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slippinmickeys · 3 years

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Five Seconds (8/8)

If you’d like to read this work in its entirety, you may do so here.

October 24, 2018

Scully was half-elated, half terrified when her children escaped from the cabin and their captor. It removed them from harm’s way, but gave the mercenary who held them a sole focus -- herself and the child she carried, and Mulder.

Luis seemed to be even more amped up by their escape, checking his watch and trying his phone twice as often. When she rose and requested a drink of water, the man stood so quickly from the chair he sat in that it fell backwards to the floor.

He stood, twitchy and suspicious, looked at her a moment and then nodded tersely. She turned to go into the kitchen when a powerful force seized her and she stumbled, grabbing onto the back of Mulder’s chair.

“Scully!” he said, alarmed. He rose and moved to her side as the gunman watched them, tense but otherwise expressionless.

The pain wrapped around her middle and went all the way to her back. She’d experienced back labor during her labor with William and remembered the agonizing sensation. This was the real thing.

“Mulder,” she whispered, dragging her eyes up to him. She saw realization dawn on him, saw the mix of tender excitement and abject fear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, tilting his head to the side to look at her. They rarely used pet names for each other, but the sound of those words on his lips made her stalwart exterior crumple. Tears fell from her eyes. She looked at him and tried to tell him silently all the things he’d ever meant to her, and all the things he ever would.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” the man said, to Lily. “We are going to unload the ATVs off of the trailer. We are going to drive them to the camp where your family is staying. You will be on one, your brother and I will be on the other. I will have a gun to your brother’s head the entire time. You try anything, I shoot him. He tries anything, I shoot him.”

Lily nodded, and she could hear Will swallow with some difficulty next to her. “My colleague at the camp… Is he alive?”

“Yes,” Lily said, not taking her eyes off the barrel of the gun.

“Good,” he said “Do what I say, and no one has to die.”

Lily could feel the weight of the burner phone in the front pocket of her sweatshirt and sweat broke out on her upper lip. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could still use it.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully grasped his hand tightly, eyes closed, breathing hard. As the night wore on and windows outside the cabin turned pale, her contractions seemed to be progressing as they ought, but she was in pain -- terrible pain -- and his heart clenched for her.

He hadn’t done this since Lily was born nearly two decades before -- holding the hand of his wife while she battled to bring his child into the world. He still felt an overriding guilt for not being there for her during her complicated and troubled delivery of William.

He remembered walking down the hallway toward her room the day he was born, his breath shaky and halting, not knowing what he’d find. There had been a strange sense of deja vu as he approached her door that night, and he had an odd mental picture — an actual phantasmagoria — flash through his mind unbidden of walking in and seeing Scully, her hair shorter than she had ever cut it, her body on the bed thin and reedy -- most definitely not pregnant. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, Scully lying on her side in the hospital bed, wires and IVs coming out of her, a nasal cannula over her ears. She wore a teal hospital gown and the look on her face was one of horrified surprise. The flash had so disturbed him that he ran the last few feet to her labor and delivery room and crashed through the door, which knocked into the rubber stopper on the wall. There Scully lay, in a pink gown, her hair long and her face pale, but smiling, their son lying peacefully on her chest.

He shook himself of the memory and concentrated on his wife.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The man had Will unhooking the ATVs as he pushed them back and off the ramp of the trailer, his gun strapped to a holster on his leg. Lily had her hand in her pocket thumbing the phone, trying to remember which button was “on” from memory. She depressed the button and the ancient phone beeped once, the sound covered by the merc turning on and revving the first four-wheeler, luck on her side, for once.

He moved to the side of the van and pulled out a mid-sized black canvas attache case that had a biohazard warning patch on the side. He secured it to the back of one of the vehicles and then winked at her. Lily’s insides went cold, thinking of her mother.

He pointed at the ATV and looked to Will. “Hop on, William,” he commanded. They had not told him their names. Her brother mounted the four-wheeler, licking his lips nervously. The merc turned to her.

“You know how to drive one of these?” he asked her. She shook her head. He pointed, impatient. “Throttle. Brake. Get on.”

She did.

“You know where to go,” the man said, then revved his engine, the noise a loud mechanical crank in the sleepy peace of the forest. A flock of birds were startled into flight from the trees above, taking wing into the autumn sky, a flutter of panicked commotion.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Mulder, I need you to promise me something,” Scully said weakly. She was tiring and had refused food. She was laying on the narrow cot by the stove and he was sitting next to her.

“Anything,” he said, brushing back the hair from her forehead.

“Don’t be a hero,” she half-whispered. “I need you. The kids need you. Don’t… don’t try anything.”

Luis, listening in from a few yards away, spoke for the first time in an hour.

“‘S good advice,” he sneered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lily slid the phone out of her pocket and took a surreptitious look down. It was on. She glanced back up to watch where she was going -- the trees here were much closer together -- saplings growing like weeds in a field. She had to swerve quickly to miss one and she heard the mercenary shout from behind her. Her quick turn had lifted the right side of the ATV’s wheels almost off the ground -- if she’d been leaning the wrong way or even at all, the whole thing would have gone over.

Straightening and watching her path on a fresh surge of adrenaline, she glanced once again at the phone -- there was a single bar of service showing. She was so shocked she almost dropped it. Licking her lips, she kept her eyes ahead and dialed 911, glancing down once or twice to make sure she’d entered it correctly. She pressed “send.” She was driving one-handed and was hoping the merc didn’t notice. Even with the roar of the engines, she could hear the phone dialing.

They were almost to the cabin. She could smell woodsmoke. If they cleared one more rise, they’d be there.

The burr of the phone ringing was the only thing she could hear.

Up the rise, she knew the ATV was still right behind her, knew that there was still a gun trained at her brother's head.

"9-1-1, what... your emergency?" she could hear the dispatcher through static.

Then she was over the hill. The cabin sat before them, a squat building standing stalwart in a field of trees, smoke leaking from the chimney and sinking to the ground like an escher painting.

She felt the machine under her go over an unexpected bump on the right side and the wheels rise up slightly. She took a chance on creating enough of a distraction for emergency services to trace her call. She leaned hard left and gravity did the rest, tipping the ATV in what felt like a slow motion fall onto its side. Lily, wearing neither helmet nor seatbelt fell hard onto her shoulder, her head snapping into the earth.

She rolled, and the machine missed her leg, but the phone went flying out of her hand, arcing through the air and into the leaf cover. The other ATV revved to catch up with her and then stopped close to the cabin on a spray of dirt and leaf pieces. Then the engine cut, and she could hear the voice on the other end of the phone several yards away cutting in and out in static.

Stars burst behind her eyes like fireworks popping in the night. When her vision cleared, the man was standing over her, his boots so close to her face that she could smell the leather. Her brother was close, but was clearly wary of the mercenary, and she saw him take several steps backward toward the cabin, his eyes on his sister and the dangerous tableau before him.

The man before her lifted a foot and she braced herself for a kick or a blow, but instead he took several steps off into the duff and then once again lifted his heavy booted foot up and this time slammed it down hard onto the staccato-voiced cell phone in the leaves, the static turning into silence with an almighty metallic crunch.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully’s contractions were extremely close together. She was lying on the cot, her face a sheen of perspiration. Mulder almost didn’t hear the sound of the engines over her groan.

Luis, who had been watching Scully intensely, his brows knitted together, stood quickly when he heard the motors. There was a chaotic sound outside and then the engines cut, close to the cabin.

“About fucking time,” Luis hissed and then was out the door, leaving it open. Mulder looked to Scully and then, very slowly and deliberately leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered, “I always have and always will love you.”

Scully nodded and then another contraction pressed on her and she winced.

“Mulder, I’m feeling really pushy,” she said.

“Shit,” Mulder swore, standing without much hope of doing anything.

Scully opened her mouth and let out an unholy yowl.

