-elect wants me to be her new chief of staff, and I was already inclined to accept.”

“You’re going to be incredible at that,” he says immediately, blank shock quickly giving way to sincerity then laughter. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. Maybe I just didn’t think that Parliament was ready for it.”

“That’s probably for the best, though. Element of surprise and all.”

Her voice doesn’t trail away but as his laughter does, so does her smile, her animation; the air seems to fall thin and still. He doesn’t know that there’s ever been a beat of awkwardness between them like this, not even when they have been at their most prickly with each other, but it’s there now, in her eyes as she looks across at him, in his gut as he wonders what to say next.

“I’m glad you got another job offer,” is what comes out, and there is her unamused, interrogative eyebrow, hovering upward.

“So you weren’t serious with yours?”

“No, of course I was, it’s only that...Well, I’ve been your boss up until now, regardless of how much you might believe it should be the other way around.” That even gets him a slight returning smile, enough for him to ignore the dryness in his mouth and the franticness of his chest to say, “And if you had taken the job with me, I would have continued to be your boss. Which would have made it rather unacceptable for me to ask you out.”

In the space of that breath, with the silence heavy between them even as they stand right beside a crowded room, even as Dr. Danbury’s voice crows easily above the others, still practiced from projecting through the university lecture hall, he wonders if she is going to leave him like this, cards on the table, only the fall below him.

“Well,” she finally says, slow as anything. She is looking up at him, considering and careful, but he knows that her mind must be working at triple its already remarkable speed. “If I’m going to be around the city, and there’s no conflict of interest…”

He doesn’t entirely like the way it is turning into something neat and logical in front of him when he’s never felt anything close to that around her. He doesn’t like the way she looks tentative, pushing back against the edge of something more than caution - fear, perhaps, as if this might be a trick, as if the idea of allowing herself to crack open is unbearably terrifying, and it looks wrong on her face, so bold and familiar, he never wants to see that expression there again. He reaches out across the space, and when she reaches back, he takes her hand.

“Kate,” he says. “You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever known and possibly the smartest, you are wildly, overly principled and somehow make me want to be the same, you never let me have a moment’s peace, I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’d like to go on a date with you.”

“Well, that does sum things up nicely, Anthony,” she tells him, and despite herself, he can see a little snatch of a smile just there, the warmth growing in her eyes as they look right into him, the fear working its way from her. Still, she tries for nonchalance as she says, “My contract with the campaign doesn’t end until Friday. We can do Saturday night, if you’re up for it.”

He’s up for it. He takes her out Saturday night for dinner, hides a smile as she pokes fun at his shoes, gets into an argument with her about education funding, and goes to bed more distracted by a half hour of pressing her against her front door (and then onto her sofa for another twenty minutes) than he has any right to be considering he isn’t fourteen. He spends Sunday night with her too, and on Monday they go to see a movie they both hate but can’t stop talking about, and he is fairly certain he is going to spend essentially every night with her for the rest of his life.

It isn’t peaceful - and only likely to get busier once they both really get back to work - and her dog is a nuisance and Colin tries to take credit for the whole thing, and they’re so happy that neither of them cares.

#Bridgerton #Bridgerton fic #Anthony Bridgerton #Kate Sheffield #kathony #(is that what we're calling them?)#Kate/Anthony

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h3rmitsunited · 4 years

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He Ruined My Life (But Todd, Did He? Did He Really?)

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Todd smiled slightly at the middle finger his sister flashed at him before closing the door behind her. It was a very normal move for her, despite the shambles that their relationship was in, and the fact that she had even bothered to talk to him at all gave him hope that maybe there’s a way to fix things eventually. Todd let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, as he let Amanda's surprisingly wise words wash over him. Dirk's face flashed in his mind, the hurt and shock and pain distorting his expression when Todd had spoken to him cruelly ripped him apart hours earlier... or days ago...out at that pier. Todd rushed into the bathroom, fighting back a sick feeling in his stomach, huffing and gasping over the sink, and caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. His own words echoed in his ears.

You're a monster. You ruined my life. You deserve to be alone.

It wasn’t Dirk that deserved those words. Todd glared into his own eyes in the mirror. Todd could feel his self-destructive tendencies blazing inside him, his mind swirling with self-hatred.

Asshole, you're such an asshole, you always do this, Dirk stayed after you told him what an asshole you were and you just drove him away, you treated him like crap, you deserve to be alone, he deserves so much better than you, God, you're such a piece of sh-

Todd squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands hard against his face, shaking his head. He remembered Amanda looking down at him yesterday morning right before she climbed into that van and left him behind.

You're exactly the piece of shit everyone thinks you are.

The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar to him, it had soaked into every part of his life, and he had been drowning in it for years. Even before Amanda’s first attack, he felt it, less then than he did after her attack, but he couldn’t deny that most of his sober moments were spent wallowing in shame and self-hatred and guilt, even if he did nothing to change that part of who he was. His selfishness had won out every single time until Amanda had become a part of it.

But the question was how does he move forward now? The glare of his eyes in the mirror had faded, replaced by a sad exhausted resignation that weighed his whole body down. Todd sighed, and turned, looking back out of the bathroom at the destroyed remains of his apartment, at the spot Amanda had been standing a few minutes earlier. She was right, of course, as always. He had always thought that she was way too smart, definitely much smarter than he’s ever been. He shook his head. She was right about Dirk. She was right and he screwed it all up. Dirk had come into his life for a reason. Dirk had made him better. Dirk hadn’t let him wallow in his self-deprecating crap, and in barely over a week, Dirk had completely changed his life. Most importantly, Dirk definitely didn't deserve any of the shit that Todd had said to him.

Todd’s stomach clenched as another nauseating wave of guilt crashed over him. He needed to fix things, to make things right with Dirk. Even if Dirk deserved a much better friend than Todd, he was all he had, for now...well and Farah, probably (Todd wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to talk to them about later...she may have decided that Dirk’s special brand of crazy bullshit was too...crazy for her). Todd felt an unfamiliar burst of certainty, a feeling he experienced more since meeting Dirk, and rushed to grab what he needed from his apartment before running out the door.

_____________

The weight of his backpack straps pressed into his shoulders and grounded the swirling angsty thoughts clouding Todd’s mind. Now walking up to the hospital entrance from the bus stop, he could only manage to focus on the ache in his body. Surprisingly, spending 8 days straight running, falling, jumping, digging, running more, getting hit, shot at, and electrocuted can make your muscles a little bit stiff, especially if you’ve spent the last... 10 years barely exercising more than going up and down the stairs to your apartment and running to the bus stop. If this is what every case with Dirk was like, Todd would get into shape very quickly... if Dirk even wants me around, his mind reminded him bitterly. He shook the thought away, glancing up as he passed by a serious looking man with a mustache who gave him a strange look and kept quickly walking away. Something in Todd’s chest tightened, though he wasn’t sure why, and he turned back and watched the man walk into the parking lot, back to a large black SUV illegally parked by the curb with government plates. Todd hoped that wasn’t anything to do with Dirk, but with everything that had happened to him the last few days, he knew better now than to ignore a coincidence. He turned back and rushed into the entrance.

His head swam as everything hit him at once. The nothing smell, the flurry of noises, coughs and cries from the people in the waiting room sitting with squirming children and talking in hushed and strained voices on their phones, the rush of the nurses behind the desk at the front, the overwhelming sense of tension, everything brought him back to the last time he was in a hospital, that first time Amanda had an attack seven years ago. The tightness in his chest squeezed even tighter. He could hear that frantic voicemail his mother had left as they rode in the ambulance to the hospital, Amanda’s terrified screams in the background, he still had it saved on his phone. He hadn't bothered to answer when they called. He remembered waking up and hearing it ring, looking at the phone screen blearily before turning over and falling back to sleep. He didn't check the voicemail until hours later, as well as dozens of frantic texts and multiple more missed calls, and when he heard what his mother was saying, he ran to the bathroom and vomited, telling himself it was because of his hangover and not the heavy pit that suddenly dropped into his stomach. The rush to get to the hospital was a blur. He remembered driving way too fast, and that was about it. When he finally arrive, his parents barely registered his haggard appearance, barely registered him at all, his mother just broke into rambling anxious explanations of what happened and what the doctor said and every test they were doing, and that Amanda was sedated because she wouldn’t stop screaming, wouldn’t stop clawing at her skin, her eyes terrified, shouting about the bugs crawling into her mouth, her eyes, her nose, under her skin. His mother cried. His father stood, eyes blank, glazed over, but his hands shaking. Todd barely registered anything after that. He stared silently at his sister, his baby sister, small and frail in the hospital bed, her arms strapped down, dark red scratches across her skin. His mind went blank, for what must have been hours, until the nurse came in and gently let them know they would need to leave for the night, and they would call if anything changed. He had gotten in his car and just screamed and sobbed and pounded his steering wheel.

Todd’s mind returned to the present, but he could still feel the ghost of the ache in his hands from that steering wheel. He forced his thoughts away, knowing that if he let himself, he would get lost in the memory. Things are different now. You're here for Dirk. You're here to make things right. He marched up to the front desk, waiting politely until one of the nurses glanced up and smiled, catching the exhausted look in his eyes. Todd noticed the ice cream cones on her pink scrub top and absently smiled, thinking of Dirk's ties. The nurse brushed a strand of hair that had come out of her ponytail out of her face and cleared her throat.

"How can I help you?" Todd took a moment to register what she said, he opened his mouth gaping at her for surely too long before he responded.

"Dirk-!" He blurted out when he remembered why he was there. He cleared his throat, embarrassed at his sudden outburst. The nurse watched him curiously, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Sorry... long night," he mumbled and coughed into his hand. "I’m.... uh...I'm here to see Dirk... Gently. Last name, Gently, First name, Dirk? He was brought in... last night...or...earlier today?” Spending half of the day yesterday traveled back to 8 days before made telling what time anything was slightly more complicated... It was at least dark when they got to the Spring Mansion though, so.... “Last night, I think...Detective Estevez brought him in, he had some arrows in his shoulder... lost some blood...a lot of blood." He shivered remembering the sight of Dirk's shirt under his blue jacket, just soaked in his blood. His face had been so pale. It was not pretty. Amanda’s words replayed in his head. He glanced back up at the nurse who was now typing into the computer, seemingly ignoring the rest of his rambling before she looked back up at him.

"Right, Dirk Gently. Are you family?" Todd stuttered.

“Uh... not really...” She narrowed her eyes again. “We’re...” He struggled to define what they were. Were they still friends? Assistant and his detective? He couldn’t very well tell her he was an assis-friend... “Partners.” Good enough, he supposed, and technically mostly true.

The nurse seemed to soften slightly, and Todd suddenly realized the alternate implication of what he said. He blushed but didn’t bother to correct the assumption.

“Name?”

"Todd. Todd Brotzman, spelled B-R-O-T-Z-M-A-N.” She started typing again. Todd pressed up against the edge of the desk, tapping his fingers anxiously. "Is he okay? I mean, he was in bad shape, really bad, and I'm just... worried, you know? He doesn't have anyone else."

Her eyes crinkled into a sympathetic look. He watched as her eyes turned back to the computer and scanned the screen. She nodded and smiled.

"He came out of surgery about an hour and half ago. He's resting in his room. Should wake up once the anesthesia wears off, but he's stable. He’ll be okay." She glanced back at the screen. "Room 315, you can take those elevators," she pointed to the hallway to the left, and Todd could see the silver doors of the elevators, "up to the third floor, and follow the signs. There's another desk up there if you get lost." Todd nodded appreciatively and started to walk away. "Oh, and you may have company, looks like his father came in to see him earlier, doesn’t look like we have a check out time for him yet." Todd felt the pit in his stomach return.

"What?"

"His father?" The nurse responded, she glanced back at the screen. "Scott? Had some military ID?" Todd tried to wipe the look of panic off his face and nodded again, more forcefully. The black SUV with the military plate, the man with the moustache, that involuntary clench in his chest. He knew it had meant something.

"Thank you for your help." He managed to bite out before walking quickly over to the elevators.

