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hookaroo · 5 years

Text

Vocivore, Ltd. (46 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE AT THE END!!!!!!

Special thanks again to @sherlockianwhovian for organizing the event that started it all :)

A million thanks to @cocohook38 for the incredible art that I will never ever recover from! LET’S ALL TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT PERFECTION!!!

COVER ART 1 ~~~ COVER ART 2 ~~~ CHAPTER 1 ~~~ CHAPTER 7 ~~~ CHAPTER 12 (ART) ~~~ CHAPTER 12 (ANIMATION) ~~~ CHAPTER 19 ~~~ CHAPTER 34 ~~~ CHAPTER 36 ~~~ @sancocnutclub WE ARE SO BLESSED BY YOU!!!!!!!!! (**APPLAUSE AND FLOWERS AT YOUR FEET**)

Thanks to everyone who stuck with it to the end and left such amazing and supportive comments!!! I love you all!

I have an idea or two for new stories, but it will be a while before anything is near ready for sharing. In the meantime, may I humbly direct you to my previous works on FFN?

“Or Sleep with the Fishes,” “They Never Bury Your Bones,” and “A Captain’s Heart” are all whumpy multichapter tales which I may someday also post to AO3. They can be read in any order but the latter two make small references to their predecessors so may as well read in date order.

Also @killian-whump has a wonderful collection of fics (and art!) by other amazing creators of whump so do check all of them out as well!!

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One month later…

Emma took her eyes off of the road for a brief moment to glance over at Killian, who was currently reclined in the passenger seat of the Bug. Just as she had suspected: fast asleep. She let him be, knowing that with the rough road coming up, his nap would not last much longer.

He had only been released from the hospital two days ago, Whale having declared that further recuperation could be managed on an outpatient basis, as long as he remained on bed rest and followed the prescribed regimen of medications to support his physical and mental well-being. Uncharacteristically, Killian was submitting to all of it without complaint, even though the drugs battling the brain deterioration, in particular, left him feeling wiped out and frequently sick. He had hardly been out of bed beyond scheduled short trips down the hall to stretch leg muscles and a stiff ankle, to prevent blood clots, and build strength in his recovering lungs. Apart from that, he had mostly been sleeping, although he never turned away the opportunity to have Hope nearby. Even when she was there against her mother's wishes. Killian would fix her with a tired smile, hold out a brace-encased hand, and invite her onto the bed next to him. Oreo-Eeyore usually joined them and, more than once, was left behind to keep Killian company after Hope had scampered away.

Today, Hope was attending a half-day Kiddie Cruise hosted by Captain Smee; the first two had been so popular that the Wish Realm captain of the Jolly Roger had been talked into arranging some shorter sailing excursions without the dire motivation behind it. Emma knew that Killian would have liked to attend as well, had he been a bit stronger, but they both trusted Smee and his crew, and Hope’s Auntie Alice was specifically in charge of the three-year-old this time.

Of course, there was still a small part of both of them loathe to let her out of their sight for any length of time. Emma was getting better about it; Killian still had major difficulty, as his perverse images of her tortured little body were quick to resurface when he didn't have her physically present to counteract them. But they couldn't be near her all the time, and their errand today was not an appropriate one to include a toddler in.

Just as anticipated, as the pavement gave way to mud and potholes, Killian’s breathing indicated his return to wakefulness. He did not stir or even open his eyes, but Emma saw the telltale signs of pain and tension in the way he held himself and the very controlled manner with which he drew breath.

“You okay?” she asked quietly. “We can still turn back; you don't have to do this.”

Killian merely tightened his jaw and nodded once. And really, she had not expected anything different, but she’d had to try.

*****

There had been much speculation over the origin of the ruined village which had become the Vocivore’s base of operations. Emma’s personal opinion was that it looked like a long-dead World War II village, and being within the borders of the Land of Untold Stories, it was likely the setting of some sort of war romance or similar BS. The bigger mystery was the origin of the monster itself, and how it had come to reside in the United Realms. She was convinced that they would never find a satisfactory explanation of that question.

Thanks to knowledge gleaned from three weeks’ worth of Exchanges, both Killian and Emma knew that they wouldn't find another Vocivore lurking anywhere nearby, and that it hadn't... laid eggs or whatever. But that possibility would have been a mere fraction of the rationale behind the village’s eventual condemnation, anyway. None of the buildings were structurally sound, and only a few could have been considered salvageable if someone had the motivation. No one did, of course. Suffering leached into every wall, broken window, and rotting ceiling, like blood stains that could never be scrubbed away. So they would be demolished, the materials repurposed when possible, and the land converted somehow; those details had yet to be determined. But today was day one of the destruction. And the church would be the first building to fall.

Killian shifted in his seat, and though his eyes were still closed, Emma could tell by the quickening of his breaths that he sensed their impending arrival.

She had almost decided not to tell him, fearing that it would upset him too much to think about that place, even in the knowledge of its demolition. But an impulse had caused her to murmur the information in a casual, gentle way the night before he'd been discharged from the hospital. He hadn't said much at first; Emma had thought that maybe her initial instinct was correct and he didn't want to even think about it. But then, later, out of the blue and in a tremulous but determined voice, he had surprised her by saying that he wanted to watch. Once out of earshot, she had discussed the idea with Dr. Whale and Dr. Hopper, who had both given a cautious green light, thinking it could serve as therapeutic. But both men had also warned that revisiting the site of so much trauma could be more than Killian could handle so soon, and thus had extracted a promise that she would keep a very close watch on him the whole time. As if she would ever do any different.

Rounding the final bend, the trees began to give way to flashes of bright yellow construction equipment. And even though she was sure she hadn't given any hint, she could see signs of increased tension from Killian, as if he could sense their proximity without having to open his eyes. The ragged shape of the church’s bell tower loomed above the village, looking even more unstable than when she'd first laid eyes on it. She shuddered with an unexpected chill. This was also her first time back; she had not anticipated that it might be difficult on her as well.

The Bug bumped up onto the beginning of the cobblestone road that paved the village streets. Newer model cars lined both sides, indicating the number of United Realms citizens in attendance that day. The liberal application of yellow caution tape blocking doors and windows gave a cheery, bumblebee mask over the pall of death still present in the doomed community. Emma glanced at Killian and found him quietly observing their progress, working visibly to keep his breaths slow and even.