And then, from outside the cabin, they heard the unmistakable voice of their fifteen year old son: “Mom?!”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Shut up,” said the merc to William from where he stood by the cabin’s door.

Lily rolled up to her knees and shook her head, standing woozily, just as the man Luis came barreling out the door.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Luis hissed at the other man.

“Get your panties out of your ass, Cardinal,” he said. “I’m here.”

“She’s in labor, you greasy piece of shit. We’re on the fucking clock.”

Another dump of adrenaline hit Lily’s bloodstream and she took several steps toward her brother, who was still looking at the cabin in alarm.

He nodded at Luis and unstrapped the black attache kit from the back of his ATV, walking to the open doorway, where he paused. He pointed to where Lily stood, not far from her brother.

“Watch these two,” he said, “and maybe don’t lose them this time?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“...and maybe don’t lose them this time,” Mulder heard from the doorway. The voice was familiar, and when he looked to the man’s face, he was taken over by such an unholy rage that his vision quite literally tunneled, going black from the sides.

He’d launched himself before anyone knew quite what was happening, even himself. His body hit the other man’s full force and they flew outside, landing in the duff and scattering dirt from the force of their impact.

“Krycek,” he hissed, “you son of a bitch-” and then he reared back his fist and delivered a haymaker to the man’s chin -- all the pent of fury of finding Scully at the top of Skyland Mountain all those years ago crashing back -- Krycek’s head whipped back, spraying blood onto the O horizon.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She’d say this for her brother: his time on the ice had served him well.

Cardinal was as taken by surprise as everyone else by their father’s furious launch at the other merc, and Will, who had been standing several feet away, took the opportunity to grab his improvised hockey stick, which had been propped up by the door on the outside of the cabin and swung it with everything he had at the man. It connected with Cardinal directly across the temple; the dull, sickening thud the best thing Lily had ever heard. Cardinal hit the wall of the cabin and crumpled, sliding to the ground like bubbles down wet skin.

Her father’s head whipped around to see what had happened behind him, and Krycek seized the opportunity to kick Mulder hard, sending him flying backwards. Both men scrambled up to standing when Scully appeared in the doorway of the cabin, taking two shaky steps outside. Everyone turned to her.

“Mulder,” she rasped, looking at her husband, distraught, “I think it’s time.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder looked to his wife.

Scully then let out a scream and stumbled forward, grabbing onto a nearby tree for support. Lily dashed to her side without thinking, giving Krycek the opportunity to swing the gun he still held in his hand up to train it on both of them. Mulder’s heart rose to his throat.

From nowhere, Krycek produced another pistol, which he aimed at Will, who had been attempting to get around the side of the cabin after felling Cardinal. Mulder froze.

"This ends one of two ways!" Krycek shouted, stopping everyone in their tracks. There was a smear of blood running down his chin. "All of you dead, or everyone alive. I really don't care one way or the other."

Krycek flicked the gun once at Will, who dropped the stick and made his way over to his sister, who was still several feet away from Scully, who had taken a few staggered steps before slumping to her knees, knocked back by another powerful contraction, this one right on the heels of the last. She was panting, and swung her eyes up to Mulder drunkenly. Krycek had a gun on her and one on their children.

"All right," Mulder said, anguish gripping him, "all right."

He was out of options. He looked to the functioning four-wheeler that Krycek had come in on. Krycek could have Scully on it and to the county road in less than ten minutes. The other four wheeler was still on its side, smoking, the smell of gas and oil ripe in the air. He'd never be able to get to them.

Mulder looked at Scully. He looked at his children. Hopelessness rose in his gut like vomit, consuming and poisonous. He thought vaguely of bum-rushing Krycek once again, one last sacrifice to save those he loved.

The moment slowed to a honied drip. Five seconds to make a choice, each one ticking by more slowly than the one before it. One. He thought of Lily as a baby, of William; the newborn smell of their sweet red hair. Two. He thought of Olivia Kurtzweil, sitting across from him in his office. Lying dead on her own floor. Three. He thought of Samantha, her thick braids flying out behind her, laughing as she ran down the beach in Quonochontaug. Four. He thought of his first day of firearms training at Quantico. His instructor laying a pistol on the countertop and saying: “It takes only seven pounds of pressure to pull a trigger.” Five. He thought of Scully. Of their first meeting in the basement office, her bright seafoam eyes and her chipper little handshake. He thought of her terrified face atop Skyland Mountain, how her hands felt around his neck as he carried her all the way down. He thought of how she gasped when he touched her, of the dusky way her skin looked in the moonlight.

He moved to take a step toward her, but was shocked into stillness when a gun shot rang out out of nowhere and Krycek slumped to the ground. Mulder turned to where the shot had come from and there, standing in the middle of the Northwoods forest in a pristine white blazer and jeans stood Lauren, the archaic rifle that had adorned the deer mount on the cabin wall pressed expertly to her shoulder. Smoke wafted out of the barrel, and she slowly lowered the weapon.

“You stopped answering your phone, Fox,” she said. “We had a deal.”

XxX

Will and Lily were both facing away from where Krycek had fallen, looking at Lauren in surprise, and Mulder took three large strides to get to them before they could turn and see what was left of the man. He grabbed them by the shoulders, one hand on each of them and leaned down.

“It’s okay,” he said, in a quiet voice, “we’re all okay.”

Will turned into him and buried his face into his father’s chest. Lily put her hand over his and turned toward Scully, who was leaning against a tree, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach. Luis Cardinal was still out cold by the cabin’s wall, his arm thrown out an odd angle. Mulder hoped it was broken.

“Can you guys help your mom into the cabin?” he said and both kids went immediately to her.

He heard the crunching of leaves and found Lauren at his shoulder.

“I called the county Sheriff before I came onto the property,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t know how long it will take them to get here.”

Mulder turned to her in full.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice shaky, “You saved my family.”

“You’re all the family I have left,” she said, “and you would have done the same for me.”

He pulled her tightly to him. She gave him a brief squeeze, the rifle she was holding pressing into his hip. She pulled back.

“Please tell me Dana’s not in labor,” she said.

“Dana’s in labor.”

Lauren took a deep breath and glanced down at the man whose life she had taken not moments before.

“Don’t look,” Mulder said gently.

Lauren nodded stoically and shouldered the rifle.

“There’s another merc by the cabin,” Mulder said, “alive. Can you help me secure him? See if there’s some rope or something inside?”

Lauren nodded and headed into the cabin, and Mulder turned to Krycek and pushed him over onto his back with his foot. The man was looking straight up with sightless eyes. Then Mulder noticed several pairs of zip ties that Krycek had had secured to his utility belt. He tried not to think of what he’d planned to use them for, and pulled one from the dead man’s waist.

“We need to make this quick,” Lauren said as she came out the door, her statement punctuated by a low, feminine moan from inside the cabin. Mulder’s gut roiled.

“Let’s go,” he said, and dragged Cardinal roughly by the shoulders to a medium pine not far from the cabin door. Mulder wrenched the man’s hands behind his back around the tree and Lauren cinched the zip tie on tightly. He gave a light moan but was otherwise still.

When they trotted back into the cabin, they found both kids at their mother’s side, wearing panicked, wary faces.

Scully had settled onto the cot that had been set up near the woodstove. Her eyes were closed and her hands gripped the steel frame. Mulder asked the kids to collect clean linens and blankets from the cedar cabinet and then went back outside to pull Krycek’s body over behind a large tree, knowing he was disturbing evidence, but not caring. He didn’t want it anywhere the kids could see.

When he came back inside, Scully was propped up on pillows, Lauren kneeling next to her. They both turned to him. Scully reached out her hand and he walked over and grabbed it.

“Any sign of the Sheriff?” Lauren asked in a low voice.

Mulder shook his head.

Scully winced and squeezed his hand, gritting her teeth.

“Her contractions are one on top of each other, Fox,” Lauren said.

Lily had drifted over and spoke from Mulder’s elbow.