Blackwing. Dirk hadn’t told him much about the organization, but Todd knew enough to know that it was bad news if they were paying him a visit here. Todd remembered back to a few nights ago. Dirk had spent way too long just "getting his magic lightbulb from the car", and when Todd found him at his car, Dirk was completely out of sorts. Dirk had confessed Blackwing had come to bring him back in again, that they had held him captive as a child, had spent years studying him. Todd couldn't forget the haunted look in Dirk's eyes when he said that name, or the terrifying ease that he vanished the expression from his face when they walked back into Todd's apartment, only shooting Todd a warning glance that Todd understood to mean, 'keep that to yourself.' A couple days later, while they drove back from the nature preserve with Patrick Spring’s machine in the back of the jeep, Dirk had gone into more excruciating detail as to the extent of what “studying him” meant in Blackwing terms. Todd had been grateful then that he was driving, his hands gripped painfully tight on the steering wheel, allowing him to keep his eyes trained on the winding roads, while Dirk bared his painful past to him. The fear in Dirk’s voice had sent a chill up Todd’s spine, and he burned with anger about what Dirk, and all those children had gone through because of what Blackwing thought they could be molded into.

The elevator doors dinged, and Todd waited as an orderly pushed an empty wheelchair out into the hallway. He could almost have laughed as he pressed the floor number, recalling his strange elevator experience several days ago that started all of this... strangeness. Todd’s panic escalated as the painfully slow elevator moved up the floors. What if Blackwing was here to take Dirk? What if he was already gone? What if they grabbed him after his surgery? He’s all alone. He thinks I hate him. The elevator let out another tinny ding and the doors scraped open. Todd followed the signs down the hall towards Dirk's room. The hospital noises closed in around him, the soft beeping, mechanical hums, and quiet television sounds pressing in, sending a chill across his skin. He rubbed his hand over his sleeve, willing the goosebumps away. He could see the number on the wall at the end of the hall. 315. The door was closed. He wondered what he would find behind it. If Dirk would be surrounded by strange men, clad in black, toting guns, pulling him away... it was ridiculous to think, but they had traveled in time yesterday, and switched a dog and a girl’s soul, so it was less ridiculous than some things... Todd took a breath and paused for just a moment before he pushed open the door. The breath choked him in his throat.

The bed was empty. It was empty.

He was too late.

They took him. That man in the parking lot. Todd felt his anger sparking up inside, but it was drowned out by an overwhelming feeling of guilt and sorrow.

They took Dirk, and he would never know how sorry he was for what he said. That he didn't think he was a monster, that he didn't deserve to be alone, he deserved friends and people that cared about him. Todd struggled to catch his breath. He needed to go, needed to try to find that man, to find Dirk. Todd felt his eyes start to prickle again when someone placed a hand on his shoulder. Todd flipped around quickly, half expecting Dirk to be standing there grinning at him. He came face to face with a nurse, one hand holding a purple clipboard. She looked at him confused.

"Sir?" Todd pulled back, glancing around at the empty room.

"Sorry. I thought-" His voice crackled with emotion. "My friend-" Todd looked around the empty room, his expression lost. The nurse looked back at him carefully.

"Why don't we make sure you're in the right room, before assuming the worst, dear." She guided him out of the empty room, down the hallway, to the nurse’s station. "What's the name?"

"Todd-" He replied absently before realizing what she meant. "Sorry, Dirk. Dirk Gently. He had... arrows...blood." Todd turned back again to the door to the empty room. The numbers mocked him from the wall. "Downstairs, she said 315." He heard the nurse let out an exasperated sigh, and he turned quickly back to her.

"Sorry, hun." Todd braced himself, expecting the worst. She continued talking. "Someone typed the room number wrong.” She rolled her eyes. “He's in 310."

"Really?" Todd asked incredulously, overwhelming relief filling his body. The nurse clacked away at the keyboard, presumably fixing the error in the system, and then looked back at Todd.

"Yeah, typos happen. He's okay though. By himself again, his other visitor left not too long ago."

"He's still in there?" Todd asked, gazing blankly down the hall, only half paying attention.

"No, he left..." The nurse responded impatiently. Todd looked back at her confused. "His visitor left," she said more firmly.

"No, uh, sorry, Dirk? Dirk's still in there? He didn't leave with...anyone?" The nurse rolled her eyes, shook her head.

“No. He’s just barely out of surgery. He can’t go anywhere until the doctor clears him to leave. You’re Todd Brotzman, right?” She asked, her fingers clicking over the keyboard. “His…partner?” Todd’s heart stuttered, but he nodded.

“Yes. I’m his…partner. Todd.” She smiled and typed something else into the computer.

“Great, well, he’s very lucky to have you. I’m sure he will be happy to see you when he wakes up.” She said with a wave down the hall to Dirk's room. She walked back around the desk and started pulling files from the shelves. Todd watched her for a moment and realized that he had been dismissed. He could feel the panic rising again, the sound and the smell and the sight of the hospital was bringing back that heavy guilty weight in his body. The sound of his mother's high-pitched frantic voice when she saw Todd walking into the hospital. How she had looked at him like she had failed, that she had condemned both of her children to have to (as far as she knew) suffer with this horrible disease. Todd blinked the memory away, staring back down at the empty hallway.

He walked quickly towards Dirk’s room, expecting to have the same hesitating moment before pushing open the door, but it was already open, and just as the nurse said, somewhat anticlimactically, there he was. Alone. No obvious Blackwing threatening him. No serious moustache man looming in the corner. Just Dirk.

Todd let out a heavy breath, and felt his muscles relax slightly. He stepped quietly into the dimly lit room, and pulled the door shut behind him, blocking out the triggering sights and sounds and smells outside, and allowing himself the small reprieve and comfort of closing him and Dirk away from the rest of the world, for just a moment. Todd's ears rang in the stark quiet of the room. The only sound was the steady beeps of the machine hooked up to Dirk, and the soft puff of his breath. It startled Todd to realize how relieved he felt to hear Dirk breathing. Todd stepped further into the room. He felt nervous. Why did he feel so nervous? Looking over at the heart monitor, he was suddenly very glad that he wasn't the one hooked up to that thing. Given the pounding in his chest, he was sure it would be beeping like crazy. He stopped at the end of Dirk's bed, picking at his fingers.

Dirk was so still, and quiet. Sleeping calming, his expression was smooth, the blood and grime now carefully cleaned from his skin. Todd could see the white of a bandage sticking out from the collar of the pale blue hospital gown. He stepped closer, reaching out to smooth the hair sticking up at the edge of Dirk’s forehead, but he stopped, and pulled his hand away before he could brush over the auburn hair. His mind recalled his harsh words, and his guilty pit pressed down in his gut. Todd stepped away, back to the end of the bed, his nerves sparking with nervous energy. Desperate for a distraction, he quietly picked up the chart hanging on the end of Dirk’s bed, his eyes scanning over the name at the top. Gently, Dirk. For some reason, he felt calmer, just knowing it was actually Dirk, given that this quiet man in the hospital bed was drastically different the Dirk that Todd had come to know. He scanned quickly through the notes in the chart, catching some familiar words, but most of it was just gibberish to his medically incompetent and extremely distracted brain. He relaxed reading a line at the bottom stating that Dirk was stable and could be discharged later today once cleared by the doctor. Todd carefully placed the chart back on the end of the bed and looked back up at Dirk.

Something about being in a hospital bed makes everyone seem so fragile. He remembered how Amanda looked, all the tubes and monitors and cords, the straps around her arms. Dirk was fortunately lucky enough that he wasn’t dealing with pararibulitis, and his injury didn’t require him to be restrained in order to keep him from hurting himself while he recovered, but Todd still felt the same sick weight in his gut looking down at him in the bed. He just looked wrong. Dirk was supposed to be bright and alive and speaking ten million words a minute jumping from idea to idea. This man was too quiet, too gray. He looked ten years younger, and ten years older at the same time. In the dim light of the window, Todd could make out the dark shadows lining his eyes, and red of the healing burns on his face that Todd fondly recalled gently covering with those stupid pink bandages. Todd shifted on his feet and the weight of his backpack reminded him of the precious items he had brought, a peace offering. He hoped that the familiar color would bring the vibrancy back to his friend. Dirk didn’t look right without it, and the pale, ‘almost died several hours ago from blood loss’ look of his skin made Todd feel nauseous.

He noticed a chair resting at the edge of the wall and pulled it forward, slightly closer to the bed, but not too close. Todd's stupid, angry, ‘projecting his own shit on other people’ brain sort of messed things up, and he wasn't sure if Dirk waking up to Todd much closer than he was would be a comfort... or an unwelcome surprise. Given everything Dirk had said and done since Todd met him nine days ago, Todd definitely should have known the answer to that question, but he was never the most emotionally competent person, and he preferred to blatantly ignore the idea that someone might actually like being around him in favor of self-flagellating from across the room.

His body still buzzed with anxious energy as he sat down, but he could feel the creep of exhaustion pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He shook his head, trying to force himself to stay awake, and shifted to pull his backpack off. He pulled out his phone and texted Farah a quick update on Dirk and the possible Blackwing visitor earlier. A moment later, he could see she started typing, and waited until her response popped up. She texted, 'ok we'll talk about it at the diner later. lots to discuss.' Todd responded with a quick 'sounds good. will let you know if anything changes.' Send. A thumbs up from Farah. Todd stuffed the phone into his pocket and dropped the backpack on the floor. He leaned back in the chair and sighed, glancing out of the window through the thin gaps in the window shade. His heartbeat and breaths slowly synced up with the beeps of Dirk’s heart monitor and Todd barely noticed as the edges of his vision darkened and he faded into sleep.

Dirk shifted in his sleep, shifting his wounded shoulder, sending a burst of pain into his nerves, and he woke up with a soft gasp. He could hear the beeping of the heart monitor slow down as the pain receded into a dull ache and he took in his surroundings. He barely remembered the detective man dragging him into the hospital...whenever that had been, hours or days ago, he remembered a lot of blood, and being very tired and then he was here. It was rare for him to be somewhere so quiet, the dim lights and the sterile room, the almost oppressive silence, and the aching feeling in his body reminded him uncomfortably of his time at Blackwing. But this is the hospital. He’s not at Blackwing. He’s in the hospital. Even if Colonel Riggins… His heart started to race, mind spiraling into paranoid thoughts, and he felt his breath catch in his lungs, until his eyes landed on the chair across the room, slightly hidden in the shadows, holding his lightly snoring... friend? Ex-friend? Assis-friend? Todd. He felt a wave of relief. Todd wouldn’t be in Blackwing. His panic faded from his vision, and he heard the heart monitor’s frantic beeping slow. Dirk stared at Todd, he knew Todd would have felt uncomfortable by it if he were awake, but he’s not awake, so… he stared. He’s quite surprising, not at all what he expected when he first saw Todd at the Perriman Grand as he ran up to the penthouse, though in his life, he should be used to not having any sort of expectations for anything, since they mostly always end up completely wrong in very strange and unexpected ways, so… Dirk fought to quell the fluttering of hope threatening to overtake his mind, the hope that Todd brought by sitting there across the room. He reminded himself of Todd’s words. How angry he had been. That he never wanted to see Dirk again… It’s not like it should be surprising. Dirk had learned a long time ago that people didn’t stick around him, they got tired of him and his weird behavior, his chaotic life, even if they acted like they liked it…or liked him. They always left. And he would be alone. Just like he always was.