A rose-dusted pigeon strutted its arrogant little way along the gutter, and Emma battled a brief but powerful temptation to swerve in that direction. A few new scratches to add to the car’s nose would be a small price to pay for the satisfaction of flattening the feathered pest. But it wouldn’t make a difference to the problem as a whole, and Emma didn’t want to cause Killian any additional pain, so she contented herself with casting mental curses in its direction as they passed.

The pigeon quandary persisted, no easy solution to be found. Current suggestions included rounding them all up and transporting them to their natural habitat in New York City, trying to get them to interbreed with regular pigeons to hopefully dilute their ability to block magic, or create a strain of avian flu that would target them specifically and wipe them all out. That last one sounded like the premise of an apocalypse movie to Emma, but with the proven-but-painfully-slow success of his treatment for Vocivore-Slave-Brain, Dr. Whale now considered himself even more of an invincible Scientist! than he had before.

Meanwhile, the shield expanded, and Killian’s ability to survive a longer trek was worthless because even the furthest reaches of the United Realms were now stripped of their magic as well. A visit to another realm altogether was not out of the picture, but everyone, including Killian, had reservations about the effects of portal travel on his hard-earned progress, so that remained a task for the future. To be honest, at this point, not much benefit would be gleaned from exposure to healing magic anyway, though Emma would have liked to spare him the residual pain, and possibly reduce the visibility of some of his more gruesome new scars.

Later, she promised herself. When they were sure the forces of a portal would not disrupt the fragile healing within his brain and cause a relapse of the condition. Today was about his psychological well-being. She pulled into the village square and came to a halt directly in the center, a front-row seat for the crumbling of remembered demons. Maybe it was absurd to feel resentful towards a building for not falling on its evil occupant when it had the chance, but Emma knew she would feel a vindictive pleasure watching its destruction nonetheless.

*****

The car had stopped, but it was as if the church had continued moving, sliding near, swelling in dimension and darkness until it filled the entirety of Killian's view out the windshield. In fact, it seemed to fill the car itself, almost as if the car were inside the church and the church inside the car. Or maybe the car didn't exist at all. Maybe Killian didn't exist at all; perhaps it was his spirit hovering just beyond the crooked door, just out of sight of the cooling corpse it had recently vacated, now on its way to the place of white light and columns where screams no longer rent the cool morning air.

AT LONG LAST. MY TRIPOD HAS RETURNED.

The voice was not real. Logically, Killian knew that, had drilled the facts of the monster’s defeat over and over into his mind. The words were of his own creation, filling the space where harsh dominion once dwelt. Whale and Hopper had both confirmed that enough exposure to anything and the brain could replicate sensations even in their absence.

That knowledge did nothing to combat the feelings of despair taking root within Killian now.

I EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR PRESENCE, TRIPOD, his Master seemed to say. COME INSIDE AND YOU SHALL SCREAM AS YOU’VE NEVER SCREAMED BEFORE.

Emma placed an understanding hand on his forearm, which pulsed with residual and remembered pain. A muscular, slithery tentacle; Z’s leather strap, pulling on a ring that was no longer present, dragging him where he did not wish to go, restraining him with a shattering ache that had not truly subsided even after initial reconstructive surgery. The stake was gone; its oppression remained.

“Should I tell them to get started?” Emma's gentle voice was way out of place, startlingly jarring among the torture of memories. Killian winced, filling tight lungs with shaky resolve.

"I need to go inside," he whispered, and Emma's expression of patient understanding crumbled into doubt.

“I... Are you sure?”

Killian felt his tentative nod wobble side to side nearly as much as it bobbed up and down. This, apparently, did not do too much to convince her of his confidence. Suppressing a shudder, he reached for the door handle.

“Okay, just... Hold on,” urged Emma as she hastily unbuckled her seatbelt. “Let me get it.”

Even the flash of resentment at his temporary helplessness was not enough to fully drive away the monstrous voice.

YES, it confirmed, HELPLESS. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO DEFEND YOURSELF OR YOUR FAITHFUL MATE SHOULD YOU ENTER. BUT YOU WILL COME ANYWAY BECAUSE YOU CANNOT RESIST MY COMMAND.

Killian allowed Emma to unbuckle his seatbelt and assist him to his feet, but his eyes never left the imposing scene of nightmares before him. Though so much had changed since his last time crossing that threshold, the ingrained feelings of reluctant terror still clawed at his being as he took a wobbly step forward.

There were strangers in hard hats gathered on the stoop. Their clothing bore little resemblance to sackcloth, yet their presence hearkened back to the revolving groups of dull-eyed guards endlessly cluttering the entrance. The ones who had listened to Killian's screams, watched the tortures, suffered some themselves. And the majority of whom were now dead.

Emma waved a cordial greeting to the relaxed construction workers, who nodded back casually, their posture normal, an ordinary, calm light in their eyes. No duress. No fatalistic numbness. Killian thought he may recognize one or two, but the blurred tentacles crawling across his vision prevented a positive identification. With the hand not currently helping to support her husband's weight, Emma flashed her badge and murmured some sort of explanation, to which one of them replied something about still clearing out the interior. Occupied with fighting oppressive memory, Killian focused on remaining upright, allowing Emma to do the talking.

And then the door was screeching open in a mockery of human suffering. And then he was walking through, joining a procession of his previous selves from the first to the last, each slightly more hunched than the one before, curling inward in anticipation of the pain, less and less able to face the scene ahead. Bowing, body and soul, to the dark of despair.

A blood-tinged shaft of light illuminated a patch of paving stone at the bottom of the stairs, as if highlighting the spot he had fallen so often, had lain in utter torment, visualizing his daughter’s corpse while it was he himself who cried and bled.

The altar was gone. Dismantled, decorative facing and heavy broken surface nowhere to be seen. A few scuff marks and differently colored concrete were the only signs of its once-looming presence at the top of the steps. Other stains marred the empty floor; Killian did not have to work very hard to guess their origin.

He did not wish to get any closer, but his unsteady legs took him forward anyway while dust particles and flashes of nothing became heavy, lurking pincer and wriggling tentacle in the corners of his vision. Each time he blinked, the instant of darkness filled with ghastly mental images: sometimes the Vocivore returned, sometimes the fictional Hope which he’d been working so hard to banish from his memory. He could hardly even feel Emma’s supporting hand under his elbow, or even her presence at his side; he'd always come into this room alone, come to face its worst alone, and his subconscious mind could not reconcile the change in paradigm.