“Can you give me and Will something to do?” she said, “he’s kind of freaked, and so am I.”

“Hey Will,” Mulder said, “can you take the bucket to the pump and bring us water?”

“Yeah!” Will jumped up and grabbed the bucket by the kitchen wall and scooted outside quickly.

“Lily,” Mulder said, and she looked up at him. “Do you think you can help your mom?”

“Yeah, I can,” Lily said, and went to Scully’s other side.

Scully looked up to Mulder.

“I’m feeling really pushy,” she said once again and gave him a this is serious look.

“You pitch, I’ll catch,” Mulder said easily, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel, and moved to the end of the bed. He helped Scully pull down her leggings and get situated back on the bed.

Scully was breathing hard and took another deep breath, trying to slow herself down.

“Lil,” she said, pausing to close her eyes and breathe through her nose, “you hold one knee, Lauren will hold the other.”

Lily nodded bravely and grabbed her mother’s leg firmly. Lauren did the same on Scully’s other side.

Mulder could see a bright thatch of hair already crowning between Scully’s legs and grabbed a clean towel, reaching forward.

“Oh my god,” Lauren said, just as Scully gave another almighty yell. The baby’s head was all the way out. One more push and Mulder caught his second son as he careened into the world, registering his complaints loudly for anyone who would hear them.

Will came banging through the door just as Mulder was placing the child on Scully’s chest, a full bucket of water sloshing over where it hung from his hand.

“The Sheriff is here!” he said, as he took in the sight before him.

“Come and meet your brother,” Scully said, smiling tiredly, sweat beaded on her brow.

EPILOGUE

Lily stood in front of the building nervously twirling a lock of hair around her fingers, over and over; a tic she’d had since childhood. Her father was parked not quite a block up the avenue waiting for her -- not totally out of sight, but enough to afford her some privacy. She glanced at his car's taillights once and then looked back at the old building with its colossal white columns and bright red brick.

She knew Travis's schedule well enough that she shouldn’t have been surprised when he emerged from the double doors of the Old Engineering Hall, but her heart skipped a beat anyway.

He was several steps out when he noticed her standing at the base of the old cement staircase, and he pulled up short, cinching his backpack once contemplatively before continuing his descent. He stopped in front of her, but made no move to touch her or talk. He merely looked at her, waiting for her to say something.

She gave him a tentative smile that he didn't return.

"Hi," she finally said.

"Hello," he said. He didn't sound angry or upset, merely expectant, maybe a little resigned.

She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She couldn't think of a thing to say -- where to possibly start telling him her story. He must have sensed how overwhelmed she was, as he took a breath and said, not unkindly:

"You were supposed to meet me for lunch. You never showed up."

She pressed her lips together and nodded her head, remembering the feeling of being pursued through the student union, of holding her father's hand and running from Darlene's house, thinking she may have gotten her whole family killed. Of running through the trees. Of gunshots and the hot ozone smell of cordite.

"I called you," he went on, "I called you like thirty times."

"I didn't have my phone," she finally said, "I couldn't-"

"-you didn't have to ghost me, Lillian," he interrupted, "I was afraid something happened to you... I was about to call the cops when I realized that I didn't actually know where you lived." His tone was serious, a touch disappointed, and it made Lily's insides feel like iced lead.

"My... my name's not Lillian," she whispered, and the tears finally fell from her eyes.

He tilted his head like a confused pup and looked at her, puzzled and upset.

So she told him. Everything. She took a breath and let loose with everything she and her family had been through for the last nine months. In a teary voice with hitching sobs, she told him about her family's genetic legacy, about going on the run, about how she had managed to feel safe and happy when she was with him, able to forget -- at least for a few hours -- about the dangers pressing on her from all sides. And finally about the last 72 hours and her life at the other end of a pointed gun.

He stood, staring at her in fascination and what looked like disbelief. When the last word of explanation had been said, she could feel her insides wilt a little in relief; everything out in the open, the last of her words falling out of her mouth and sinking to the ground, heavier than air.

“I… I would understand if you didn’t believe me,” she finished.

Just as she steeled herself for his withering incredulity and disbelief, he took one giant step toward her, dropping his backpack as he moved, and wrapped her in his thick, sturdy embrace. She felt herself melt into his caress like liquid, felt his hand come up to hold her head tightly to his chest, his fingers threading through her hair.

“I believe you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.

She experienced a relief so profound she gave an involuntary sob into the solid mass of him, as he murmured words of encouragement and comfort into her ear. She figured out in that moment what love was. It was this.

She wasn't sure how long they held each other, but he didn't pull back until she did, and even then he reached out and grabbed her face in both hands lightly, his thumbs rubbing her cheekbones in a gossamer wisp.

"Jesus," he finally said, searching her eyes with his intense hazel gaze. She gave him a shaky smile and a half laugh and he dropped one hand to her arm, leaving the other on her face, which she leaned into. "I don't know your real name," he chuffed kindly, "What do I even call you?"

She smiled, sniffed -- probably unattractively, she thought -- and closed her eyes once before looking at him with affection. "I'm kind of partial to 'Frisbee,' to be honest," she said. He leaned down and kissed her with everything he was worth.

#In Conclusion #MSR #AU #Sequel #Of the Eight Winds #XF #Fanfic #My fic

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aurajitsu · 6 years

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The Sound of Your Voice

Part 11: Feel Free

Summary: The Avengers rescued you from one of the last HYDRA facilities. Discovering your abilities, The Avengers take you in. Why is it that you and Bucky share a dark past you are not willing to share…?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse, violence, human experimentation, language

A/N: you guys!…this is it! the end!…(epilogue to come) -thank you for reading!

Series Master List

Part 10

—

“Nothing matters more to me… than you.”

Bucky’s voice echoes in your mind. It was time you thought, time to face your demons. You hated what they had done to you. What they took, made you lose yourself and your identity. You only had one thing in mind now. A fire sparked to life within you, you couldn’t ignore this anymore.

You lost sight of Bucky, but that didn’t stop you. Mustering up the last of your energy you let out the strongest scream you could muster under the water. It was cold and damp, a rush of air warped the water around you. You could feel the vibrations in the air, amplifying and expanding underneath you. Glowing rings beneath your feet. Lifting you to the surface.

You hovered over the lake, a little shocked at first that you were able to pull this off with out going unconscious. You turned and looked for Bucky and Steve. You called out their names, no answer. You panicked a little when you saw nothing over the surface. You calmed your nerves, and sang a melody. Focusing the song to comb into the water, the sound waves catching disturbances underneath.

“Bucky!”

You walk over the water, rings of sound forming new platforms for you to step on. As you were searching above you hear Steve call out. Shouting so you can spot him, swimming toward you at the center of the lake. Dragging with him an unconscious Bucky.

“Steve! Bucky!”

You hollered at them. He didn’t seem surprised at how graceful you stood over the water, standing on glowing rings. You walked over them as if they were lilly pads of sound, keeping you afloat.

You gave Steve a hand as he gripped at the solid rings, pulling Bucky over to you first. You expand your platform as Steve pulls himself on it too. Steve is gasping for air, he’s tired but checks Bucky’s pulse.

“Bucky! I’m so sorry,” You kneel over him and see that he isn’t breathing. You grasp at his wet henley shirt. His locks stuck to his forehead, you scan his features.

“Oh no, please, Bucky!”

You see Steve begin resuscitation by placing his hands on Bucky and pushing in. He pumps several times.

“Wait!” Steve looks up to you and almost snaps at you when he says:

“He’s not breathing!”

“I know! Just—just…hold on!”

Steve can’t believe you stopped him from helping his friend. You place your hands on Bucky and begin to hum. Letting the warmth of your sound intensify and seep into Bucky. He watches as you close your eyes and somehow with your glowing hands draw him back to consciousness. He turned on his side and proceeded to cough out the water that he had swallowed. His voice gruff and weary. Steve pats his back and they look at one another, relieved.