Dirk frowned and looked back at Todd. But maybe… he didn’t have to be alone? Todd let out another soft snore and shifted in the chair. Dirk wondered what could have made Todd return. They had solved the Spring case. Sent the machine back. Presumably, Farah took Lydia somewhere, maybe the detective man was helping her… but Todd, here was Todd, sleeping in his hospital room, waiting for… something. For what? Another case, always another case to solve. The Todd case, a particularly difficult one. Dirk thought through the facts. What he knew about Todd. He was unemployed, and his apartment was practically unlivable, perhaps he wanted to stay in Dirk’s new apartment until he could figure out what to do next? No, that would require spending time around Dirk, and he had said he never wanted to see him again. Maybe, something with Amanda? Perhaps he still hoped Dirk could fix things for him, could help with Amanda… somehow? The time-travel bit didn’t work, but maybe Todd thought something holistic might help? That could be it, right? Dirk watched Todd’s eyes twitch in his sleep. Dirk frowned and shook his head slightly. No, but Todd knew, he saw how Dirk’s… ‘thing’ worked. He knew that it didn’t work like that. Dirk sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. His heart sank. Maybe Todd was still mad at him. Maybe he just came here to make sure Dirk knew he was serious about what he said. To say good-bye. Dirk pressed his head back into the pillows. He was exhausted. His shoulder throbbed with a dull and slowly sharpening ache. His head swam with the remnants of whatever anesthesia and medications they had given him. He just didn’t have anything else to give, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to being shouted at again, or called a monster, or blamed for all the extraneous side effects of the case, things that he had no control over… He took a breath, letting the familiar tingling waves of the universe come to life in his nerves. The ever-present push that guided him where he needed to go, that told him where he was supposed to be was quiet, resting…satisfied. This was where Dirk was supposed to be. He sighed, resigned to whatever fate would bring him next. He’d never had control over his life before, so no use trying to force it now.

He swallowed thickly, his dry throat immediately protesting, and he coughed. He flicked his eyes to Todd, hoping the noise didn’t wake him, and gratefully, it didn’t, delaying their inevitable conversation when he finally did wake up. Dirk glanced around the bed for some sort of call button, smiling triumphantly finding it on the table beside him, (and wisely placed on his uninjured side) the button glowing softly. It was barely two minutes after pressing the button when the door swung open, bumping the wall with a soft thud, and a nurse with a kind face strode in, clutching a purple clipboard in her hand.

“Mr. Gently. Awake at last, I see.” She said, her voice a normal volume, but in the quiet of the room, sounding extremely loud. Dirk flinched and glanced over at Todd, who shifted slightly in his sleep, but didn’t wake. The nurse looked over at Todd, a look of recognition passing over her face, then smiled apologetically back at Dirk. “How are you feeling?” She asked more softly, walking closer to the bed.

“Much better, actually. Thank you. The blood’s staying inside my body now, so practically back to normal, I’d say.” His voice crackled limply out of his dry throat, despite his fruitless attempts to return to his typical levels of manic speech. He cleared his throat. “I’m pretty thirsty though. Water’s fine, but could I perhaps bother you for a cup of tea?” She smiled, putting up one finger, asking him to wait, and reached out to the collar of his gown, pausing a moment until Dirk nodded, somewhat unsure of what she was doing when he only asked her for a cup of tea. He was fairly certain a cup of tea wasn’t some American slang for ‘please take my clothes off’, but he’d never been to Seattle before, and he wasn’t going to be rude to someone that is helping keep him alive…so... She pulled the loose collar away from his shoulder, and carefully checked the bandages, brushing gently over the gauze. Of course, she was checking the bandages. Stupid Dirk. He rolled his eyes at himself.

“Doesn’t look like it’s bleeding too much.” She glanced at a small patch of red soaking through the bandages. “We’ll get this changed again before you go, and make sure you, or your partner,” she motioned to Todd still sleeping. Was that a blush creeping up on his face? Dirk watched for any signs that he was actually awake, and the nurse kept talking. “know how to change it. I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. She should come in soon to check on you, and if everything looks good, you should be able to go home today.” Home. That stupid word always squeezed painfully at his heart. He shook the feeling away, like he always does and nodded. The nurse smiled at him. “And I’ll see about that cup of tea.” Dirk grinned back.

“Oh, thank you. You have no idea how much I need one. As you can probably tell, I’m from England, it’s practically essential for me to live.” The nurse gave him an amused look, glanced over at Todd again, and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Dirk sighed and leaned back in the bed, keeping one eye on Todd who shifted again in his chair.

“I know you’re awake.” Todd smiled, his eyes still closed for a moment before he cracked them open. He sighed and stretched his arms out above him and arched his back, groaning.

“How are you feeling?” Todd said, looking pointedly at his injured shoulder. He hadn’t pulled the hospital gown back up over his chest after the nurse checked his bandage. “Is it still bleeding?” Dirk looked down as he reached up and touched at the red spot of dried blood that had seeped through.

“The nurse said that it looked okay, didn’t look like it was actively bleeding anymore. They’re supposed to come check it and change the bandages in a bit.” Todd hummed, apparently satisfied with the answer. Dirk remembered what the nurse had said about Todd and blushed. Partner. “How long were you awake?” He wondered if she just assumed their relationship about them, or, maybe, Todd had said something... If he was blushing because he did hear and he did say something… He wasn’t about to ask him directly though. Not right now.

“Not that long… Just at the end there. Your tea excitement woke me up.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“What about you? How are you feeling?” Dirk asked, studying the dark rings under Todd’s eyes, the heavy slump of his shoulder. Todd’s forehead wrinkled.

“Me?” He shook off Dirk’s concern, forcing himself to sit up. “Fine. I’m good. I’m not the one that had two arrows in his body and lost all his blood.” Todd smirked, fighting to be as casual as possible, despite his conflicted emotions bubbling just under the surface.

“Sure, but you also did have an alarming amount of electricity go through your body… and I’m pretty sure one of those machine guys tried to strangle you at one point? You were in just about as bad shape as I was last night… plus you don’t have the benefit of all the free pain medication.” Dirk said smiling, trying to keep his voice light. Todd frowned.

“Free? You do realize you’re in America now right? They don’t just hand that stuff out. Sure hope the universe has good health insurance.” Todd said, laughing under his breath. Dirk blanched.

“Right…” Dirk blinked and then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t think that will be a problem.” Todd shrugged and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t about to argue with that, Dirk had obviously figured out something that worked for him…sort of… who’s he to tell him different. Todd rubbed a hand over his arm. Dirk frowned. “You sure you’re alright, Todd?” Todd looked up at him, an unreadable expression on his face. He shook his head, looked down at his hands resting in his lap, and sighed. He made no move to respond, sitting quietly. Dirk leaned forward towards him “Todd?” Todd’s head rose up again, his eyes rimmed with red, and mouth tight. He shook his head, blinking away tears that started to fill his eyes.

“I’m not… I’m not really… good at this, Dirk. I haven’t…” He shook his head, letting his hands fall open in front of him. “I don’t know how to do this.” Dirk’s frown deepened. Distantly, he could hear the beeping of the heart monitor speed up again, but his focus was on Todd.

“Do what?” Todd shook his head and didn’t answer. What could Todd possibly be talking about? Dirk usually didn’t mind not having the answers, was pretty patient about waiting for the universe to just show him what he was supposed to know, but this was excrutiating. “Todd, come on. Do what?”

“Fix things?” He said with a shrug. Dirk cocked his head to the side. Todd let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know… To fix everything? Fix my life? I mean I screwed everything up with Amanda, she hates me, my job, my apartment, my life is destroyed, and,” he paused and looked up at Dirk, his eyes bright and glistening in the light coming through the window shade. “You… I-“ Todd choked on his words, staring at his hands and shaking his head. Dirk was...confused. They solved the case. Todd could move on. He didn’t have to deal with Dirk messing everything up again. Was he still angry with Dirk, that his ‘power’ isn’t enough to fix what he did to Todd’s life, that he lied to Todd?

“Todd...I... I don’t understand? What I said… I’m sorry. I know you don’t want anything to do with me anymore… but I can’t… help you…I don’t… I can’t fix things with Amanda… it’s not…how it-“ Dirk looked up from where he’d been staring at his lap. Todd had stood up, his face even more broken up that before, guilt deforming every feature of his expression. Dirk stopped in his rambling attempts to apologize, and Todd shook his head and walked to the side of Dirk’s bed.

“Dirk. No, I-” He groaned, frustrated at his inability to say what he means. His eyes met Dirk’s, and neither could look away. “I’m sorry. Dirk, I didn’t come here for you to fix my mistakes... and I never should have said any of what I did to you. I was angry at myself. I ruined my own life, and when I realized that there wouldn’t be an easy solution to fix it... you were just there, the perfect target for me to blame everything on. That wasn’t fair of me, and I’m sorry, Dirk.” Todd blinked back the shine that was filling his eyes and turned away. “I’m sorry that you ended up with an asshole for a friend, and I don’t know how to fix that, to fix what I’ve done.” Todd was close enough to the bed that Dirk was able to reach out and take Todd’s hand in his. Todd looked up, surprised, the sound of the beeping heart monitor in the background. Dirk didn’t say anything, but the unfiltered and sincere fondness and forgiveness in his expression was a clear enough answer that even Todd understood. “I really am sorry, Dirk. And I understand if you don’t want me around anymore.” Dirk smiled and rolled his eyes.

“You really don’t get it do you?” Dirk had a playful glint in his eyes. “We were meant to know each other, it’s destiny, the will of the universe, fate... or something.... I can feel it, so that means no arguing... and no more calling yourself an asshole. Because you’re not.” Todd opened his mouth to deny it, but Dirk lifted a finger to silence him. “Nuh-uh. You apologized, and that was quite a lovely apology, Todd. Now, you just have to be better. That’s how you fix it.” Todd frowned.

“What if I screw things up again?”

“Don’t worry, Todd.” Dirk grinned. “I know you will. But so will I. And so will everyone. It’s an annoyingly beautiful part of being a real human person. Look, I know you have a good heart, and I know you aren’t perfect,” he turned his head away. “To be perfectly honest, you’d be pretty boring if you were.” He added with a playful glint in his eyes, before he let out a heavy breath, and his expression fell. “I won’t lie to you and say that what you said to me didn’t hurt me. It did. I thought… you know that I’ve never… had anyone…” he flicked his eyes to Todd. “Stay. You saying what you did… It’s everything I say to myself. Everything Blackwing raised me to believe about myself. Hearing that from you…” He shook his head, blinking away tears, unable to continue. Todd quickly dragged his chair beside the bed, sitting and pulling Dirk’s hand into his. He shook his head emphatically, expression intense.

“You’re not-”

“I know.” Dirk stopped him, firmly. He pulled his hands out of Todd’s leaving a cold chill in the empty place that remained. “I know.” He sighed. “I don’t… I don’t expect you to fix that. My childhood…traumas. I just… I need you to understand that you hurt me. That what you said hurt.” Dirk’s tear-filled eyes flicked up to Todd’s, piercing with their intensity. Todd nodded quickly. He took a deep breath, and nodded again more firmly.

“I do. I understand I hurt you, and I am sorry, Dirk.” Dirk reached back for Todd’s hand still stretched towards him on the bed, and patted it once.

“Good.” He nodded with a satisfied smile. Todd realized he’d been forgiven. He felt the heavy weight on his body lighten, just slightly.

“Thank you, Dirk.” Todd awkwardly lifted his hand for a handshake. “Friends, then?” Dirk smirked and cocked his head. Were they handshake friends? Was that something they did? He didn’t think they were handshake friends…

“No,” Dirk responded and Todd frowned, suddenly unsure if he misread everything that Dirk had said. “Partners.” Dirk grinned at Todd’s confused face before it flashed into embarrassed realization that Dirk knew what he had told the nurse earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Look, technically, sort of, we are partners, Dirk, like detective partners or something, and I wasn’t sure if they would let me see you if I wasn’t some sort of family-ish person…“ Dirk basked in Todd’s rambling smugly and Todd closed his mouth with a glare. “You know, maybe I liked you better when you were unconscious…” Dirk laughed and Todd gave him an annoyed-ly fond frown. He shifted his foot, bumping against his backpack on the floor, his eyes widening in realization. “Oh, hang on, I brought you something.” Dirk cocked his head in interest as Todd picked the backpack up off the floor.

“What? Really?” Dirk watched as a familiar yellow came into view as Todd unzipped the backpack. He felt his heart flip, and he gasped as Todd laid his leather jacket onto his lap. Dirk ran his fingers over the silver zipper, and turned to Todd, ready to thank him when Todd shoved another handful of cloth into his hand. “Oh, uh…”

“It’s just… uh… one of my band T-shirts… figured you might want something comfortable to wear out of the hospital… and you know, your jacket, of course.” Dirk was, for once, speechless. He opened his mouth, trying to find the words, blinking away tears, and just settled for smiling and nodding as he ran his fingers on the soft gray material of the shirt. Todd picked at the edge of the shirt still hanging off the edge of the bed. “And I don’t have many of these left, so… try not to bleed all over this one, okay?” Dirk smiled, and looked back up at Todd.