Oddly enough, though, the remembered voice remained as silent as the empty cathedral. Fragments of disjointed scenes continue to play behind his eyes, their haunting soundtrack present but muffled, all firmly in the realm of past torments and absent any current threat. Could it be that the visual evidence of the Master's lair, empty, had shut up its voice once and for all? Killian scarcely dared imagine the possibility.

Only steps away from the scuffed stairs, Killian's weakened foot caught on an uneven stone and he staggered into Emma, who silently braced him up, throwing her arm around him and squeezing in a comforting manner. With a couple of one-legged hops, he managed to regain his balance, though he remained reluctant to put his full weight back on the tender ankle. Emma glanced around and spotted an upended pew in the periphery of the space.

"Can you manage on your own for a sec?" she murmured. At Killian's unconvincing nod, she carefully ducked out from under his arm and hurried toward the pew.

If Killian had felt alone before, the feeling tripled as Emma's presence vanished. The ghost outline of the altar shimmered into view. His arm resting atop with a spike driving into the bone. His savaged body pounding against the wood while he screamed. His bloodied hand, impaled amongst tarnished depictions of wheat stalks and grapevines, shuddering as the last vestiges of life drained away.

And then, again, the image and the words, louder than ever. The old mantra. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead, no hope no hopenohope…

Quickly back at his side, dragging the long wooden bench along with her, Emma recognized his distress and gently eased him down onto its surface, pulling his aching fist away from his face, quietly urging him to relax, to breathe, reminding him that she was there and that he was safe. Tears dripped onto Killian's lap as he struggled to contain his sobs. Emma knelt before his hunched form, squeezing his wrist and stroking his cheek, shedding tears of her own in response to his emotional turmoil.

After several minutes, Killian managed to drive away the demons and settled into a quivery rhythm of intentional breathing; it was the only way he would escape an eternal spiral into overwhelming hopelessness. His chest ached from the strain, his hand throbbed with the effort of holding his emotions in his fist. The volume of the wrong mantra decreased but did not abate. Still stroking his cheek, Emma murmured,

“Are you okay?”

Killian gave a tentative nod, and he could feel the remnants of the involuntary tremors that still appeared whenever he was tired or stressed. “Just... Tell me it will get better.”

“It will,” she promised softly. “I really believe that.”

She delicately threaded the fingers of one hand inside his, gently but persistently nudging his fist to relax. When his fingers were finally uncoiled and his palm flat, facing upward, she began a careful massage of the tender flesh beneath the brace.

“We did a good thing, Killian. It's hard for us to say it was worth it. Hell, if we had known all the details, and how long it would take, I don't know that I would have been able to go through with it. But…” She leaned back on her haunches in order to look up into his face. “I've been thinking about what you said to Archie the other day, about how the scars will make it hard to forget everything. And I think… maybe that's the way it should be.”

Killian just looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. Continuing on, she explained,

"Each one represents a wound you bore so that someone else wouldn't have to. And, frankly... we'd all be dead if you hadn't done what you did. Sooner or later, in all likelihood, most of Storybrooke would be dead. So instead of looking at the scars and remembering the awful, I think you should give each one a meaning. A person whose life you saved by enduring all that pain, whom you can think about instead of the torture itself."

Killian studied her, eyes slightly brighter as he turned the idea over in his mind, and Emma flashed an encouraging smile.

"Need an example?"

Seeing his nod of agreement, Emma ran her finger along his palm, where she knew, underneath the stretchy fabric of the brace, a pinkish-white line marked the entry wound from the dagger stabbed through and into the altar.

"I can think of two people you’ve called your right-hand man in different situations. For a long while, that position was filled by Mister Smee." She turned his hand over and traced an approximation of the exit wound on the back. "These days, when you go sailing, it's always Henry who takes over the duties of first mate. So... you got this scar so Henry could live. And this one is for Smee." With each person named, she touched the corresponding line on his skin, so gently that there was barely a whisper of sensation in response.

A tear dripped off the tip of Killian's nose as, with head bowed, he watched his wife’s fingers brush his hand.

Quietly, Emma asked,

“What do you think? Helpful?”

Killian gave a hesitant, indecipherable movement of his head.

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

The word was faint, hollow with ache but also a dash of hope. Emma clambered to her feet, her hand trailing along his jawline and down until it came to rest with fingers splayed over the twin lines on his shoulder which marked the transmitter’s brutal removal.

“Side by side,” she remarked. “Sounds like Mom and Dad; what do you think?”

Killian winced a tiny smile, and she took that as his approval. Emma sat gingerly on the pew next to him and held his blunted wrist in both hands, massaging the sides once skewered by cruel metal and asking,

“Detective Jones?”

“And Alice,” he added hoarsely. Emma smiled fondly. Then she sobered and laid her hand against his chest, approximating the site of the near-fatal stabbing. It had not fully knitted into a solid scar yet, the outer layers still supported by strips of water-resistant tape beneath padded bandaging. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes as her free hand came up to tangle absently in his hair.

“And this one,” she choked out, pausing to clear her throat before continuing, “nearest your heart… this one's for Hope, I think.”

Killian's vision blurred, and a sob jolted his chest, but instead of the corpse of his nightmares, he saw the charmingly misshapen sketch of the Papa bear, cradling the lump that represented his baby bear as he protected her from a frowning monster that only the mind of a 3-year-old could conjure. He sniffed, wiped his eyes with a careful knuckle, and breathed,

“Aye. For Hope.”

A long moment’s silence filled the sanctuary as tortures relived began to take on additional significance and gruesome mental images grew new outlines. Emma continued to make her presence known through comforting touch, and finally, over tense neck muscles, her tender fingers found two dime-sized pink discs which had only recently lost their scabs. The matching pair on the other side would be out of her view, but it was clear she referred to all four when she mused,

“I was going to say something about naming everyone in your life who could be described as a pain in the neck, but would that be too flippant?”

Surprising both of them with a quick-witted response, Killian deadpanned,

“Well, you've already assigned both Jones and Dave, so I'm not certain that leaves anyone else who fits that description.”

The moment of levity clashed so strikingly with everything the building had to come to represent, yet it felt improbably cathartic as well. Picking up on the mood, Emma leaned in to place a kiss on one of the scars, muttering in between pecks,

“Regina?”

Killian almost smirked. She kissed the other, saying,

“Doctor Whale?”

With a groan, he conceded that point.

“Most assuredly.” Then he added, “S'pose we can't list Regina without the inclusion of her sister.”