“…Y/N…”

“Bucky, I’m so sorry…” She had tears come down and mixing with the water on her cheeks. “I wasn’t strong enough…I’m so sorry…”

He knew she didn’t mean the lake. Bucky pulled her closer, laying over the pulsing rings facing the sky. She drapes herself over him. He felt at peace but was well aware that they had just barely escaped drowning at the bottom of the lake.

He watched a single bird fly over them, soaring through the sky. He followed it as Y/N lay on his chest, quietly crying. Steve catching his breath, looking over them. The bird caught up with the rest of its flock, shaping a V in the sky. He watched the formation fly into the distance and finally spoke.

“It’s not your fault.”

He repeated himself, so you would never forget. Never blame yourself for what was out of your control.

Because we’re free, and no one, no one in this universe will ever take you away from me.

I love you Y/N.

————

You sat in that white room, your hand running over your large belly. It was quiet, a low hum of the air pushed through the vents above and rushed footsteps outside. The spooked doctor from before enters your room. You were relieving your memory but it was different this time.

“Sirena. Please stand up.”

A male voice asked. It was strange, no one in HYDRA ever asked you nicely. Who was this man? Your mind drawing a blank.

“Sirena.” He whispered harshly. “We have to go.”

You stood up with his help. Your belly heavy and protruding. You instinctively placed your hands on it as if it was enough to protect the child inside. The young man was the scientist from before. Somehow you knew this man meant to protect you and the baby. You knew he was up to something. You looked at him expectantly.

“Please, Sirena. Follow me. I’m going to get your baby out of here…”

You followed him out and into the long hallways. And outside the building through a back door. He hurried you into a van parked so close to the exit, you practically stepped into it. Other men and a woman waiting for you inside. They all wore white, scientists and doctors, you thought. You didn’t know why you were so comfortable with them, but you smiled at them anyway. They drove you to another place. It was strange how they seemed to have everything prepared. You willingly followed their instruction.

“It’s for your baby’s well being. Please trust us. The head scientist doesn’t know what we are doing…”

The young male told you. He wanted to reassure you, make sure you were comfortable during the delivery.

“We are going to induce labor. Sirena, please let us know if you feel too much pain. We’ll help you deliver your healthy baby boy...”

Everything felt rushed, but they guided you to a large room and a comfortable bed. They placed an IV on your arm and gave you pillow to lean back on. Once the contractions started you felt some pain, but it was distant. Lost in the chemicals they had injected you with.

When the time came, your sweat sticking your hair to your forehead. Your hands gripping the hand rails. Breathy cries as you pushed with all your might. The pains coming in waves, pressuring your hips to open and push. You felt a heat between your legs, burning as you gave one last push. You saw the doctor lift your newborn up.

“It’s a boy!”

Cleaning him and wrapping him up. You felt your head spin and held your breath until you they to handed him to you. It was then that he cried, a small raspy cry. It brought tears to your eyes. You only saw him, nothing else mattered at the moment. You wanted this moment to last forever, you didn’t know how much time you had with him. You held him tight against you. A thought creeping in that you wouldn’t see his little peaceful face if you let your guard down. Tears ran down as you glanced up to the room.

“Please, I need more time with him…” You begged at the scientist standing next to you. His arms open as if waiting for youth hand your newborn. A fear that he would run away with him as soon as you let your baby go.

“Sirena. You don’t have much time. Give me the child….I will make sure he will be raised right…He will be safe with me…”

“But HYDRA!—“

“HYDRA will not know. I promise you. I promise that he will be safe. Give him to me, I will tell your handlers that he was stillborn.”

You cried, pressing kisses all over his tiny face. Trying to memorize his little features, soundly asleep. Unaware of the terrors of the world. His scent, his incredibly soft skin. His tiny hands and even tinier nails. He momentarily opened his little eyes, and you saw they were a light grey. He will have his father’s eyes.

“How can I trust you?” You managed out in a wavering whisper.

He hesitated, “I know you don’t trust me, but please…you’ll see…he’s going to be safe with me…I will raise him myself…HYDRA will never get their hands on him…”

You shook your head, “Take me with you, please! He needs my breastmilk. He needs me. I can’t just give him to you!”

You held onto the warm bundle closer to your chest. He said nothing as he watched you try to feed your newborn. But he was asleep and did not take the nipple. You shook your head, and placed kisses all over his little hands and head. Whispering loving words at him.

“Your father would have been so proud…moya lyubov….moya kroshka…moy rebenok…’”

“I’m sorry Sirena… I promise you…no harm will ever come to him…”

The scientist whispered, nodding to the nurse on the other side of your bed. She injects your I.V. with a clear liquid. Instantly making you heavy, sleepy and you couldn’t react, or fight as he took your baby from your arms. His little voice crying for his mothers warmth. The sound filling your ears. A sound that would haunt you forever.

No, you thought. No.

———

Your eyes burst open, but you freeze. You took several breaths to calm your rapid heart beat. You search

The room around you. Your breathing is loud in the quiet and dark room. You sit up and look down, a strange feeling between your legs. Hot, slippery and a strong odor that makes your stomach hurt. You panic and pull the sheets back. You let out a panicked scream. Placing a hand over your mouth.

Bucky quickly shoots up from his place next to you. He places a hand on your back and rubs so gently.

“Y/N? What’s going on? Nightmares again?“

He looks down in your lap, following your gaze. You hair sticking to your sweaty skin, but your face had lost all color. You didn’t know what to make of the blood between your legs. It had stained your panties and onto the clean sheets. It brings bad memories and your eyes tear up.

“Shh, doll…Y/N, don’t worry Steve won’t fuss over this….It’s okay….”

Bucky began to stand and pull the sheets off the bed. And took your hands in his, he kneeled on the ground. His voice was nearly a whisper, gentle and low. He knew only you could hear it, thats all that mattered.

“Y/N. It’s okay, I’m here…. I’ll run a bath for you…We can talk about those nightmares later….yeah?”

You nodded and stood, feeling sticky, gross and filthy. You felt sick. Sick of everything. Bucky didn’t give up, after you both had almost drowned. You both decided to take things slow. Steve let both of you stay in his cabin, for as long as you needed. Bucky doting over you, caring for you. HIs gentleness never ceased to amaze you.

You slowly followed him to the restroom, striping of your stained clothing. Bucky running a bath, and gently guiding you into the tub. He then picked up the dirty clothes, took them along with the sheets and placed new ones. He had left the door open, watching his every move.

You sank your knees into the warm water, rubbing off the blood. You just couldn’t seem to clean it all off. You kept rubbing it, washing it off, adding soap and rubbing again. Your eyes closing up with tears, you couldn’t see your skin was irritated from rubbing so much.

You cried, like you have every day since you had that nightmare the first night a week ago. Deep down you knew that what Bucky had said had triggered something in you. You wondered how old he was now. If he was even alive, does he talk? What does his small voice sound like? What is his name? Where is he?

Why? Why wasn’t I strong enough to fight them off? I’m so sorry, baby….please forgive me….

You let the water run over you, as you cried silently, hoping Bucky wouldn’t see you. It had been almost a week. Everyday Steve would come by and check up on both of you. Today she didn’t know how to ask if he could bring her more clothing and feminine products. These thoughts helped her distract herself from the horrors. The nightmares that began to reveal more little by little every time.

“We have to find him…” you whisper to yourself. Letting the rings expand and dissipate into the air around you. You close your eyes. Tears running down as you sing your lullaby, what your baby would have heard every night if he was born under different circumstances.

Memories flicker in your mind of his tiny features. Little fingers in tightly closed fists. His little button nose, and small rounded ears. He scrunches his face at the smell of your skin. Your baby stirs in your arms, but nestles against you. He smells like love, the world around you melts away at the sight of him.

“Bucky!” You yell for him.

“Bucky!”