“Thank you. This is…” He sucked in a breath, shaking his head again. “Thank you.” He nodded. There was something in Todd’s eyes when he looked back at Dirk, something that Dirk hadn’t noticed before, that he wanted to figure out, but the door was suddenly shoved open, Dirk’s nurse holding a steaming cup in her hand, and when they turned back to each other, the moment was gone.

“Got your tea, dear.” She noticed Todd sitting beside the bed. “Oh good, your partner’s awake. Another nurse is headed by to change your bandages.” Todd blushed, looking anywhere but at Dirk who was wearing a similar expression. Dirk took the offered cup from the nurse gratefully, and carefully blew over it as she pulled his tray table over the bed for him. Todd moved the jacket and shirt to the end of the bed, out of the potential spill zone.

“Thank you.” Dirk said, mostly to the nurse, but also to Todd. The nurse nodded, looking between both of them with a smile, and then walked back out of the room. Dirk sniffed hesitantly at the steam wafting from the cup and narrowed his eyes. He sniffed again more forcefully, like he was trying to decide if what was entering his nose was going to kill him or not. Todd watched him smiling fondly. Dirk glanced over, raising his eyebrows at Todd from behind the cup. “What?”

“Nothing.” Todd shook his head, still smiling, and leaned back in his chair.

“Right...” Dirk blew one more time on the warm liquid and carefully took a sip before he unceremoniously spat it back into the cup and shoved it onto the table, with a betrayed look on his face. Todd laughed, and Dirk turned to him with a glare. “That is the worst cup of tea I have ever tasted in my life. I’m not even exaggerating! I swear, you Americans and your so-called tea. She probably made this in a microwave… or with like a dirty puddle of water she found on the pavement.” He shivered in disgust, eyeing the cup like it might suddenly burst out of the cup and force it’s way back into his mouth.

“What? You really expected gourmet tea from a hospital?” Todd rolled his eyes. Dirk glared while trying to get the taste off his tongue.

“Ugh. I think they actually had better tea when I was in Blackwing. And that place was the worst.” Todd’s eyes widened at Dirk’s mention of Blackwing. He wasn’s sure how to respond to that…especially considering Dirk’s visitor from earlier… Dirk seemed to notice his discomfort. “Sorry.” Todd shook his head, swallowing thickly.

“Dirk-”

“Not really something I want to talk about right now… I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Dirk fiddled with the edge of the cup of tea. Todd looked at him carefully. He had to tell him. They were being honest with each other. Dirk needed to know.

“I know… it’s a touchy subject… but Dirk, I need to tell you something. Earlier, when I came in-” Dirk grabbed Todd’s hand.

“I know they’re still coming for me, Todd. You don’t have to…” He sighed and glanced at the door. “Are they here? Are they waiting for me?” Todd frowned and shrugged.

“I…I don’t know. When I came in, they said some man with a moustache and military ID visited you, saying he was your father. I think I saw him leaving when I was walking in. I don’t know if there’s anymore.” Dirk seemed to process what Todd said, and nodded, surprisingly calm.

“Colonel Riggins. The man that approached me the other night at your apartment building I told you about.” He sighed. “Not really much I can do about it though. If they really want me, if that where I’m supposed to be-” His hand squeezed Todd’s. The heart monitor beeped faster, suddenly aggressively loud in the quiet room.

“Dirk?” Todd stroked Dirk’s hand. Dirk shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed.

“I really don’t want to go back there.” His voice was suddenly very small. Todd stood up from his chair and pulled Dirk into his arms, being careful around his injured shoulder. Dirk sunk into the embrace, gratefully, breathing heavily. Todd could feel his body shaking slightly.

“You won’t. Dirk, okay? You won’t. Farah and I, we’ll keep you safe. And even if they do find you, we’ll track you down, and bust in, guns blazing, and get you out of there. You’re not alone anymore, okay?” He felt Dirk nodding in his arms, a wet warmth soaking into his shirt where Dirk had pressed his face. Todd brought a hand up to stroke the back of Dirk’s head gently. “Look, Farah wanted to meet up a little later today, once you’re out of here, and we can talk to her then. She’ll know what to do. We’ll make a plan, and figure something out.” Dirk sniffled and pulled away, looking up at Todd with red-rimmed eyes. He nodded. “Okay?”

“Okay… I mean I highly doubt that you, or Farah, even with her impressive number of guns and ninja-like fighting skills, will be able to take on a secret military organization, but it’s a nice sentiment, Todd. Thank you.” Todd frowned. Dirk raised his eyebrows. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic right now. It really does make me feel better, Todd. I never had anyone before that even wanted to try to be there for me, so I really do appreciate it.” Todd nodded before he sat back down in his chair, returning his hand to rest on Dirk’s. Dirk smiled softly. The heart monitor was back to being a steady background noise. Todd’s eyes fell on Dirk’s abandoned disgusting tea.

“You want me to go down and see if I can find you some better tea?” Dirk’s eyes crinkled into a smile, and he shook his head.

“Don’t want you to go anywhere,” he said pulling Todd’s hand to his chest. Todd felt his heart twist. “Besides, I don’t have any faith that you would be able to tell the difference between actual tea and this cup of sewage either.” Todd let his mouth fall open.

“Wow. That seems very rude.” Dirk shrugged with one shoulder.

“Maybe that’s me now. Maybe I’m just a rude detective man.” Todd responded with a disgustingly fond look and shook his head. Dirk blushed.

They heard the door push open again, and didn’t pull apart until the new nurse came over to the bed to change Dirk’s bandages, giving them both step by step instructions on how to do it, that neither of them will probably remember later, and will have to try and get Farah’s help with figuring it out. Todd grimaced at the sight of the arrow wound on the front of Dirk’s shoulder, angry stitches pulling his skin into place again. Dirk’s lips pressed tightly together as the nurse gently placed the fresh gauze over the wound and wrapped the clean bandage around his shoulder. A woman walked through the door as the nurse finished with the bandage, her hair neatly tucked into a bun behind her head, and smiled at Dirk, as she picked up the chart from the end of the bed.

“Mr. Gently?” Dirk nodded. “I’m Dr. Peyton. You’re looking much better than when you came in last night. How are you feeling?” Dirk nodded, shifting his shoulder slightly to adjust with the tightness of the fresh bandages.

“Good. Fine. A bit sore, I think whatever you people gave me is wearing off.” Dr. Peyton nodded, and pulled an orange bottle from the pocket of her white coat.

“That’s normal. You’re going to be sore for a while. Fortunately, the arrows missed some important muscles and tendons, so you should be able to make a full recovery as long as you complete your physical therapy sessions. You’re very lucky. Most shoulder injuries can lead to extremely limited range of motion, if those arrows had hit you anywhere else or any deeper, you may have had a much more difficult recovery.” Dirk nodded, trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Stupid universe and it’s stupid precisely hitting arrows…just enough to not kill him or seriously injure him, just enough to remind him who’s in charge…again. Dr. Peyton held up the pill bottle and gave a quick explanation of how much Dirk needed to take and when. Dirk stared up at her, his eyes glazing over, too much words for having just barely woken up from a night of almost dying. Todd was fighting to listen closely to her instructions. The doctor finished talking and held the pill bottle out to Dirk, who took them slowly. Dr. Peyton said something else Dirk didn’t quite hear. He saw her mouth moving, but the words blurred into the soft hum of the room, the only sound he could make out, the steady beep of the machine next to his bed. Dr. Peyton pursed her lip and looked at Todd pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

“I’ll make sure he takes them at the right times. Got it all here.” He said tapping his head. Dr. Peyton didn’t respond, and then nodded at them both.

“Alright, well, you’re all set then. Your nurse will be back in a few minutes to help get you all sorted, and then you’re free to go.”

Dirk nodded. His head felt fuzzy and the pain in his shoulder had started to burn and itch under the bandages.

“Thank you, doctor.” Todd said. The doctor left, swinging the door shut behind her, and leaving them once again shut away in the sterile silence of the room. Todd absently rubbed his neck. His brief nap in the hospital chair had left his muscles feeling more sore than they had when he arrived earlier and now that his brain wasn’t distracted by his Dirk guilt, his body decided to remind him of all the pain he was in.

Dirk picked at the lid of the pill bottle, fighting to steady his breath, and breathe through the steadily increasing pain. The fact that he was holding a bottle filled with pain medication that could help treat the pain was out of his capability to understand in the current state of his mind. He leaned forward, bringing his knees up towards his chest, and rested his head down on his uninjured arm, trying to hide the groan that escaped his throat.

“Dirk?” Todd leaned over to try to get a closer look at Dirk’s now hidden face, and laid his hand on his back, gently stroking it up to his neck, and resting at the edge of Dirk’s hair. He felt Dirk relax into his touch, and sigh softly. Todd’s fingers combed up the back of Dirk’s scalp, through the fine auburn strands, just as soft as Todd would have imagined them to be. He tried to ignore the warm feeling filling up his chest, panicking at feeling something that he hadn’t let himself feel, he hadn’t deserved to feel... or thought he was capable of feeling. Dirk groaned again, louder, obviously in pain. Todd noticed the pill bottle wrapped in his hand. He reached out with his other hand, pausing before he grabbed it.

“Dirk, can I-?“ Dirk nodded into his arm and loosened his grip without looking up, and Todd took the bottle from him. He reluctantly removed his other hand from Dirk’s head, and opened the bottle, carefully shaking two pills into his hand, pouring a cup of water from a pitcher on the tray table next to him, and holding them out to Dirk. “Here, take these.”

Dirk turned his head, so he could look at Todd, still leaned against his knees. His eyes were heavy. His lips turned up slightly and he nodded in appreciation before sitting up with a groan. He swallowed the pills with an audible gulp and quick swallow of water and sighed falling back into his pillow. His legs slipped back down flat on the bed. Dirk breathed stiffly, shutting his eyes, but he dropped his hand back down on the bed near Todd, letting it hang open, invitingly. Todd paused, unsure for a moment before Dirk twitched his fingers, and raised his eyebrows, his eyes still closed. Todd smiled and laid his hand on top of Dirk’s, letting their fingers interlock. Dirk sighed.

They sat quietly. Dirk breathed steady and deliberate breaths as he waited for the medication to calm the burning edges of the pain in his shoulder. Todd watched him, studying the way the dim light from the window cast pale shadows across his face, the way the front of his hair was stuck straight out from his forehead in an endearingly chaotic way, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed under the skin of his neck. He was calmed by the warmth of Dirk’s hand in his, the light flutter of his pulse. Todd let his mind drift away with the steady beeps, as they waited to leave, both ignoring for a moment the danger that inevitably would find them outside the door.

#brotzly #dirk gently #todd brotzman #dirk gently's holistic detective agency #dghda #my fic #ao3

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 2

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything.

May. It’s May already, and Ichigo has made it approximately a month and a half without getting himself into some batshit insane situation where he almost dies.

Then Rukia Kuchiki comes along and all of a sudden he’s not a wizard he’d a fucking Shinigami. Which is cool, and a lot easier if he’s being honest, and the world itself isn’t at stake this time so.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

It does mean that Rukia, stubborn and snappish and almost as brash as he was, will be sleeping in his closet for the foreseeable future.

At fifteen Ichigo would have flipped out about it. At eighteen he’s spent months at a time bunking down with Mash and whatever other servants there were. Everyone from Asterios to Medusa to Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, crammed together in a tent or settled around campfires.

So he snatches his sisters pajamas and lends them to her and their life begins.

And it would be fine, really, he doesn’t mind fighting. He likes fighting by himself than having to rely on the others to do it for him. It eases the bitterness of weakness that’s been festering in his heart for years. So it would be fine, really , if it weren’t for the fact that all of these hollows that he’s fighting have started to target his friends, too. They’re not even safe at school.

Orihime was attacked by her own brother and it makes him sick. How could someone attack their own sister? Even warped and twisted?