“Zelena. Right. And the fourth?”

“That only leaves one, Swan. Let's see if you can name him.”

Emma truly did not have to think very hard to come up with that one. The uncontested champion of showing up at the worst possible time with tidings of woe. “Oooh! I know! It's Grumpy, isn't it?”

“Unlikely as it is,” said Killian, “this one is for Grumpy.”

Thrilled that he was taking to her idea so positively, she was about to try and make the dubious connection of "ankle biter" to Neal and Robin, neither of whom were anywhere near that category anymore, but at least he'd known them when they were... But before she could go down that path, Killian abruptly straightened and shifted positions so that he faced her a little more squarely.

"Distant friends and relations are all well and good," he said as he reached for her hand. "But there's one person immensely important to me whom we've not yet mentioned."

Emma took a slow breath. She really hoped he wouldn't be upset by what she was about to share. Placing a hand above his ear, she stroked his temple with her thumb for several heartbeats.

"Some scars you can't see," she finally began. "But are no less painful or important. So... the ones you carry in here..." Her fingers stilled, her hand an almost weightless representation of the burden he bore within his mind. "Those are for me. Because I have some, too. And mine are for you. They're the price I'm so willing to pay to have you here with me." Emma snuggled closer, dropping her hand to his back and resting her forehead against his. "It's a burden we'll carry together," she continued softly. "And that's why I believe it'll get better, Killian: we'll help each other."

Killian felt a new sort of pain at the thought of Emma's own trauma, and how she'd been dealing with it mostly on her own as he endured the grueling process of recovery. But he could not deny drawing a small measure of comfort from her words, her expression of empathy and promise of support. He leaned into her and they shared a moment of silent communication, where emotions and vulnerabilities and fears intermingled in an easy acceptance, where it was okay to have doubts and dark thoughts as long as they both clung to the shared hope of brighter days ahead. And in that moment of quiet, Killian mentally reached for the images that might one day replace, or at least live alongside, all the scenes of torture. He watched the brand scalding his palm, then thought of Granny, her false prickliness covering such warmth and generosity. That one was for her. He felt the pincer tearing at his ear and pictured Archie, patiently absorbing as much of the story as Killian was ready to tell, giving advice and professional support as needed; that one was for him. He saw himself pinned to the altar and struggling to breathe, and instead of succumbing to the imagined fire in his lungs, he clung to his tangible Hope, the ability to see her again in just a few hours, the proof of how she viewed her papa and what he had done for all of them. For Hope, he thought. Always and forever, for her.

"Which one are you hearing now?" Emma whispered into the silence, and Killian worked to direct the inner mantra as he'd been taught.

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

"The good one."

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

"I’m glad. What say we get out of here; let ‘em finish their work so they can smash this place to smithereens and we can go home?"

Hope, free. Hope, safe. Hope, loved.

Vocivore, defeated.

Hope, free.

Killian, free.

Free.

"I'm ready."

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#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #scars #trauma #tears #traumatic memories #angst #comfort #coping strategy #Vocivore ltd

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ao3feed-lams · 5 years

Text

The World Turned Upside-Down - Hamilton/Stranger Things AU

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2xts8Tv

by FlyingSerpent8

"What was that for?" James shrugged. "I dunno... Just- thanks, I guess." "For what?" "Everything. I mean," he began fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket, "you're always doing so much for me, and you're always there for me whenever I need someone to talk to, or just keep me company, and, like... God, what did I ever do to deserve you?" "You don't have to do anything. I'm always going to be here for you no matter what." "Exactly. That's what I'm talking about. You're the one person who I'd be able to trust with anything. So.. Thanks for that, I guess." He grabbed his bike by the handles and hopped on, the tips of his shoes just barely reaching the ground to keep him upright on his too-big bike. Thomas smiled softly, "Anytime." "By the way," James ventured, a slight smile settling into his features, "it was a seven. The roll." "What?" Thomas asked, his mind taking a minute to process what that possibly meant. "The Demogorgon," James said, "it got me."

By the way, some of the plot points from seasons one and two are mixed together, but there will be two parts to this fic.

Words: 5368, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Hamilton - Miranda, Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Angelica Schuyler, Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Maria Reynolds, George Washington, Benny Hammond, Samuel Seabury (1729-1796), Charles Lee, George III of the United Kingdom, Aaron Burr, Theodosia Prevost Burr

Relationships: Thomas Jefferson/James Madison, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, D&D, jeffmads - Freeform, mullette, Lams - Freeform, Marliza, Little Jemmy, Poor James, James as Will, Thomas as Mike (sort of), John as Dustin, Hercules as Lucas (sort of), Lafayette as Eleven, Eliza as Nancy (sort of), George Washington is Hopper, george washington is a cop, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Adopted Son, Seabury and Lee are assholes, Sammy Seamonster, upside-down, Demogorgon - Freeform, Stranger Things AU, james has anxiety, John lives with the Schuylers, John's dad kicked him out, John IS Gay, James is also gay, thomas is bi, Hercules is pan, oh and Lafayette is also gay but doesn't rlly know what romance or sexuality is, i don't know how to tag, i'll probably add more later, George WashingDad, James' parents are gone all the time, Peggy is babysitter-Steve, Lafayette has mind powers, Minor Character Death

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2xts8Tv

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Hamilton #lams

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

Text

Fic: Win the Race (ao3 link) Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, references to Arrow Pairing: Barry Allen/Iris West; Leonard Snart/Mick Rory

Summary: You make some adjustments when aliens attack and a whole bunch of people get abducted.

Adjustments like adopting some kids - very quick kids -

(in which Len and Mick accidentally adopt Barry and Iris' kids)

A/N: Set past the end of Flash season 3. Very few Legends.

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Losing Barry had hurt worse than anything.

Iris didn't want to eat - their favorite places - or see anyone - everyone reminded her of him - or, well, do anything.

They'd sent out their save the date cards, so at least she didn't have to look at the box of all her hopes and dreams and optimism. Not that that made her feel better. At least Dad took care of calling all of them and explaining that the wedding is off.

It's about a month and a half before people start getting impatient with her moping. Luckily, Iris gets sick right around the same time - vomiting! That means she's really sick, not just more moping! - so that's a good excuse to keep inside and away from everyone.

Play with McSnurtle. At least he doesn't pressure her to move on because "this isn't what Barry would've wanted".