Your tears don’t stop when he runs in and pulls you into his arms. Embracing you, not caring if you splash his clothes. He shushes you, tries to calm you by brushing his hand over your hair. You cry, and gasp, the sounds resonating in the small bathroom.

“Bucky! We have to find him!”

————

1 Year Later

Steve and Sam stood outside. Overseeing the road leading up the compound.

“You think they will be okay?” Sam asked him, his arms crossed, contemplating what they were going to tell them. Steve shook his head, before he could answer he looked up at the sound of a motorcycle.

Bucky slowed as he saw them waiting for their arrival.

Y/N stepped off the bike followed by Bucky. They removed their helmets, her eyes looked tired. But she smiled at them and gave Sam a hug. She then embraced Steve and held on, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Steve said, letting her go and embracing Bucky. She watched them greet each other, they had been gone for several months chasing cold leads. Every time they came home, they looked exhausted. Their fallen faces letting them know that they came back empty handed.

Once inside, ushered by Steve to the common room, they sit on the soft sofas. Long after the warm welcomes for all of their friends. Steve gathered them along with Sam. Y/N leans into Bucky’s side, he wraps his arm around her. Their thoughts distant, they sigh almost in unison. You smile up at him sending him warming tingles. His vibranium arm pulls you closer, plates shifting as if to relax to her touch.

Steve and Sam sits across from you and Bucky. They had brought them coffee and cookies to welcome them back. Steve’s warm smile fades and begins. He rubs his hands together.

“I know you two have been through a lot…And I understand that your priority these past months is finding and bringing back your child home…”

Y/N looks away, not wanting to talk about him just yet. Bucky interrupts him sensing her discomfort. His shoulders drop, bringing his hands together and leaning over his knees.

“Steve. Every time we think we have a lead…It just leads to despair and disappointment…” He hesitates and holds her closer. Tears building up in both their eyes. As if all hope was lost.

“We haven’t rested since she had that nightmare that began the search….But we can’t keep breaking our hearts over and over….We’ve decided to stop looking for him…”

Steve looks at Sam and then at them before continuing. You shift in your seat watching them exchange looks. You were tired but not enough to notice their small smiles. Sam nodded to Steve.

“What are you too planning?”

“I don’t think one more lead would make a difference?”

“What do you mean?” Bucky perked up a bit, bringing the coffee to his lips. Breathing in the strong aroma. He could tell Steve couldn’t contain his excitement. He thought he would lecture them for giving up after a whole year.

“Buck, Y/N. We found something you might be interested in. This lead is solid, theres DNA evidence Tony was able to collect. Sam checked it out already—“

“Well?! Spit it out! What are you saying?!” Bucky almost shot up if he weren’t holding his coffee, he placed it on the table instead. Y/N also tensed up when Steve said ‘DNA.’ Your heart started to race at the thought that they had found something. Steve raised his hands in defense and lets out a chuckle.

“We found him.”

—————

----

I’m not crying You’re Crying! -*bows* thank you!

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malecsecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @theswandive!

Read on AO3

*****

The Great and the Bloody

Alec wiped the sweat from his forehead as he tried to focus on the early morning traffic and the Fall of Rome playing through the speakers. In the passenger seat beside him, Isabelle nodded absently to the pulsing rhythm of the electronic dance music on her headphones.

“There is no duty more obligatory than the repayment of kindness,” the historian quoted Cicero, just as Alec reached up to pause the podcast.

“Which exit is it?” he asked.

Izzy’s bobbing head continued, fingers tapping with a plastic crinkle against her thigh.

“Hey!” Alec elbowed her. “Where are we going?”

Izzy dropped her headphones to loop around her neck. The music kept pounding through them, too hype and aggressive for so early in the day, in Alec’s opinion. Not that Rome’s destruction was particularly peaceful. Izzy scrolled through her phone, nails trimmed short, but painted bright red. “Thirty-five B,” she said finally.

“On the right?”

“Most exits are on the right, Alec.”

“Hey, don’t get snippy. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Sorry,” she grumbled. “I’m thirsty. And hot.”

“Yeah.” Alec pushed his t-shirt against his skin to soak up the drop of sweat sliding down his chest. “Can we turn the heat off now?”

“No. This chick’s manager said she won’t take the fight if I’m an ounce over 125.” She adjusted the blowers, aiming them at herself even though they already were, and turned the heat up high, even though it already was. She’d been wearing the crinkly plastic sauna suit since the night before, trying to sweat out every extra drop of water weight.

“I’m not sure I like you taking a fight on short notice with a fighter we know nothing about at a venue I’ve never heard of.”

Izzy shrugged, and Alec supposed it was that casual recklessness that made her the fighter and him the driver in this scenario. “I’ve read her Wikipedia page,” she said.

“She has a Wikipedia page? Do you have a Wikipedia page?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, Alec. It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. So tell me about her.”

“Camille ‘The Bloody’ Belcourt,” Isabelle read.

Alec shook his head. “Fight names…”

“Couple of her fights are on YouTube. See?”

She turned her phone to him and Alec glanced over just in time to see a dark-haired woman slam her opponent with a sharp, fight-ending left hook.

“That her getting clocked or doing the clocking?”

“Doing the clocking. She’s undefeated.”

Alec took in a deep breath.

“And so I am, Alec.”

“Damn right, you are,” he said, veering the conversation away from dangerous territory. “That’s going on your Wikipedia page that I’m going to create when we’re at the hotel.”

Izzy laughed.

Alec never did enjoy watching his little sister fight, or seeing those bruises and black eyes heal, but ever since she was little, a Happy Izzy was always a bit rumpled. She didn’t feel like herself if she wasn’t elbows-deep in entrails for an autopsy, or her knuckles raw from gi burn and learning a new collar choke. It was something his parents never understood about her. But then, his parents didn’t understand a lot about him either.

“Raphael says it’s all okay," she said. "His text says, ‘Magnus Bane is a good man.’”

“Magnus Bane. Now that’s a good fight name. ‘Great’ Bane. Bane of your existence.”

Izzy looked at him, silent, clueless.

“Magnus means ‘great’ in Latin,” Alec explained.

“Okay. I don’t think he’s a fighter, though. He just owns the venue. The fight night’s this charity thing he does for a teen shelter. That place that Raphael talks about, remember? For queer and trans youth? He’s known Magnus forever.”

“Oh.” Alec shrugged. “Cool name.”

Off the 35B exit into the city, shining office buildings surrounded the Pandemonium nightclub and the only parking was a four-story garage attached to the Radisson hotel. Signs declared anything closer to be “For Deliveries Only.”

A van marked “Downworld Warriors” sat idling outside the service doors, their fighters climbing out with their gym bags and gear.

“You’re a delivery,” Alec said as he and Izzy cruised by the otherwise dim, unimpressive building. “I could drop you off.”

“Nah, go park at the hotel. I can sweat more on the walk over.”

In fact, Izzy chose to jog over, conveniently forgetting that that left Alec to carry her gym bag and her cooler filled with water and Powerade, along with his own backpack. But Luke always reminded them that a focused fighter was a ready fighter, and a focused fighter was sometimes an oblivious fighter. Alec shuffled slowly after her, actually sort of enjoying the empty city sidewalks on a cool, sunny morning.

A few minutes later, he struggled through the door of the nightclub in time to hear a voice greeting his sister. “You must be Isabelle,” the man said fluidly. “Raphael told me to look for the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

Alec suppressed an eye roll. It wasn’t the worst line he’d heard a guy give Izzy, and at least the guy followed it up with information for a fighter, not an invitation to his private suite at the Radisson (Alec had heard Izzy get that one before).

Inside, Pandemonium seemed gray. Gray in a way that nightclubs always seemed during the day. No flashing lights or sparkling people. Just strained sunlight revealing an open space that felt more like a warehouse than a dance floor. But as Alec set down Izzy’s bags, he noted that the place looked clean. No disturbing stains on the fancy velvet couches along the walls, no dust clinging to the liquor bottles, and the only unpleasant smell Alec detected was the familiar musky stink of his sister’s boxing gloves. Alec glanced around and pondered that he might actually be the dirtiest thing in here.