It was worse than Mordred and Artoria. At least they had always had a strained relationship, but Orihime’s brother had loved her.

He sat with her after the fact, his hand on her shoulder while he slept against his leg. Rukia had erased her memory, and his families too. He didn’t like it.

“Everyone has the right to choose their life. And to remember themselves,” he told her solemnly. “It’s how humans grow and change. It’s how we get stronger. These bonds that we make with other people, and even the ones that we break…”

Rukie eyed him speculatively. “I never would have pegged you for a philosopher, Ichigo.”

“I’m not.” But he’s got his ideals, and Ichigo is unbending. War has tempered his spine from bone to steel. Idly, he braids a long strand of Orihime’s hair while Rukia is busy changing Tatsuki’s memories. Maybe it will be easier for them not to remember this, but Ichigo will not take back what he said.

So many friends have forgotten him, so many have never met him to begin with and only his memories live on of their time together. He really hates this…

But Rukia is his guide in this case, and there’s nothing he can do for now. “This is how it has to be, Ichigo. There is no other choice,” she says firmly, like it’s an absolute truth. “This is the life of a shinigami.”

Ichigo lets Orihime’s hair fall into place and lays her on the floor before he stands and turns to Rukia.

“ Chacun voit midi à sa porte,” he says it mostly to himself, but it bewilders Rukia.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go.

Ichigo has never been out of the country before he’d signed up for an internship at Chaldea. It was supposed to be two weeks studying with the security organization, and the poster at the bus station by his house hadn’t said anything about mages, or time travel, or masters or servents. Di Vinci tells him later that its spelled so only mages or people with potential to be mages can even see it.

He shouldn’t have seen it to begin with, totally untrained as he was, but somehow he did. Because he did have magic circuits, even if they weren’t used often or much. So hed loaded onto a plane with a half a dozen other master candidates from all around japan. His dad had agreed, all to easily. And now he stood in a breakroom with Romani and Mash, and Medusa and Cu and Olga Marie all standing around him.

“I don’t get it,” Medusa says, eying the phantom speculatively. “If she’s dead, how is she here?”

Ichigo shrugs. “ I have no clue. I’ve always been able to see ghosts but I don’t know anything about them.”

“H-hey what do you mean by that?” Roman asks, turning towards him. “You can see dead people?!”

“Well, yeah,” Ichigo sort of shrugs. “That’s not the weirdest thing happening here, ya know.”

Roman can’t really argue with that.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Olga Marie crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at the two gingers in front of her. Ichigo, sat on a couch, and Roman next to him. They both look at her, clueless until she rolls her eyes in aggravation.

“It’s just like what happened with Mash. When the bomb exploded and I-” she falters, her yellow eyes darting around before she gets herself under control. “After the explosion, I found the two of them. At the same time Mash formed her contract with him, I must have done something similar. There’s two types of energy,” she goes on. “The energy of the physical world, Mana, and the energy of the soul. Reitsu. Just as Caster, Rider, and Mash are drawing on his Mana as servants, I am now bound to his Reitsu as a soul-based familiar.”

“Such a thing is unprecedented,” Roman argued, looking somewhere between stunned and frightened. They were all standing on that blade right now. The world had ended and they, a group nowhere near qualified to save it, were now in charge of stopping it.

“Ah, nae as much as you’d think,” Cu said, his voice lilting and accented. “My teacher, Scáthach, she ‘ad shades an’ such.”

“The queen of the shadow lands?” Mash clarified, which meant nothing at all to Ichigo. Cu nodded. “It would make sense for her to have such things…”

“Ah, does that make the director Ichigo’s servant now too?” Roman asked.

Olga Marie bristled. “I’m no ones servant! I’m still the director here so you better show me proper respect!”

Ichigo couldn’t help snickering at her. “Man, you’re so full of yourself.”

“What did you just say?!”

“Are you dead and deaf? I said you’re full of yourself,” he grabbed her cheek and pulled it until she shrieked and lashed out at him, beating her fists against his chest. Mash did her best to cover her laughter in the background, hands over her mouth.

“Even still,” Roman stepped between them, carefully extracting Ichigo from Olga Marie’s fury, “This doesn’t explain everything. When someone ray shifts, it’s their spirit that manifests in the location, while their physical body stays in chaldea. So how can two different energies both manifest like that? I don’t understand…”

Olga Marie puffed her cheeks out. “The answer to that is much more technical. Even though it’s the spirit that is sent back it's still a physical body that a mage has when they interact with the time period around them. It is… a reversal of the third magic, so to speak. The opposite and the twin of Heaven’s Feel, it is your spirit and your soul and your life, but your body is left behind while Ray Shifting.”

This must have made sense to Roman, but Ichigo was, to put it mildly, completely lost.

“What’s the third magic, what’s ‘heavens feel’, and what’s ray shifting?” Ichigo asked. Olga Marie face planted, and started cursing his very existence.

* *

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be this good with a sword already,” Rukia admits, watching Ichigo snap the practice sword around, knocking aside each tennis ball she sends shooting at him through the pitching machine.

Ichigo stands, light on his feet with a sword roughly the size of a claymore. It was heavy and the reach was long but awkward. He’s used to holding broad swords, mimicries of clarent and excalibur while his Saber’s try to beat their lessons between his ears. It feels strange to hold something so long and so heavy. More than that, it feels like something is missing. Like the sword is a couple inches too short, like it doesn’t fit his hands quite right.

He has to remind himself that it isn’t his sword at all. This power is Rukia’s, not his own. Was this how Mash felt, their whole time together? Borrowing another person’s power to boost your own. It made his skin crawl minutely.

“I've been in a few fights,” Ichigo says, looking towards her with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve got friends who are in the kendo club.” He works mostly off of instinct. He always has, and it hasn’t failed him yet. He blocks each tennis ball, and those he can’t block he dodges swiftly, until Rukia finally calls it a day.

“You should get some rest while you can,” she advises. “We’ll be out tonight hunting hollows, no doubt, and you still have school work to do, don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but school feels so unimportant now…” It has since he’d gotten back. What was a test in the face of someone trying to blow up the whole of human history?

Rukia smacks him hard over the head, until he yelps in offense.

“Hey!” He rubbed the bump on his head, glaring balefully at the short shinigami. Rukia is, of course, utterly unaffected by it.

“School is important! You have a life to get back to after I get my powers back, and you need your grades to do it!”

“Geez, you’re so rough… And fine, but you’re gonna help me study for friday. You have to take tests too.”

Rukia looks startled, but she nods all the same, and they walk home together. Ichigo considers telling his dad what’s happening. There’s a strange girl in the house, and Ichigo is putting himself in pretty serious danger lately, but it barely makes a difference if he does. What will Isshin even do? He can not stop them from fighting, and he cannot help them in this fight. He can’t even see spirits.

These kind of things, he understood, were hereditary. Being a medium, and being a mage both were things that were handed down from parent to child, though they were kept largely separate. Mages dealt in living energy, and usually had little to no spirit energy, and vice versa. He could see spirits, and so could Karin, and even Yuzu could sense their presence from time to time. Yet despite all three children being sensitive to the supernatural, Isshin had no idea.

Which meant, more likely than not, his mom had been able to see them too.

She’d never said anything about it, but Ichigo had been so young, where would she even start?

And now, there was no way for them to find out. Ichigo has questions, but no one has answers.

“What are you thinking of?”

He startles, looking down at Rukia. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d almost missed the house entirely.

“I was thinking about my mom,” he admitted. “I was wondering if she could see ghosts like me and Karin can.”

“Your mother?” Rukia repeated. She touched her chin in thought. “I suppose it’s not unheard of. There used to be quite a few humans who could see spirits. Some could even utilize enough reiryoku to actually combat hollows. But those died out some time ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Ichigo leads her inside. His sisters were out somewhere, and his dad was upstairs in his room, down the hall from Ichigo’s. They jog up the stairs together, Ichigo’s back thumping hard against his back.

“Yes. They were called Quincy. They could manifest reitsu into weapons to battle hollows with. But unlike shinigami, they didn’t purify the souls. They destroyed them.”

“Thats kind of fucked up.”

* * *

Ichigo still can’t tell if he’s here as a spirit or as a physical body, but it’s his living energy, his mana, that Mash is feeding off of when they start their first fight with the locals in domremy. They’re only human, so Ichigo fights too, and runs at Mash’s side when they chase the French soldiers back to their fort.

It’s there that the monsters attack and Ichigo gets his very first look at a saint.

She’s barely older than he is, fierce and terrible and humble all at once. She leads with utmost confidence and does not falter, even in the face of terrible odds. She’s… weak, for a servant. Far too weak.

There is something very wrong with france.

Ichigo is broken from his thoughts by Roman coming over his wrist communicator.

“All right, fine job everyone! I was watching with sweaty palms and sweets in my hand! The director is tending to other matters right now, so I’m in the command chair again!”

“Doctor,” Mash began, looking towards his hologram. “Those were the sweets that I got, right?”

“Huh? What? ls that right? I found them in the Command Room next to the tea, so I thought…”

“...I got them as a token of gratitude, for when we return from this Order,” Mash was actually starting to look irritated for the first time since they’d met. “ Needless to say, they weren't for you, but for Senpai, who no doubt fought bravely on the frontlines!”

“Mash... you've become such a thoughtful person!” Roman smiled proudly at her and, shamelessly, shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth. “I must say, these are some really tasty sweets. I'm sure Ichigo will be thrilled, too!”

Mash turns towards Ichigo, her mouth drawn in a line. “...Master. When we return to Chaldea, please reserve enough combat resources for one attack. I've registered one more enemy that I'd like to hit with the "back of my blade.".” Which was apparently something a shield had.

“You’re more violent than I thought you were…”

Then someone was screaming a ‘dragon witch’, and they retreated again, to the forests outside of vaucouleurs. It takes a while to get their bearings, but Ichigo understands. There’s two Jeanne d’arc’s. The saint that stands before them and a witch that is trying to destroy france. That’s what’s causing the world to fall apart here. So that’s who they have to stop. Only…

She’s about a hundred times stronger than they are, and she has an army of dragons, and dragon themed servants with her. By the end of the second day Ichigo finds himself with a saint, a queen, a musician, a pop star, and a dragon all following him around like puppies.

At night he finds himself sitting by the fire, with Jeanne, Ruler, sitting across from him. Kiyohime, a princess out of a story he’d read ages ago is curled up on his lap like a cat instead of a dragon. Her horn pokes at his hip irritatingly, and on his other side Mash has fallen asleep as well.

He should be more worried about the fact that she’s somehow convinced herself that he’d Anchin, considering the fact that she burned him alive in a bell tower, but thus far all she’s really done is hold onto him a little too tight.

Jeanne is looking at him too. There’s something about her, a charisma that makes Ichigo want to follow her off a cliff. And he probably would, if he wasn’t so damn stubborn himself.

“Yeah?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What, is there something on my face?”

“Oh!” Jeanne turns away, shaking her head. Her strange headpiece glints read in the firelight. “No, it’s only that you seem very close to her.”

“Who, Kiyo? We just met. She’s the one that latched onto me.”

“No, not her. Mash.”

Ichigo looks again at the girl sleeping on his other side. She looks older as a demi-servant, someone halfway possessed by a heroic spirit, but her face is the same. She’s still filled with wonder and innocence.

“Oh yeah. Well, I’ve got two little sisters at home. Mash reminds me of the youngest one. Yuzu. They even have the same hairstyle…”

“That explains it, then,” Jeanne’s smile is soft. “I’m the youngest. I had three brothes, and my sister as well. I imagine they’re still in Domremy. Although my two oldest brothers came to fight under my flag, so they might be travelling still.”

Ichigo tried to think of that. Tried to think of letting anyone in his family get even close to a battlefield and found himself shaking his head. “I couldn't do that. I want to protect my sisters. I wouldn’t be able to put them in danger.”

Jeanne peered at him over the fire, her smile still somehow serene. It must have to do with being a saint.

“I wished to protect them too, of course. They are my brothers, and war is a bloody, gruesome hell to walk into. But sometimes we must have faith. In the Lord to guide us, and in the people around us to stand at our sides and watch over us.”