Well, Barry's trapped in the stupid-ass speed force by his own stupid guilt - seriously, Iris has a list of alternative ways they could've satisfied the Speed Force's need for a speedster without having to give up Barry, because she totally hasn't been obsessing over this or anything - so Barry's sort of lost his right to have a say.

There's a knock at her door.

"Go away, Dad!" Iris shouts.

"It's, uh, it's not your dad," a muffled female voice says.

Iris frowns. She doesn't have that many female friends - never did, sad to say - so she's not immediately sure who it is.

She goes over to the door, wonders for a minute if whoever it is outside is going to judge her because she's wearing Barry's old college t-shirt and a pair of his STAR Labs sweats, figures the answer is yes, accepts it, and pulls open the door anyway.

She blinks.

"Caitlin?" she asks. "Or, uh, is it Killer Frost right now?"

"Caitlin is fine," the now white-haired woman says wryly. "I see you're handling what happened better than I handled Ronnie dying. Both times."

Iris hesitates. It's true, Caitlin does know what she's going through. That being said - "I'm not really in the mood for sympathy."

"I'm not here to offer it," Caitlin says. "I'm here to take you to your doctor's appointment."

"My...?"

"By your own report, you've been vomiting on a daily basis for two weeks straight. As a doctor: you are now way past time to see a doctor. Now, we either go to your GP for a walk in, or I kidnap you and take you to my lair to test you anyway. Since I am still a doctor myself."

Iris cracks a smile. "Is your lair STAR Labs?"

"Everything there is still set up for me," Caitlin says, not denying it.

"I'll call my doctor," Iris says. She doesn't want to go to STAR Labs. "She takes walk-ins."

She had time for Iris, miracles of miracles.

Iris wishes she'd taken the time to shower but, honestly, putting on real clothing was about as much effort as she was willing to put into this. Caitlin hadn't commented.

She had refused to leave, which - seriously? Iris isn't going to go out of a window to avoid having to have regular human interactions. Probably.

...not now, anyway.

"So, doc, what's the news?" Iris jokes. "Am I dying?"

She almost means it.

"Nothing like that, Iris," her doctor says warmly. "Just a bad bout of morning sickness."

Iris freezes. "Of...what?"

Dr. Hansen looks sympathetically at her. "Oh, I’m sorry! I didn't realize you didn’t know. Congratulations, Ms. West; you're pregnant."

Pregnant? But -

Barry.

"Oh god," Iris says, and goes to throw up.

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

"This sucks," Mick says.

"You're the one who wanted to live in a post-apocalyptic wasteland," Len points out snippily.

Mick thinks about objecting - Len needs to let 2046 go already! Mick's gotten over the Oculus! ...mostly! - but then Len blasts a few more aliens and Mick decides to let it go. Len's tired, he's tired. Len's always like order more than he did, and there's not much of that to be found now.

It's the end of the world.

No, really. The Dominators fleeing with their tails between their legs had apparently drawn the attention of the whatever-the-fuck these things were called, and this time, they'd been smart about it.

They went for the heroes first.

Of course, Barry was gone, so Central City was defended by a combination of Cisco - Mick refuses to call him Vibe, especially since Lisa had made that terrible joke about it - and Kid Flash, but they weren't Barry.

They'd never be Barry, and they knew it.

When the aliens came, they were careful to attack a whole bunch of places all at once, all places the heroes cared about, so that there wouldn't be enough time for a team-up. Without Barry to hold it together, any team-up probably wouldn't have worked, anyway.

They got to most of Team Arrow first, luring them onto a spaceship and then portalling it to the other end of the goddamn galaxy. As far as Mick had heard, those guys weren't dead, but they weren't getting home anytime soon, either. At least they'd been with their families when they'd detoured onto that ship - they'd been right in the middle of getting them out of the refugee camps the government had unwisely started forming.

Queen and Felicity were all that were left behind, and they're still standing, last Mick heard. They have a check-in every fortnight with them just to be sure.

Central City, with its metahumans, wasn't anywhere as lucky. The aliens timed their attack well - they'd invaded relentlessly, again and again and again, goading them, then waited until Team Flash got desperate. Team Flash had developed a habit of visit Earth-2 (apparently Kid Flash was dating the Flash of that Earth, which seemed weird, but also the Harrison Wells of that Earth served as their mentor so honestly Mick wasn't gonna ask), and they'd fallen back on the same habit when they decided to go seek help and a safe place to let some of their heroes rest.

That'd been what the aliens had been waiting for, the assholes. They detonate an EMP over STAR Labs just as the going group was jumping, disabling Cisco's universe-hopping device, and then they'd snapped Cisco up into one of those goddamn pods before he could make his way through.

Long-term stasis units, they were called. Fucking bullshit, that's what Mick thinks of them. They zap you unconscious and drag you to one of the pod farms, and then you're just lying there all Matrix-like, not aging, not moving, just asleep. Frozen in time.

But with no universe-hopper and no Cisco, there was no way for Team Flash to make it home. Joe West, Wally West, some other woman, even Caitlin Snow - all gone.

Only Iris West and Julian Albert had been left behind, and neither of them had powers. They'd teamed up with another CSI - some girl named Patty who used to be a cop - but there was only so much that they could do, these last few months.

The aliens were hunting them, too. Any association with Team Flash was as good as a target. They'd gotten Patty a week or so back, and Mick was pretty sure the other two weren't much longer for the world.

Which left Central City under the dubious protection of -

Well.

Him and Len.

Len was Central City's son, born and bred, and he was her foremost supervillain now that Grodd had been banished. The aliens hadn't counted for him in their plans.

Mostly because he'd been spending some time dead at the time they'd made their plans, but hey, what can you do?

(Len likes to tell people it was for tax reasons. Mick likes to hit Len whenever he says that.)

It'd ended up being to Mick's benefit, at any rate; when the aliens ambushed the Waverider, breaking the time drive and stranding them all god-knows-when, Mick was already back on land, nursing a still time-confused Len back to health. Len had gotten over his little brush with death - he'd only come back because they'd screwed up the timeline to such a horrific extent with that spear thing, but he was back and that's what's important to Mick - and now he was back with a vengeance.

A vengeance currently fixated on the aliens that had ruined large portions of his city.

Mick always said he'd give everything to Len, in the end, and he did: he dug up his old ship, with the Kronos armor, and though the time drive there was shot too - decay rather than sabotage, but either way still useless - it was still useful in launching a hell of an effective surprise attack on the bastards from space.