“Who are you?” he heard that same voice breathe.

“That’s my brother. He’s cornering for me,” Isabelle answered as she disappeared through a far door, and Alec turned to see the most incredible-looking person gliding toward him. He blinked, trying to take in every bit—and everywhere he looked was something to admire from the dark liner around darker eyes to the handsome goatee around perfect lips to the glittering necklaces against a strong, broad chest to the fitted slacks to the—were those shoes suede? And how did a person move like that?

“I’m Magnus,” the man said smoothly. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Alec.” The smile on his face felt decidedly dopey.

And this man, Magnus, smiled back at him, all flowing confidence, shoulders swaying. “I expected to see Luke this morning,” he said.

“Oh, um. He’s on his honeymoon. So—so you get me.”

“Do I?” The tone in Magnus’s voice sent strange heat down Alec’s spine.

“My sister—Isabelle—her water,” Alec stumbled, awkwardly lifting the cooler. “She’s thirsty.”

“I know the feeling,” Magnus said with a smirk, then he nodded. “Yes, you should join your sister. The weigh-ins are in the back room.”

Alec nodded once, short and distracted, then ran after Izzy, tripping over her gym bag before he remembered to carry it too.

He found her in a tidy storage room packed with other fighters and their coaches, the walls lined with boxes stamped with the names of fine liqueurs. His skin trembled as he stood next to her. “You have my towels?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He heard Luke’s voice in his head again and muttered to himself. “Focus on your fighter, Lightwood. Focus on your fighter.”

So he followed Isabelle as she ducked into a nearby room. He paused at the door, reading a metal placard on the door that stated, “Restroom - Gender not enforced nor required,” then walked in to help Isabelle peel herself out of her disgustingly sweaty sauna suit.

Usually Alec liked going to weigh-ins. Nothing but dozens of men in fighting shape, dropping down to their underwear to flex and step on the scale. But his gaze kept sliding over to Magnus as he strolled in and out, answering questions from Duncan, the representative from the athletic commission; talking with caterers; directing crews arriving with chairs, tables, and the massive chain-link walls of the cage. None of the nearly naked athletes with their youthful aggression could compare to Magnus’s casual competence, the way he moved like the lord of a kingdom.

Leaning against the wall beside him, Isabelle noticed nothing, too distracted by hunger and thirst, mind focused, and her head bobbing to the beat pulsing through her headphones. She noticed, though, when Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt herself arrived an hour late.

Izzy’s opponent strolled in wrapped in a red silk robe, followed by an entourage of what Alec assumed were her training partners—women and men with round boxer’s shoulders and sculpted abs on display. He glanced at his sister, but if she was intimidated, it didn’t show.

The other fighters, all the young and hungry guys ready to bang, parted for her like subjects before their queen, and Camille looked at them the same way. She strode across the room, high heels clicking on the concrete, and came to stand beside Commissioner Duncan and the scale.

“Hey, Camille,” Duncan greeted, and marked his clipboard with a sigh.

Alec peered around; no one seemed surprised she was late. And for that matter, Alec didn’t see Magnus Bane anywhere.

“Where’s the other girl?” Camille asked. “I want to see her make weight before I bother taking off my shoes.”

Duncan read off his clipboard, “Isabelle Lightwood, Wolfpack MMA,” but Isabelle was already crossing to them, feet and body bare save for her sports bra and swimsuit bottoms.

Alec felt the air stir beside him and tensed to realize it was Magnus sliding into Isabelle’s place. “Your sister looks like a real warrior,” he said.

“She is,” Alec replied, swallowing. Magnus smelled incredible, some masculine scent that Alec wanted on his skin, and he felt keenly aware of his shirt soaked by his own sweat, and Izzy’s sweat, and his unwashed hair and unshaven jaw.

“And you?” Magnus turned to him, back leaned against the wall.

“I still train, but I don’t—uh, I stopped competing a while ago.”

“Why’s that?”

“I didn’t want to get hit in the head anymore.”

Magnus laughed lightly. “Understandable.”

Alec’s eyes met Magnus’s and he searched for words to say, even if he could have just gazed at those brown eyes in silence for an embarrassingly long time. “You? I mean, do you—fight?”

“No, no. I’ve always just been fight adjacent.”

“How’d you end up fight adjacent?

“I dated Camille.” Magnus smiled a bit tightly.

“Oh.” Alec looked away, back to the scale, just in time to see Camille drop her silken robe to reveal matching deep-red lacy lingerie. The men around them let out hoots and appreciative whistles. Alec didn’t need to be attracted to her to know she was gorgeous.

“She does bring in a lot of money for the shelter,” Magnus continued, tilting his head toward Alec to be heard over the clamor. “Some love her, some hate her, but everybody pays to see her.”

Alec watched Camille’s toned, unblemished body on the scale and wished he could read on Magnus’s face how he felt about her now. He tugged the sleeve of his t-shirt down, as if it would do anything to hide the black ink decorating his arms, his scars or his coarse hair.

“I would say it's hard working with an ex, but it's really just Camille.” Magnus shrugged. “Duncan’s my ex, too, and he and I get along just fine.”

“Oh,” Alec said, and no other words came to his mind. Except maybe, Oh, thank god.

Magnus cast him a glance, as if maybe that was exactly why he’d mentioned it. Alec breathed a little easier.

Izzy stalked back over to them. She didn’t acknowledge Magnus as she grabbed the Powerade from Alec’s hands, cracked the lid, and downed half of it in one go. “I need food,” she said.

At the same moment, a woman in a chef’s coat approached. “Mr. Bane?”

Alec and Magnus looked at one another. “Duty calls, for both of us,” Magnus said as he backed away to join the chef.

“Yeah,” Alec said, watching him go, and he turned to follow Izzy.

_______

In their small room at the Radisson, Alec dug through his backpack, searching for something—anything—nicer to wear. He smelled the armpits of a black button-down, forgotten, folded and wedged at the bottom. Wrinkled, but clean.

While Izzy sprawled on the bed devouring her pre-fight carbs and protein, Alec showered, shaved, and cleaned himself from head to toe. Steam billowed out the open door as he stood before the foggy mirror, tugging on his damp hair.

He didn’t notice Izzy standing in the doorway until she spoke. “Thought you were going to make my Wiki page,” she said knowingly, eyeing his clothes.

Alec glanced over. “Oh—I…um…”

She laughed and waved away his explanations. “You look nice.” She came in smirking and turned him toward her, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

“What’re you doing?” Alec swatted her hands.

“Show off some of those tattoos, big brother.” She grinned. “I bet Magnus likes them.”

Alec narrowed his eyes at her. Normal Izzy with food and water in her body was a dangerously perceptive creature.

_______

When they returned, Pandemonium had been transformed. A huge, six-sided ring sat in the center of the dancefloor on a dais, closed in on all sides by vinyl-coated chain-link fencing. Folding chairs with lush red cushions surrounded the cage and blue lights cast sparkling, magical patterns on the walls and floor. Caterers rushed back and forth, preparing food that smelled rich and savory, and Alec breathed in deep through his nose as he followed Isabelle through the red-velvet of the VIP section to the contained “fight stink” of the backroom where all the fighters warmed up and waited.

Hosting this lavish event turned Magnus into a ghost, a gilded, beautiful thing shimmering in and out of the room—but from the glances cast his way, Alec let himself imagine maybe the apparition appeared in the backroom more than necessary. Maybe Magnus was finding excuses to look at him, too.

Magnus still cut the finer figure. He’d changed clothes as well, his earlier outfit only revealed to have been casual in contrast to his evening finery—a jacket lined with glittering metal studs and a blue vest fitted tightly over his chest. Rings glinted on his fingers, necklaces highlighting the incredible lines of his throat, and Alec had never understood until now how magical fashion could be on the body of a man who knew how to use it.