“Didn’t your people, ya know, burn you alive?”

“Yes,” she allows, tilting her head towards the sky. “But still… I hold them no ill will.”

Ichigo decides, then and there, that Saints must be insane.

The first person they lose, the first person he loses in these wars, is Marie Antoinette. She dies to protect him, and the stinging, bitter taste almost makes him claw out his tongue.

* * * *

“Do you know where you are?”

Soft fingers run through his hair. Something tickles his nose and he’s assaulted by the smell of roses and daffodils.

“I’m in a dream,” Ichigo says, huffing irritably. His eyes open slowly, and he finds a deceptively soft smile hovering above him. Ichigo would believe it, if he didn’t know him better. As it is, he tugs at a long strand of off-white hair that falls across the man’s shoulder.

“Ouch. You’re right, this is a dream. However did you guess? I thought it was a rather good one…”

Ichigo rolls his eyes at the Caster. He can see his staff, wrapped in ribbons, stuck into the earth beside them. This man was always dramatic.

“There’s nowhere else I would see you, now is there?” He sits up slowly. His companion doesn’t move back, and in a minute they’re hip to hip, facing eachother.

“Ah, That is true. You never know, I am a rather famous mage. Mayhaps I teleported you here for my own amusement.”

“That does sound like you,” Ichigo allows. He paused, squinting. “Did you just say ‘mayhaps’?”

“You don’t like it? I thought it was eloquent.”

“Stop acting so weird,” Ichigo scolded, knocking their heads together lightly. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

“On the contrary, it's been over 4,500 years.”

“You never change,” Ichigo rolls his eyes, and his visitor smiles, soft and fake.

“Perhaps I don’t. One of the aspects of immortality is that people tend to stay the same, you know,” he teases.

“I don’t, but I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Ichigo figures it’s easier than trying to fully puzzle out the man. He’s always been bewildering, ‘beyond human comprehension’ or something. Ichigo isn’t totally human anymore now. He sits, dressed in black next to his companion cloaked in white.

“I thought you were supposed to disappear from my memory,” Ichigo says abruptly. He’s not sure what kind of explanation he’s looking for.

A shrug is what he gets. “I told you once. That’s one thing I can never get used to. Perhaps it just didn’t work this time.”

“Right,” Ichigo says dubiously, “it’s got nothing to do with us being friends. “

The mage says nothing, but his smile thins at the edges. He’s still on about it then. ‘I can never truly close the gap, and be friends with a human’. It’s bullshit, because they’re friends and ichigo knows it, and so does he. He’s just stubborn and stuck on the idea of being the mysterious wise man figure in Ichigo’s ever evolving life story.

“Where are we?” Ichigo asks, letting the tension drop for now. The sky is the palest blue and there’s flowers as far as the eye can see, pink and blue and yellow. There’s no horizon any way he looks, and he realizes belatedly that they’re sitting on top of a tower.

“Isn’t it obvious? We are on the reverse side of the world. Where there is no beginning and no end, this is the very edge of paradise.”

The air tasted like sunlight and hope, but Ichigo isn’t fooled by the prettiness of it all. He knows this man. Better than he wants to be known, certainly.

“Maybe someday I’ll save you from this tower, princess .”

“That is quite impossible,” still a warm hand lands on his, a strange kind of thanks.

“I’ve done impossible things before.”

And he would do them again.

* * * *

Ichigo was starting to think that everyone here was made of tragedy.

France was bad enough. Between executions, and curses, and people just doing their best for others, Ichigo is starting to wonder how any fairy tale ever had a happy ending, for the figures of myth certainly had none. Not Jeanne, the Saint of Orleans. Not Elizabeth Batharoy, the wannabe pop star and future vampire. Not Kiyohime, who had followed him all the way back to Chaldea and now was stuck waiting for them to return.

And now, Euryale, and Asterios were the same. They were hardly the monsters out of legend. They were just people. Just people clinging to each other, like wreckage in a storm.

Ichigo leans forwards against the railing of the Golden Hind , watching the moon dance across the water. They’re pretty screwed, he realizes. Heracles has to be killed twelve times for them to succeed, and they’d almost all been killed on just the first try. They’d only escaped because a labyrinth had sprung up out of nowhere, glowing green and winding their way to the center of safety.

The heafy thump of footsteps on ship wood brings his attention to his newest servant. Asterios. He towers over all of them, almost ten feet tall if you counted his horns. He should have been terrifying, all hard muscles and hulking power. His long hair is matted like it’s never been brushed out properly, and his eyes are a red that seemed to glow in the starlight.

“Hey there,” Ichigo waves at him, and he comes to a halt at his side. He looks at him, and shifts from one foot to the other. There’s manacles on his arms, and his ankles as well. “Why don’t you sit?”

Asterios did as he was bid. When he was sitting, he still came up to Ichigo’s shoulder.

“It’s a nice night, huh?” It was peaceful, sailing on the endless sea. They have a lot of fights ahead of them but for now… He breaths in the sea salt air, and the cool darkness.

“Yes… It is… free ,” Asterios speaks slowly, like making words is a chore. Has he ever really spoken to humans, before now?

“Yeah. I guess it is,” that’s what Francis had said. The seas were freedom for her and her men. The King of Storms, the endless oceans bowed to her and the Golden Hind . “Have you been here long, Asterios?”

He perks up when he hears his name, looking up at Ichigo with the strangest expression. Ichigo has no idea how to place it. Hope? Happiness? Either way he’s smiling now.

“No… Want to … stay… with euryale and… everyone.”

“I get it,” Ichigo nods to him. “It’s nice to hang out with friends.”

“Friends…”

“That’s what we are, right?”

Asterios smiles at him, and nods. “Yes… friends.”

* * * * *

“Honestly… I thought you were supposed to be helpful,” Ichigo knocks on his own bodies skull, watching his dopple ganger wince away from him. “But all you’ve done is get my body torn up and cause a mess. You’re screwing up my ‘cool guy’ reputation!”

“Hey! It’s not my fault, I wouldn’t have jumped in if you weren’t so slow! Those kids would have died if I hadn’t jumped in!”

“Oh yeah, and you kicking that hollow again, to protect ants, what are you a saint?!” Ichigo yanks him into a headlock, roughly shoving his fist into his hair. It was weird to be fighting with himself, but honestly? Not even remotely the weirdest thing to happen.

“Get off!” The mod soul tries to kick him in the face, but Ichigo takes him to the ground in a rough grappling hold. He’s not too worried about his shoulder. His body is strong enough to handle being roughed up, and he’s taken worse hits than that.

“Let me go! I’m not gonna let you kill me but-” His voice wavers before growing vicious with conviction.

“I’ll never sit by and let another creature die!”

Ichigo is so surprised he lets go, sitting above the trouble maker. He won’t make eye contact, his voice dropping low and rough. His hands are shaking, Ichigo realizes.

“Right after I was born, the soul society they- they decided that the mod-souls had to go. The day after I was born I was chosen to die! Everyday I watched them kill off my brethren. And even after I escaped I still lived in fear, everyday that I would be discovered and killed… And I decided. That I was born, so I have the right to live and die freely, and so does everything else! So I won’t kill and I won’t let even ants die!”

This mod soul. A creature made to fight, made to die, made to kill all without a single choice. Ichigo’s hands tighten into fists. Just like Mash. Just like Fran. Just like Mordred. A living weapon. Ichigo lets him sit up, and sits back on his heels. The mod soul grips his shoulder, grimacing. It must hurt. This is the first time he’s ever felt human sensations. He was fast, fast as the wind.

“So that’s it…”

Abruptly, the tip of a cane shoves straight through his skull, and the pill that had started this whole debacle comes popping out the other side. Ichigo reacts, snatching it out of the air before anyone else can. They’re not alone anymore.

Ichigo finds himself looking up at a pair of grey eyes half hidden under the brim of a striped hat. They’re looking right at him, even though he’s no longer in his body. He knows, with great certainty, that this man is not human.

“I’ll be taking that back now,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. He looks almost harmless. Almost. But Ichigo can see the calluses on his hands and the hardness in the back of his eyes. Whoever this is, he’s a fighter. Even with the geta sandals, he hadn’t made a sound when he was approaching.

“Hell no!” Ichigo clutches the pill tighter and straightens up. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“He’s just a greedy salesmen,” Rukia comes to stand at his shoulder, her eyes narrowed at the stranger with the unsettling eyes. She'd watched the whole exchange between them, between Ichigo and yet another tragedy.

“I get it. He’s the one who sells you your supplies here, isn’t he?” Ichigo stands, slowly, keeping his hold on the pill tight. This guy had made a mix up, and if he thought Ichigo was gonna let him take this mod soul away, he had another thing coming.

“My, my, you’re a perceptive one,” the man pulled a fan out of his sleeve and snapped it open over his mouth. “I’m Kisuke Urahara. And these are my associates.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Ichigo said blandly. “She said you're a salesmen, and she has to get her gadgets from somewhere.”

“Either way, I should take that product back. If it’s compensation you’re after-”

“I already said no!” Ichigo snapped, anger rolling under his skin like a fire. “People aren’t products and I’m not giving this one back to you!”

“Ichigo,” Rukia cut in, her voice cool and firm. It's ice on a bruise and Ichigo let's her step before him, her dark eyes on the salesman. “It’s fine. I’m satisfied with this purchase, and you don’t exactly work legally. So whatever happens, it’s not your responsibility anymore.”

Even though he remains largely impassive, this Kisuke guy still stares at them, trying to read between lines that don’t exist. Ichigo is honest, and Rukia has his back in this case.

So he and his associates leave, and Ichigo pops the soul back into his body once their gone. He finds brown eyes staring up at him, his mouth open in confusion.

“You didn’t… send me back?”

Ichigo knocks his head again. “Don’t be stupid. If you give me a dumb speech like that, how can I sit by while you get smashed up?”

“I - you’re kinda crazy.”

“I know,” he had to be. “So, do you have a name?”

“A name? No, no ones ever given me one of those…”

“Alright then,” Ichigo tilts his head, thinking. A mod soul, a kaizo konpaku… He could go with Kai. But that sounded too cool. He was wind fast, and if he remembered right the inca wind was called… “Kon. You’re in charge of my body while I fight hollows. You can explore, and try new things, but don’t go destroying property or getting peoples attention. Or hurting my body! Deal?”

He held out his hand, and Kon reaches up and grasps it.

“Deal.”

#Shattered Chains of Fate #Ichigo Kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #Kon bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach #bleach/fate grand order #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #well sorta #olga marie animusphere

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colourful-void · 4 years

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SHSL Hope’s Peak AU Labs

I spent hours on this please look at it

Because this is my AU and I do what I want, Hope’s Peak Academy has labs! However, due to number of students at Hope’s Peak, they have to share. Each student is assigned to a lab once they’re enrolled, and they spend most of their time there. Some labs (SHSL Zoology Lab) are open for everyone to see, and others (SHSL Fighters Lab) are not.

Some students (Himiko, Ryota) spend more time in other people’s labs than their own, or choose other labs as ‘theirs’ even though they’re technically assigned to a certain lab. The staff doesn’t really care as long as they’re developing their talents and stuff.

(I put the graduated class and teachers separately, at the bottom)

There are 12 main labs, as well as some assorted groups of people, and those who don’t have labs. These labs are:

- SHSL Technology Lab - SHSL Leadership Lab - SHSL Entertainers Lab - SHSL Fighters Lab - SHSL Zoology Lab - SHSL Athletic Lab - SHSL Costume Lab - SHSL Detective Lab - SHSL Magicks Lab - SHSL Luck Lab - SHSL Creativity Lab - SHSL Science Lab

Ive got lots of details on each lab, but its long, so ill put it under the cut. (names that are in brackets mean that the character is either not officially part of the lab, or doesn’t really spend time there despite being part of the lab)

Ultimate Technology Lab: Chihiro, Miu, Kiibo, Souda, Chiaki. (Ryota)

The room is very industrial, pipes in the ceiling, cement floor, grey brick walls, florescent lighting.

It's a huge mess.