Mick also picked up some tips on armor from Haircut during their time on the Waverider, putting together weapons and cloaks and all sorts of shit you can use growing and shrinking and blaster tech for.

Len took a different approach. He gathered every metahuman still in Central - villain and civilian and confused - and he whipped them into a defense force under his control.

Well.

His and Lisa's.

The Rogues had been designed to be villains, but in the absence of real heroes, they ended up being hero substitutes instead.

Hell, the Rogues had been so goddamn successful that Lisa had ended up branching out, splitting off her own hand-selected group of Rogues and going to Gotham to recruit the villains there into their own version of a defense force. Len hadn't wanted to see her go, of course, but she'd insisted...

"Hey, Mick, you hear that?"

Mick pauses in where he's melting an alien which is probably (definitely) already dead by now, clicking his gun to silence.

Nothing at first, then, very distantly –

Crying.

"Someone's in trouble," Mick says.

"Let's go," Len says. "Unless you're getting low on charge..."

"Nah, I'm good. Ever since we got the dwarf star, the recharge times have been excellent, even if it does make the gun heavy as fuck."

"Good. Let's go."

The aliens are centering around a cute little daycare. There's a car which shows the typical signs of alien attack, so whoever had gone out to get groceries - Mick can see them spilled out on the ground - was almost certainly already pod-bound even as they approached.

The crying was coming from the daycare.

Shit, kids. Len hates it when aliens go after kids.

"Can we get them?" Len asks, trying to come off as dispassionate, coldly analytical as his nickname suggests, but Mick knows Len. His whole brain is bent on trying to figure out how they could save the kids - not at the expense of their lives, which Len knew were too valuable to Central to lose, but certainly with less of a margin for risk than usual.

Mick studies the situation. "Think so," he says, because he does. "Your call, boss."

"Let's move in. I'll go point, take center; you come in later."

Mick nods. They'd figured out the best way to hit these assholes long ago: the reason their plans were so good in advance is because they had their sharpest minds back on their homeworld planning it. The drones they sent to Earth, on the other hand, were shit at dealing with the unexpected.

Which is to say, dealing with Len at all, really.

Even against regular non-armed humans, they'd found the best way was for one human to establish a pattern of attack (like, throwing things) and when the aliens had adjusted to that attack, a second person attacks from a different direction using a different method (stabbing, shooting, whatever). The aliens are momentarily paralyzed trying to recalibrate their expectations, leaving a window of time when the humans can successfully attack or run away.

Mick and Len have been teaching a lot of self-defense classes at the underground refugee camp.

It's not actually underground, to be fair; it was just connected by radio and maintained-with-great-difficulty-and-sacrifice Internet into a living network instead of gathering up in person. The aliens used actual refugee camps as targets - too many humans in one place was practically asking for an attack. So they did the rounds, instead, meeting in short bursts and living off correspondence. But it's still living, which is better than not-living.

Len moves in with his cold gun.

The aliens he hits first die. The rest balk their wings (terrible buzzing creatures, like flies who couldn't achieve lift) and adopt a defensive formation, weakest drones out in front to act as a living shield against Len's ice while the stronger ones harden their shells against the cold.

Of course, a hard shell means that temperatures that go too high will cook them from the inside out.

Mick hoists his own gun and waits for the signal.

Len gives it, and in he goes.

There are more aliens than he'd anticipated, more than usual for these sort of pod runs, but about halfway through the fight Len and Mick swap guns and that confuses the aliens yet again. No one expects Captain Cold to be wielding flame.

Mick ends up having to bring out his Kronos pulse rifle to finish them off, which is a surprise; it's been a while since there have been so many gathered in one spot.

"Big family or important target?" Mick asks Len, who snorts.

"No more important targets left," he replies. "Let's go."

Inside, there are kids.

But not a huge amount, no; there are only two. Not even toddlers, not really - they're something like a year and a half, max. Maybe two, if Mick's being generous. And they're all alone.

"Shit," Mick says, already wracking his brain to see if he can find anyone who wants babies. The foster families are filled to the brim; the underground network is stretched thin...

Len kneels next to the kids. One boy, one girl. "Hey," he says gently, like he's talking to Lisa way back when she was young. "No more aliens, kids. Just me and Mick."

Mick's not expecting it to work - the kids are too young to really understand what Len's saying, and the calm tone he's using will eventually take some time to sooth them - but somehow it does. They calm down and reach out their chubby little arms to Len.

People who think Len's cold-hearted have never seen how quick he melts.

"Hey," Len says gently. "Where's your mom?"

They sniffle. "Momma back?" one asks hopefully. At least, that's what Mick thinks she's asking, it's a little slurred with tears.

Mick thinks of the car outside. "Doubt it."

Len glares at him. "What about your dad?"

"Daddy's gone." That sounded rehearsed, or at least an echo of something said regularly enough by a loving adult for the kids to repeat as well.

"Mick?" Len asks, but he's already put away the cold gun and is gathering them into his arms.

"I'm thinking!" Mick says. "There's a couple of options..." He shakes his head. "No one immediate. We'll have to cover for a few days while I get in contact with people."

Len nods. "My name's Len," he tells them. "You can call me Lenny, if you like. What’s your names?"

Oh, crap, they're at Lenny status already? Damnit Len, you can't get attached to all of them...

"Dawn," the girl says proudly.

"Don," the boy says, equally proud. "I'm a Don."

"Nice to meet you both," Len says gently, and Mick already knows what's going to happen.

Sure enough, by the time - about three days - that Mick finds someone to take the kids in, Len's in love.

Worse, Mick's got a case of the same.

"We can't keep 'em," he tells Len.

"We definitely can't," Len agrees. "C'mon, Duckie, open up for the airplane..."

Don - now proudly nicknamed Duckie, under the assumption that Don is short for Donald - pouts and turns his face away.

Len sighs dramatically. "Oh, well," he says. "Guess I'll have to eat this myself."

"No!" Duckie yells. "Mine!"

"Fine. Then you eat it."

There's a tug at Mick's pants. He looks down.

Dawn - already fed - looks up at him hopefully. "Dawnie up?" she asks.

"Sure, sunshine," he says, and scoops her up. Dawn likes to be tall. "You wanna sit on my shoulders?"

"Yeah!"

Onto the shoulders she goes.

Dawn imperiously waves at Duckie, making him demand that Len lift him as well.

"We can't," Mick says again, but it's weaker.

"You sure?" Len asks.