And the kids. Teenagers from the shelter trailed after him like ducklings with their short-cropped hair dyed hot pink or spiked through with purple, wearing their best jeans and hoodies, or sundresses with fuzzy knitted cardigans. Magnus smiled and laughed with them, all at ease, like a favorite uncle. Or a perfect father. Alec remembered what Raphael had texted Isabelle: “Magnus Bane is a good man.” You might have undersold that, Raph, he thought.

“You can go talk to him,” Isabelle said.

“No, it’s—I’m here for you.” Alec returned his attention to layering gauze around his sister’s knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Alec.” She nearly rolled her eyes, but Alec also saw the glance that skittered over toward the corner where Camille warmed up with her coach. Alec could hear her harsh breaths and the smacks of glove against hand pads. He knew his sister well enough to know that she was nervous. She’d never faced an opponent as tough as Camille, and he’d been too distracted by Magnus to pay attention to the weigh-ins. Maybe Camille said something to her. Maybe Camille had actually managed to intimidate her.

He tore the gauze, then pulled out a long strip of white athletic tape to secure her hand wraps. “So, Isabelle Sophia Lightwood—excuse me, Doctor Isabelle Sophia Lightwood is an undefeated MMA fighter. Brown belt in jiu-jitsu and she’s won a ton of tournaments; we don’t even have enough room on Wikipedia to list all the tournaments she’s won. She got her doctorate in forensics in 20...15?”

“2016,” Isabelle corrected. “January 13th.”

“January 13th, 2016—so she can not only choke someone, but she can autopsy them and diagnose the cause of death afterward.”

Isabelle let out a laugh, followed by a steady sigh that Alec had wanted to hear. She rested her chin on her arms, gazing at him with a smile as he firmly taped her fists. “She’s a really, really bad cook—”

“Hey!”

“She once ruined pre-made cookie dough that her mom got for her brother’s birthday party—”

“That’s true...”

“But she makes a mean bowl of cereal. Oh, and she figured out that it was the mushrooms in the neighbor’s yard that were poisoning the chipmunks. Remember that, at the old house?”

“Oh, yeah!” Isabelle said, laughing, and Alec grinned just to hear her.

For once that night, he didn’t notice that magical Magnus Bane was in the room. He didn’t notice that Magnus Bane was watching him, watching them, with admiration in his eyes.

_______

A good-looking guy in a tailored suit joined the ring-girl in her evening gown in the cage. Both of them circled the mat to admiring hoots and cheers as they carried signs over their heads reading, “Round 1.” Alec had known of Magnus’s existence for all of eight hours, but it didn’t surprise him to see that the man had arranged for a “ring-girl” and a “ring-boy” for his guests.

And what guests they were. Alec straightened the collar of his Wolfpack hoodie over his button-down and reminded himself he was there as an athlete anyway. Everyone seemed to shine, in every way a person could shine. Alec tried not to gape at men walking through hand in hand, wedding bands prominent on their otherwise bare fingers. Women in puffy cocktail dresses introducing each other as “my wife.” It was dizzying. Dizzyingly beautiful in a way Alec hadn’t known was possible.

Among them, Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt had a lot of fans. They booed and screamed, leaning over the railing at Isabelle as she strode out from the backroom to take her place in the cage. During his own fighting days, this had always been the part Alec liked least. He loved to train and spar, part of him even loved to get out there and test himself against a fighter he didn’t know, but he never could thrive on the attention the way Isabelle did.

“Yeah!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. The crowd got louder as those who weren’t fans of Camille bellowed their support into the air, a battle of voices among the plush red chairs.

Isabelle’s grin glowed brightly as she strutted toward the cage, waving and winking at the crowd. She always made for a great show. Promoters loved her for it. Alec kind of loved her for it, too. He shook his head, laughing, and proudly followed her.

As Izzy got checked over by the cutman, Alec took his spot just outside the cage, near enough to talk to her during the fight. Near enough to coach and help. “Stay loose, Izzy,” Alec said, trying to keep his voice steady as she trotted to her corner on the mat. “Be first.”

Camille stalked like the cage like an animal, whatever coyness she’d shown at the weigh-ins burned away by aggression. She stared at Isabelle across the mat, eyes narrowed to dark slits. Her mouthguard showed red and white between her lips, fashioned to look like she had vampire fangs.

Isabelle cracked her neck and the referee chopped his hand down. “Fight!” he yelled.

Camille and Isabelle moved toward each other, fists up. For the first round, Izzy held her own, but just barely. The second round felt like a nightmare.

Alec had seen his sister in plenty of ugly fights, but Camille seemed faster, more brutal than all of them. Her every strike aimed to permanently damage, not just win the fight, and left—right—hook, a violent cross and Isabelle dropped to one knee. For only a fraction of a second, but it was worse than Alec had seen her do before. It meant she was hurt.

Isabelle turned toward him, pivoting on her foot and her left eye was a mound of red, swollen flesh. Blood poured down her chin from her nose. Even the crowd behind him reacted, the sound of a hundred people hissing in sympathy. And suddenly, Alec was four years old and holding the baby his parents brought him from the hospital and she was his, he called her his. And he was twelve and shouting back at his parents for making Isabelle cry, fighting for her in a way he never fought for himself. And he was nineteen and stealing his dad’s car in the middle of the night to pick up Isabelle from a friend’s house when everyone had gotten drunk and out of control, and he didn’t scold her or complain because at least she was safe, and they were together, and she was his baby sister. Alec told Luke he couldn’t do this part. He could cheer for Izzy, he could train and spar and root for Izzy, but he couldn’t do this. He wanted to throw in the towel and just scream at the referee to Stop this! Can’t you see she’s hurt? That’s my sister!

He didn’t realize the ragged panic in his breath until he felt a steady grip on his elbow and Magnus at his side. “Hey, hey,” Magnus soothed. “It’s okay. She’ll be okay.”

Alec turned to him, let himself drink in the caring calm of his face. “Listen to me,” Magnus said, and Alec did, as though his life depended on it. “Your sister knows what she’s doing. She’s a warrior. Right now, she needs you as her coach. Help her see what she can’t.”

Alec heard the familiar click of the 10-second warning and the crowd’s cheering intensified along with the fight. He knew Izzy would be pouring out her last bit of energy before the end of the round.

“Camille drops her right with her hook,” Alec said.

Magnus smiled, warm and fond. “Yes, she does. And she can’t sprawl worth a damn. Tell Isabelle all of that. Go.”

The bell sounded the end of the round. Alec grabbed his cornerman’s bucket and ran up the steps into the cage. Isabelle’s injuries looked even worse up close. Alec’s gaze darted to the man, the stranger who felt like a friend, still standing outside the fencing. Magnus nodded comfortingly at him.

“Can you see?” he asked his sister.

“I can see. It’s okay.” She took the swig of water he offered her and winked with her good eye. “How do I look?”

“You look like a warrior, Dr. Lightwood.”

A smile flickered across Isabelle’s broken lips. Alec pressed the cold metal of the Enswell against the hot, straining skin of her cheek and told her everything she needed to know to defeat Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt.

“Seconds out!” the ref shouted, and Alec left the cage. Magnus had waited for him and Alec fell in beside him, staring up at the third round in the cage.

Izzy rolled her shoulders, let out a breath, and stepped into the center of the cage with fists raised and first-round fire in her step. This is what Alec admired and loved about his sister. He made a mental note to tell Magnus about the time she’d been paired against a 200-pound jiu-jitsu champ at the PanAms, or the time she’d beat up a guy at school who kept unhooking the girls’ bras in the hallway, or the time she’d aced the SATs with a head cold. Isabelle had no quit in her.

And she wasn’t starting now. Camille threw one of those sharp, fight-ending left hooks—but Izzy bobbed and blasted a left hook of her own into that vampire-toothed grimace. In a flash, she’d dropped and slammed Camille to the ground.