Theres wires everywhere, all across the floor with basically no organization.

A big shelf of scrap parts, metal, oil, mainly stuff for Miu and Souda to work with.

One corner is semi closed off and has a dozen screens. Thats where Chiaki and Chihiro go. Chiaki has every game system in that corner.

The screen corner has a carpet, pillows and beanbags. Also a gaming chair that only Chiaki is allowed to sit in.

Kiibo likes to chat with Alter Ego.

They stuck a few cots in there because someone always ends up asleep while working on a program or invention or something, so they get tossed onto the bed.

Ryota isn’t part of this lab, but spends a surprising amount of time there with Chiaki and Chihiro, so they set up a table for him in the screen corner with a drawing tablet.

He cries when he finds out, and hangs around there much more often afterwords.

All together, everyone in the tech lab is really close to each other, they get along great, and sometimes work on big group projects.

Ultimate Leadership Lab: Kokichi, Sonia, Fuyuhiko, Byakuya. (Mondo, Taka, and Nekomaru)

The leaders lab is the most complicated

There are a total 7 students who were catagorized as leaders by hopes peak staff. They aren’t all comdapiable with each other, and they find that out pretty quick.

So they split up.

Mondo and Taka went together because they’re dating, and Nekomaru went to the Athletic Lab.

The lab isn’t really a lab, more of a meeting room. There’s a big table in the centre that everyone sits at.

One wall is a touch screen

One wall is a white board

One is a blackboard

And one is a corkboard

Sonia sits in front of the cork board, Kokichi sits in front of the white board, Fuyuhiko sits in front of the blackboard, and Byakuya gets the touch screen

They share the walls, but each of them mainly uses the one they sit in front of.

The room is used by the student council to plan meetings, but the main 4 who use the leaders lab pretty much *are* the student council.

Meetings with the entire student body are held in the entertainers lab since it has a stage and enough seating for everyone.

Cork board has pictures of everyone taken by Koizumi, schedule for the school, a few other things Sonia likes to hang there, like letters from her family. it’s lined with LED lights.

White board is 90% doodles by Kokichi, and whoever came in there. There’s also a few stray magnets.

Blackboard has notes on students, mainly to make sure ppl are turning in homework, or not getting bullied/being bullies.

The touchscreen is synced to Byakuya’s laptop. School files are kept on there.

Lighting is on a Slider so can be dim/low for the touch screen. Also Kokichi just likes the lighting darker.

Kokichi makes Sonia an honorary member of dice and Sonia is thrilled by this fact

Sonia is the most sociable so she handles most of the students problems, Byakuya schedules and talks to the staff, Fuyuhiko deals with the underground stuff and the general student body, Kokichi is comic relief and makes sure the actual council doesn’t keel over dead from overworking.

Sonia is always first to arrive, being 13 minutes early to every occasion.

They have meetings regularly.

Altogether, they get along well, not as well as the tech lab but pretty good! No one really expected them to get along as well at they do. Since they’re all focused on the common goal of leading the student body, they work together, and they balance each other out pretty nicely.

(Mondo and Taka)

They couldn’t convince the school to give them another lab

They hang out in Mondo’s dorm room.

They don’t do anything.

Taka however help Fuyuhiko with a lot of his policing, and spends a bunch of time in the halls helping people get to class and directing visitors and stuff.

Taka joins the student council for meetings sometimes, they have an extra chair for him.

He spends more time in the halls than planning so he doesn’t really need a lab.

Mondo and Taka are dating, so they get along great.

Ultimate Entertainers Lab: Sayaka, Ibuki, Kaede, Hiyoko, (Himiko)

Himiko was invited, but because she does real magic, she preferred to set up camp in the magick’s lab

The room is basically the music room from THH

There’s a decent amount of instruments and a grand piano on the stage.

How they move the piano back and forth no one knows.

They have a whiteboard with the number of days since Hiyoko has said something mean and gotten kicked out.

That number has never gone over 2

Microphones, a nice light system, very velvety curtains

Nice chairs to watch as well

Backstage is a mess of props and set.

School plays are put on in this lab, and meetings with the whole student body

they also have a projector and do movie nights during spring and winter break, or on weekends!

The entertainers get along pretty well, except Hiyoko. They like to show off their music to each other and play songs together. Sometime they watch Hiyoko dance if she’s being nice.

Ultimate Fighters Lab: Tenko, Peko, Maki, Sakura, Mukuro

Its a BIG room

Theres a whole rack of swords

A bunch of weights

A bunch of guns, locked in a glass case that only Maki and Mukuro have a key too

Knives cupboard, also behind lock and key

The entire room is under lock and key

Theres replica/training versions of each weapon

Luckily no one in the room would share their key, and stealing their key is a BAD idea

Theres a large mat area in the centre

Its got a circle in the middle

They have a first aid kit

Theres a lot of mats

You’d think things would go wrong, but everyone is really nice and loves each other and such

Sometimes they invite other people to work out and such

But its mainly just them

Maki and Mukuro spar together and bond over murder. Peko and Sakura spar together and bond over honour. Tenko vows to protect them all as her blood sisters, and all of them thank her for it despite not needing her help.

They all get along amazingly and are amazing and badass, I love them.

Ultimate Zoology Lab: Gonta, Gundham

Anyone can enter the room during visiting hours

When you enter, its a sitting room with lots of books and chairs and such.

All the animals and bugs are kept in a backroom with the food. Only Gundham and Gonta and whoever they allow are allowed back there.

Gundham doesn’t like to keep animals locked up because ‘wild beast spirits are weakened by the dangerous walls of this academy’

Lots of animal food, research on how to take care of animals, books and things

There are a few animals in there and some bugs, but theres more research then actual animals.

Bunnies, the deva’s stay there sometimes, but rarely cause Gundham gets sad without them, only when they get sick or something.

Theres a patch of grass in there for the animals that eat grass

Its a nice calming place

Lots of animals

Gundham has a therapy dog in there that students can go pet.

Lighting is on a cycle that follows the sun, since thats best for the animals

Gundam brings animals into the sitting room for people to pet (like the therapy dog)

Gonta and Gundham get along really good, they bond over people not understanding them sometimes, and their love of animals. It’s very sweet.

Ultimate Athletic Lab: Aoi, Leon, Hoshi, Akane, (Nekomaru)

Hopes Peak cycles out the equipment depending on the students there that year.

Aoi uses the swimming pool, so its just weights for her and other various training things.

Also a batting cage, mini tennis court, balance beam and rings.

Its a large room.

They also have mats like the fighters.

Altogether, they just do their own things, not really talking to each other.

Ultimate Costume Lab: Junko, Tsumugi, Imposter

Its a really big closet.

A third is replica clothing of other people, a third is costumes, and a third is high fashion

They have to mark things really carefully so Tsumugi doesn’t get mixed up with Imposters stuff

Hifumi hangs around to look at Tsumugi’s costumes. Junko kicks him out a lot.

Theres also a bunch of fabrics and matierials, and a big desk for sewing and such.

Floor length mirrors, one of those thats like 3 mirrors so you can see yourself from every angle.

They don’t really get along... Tsumugi admires Junko a bunch, and Junko doesn’t like anyone. Imposter uses it for storage, and doesn’t spend much time there.

Ultimate Detective Lab: Kyouko, Shuuichi

Literally just the lab from V3

But with the yearbooks for hopes peak

And a computer linked to the hope’s peak database.

Theres not a lot to add here.

But Kyouko and Shuuichi are very close, and help each other out and I must mention that.

Ultimate Magicks Lab: Hagakure, Himiko

Himiko left the entertainers lab and came here to do real magic.

No one is sure what happens in there

Theres props everywhere

And crystals, and various fourtune telling devices

They both have mini booths where they can perform magic and read the future, respectively.

dim lighting, likely string lights or something

They have a fog machine

They have broken it several times

Hagakure takes Himiko in as his little sister and its really sweet. They get along good.

Ultimate Luck Lab: Makoto, Komaeda, and Hajime

A glorified, bulletproof, fireproof, and bomb proof break room. Also a panic room.

Hajime isn’t a strictly a lucky student, but they had no where else to put em so they stuck him with the lucky students. He wanted to be there anyway.

They have a pool table.

None of them know how to play pool.

Well Hajime does, but he doesn’t want to.

They just kinda sit there a lot of the time.

Makoto walks in to see Komaeda and Hajime kissing on the couch and gets really flustered, but it just keeps happening and eventually he gets used to it.

Theres some school books and bean bags in there.

At one point they get a console from Chiaki and play some games.

Nagito’s luck breaks it.

Basically a classroom without any desks.

The three of them get along well! Nagito and Hajime are dating, so Makoto is a bit left out, but the they do some stuff together.

Ultimate Creativity Lab: Koizumi, Angie, Hifumi, Ryota, Touko

The most chaotic lab.

Koizumi uses it for storage and nothing else. There is a little side room she uses as a dark room, but beyond that she hates being in there.

Hifumi had some of his things in there but Koizumi made him take them out for ‘pubic decency’

Its just his drawing tablet now, with a strong password on it.

Ryota has his drawing tablet too

Sometimes they talk, but not for long because Hifumi makes Ryota nervous.

Angie uses the space the most, as she doesn’t fear death and doesn’t care what anyone else does so long as she can paint and things.

It loos basically like v3 but with what I described and mixed with the art room from 1.

Touko has a desk in the corner and she does not use it.

They really don't get along well. No one likes Hifumi, everyone dislikes Touko, Koizumi doesn’t wanna deal with anyone’s bull, Ryota is nervous all the times and these people make it worse so he goes to the tech labs since he’s friends with Chihiro.

Everyone really likes Angie though. Well not Touko, but Angie either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Most of them work in their own rooms and are happy to use the room for storage and let Angie take the space.

Ultimate Sciences Lab: Kaito, Rantaro, Korekiyo

Its actually pretty organized.

Theres a globe, a large map, a travel book, a cork board for Rantaro.

A library full of books on anthropology

Star maps, space stuff

The ceiling is dark, but always has a projection of the night sky that reflects the current position of the stars from where they stand.

They have a bunch of nice comfy chairs

Kaito would spend more time in the gym or pool if he wanted to train, since this lab is more focused on research.

Low lighting, mainly candles.

There’s books for sciences that aren’t Kaito, Rantaro, or Korekiyo’s speciality, sometimes people use them for research.

The detectives come in for research sometimes.

The three of them get along pretty well actually, it’s very nice. They’re close to each other in a unique way, and talk to each other about their problems and things. Very nice.

People who don’t really have a lab:

Celeste: Hangs around the Rec Room. She smuggled in better things to gamble with.

Kirumi: Takes students requests and goes around the school to fulfill them.

Mikan: Works in the Nurse’s Office, taking care of students who get hurt.

Teruteru: Works in the Kitchen, making whatever food he wants and sometimes meals for students who come in asking for food.

Syo: Isn’t allowed a lab.

Graduated Classes:

Daisaku: was in the zoology lab with Gundham. they got along alright, though not as well as Gundham and Gonta.

Ruruka: was in the kitchen, with Teruteru. they did not get along.

Sonosuke: wasn’t really a lab kind of guy. assigned to the tech lab, but didn’t really mesh well with everyone else in there so just didn’t go in. he had a little place to do his smithing off campus.

Seiko: worked in the nurses office with Mikan. they were close, but quiet. Seiko kind of saw Mikan as a little sister.

Teachers and Staff:

None of the teachers have a lab, but they do supervise some.

Chisa teaches her class as normal

Munakata watches the student council

Sakakura watches the fighters and athletes

all of them are extremely proud of their students and would kill for them.

Elementary School Division:

The elementary school doesn’t have labs. However, I feel like this is a good time to mention that Hope’s Peak elementary does take volunteers, and Komaru spends most of her time volunteering at the elementary there.

And I think that covers everything!

I think I've missed a few people, and im not sure where to sort *anyone* from zero, seriously it is very confusing. If there’s anyone I missed you want me to put in lemme know. (also this took hours so please reblog)

and like, thank you to anyone who read through this monster of a post.