Mick sighs.

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

It's not that Len and Mick don't try to find the kids' original family. They do! If there was family, even if they're all dead, they'd want to know so they could honor their traditions or some such like that. Len is a stickler for that, talking grimly about the non-consensual adoption of Jewish kids after the Holocaust by converting Christians and how he ain't ever gonna be a party to that sort of shit.

Mick's got fewer personal connections to the issue, but he agrees.

Unfortunately, the daycare has nothing to tell them who lived there or who was using it. Their files were burnt, their walls were scrubbed, everything. The car is equally useless, since the obvious evidence of shoddy hotwiring makes it clear that it was stolen.

Asking Dawnie or Duckie is equally useless. It's not their fault, they're not even three; they happily tell them about Momma (mostly that they want her back and how she made things better), and Daddy (gone), and Paw-Paw (gone away as opposed to just gone), and Auntie C and Uncle C.

Auntie C had cold hands and Uncle C always has the best toys, but they also went “away”.

Not that unusual a story, honestly, but not very helpful.

Honestly, at this point, all they can guess at this point is that, given their light brown skin tone, at least one of their parents was black, possibly both. Dawnie is darker than Duckie, but her hair is straight and fine while his shows distinct signs of kinks and curls as it grows out.

Honestly, they're not even all too sure about that much. Neither of them were ever all that good at identifying ethnicities.

Whatever. The kids are the kids, and that's good enough.

They do eventually find out their middle names, via Duckie’s excellent memory of the fact that their Mommy used to be a first-and-middle name person when she was angry.

Well, okay, he doesn't actually explain that. He just waggles his finger at a misbehaving Dawnie and says in excellent adult mimicry "Dawn Eleonora, stop!"

Duckie's middle name (Henry) takes a bit longer to figure out, but they extract it with patience.

"I can't believe you finally cracked and got kids," Lisa gushes over the phone. "Tell 'em Auntie Lisa is coming to visit!"

"We're not their parents, we're just -" Len starts, but she's already hung up.

Hurricane Lisa shows up a few weeks later - transit from Gotham to Central isn't that easy any more - and that's the moment Mick really considers to be the start of their family.

Lisa's always been the best communicator in the Snart family. The kids love her.

She asks them what names they want to call Len and Mick, since they're going to be their new parents now. Len assures them that Uncle is fine for both of them, but the kids never really had a Daddy before (because their Daddy's gone) and they are delighted by the idea of having more.

"I refuse to be Dad or Daddy," Len says stiffly. "I won't take that away from their original Dad."

Lisa and Mick share a knowing glance, fully aware that it isn't the real reason and the real reason is the man Len called dad right up until the day he died even though he'd long since lost the right to it.

"I called my dad 'Pa' most of the time I knew him," Mick offers helplessly.

"What about what's the word," Lisa says. "From your mom's dad. Sabba."

"No, that means grandfather," Len corrects. "Dad is Abba."

"Then be Abba."

"I think I'd rather be Lenny," Len says, nose wrinkled.

It doesn't help him, of course. Duckie and Dawnie pick up on Abba for him like lightning - they still call him Lenny half the time, but he's their Abba, just as Mick is their Pa as often as he is Mick or Mickey.

They boast to the other kids at their new, underground daycare that they have a Momma, a Daddy, an Abba and a Pa, but of course Momma and Daddy weren’t around. The other kids – most of them with adopted parents of their own by – solemnly agree that this is by far superior to the system demonstrated on the films they watch. Those poor kids on the TV with only a Mom and a Dad and no one else; how sad.

Kids.

Mick hadn't expected he'd love the two of them as much as he does. Oh, sure, he'd expected to feed them - he does - and to worry about them - oh, he does - but he hadn't really thought about the way his shoulders would relax every time he hears their voices. The way his chest would glow and swell every time they run to him first. How every goddamn thing they did was the best way to do that thing, because they were wonderful and brilliant children.

His wonderful and brilliant children.

He hadn't expected how Len would melt for them, and stay melted. How Len was terrified of screwing them up and how he never, ever lost his temper with them. How effective and devastating a disappointed look could be, because Len refused to spank them.

(Mick eventually finds out that the kids had picked up on his and Len's tendency to worry about each other and that Len had exploited this ruthlessly, asking them to think about whether their actions would make their Mickey sad before they did them. He curses Len's name and quickly makes up for lost time by suggesting that they pay close attention to Len to see if he also needs love and affection. Len gets covered in snuggles on the regular. He doesn't complain.)

The kids also grow ridiculously fast.

Okay, totally within normal levels for kids their age - the doc swears it's true - but they're people. They're little people.

Mick can't remember when his siblings became people all those years ago. Nate was still a baby, he remembers that much, but the rest of it...

He's very careful to use the fire pit and lighters and other Len-regulated fire sources, and his kids know everything there is to know about fire safety.

Len teaches them how to spot danger and how to avoid it. He also teaches them how to pick locks.

They're the best four-year-old robbers ever, even if Len really had meant for it to be another safety measure. The idea of them being captured by aliens because they couldn't get through a locked door - unacceptable.

"Also, it's good finger coordination development," Len says, lying like a rug. It is, of course, but that’s blatantly not the reason he’s passing on his skills.

There’s still plenty they don’t know about the kids’ lives before Len and Mick found them: for example, Dawnie and Duckie are clearly twins, but they don’t know when their birthday is. As a result, they argue about it at length - sometime early in the year, they think, because of the vague memories of snow. They end up having January 23 for Dawnie and February 7 for Duckie, just because it's easier to give in than to explain that twins are born on the same day.

At any rate, it gives them more time to pick presents now that the kid are old enough to appreciate it.

Mick and Len are just debating the question of gifts - it's May and Mick had unwisely brought up the issue of half-birthdays - when the old Particle Accelerator, an abandoned and mostly destroyed STAR Labs, suddenly goes up in a painfully familiar mushroom cloud of orange light. It doesn't spread the way the first one did, but it does go up like a goddamn firecracker.

"Oh, shit," Len says.

Mick just runs to get a car.

They're the only ones going towards the labs rather than away; Mick sees people ducking into shelters in well-practiced motions.

The Rogues' war against the aliens was doing that much, at least: the aliens avoided Central more than they attacked it, nowadays. They were focused on subduing other parts of the world.

The same protection applied in Gotham, under Lisa and her girlfriend Selina.

The same in Bludhaven, where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn - previously part of Lisa's Rogues - had set up their own Rogues.