“All right, Izzy! Yes! Stay heavy!” Alec screamed amid the cheering crowd.

In the cage, Isabelle dominated. Camille flailed on her back like a cockroach, trying to get a hold, but Izzy spun and grabbed her arm. Alec’s arm twinged in sympathetic memory as Isabelle clamped down the arm bar, forcing Camille’s elbow to painfully hyperextend. The 10-second warning clicked.

“Hold it! Stay tight!” Alec yelled.

Isabelle did. The clock counted down—and then, three seconds before the round ended, the pain was too much. Camille tapped.

The crowd erupted. Alec jumped on his feet, screaming, with Magnus cheering beside him and all the people behind them. Mixed in, some of Camille’s clan still booed and hollered insults, but Isabelle’s comeback had won most of them over. A wave of excited chanting roared through the room.

The ref stopped the fight and a second later, the timer buzzed the end of the round. Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt—undefeated no more.

Alec ran up into the cage as soon as the door opened and he lifted Izzy into a sweaty, triumphant hug. She grinned as best she could with a swollen eye and blood staining her mouthguard. Alec half-turned to bring Magnus into the embrace, but he wasn’t there. Because of course he wasn’t, Alec realized. They barely knew one another. Of course Magnus wouldn’t have come in.

He glanced back to his spot through the fencing, but Magnus wasn’t there either. He was gone. But that made sense, Alec insisted to himself. Magnus was a busy person and this was his event. Of course, he didn’t have time to linger just for Alec. They were strangers. They didn’t know one another.

They were strangers.

_______

The quiet

plink-plink-plink

of the dripping faucet in the bathroom soothed the hum in his ears from the screaming crowd just outside the door. Isabelle sat on the counter, eyes closed as Alec gently cleaned the blood from her chin and neck. He valued these moments almost as much as the victories. Izzy had patched a lot of his wounds, too—physical and otherwise. It made the distance from their parents a little easier.

Izzy hissed in pain as the cloth dragged over raw skin. “She hits hard for a tiny thing.”

“So do you, tiny thing,” Alec said. “And she’s the one with a loss on her Wiki page now.”

“True,” Izzy agreed, and fell silent again. She breathed steadily, calmly, under her brother’s care. “I’m surprised you didn’t freak out when I started bleeding.”

“I did, actually.” He rinsed the towel in the sink, staining the water pink. He hesitated, then added, “Magnus calmed me down.”

“He did?” Izzy opened her good eye.

Alec nodded, wiping carefully under her nose.

“Did you thank him? Or get his phone number?”

“No.”

“Alec,” she said, like he was the stupidest man in the world. “What are you doing? Go find him.” She snatched the towel from his hand.

“You’re hurt.”

“So what? You like him and you never like people.”

Alec wanted to argue, he wanted to be by her side—but he wanted to see Magnus, too. And the thought tickled maddeningly at his mind that maybe he never wanted another day where he didn’t see Magnus.

Alec burst out of the bathroom, feeling like the hero in a romantic comedy as he darted through the crowds watching the headlining fight. He didn’t know exactly where Magnus would be, but he didn’t see him among the sparkle and finery around the cage. He didn’t see him in the VIP section, or by the bar, so Alec rushed through the departing fighters to the backroom.

And there, he saw him.

With Camille.

Alec halted, almost skidding on the concrete. Magnus stood placidly as the medics tended to Camille’s minor wounds. “I don’t know what you think you have without me,” she said to Magnus.

“We agreed upon a price, Camille. You didn’t specify a bonus should you lose.”

“Because I shouldn’t have lost.” She glowered at him. “Are you done?” she barked at the medic, who nodded and backed away, hands raised.

Alec watched them. For as much as they looked beautiful together—both dark-eyed, graceful and effortlessly fashionable—they looked utterly wrong together. Magnus all warmth to Camille’s coolness, soulful to her sinful, a smile to her sneer. Camille showed almost no sign of the fight, save for a small mark by her eye and the ice pack the medic fastened to her elbow.

All he could think of was the blood pouring down Izzy’s chin and the ugly swell of her eye. He stared at the wounded expression on Magnus’s face and Alec wondered if that was the irony of calling her “The Bloody”—even when you defeated her, you were the one left bleeding.

Alec thought of Cicero and strolled into the room. “Magnus,” he said, as though he didn’t realize Camille was there. “You free for dinner?”

Magnus turned to him, his expression open in surprise. Alec glanced at Camille, just one cursory look. Just enough to be sure she knew he wasn’t scared of her any more than Izzy was. Camille smiled with only half her mouth, an unkind, nasty thing.

Alec returned his gaze to Magnus and those bright, honest eyes. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you,” he said softly, hoping Magnus would hear the truth in the words. The soft curve of his lips seemed to say that he did.

“Of course, Alexander,” he breathed, then cleared his throat and tugged the hem of his vest. “I’m afraid we’ll have to adhere to the contract, Camille, unless you’d like to schedule an appointment for our lawyers to hash it out. You can add a ‘loss clause’ next time.”

“Maybe there won’t be a next time, Magnus,” she said, imposing as though the folding chair were a throne. “We’ll see how your little charity project does then.”

If Alec expected a cynical smile from Magnus, he didn’t get one. Instead, he looked upon Camille with disappointment, and sorrow. “You can do that, if that’s your choice. As they say, a true fighter reveals herself in defeat.”

Magnus turned his back on her and fell into step beside Alec as they left the room. Their shoulders brushed.

They walked in silence for few moments, just making it into the dim and comfort of the VIP section before Magnus tugged Alec to a stop and turned to him, sudden and sure. “Thank you,” he said. A heartbeat later, Alec felt Magnus’s lips pressed against his, gratitude raw even in the gentleness of his touch.

Alec couldn’t speak with Magnus so close, the heat of him so near. So near that he saw the worry begin to cloud Magnus’s features. “I’m sorry—” Magnus started.

Alec grabbed him by the lapels and kissed that worry away.

As Alec drank in the scent and feel of him, some scattered thought reminded him that Magnus was a stranger, that he’d known this man for only a matter of hours. Truly, he didn’t know this man at all. But another, stronger part of him knew he did. He knew him and trusted him and couldn’t wait to learn everything else.

When they parted, Magnus’s smile was a blissful, radiant thing. “So where are we going for our first date? he asked.

Alec ducked his head, feeling a laugh glowing in his chest. First date, and not a doubt that there would be a second, a third.

“We can stay here,” Magnus continued, “but my team knows what they’re doing and frankly, it might be nice to get away from work for a while.”

“Izzy always wants to eat her body weight in tamales after a fight.” Alec shrugged a little apologetically. “I know tamales with my sister’s not very romantic, but it’s—we’ve had this tradition since her first tournament—and I’d like you to come if—”

Magnus lifted a finger, nearly touching Alec’s lips to silence him. “I understand," he said. “I’d love to come."

Alec couldn’t help but smile, and watched those ring-gilded fingers drift away. “I left Izzy in the bathroom,” he said, as they stepped back out into the main room.

“She’s not now.”

Alec followed Magnus’s eyeline to the cluster of young people from the shelter. They surrounded Isabelle, fight programs held out for her autograph, cellphones clutched in their hands for selfies.

“My family found yours,” Magnus said. “I spent time at the shelter after my parents...Well, that’s a story for another time, but it’s my second home. My chosen family, you could say.” He nodded toward a little girl with pretty brown skin and fluffy braids. “That’s my Madzie.” The girl beamed, stars in her eyes as she gazed at Isabelle and asked for her signature. “Looks like I might have another crowd pleaser, if your sister is interested in a more permanent arrangement.”

Alec turned to him. She’d love it, he thought to say. Or You’re amazing. Or I didn’t know I could feel this way about someone. A breathless “How did I not know you this morning?” came out instead.

“I don’t know.” Magnus’s eyes shown open and honest. “But we know each other now,” he said, and slid his hand into Alec’s.

#theswandive #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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