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marveloussupernerd · 3 years

Text

Crowns and Courtships - A Mystic Messenger AU

This AU is basically about MC being a princess who is courting during the Regency era! The readers can choose who MC ends up with :)

Chapter 6 - The Garden Party

Chapter 5

Words: 2500

Summary: it’s finally time to travel to the city to go to the first party of the social season, hosted by your close friend Duke Yoosung Kim. Will the party be a success? Will the group plotting against you make their next move?

You woke to a knock on your door. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you told the person they could come in. No surprise, it was Jaehee. “Good morning Princess, Sir Zen. I’ve gotten you some tea; we will be departing for the city soon. Would you like to get dressed before breakfast?

“That would be lovely,” you told Jaehee. Sir Zen excused himself and went to leave, but you stopped him. “Wait! Please tell me you will change my father’s mind and convince him that you should join us in the city.” You could tell he was going to object, but you stopped him once more. “Please. I feel safer with you around.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He smiled, then left. You could hear him making his way down the stairs, hopefully to find your father.

Jaehee got your clothes out, helping you step into each layer of the heavy travel clothes, then brought in some tea. “What happened last night, if you don’t mind me asking? I was surprised to see your knight in your chambers.”

You could feel your face heat up. “Oh! It’s nothing like that! Someone left a threatening note on my door, stabbed into the wood with the dagger. I couldn’t sleep… but with him watching over me it helped.”

“Oh! That’s awful. Are you okay?” She gently placed her hand on your arm.

“I’m honestly scared. That’s why I want him to join us in the city. It seems that if the organization doesn’t like my decision, they’ll attack me there. I already feel sick about the whole thing… having him by my side would help.”

“He is handsome… isn’t he?” Jaehee had a small smile on her face.

You giggled. “He is! He’s opening up more too.”

“Well, I hope we can catch these people, and soon. You should be excited about your first garden party, not dreading it!”

You set your cup down on the saucer, then stood. “We’ll have to hope for the best. I’ll meet you downstairs at the carriage soon! I have to join my parents for breakfast.”

When you sat down for breakfast, your parents stared at you like they had seen a ghost. “What’s wrong?” You asked, nervous that something else bad must have happened.

“We’re surprised to see you coping so well… Sir Zen brought us the note that was on your door,” your mother explained, concern evident in her eyes.

You sighed, your face falling: “Well… we knew there would be people who didn’t like my decision. It’s the consequences I have to face to achieve my happiness.”

“Well Sir Zen is joining us now, without question. He’s packing his things as we speak,” your father explained. It made you feel much better knowing that he’d be by your side, looking after you and protecting you from the people in the city.

“That’s good to know. On another note, I’m excited for the party today as well as our travels!”

“I’m glad to hear it. It must be exciting to be out and about during the social season. You’ll have to tell me all about it!” Your mother expressed happily. It was clear that she was disappointed she had to take part in an arranged marriage, but she was lucky her marriage turned out so well; it was clear that she loved your father dearly, which was surprising considering the fact you were born before your father had married. It was a lot to overlook, but the Queen’s love was able to overcome it all.

One you finished breakfast, it was time to prepare for the trip. You, your parents, and Jaehee took the main carriage. The others rode on horseback alongside the carriage. You smiled when you saw the horse you trained the other day leading the carriage. You walked over to him while the bags were being loaded.

“Why hello there!” You greeted the horse, patting its head. Mr. Choi sat at the front of the carriage, right above the horse and its partner. He raised an eyebrow at you. “Valiant. That’s his name,” you decided.

“A fitting name for a horse so daring and brave,” he grinned, petting the horse. “Let me know if you need anything throughout the trip.”

“I’m shocked you’re being so nice. Nervous? This is your first long carriage trip after all.”

“I just got used to leading one horse; now I have already graduated to two,” he said boastingly, but his face showed that he was quite overwhelmed by the prospect.

“Maybe you should let me know if you need anything throughout the trip,” you teased, turning his words against him. “Safe travels, Mr. Choi. My life literally depends on it.”

“You’re telling me… mine too.”

You loaded into the carriage with your family. You sat next to your mother, and your father sat across from you, next to Jaehee, who got the honor of sitting in the main carriage as your new lady.

You spent your time reading another book on flowers. You read for most of the trip, finishing the book in its entirety. You were lucky your home in the city had a large collection of books that you could read. You luckily made it without needing to take any stops, which was pretty impressive. Before you went inside, Sir Zen swept the house to make sure there was no intruder inside. Luckily there wasn’t. You took Jaehee up to your room to get ready for the garden party that was quickly approaching.

Jaehee quickly helped you get out of your traveling clothes and into your pink ensemble. The blush tone suited your skin tone perfectly; Jaehee had even packed a blush hat to match, since the party was outside.

She spent her time pinning each piece of hair into place, working on a low bun so that the hat would still sit nice. “I know we did not have much time to get ready, but I think you look wonderful,” Jaehee complimented, a small blush on her face. She practically pushed you out of the room before you could respond. “Off we go! We cannot be late.”

You made your way to the carriage with Jaehee next to you. You were lucky she was joining you since your parents weren’t going to attend; they were going to spend their time settling in. Still, it was nice to have some company.

Mr. Choi gave you his hand to help you onto the carriage, which you gladly took. Despite your recent fights, you still needed his help and wanted to keep things cordial. “That is… a lot of pink. You look like a flamingo,” he commented, taken aback by your dress. So much for cordial. It was obvious he was making fun of you to make himself feel better; you could tell by the stupid look on his face that he was just teasing you. You wouldn’t give in that easily though.

“Well, I figured you didn’t have taste, but this just confirms it,” you shrugged as he helped Jaehee into the carriage. “Let’s get going please; I’d hate to be late,” you urged him, and he listened.

“Who is holding this party again?” Jaehee asked as the carriage began moving.

“Duke Kim. I’m sure it was a lot of work for him to arrange the party on his own for the first time… especially since it’s the first one of the season. This is important though, because it’ll set the tone for the rest of this season’s events,” you explained.

You were trying to stay stoic but you were worried about Yoosung. He’d be crushed if the party wasn’t perfect, as if he had let his parents down. You’d take it upon yourself to make sure the party was a success.

But once you got there you weren’t too worried. There were a large number of round tables, draped in lavender linen. Vases of pink roses sat on each table, clearly expensive in order to impress the guests. A few nobles were already there, talking amongst themselves, Duke Kim greeting them.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as he greeted you. “Nice to see you again, Duke Kim. This party is wonderful. I’m sure your parents would be proud,” you complimented. You meant every word; he was always an overachiever, but you were worried the death of his parents would kill his spirit. That wasn’t the case though! He was working even harder now.

“Your Royal Highness, it’s nice to see a friendly face around here,” he leaned close to her, lowering his voice: “I feel like everyone here is waiting to see me fail.”

“Don’t talk like that! Even if they were here for that, it’s not like they could say anything. You’re a Duke now. You outrank most of the people here,” you reminded him. The only ones higher than the Duke in the social status were the royalty. Yoosung should be proud of his title. “Plus! I’ll bet you’ll have at least half a dozen ladies swooning over you at the end of the event. You’ll never have to plan a party on your own ever again,” you grinned, reassuring him. A more genuine smile made its way onto his face.

“Honestly? I had a lot of fun planning this party. It helped take my mind off of things,” he admitted. Another guest entered, standing behind you, waiting their turn to talk to Yoosung. “Let’s talk later. There are place cards on each table to show you where you sit. I hope you enjoy yourself!”

It was obvious Yoosung had thought a lot about the seating arrangements. People sat by those in comparable class to them. Your table had Prince Jumin, Yoosung himself, Lord James, Lady Elizabeth, and Lady Sarah. The seats alternated boy-girl to help with the courting. It was very well thought-out.

Your only bit of criticism had to be Lord James. You had never gotten along with him well; he was extremely opinionated. Still, it was important to give him a chance. He approached the table first, addressing you before standing in front of a seat across from you.

“Hello Your Royal Highness,” he bowed to you.

“Lord James,” you curtsied, “how are your parents?”

“They’re doing quite alright. How has your kingdom and family been these past few months?”

“Pretty good. A little upset over my decision to court instead of going through with an arranged marriage, but nothing out of control,” you explained, downplaying the situation.

“Well I think that it is certainly a scandalous move. But, us noblemen are glad to see it occur. You look absolutely radiant,” he complimented. He eyed the pitcher of lemonade on the table awkwardly. You weren’t entirely sure what he was waiting for.

You ignored him, grabbing the pitcher and filling up your glass. His eyes were glued to it, still confused. “Is something the matter?” You asked, confused.

“I’m simply waiting for somebody to pour it for me. Would you like to do the honors?”

“I’d rather not. Thank you for the offer though,” you mentioned, allowing your voice to show a bit of annoyance. Luckily, Lady Elizabeth made it to the table to save you from the ridiculous conversation. You stood and swept her into a hug, not caring about appearances.

“My dear friend, it’s so good to see you,” you greeted.

“I’m not used to that sort of greeting, but I certainly will not complain,” she looked around. “The Duke has certainly outdone himself, huh? I didn’t realize he had this attention-to-detail in him.”

“Don’t be silly; he’s been straightening the silverware on the dinner tables at parties ever since we met him; this doesn’t surprise me at all,” you laughed. That was Yoosung alright. He had always been a perfectionist. Elizabeth joined you in a fit of giggles. You both sat down one seat apart from each other, Elizabeth getting the unfortunate pleasure of getting to sit next to Lord James.

“Who else is at our table?” Elizabeth asked you curiously, leaning closer to you to speak over the chatter.

“Yoosung, Sarah, and Prince Jumin,” you explained, looking over the table cards just to ensure you were correct.

“Prince Jumin? Oh, how exciting. I didn’t expect him to be showing up to all these events... is he courting too?” she asked curiously, twirling a curl of her hair.

“Well he’s certainly courting me. But besides that, not that I’m aware of. He stopped by the other day for tea.” Truth be told, though, Elizabeth was so beautiful and graceful that it was very likely Jumin would fall for her. Most people did.

“I don’t believe it,” she put her hand atop yours, “oh you must simply tell me all!” Prince Jumin walked over to the table, a smile on his face. “All… regarding how your mother is doing. Did she get over her flu?” Elizabeth asked, trying to cover up the gossip you were getting into. You had to restrain your laughter; no man wanted to see a woman gossiping, especially not the Prince, you imagined. Now the two of you couldn’t have cared less about Lord James, though, as he hardly counted as a man, but this was a prince after all.

“Prince Jumin, so lovely to see you,” you greeted, standing up to curtsy to him.

“I hope your travel was well?” Elizabeth chimed in, curtsying far lower than you had. Show off.

“My dear friend, Lady Elizabeth,” you introduced, “I don’t think the two of you have met formally yet.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Prince Jumin remarked, bowing to the both of you. “It seems I am seated between the two of you. Princess, I hadn’t realized your mother was ill. She seemed fine the other day when I saw her.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up. You didn’t like being questioned like this, especially when the cover-up was Elizabeth’s doing yet you had to dig the two of you out of it. “Ah, yes, well I actually haven’t seen Elizabeth in a while, so she was unaware that my mother had recovered almost a week ago.”

“But I thought we wrote one another just a few days ago? You even mentioned that one man who-”

“Well it seems I must have forgotten to mention it. It has been quite hectic at home lately,” you countered, eyeing Elizabeth, trying to hint that she should stop pressing the matter and be glad you saved her from the reputation of being a gossip.

“Well, Ladies, it looks like I’m at your table,” Lady Sarah announced, making her way in front of you both. “Prince Jumin!” she curtsied quickly, “Whatever might you be doing here?”

“Searching for good company, luckily it seems I might have found some,” he looked at you, smiling.

“I never expected you to be the type of person who would show up to the average boring garden party,” Sarah confessed. Behind her approached Duke Kim. His face fell at the mention of his party being ‘average’ and ‘boring'.

You knew it was your job to make Yoosung feel better. He had worked so hard on this party. He turned away, likely to excuse himself and take a moment. It hurt to see him so disappointed; he likely felt like a failure. You’d have to try and make this right.

#mystic messenger #mysme #Yoosung kim #zen #Jumin han #Jaehee kang #707 #au #crownsandcourtships

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