The same in Starling, which had reverted to its old name out of habit, and where Oliver and Felicity had taken their sweet time about accepting the Rogues' offer to help but now considered themselves the leaders of the Starling Rogues instead of Team Arrow, a name they still used to refer to their long-lost teammates.

Mardon hadn't wanted to leave Central at first, but he couldn't resist Len's carefully structured offer to be the leader of the Rogues in the Windy City. Shawna, who'd been from Chicago initially, went with him to keep his ego in check.

Scudder had managed to get over himself enough to agree to work for Len again, his fear of the aliens managing to break through even his narcissism. After half a year learning how to fight aliens at Len's side, he'd been dispatched to L.A. to teach the self-absorbed assholes there how to really fight an alien movie. He liked Hollywood.

Rosa preferred San Francisco. Len was just happy that there was distance between the two of them - as much as they were still technically together, Rosa's obsession with Sam faded when he wasn't in her sight and she remembered things. Things like having been a first-rate computer engineer, once upon a time, and something of a genius. She did well in San Francisco and the nearby Palo Alto, between its tech industry and its loopier residents.

People were starting to figure out that where there were Rogues, there could be a city again.

Mick wonders, again, if he should inform Len that he'd become a general, but as always decides against it. Len thinks of the Rogues as his crew, albeit a crew that has scattered across the nation and each of whom is leading their own hand-crafted militia unit in the protection of their territory.

No need to trouble Len with politics. It's not like they had anyone strong enough to actually do more than hold back the aliens for a while.

At least, they didn't until they got to the center of the Accelerator, where they found a very confused-looking Barry Allen rubbing his eyes and shouting, "Guys? I'm back! Guys? Is anyone here?"

"Holy crap," Mick says.

Len is somewhat more fluent than that. He always did have a facility for Yiddish curses (Mick particularly likes the one that goes 'may you be as a lamp - so that you can be hung during the day and lit on fire every night!', all in about three or four harsh-voweled words.).

"What now, boss?" Mick asks.

"Now," Len says, smiling like he can't stop, "now we have hope."

"Snart?" Barry asks when he sees them approach. "Rory? What are you doing here? What happened to this place?" He gestures at the ruined room.

"You've been gone five years," Len says. "It's been an interesting time. Let me tell you all about it..."

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

"I can't believe it," Barry says, looking shell-shocked, his fingers clenched around a mug of hot chocolate. Len had broken out the good stuff for their guest, which is to say, the Swiss Miss with mini marshmallows. "Five years - and so much has changed -"

"The emotion you're looking for is 'I go away for five years and you assholes trash the place'," Len informs him.

Dawnie giggles. "You said a bad word."

"There are no bad words," Len tells her. "Only bad men."

"Not what Mrs. Levy says..."

"See, that's one thing," Barry says. "You guys have kids! Small adorable kids!"

"We're not small," Duckie says. "We're four."

"Paragons of age and maturity," Mick agrees solemnly.

Barry chuckles, but it still sounds strained and tense.

"Can you still time travel?" Mick asks, curious, thinking of the lost Waverider, still stuck who-knows-when.

"No. Well, a little. Not enough to help."

"What do you mean?"

"Speed force said I was abusing it and took it away," Barry explains. "Even though I tried not to mess up the timeline -"

"Let me get the sequence of this right," Len drawls. "You get told by everyone not to change time. You do it. Everything gets fucked up. You do it again. More fucked up. Speed force shows up personally, says don't do it. You do it anyway. Speedforce comes and gives you an ass-kicking, saying don't do it. And you do it again, but this time you're trying not to mess up the timeline. And you're surprised it yanked your cord?"

Barry makes a face. "Yeah. I've gotten the lecture."

"I'm not comfortable with how we're anthropomorphizing forces of nature," Mick grumbles.

"You think this is a problem, try being in the middle of a three-way argument between Death, Dream and Destiny about whether or not the way your life ended was narratively satisfying," Len grumbles back.

Barry looks a question at Mick, who shakes his head. He doesn't have any answers. He doesn't even want to have questions.

"So my friends..?" Barry asks instead.

"Like we said," Len says, easily distracted away from disturbing subjects. "Most of 'em are fine, just stuck on Earth-2. The only way to get 'em back is Cisco -"

"Who's stuck in the matrix?"

"Matrix-like stasis pod," Len says. "Good news is, you pop 'em open, people inside should be fine. Probably not even notice that time passed."

"And the bad news?"

"There's a shitload of pods, and we've got no idea which one your boy's in," Len says frankly. "Or your girl, neither."

"Why didn't Iris go to Earth-2 with the others?"

"No clue," Len tells him honestly. "Not like they really told us much. Cisco was hit first, yeah. West held up pretty well for a long time, but we were allies, not buddies. She was secretive. Ran a radio program. But a few years back, it cut off."

"She might be dead," Mick warns.

"She's not," Barry says firmly. Not the slightest trace of doubt.

"Speed force tell you that?" Mick asks skeptically.

Barry grins crookedly. "Actually, yes," he says. "It said I could save her if I took it slow."

"What does that even mean?" Mick demands.

"It means we're gonna save the world again," Len says, pretending to be put out about it. "One pod-break at a time."

"Do you know how to get into them?" Barry asks.

"Sure, but the risk's too high," Len says. "Unless, of course, I have a speedster on my side."

Barry swallows and sits up straighter, like he's making a decisions. "In that case, consider me one of your Rogues."

Judging by the delighted look on Len's face, his apocalypse has been made.

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

There's a giggle and a thump and then more giggling.

Len has become a veteran child-raiser in the last two years, if he does say so himself, which is why he puts down the blueprints and heads over to the living room where the giggling is coming from.

Barry is sprawled out on his back on the Twister board, grinning helplessly as the twins crow at him.

"I see you're hard at work," Len says dryly.

Barry beams at him. "They said you and Mick refused to play it with them," he says earnestly. "What was I supposed to do, not teach them?"

"Like you couldn't not teach them the Macarena and the Chicken Dance?"

"Hey, you made me an honorary uncle when I moved in," Barry points out with some justice. Len hadn't been sure how else to explain 'magnet for trouble so I need to keep an eye on him' to the kids after years of refusing to cohabitate with any other family. "Part of that involves teaching them stuff that will drive you nuts."

"Not while you live here, I think. The true terror is Lisa."

Barry nods so fast that he's blurring, undoubtedly remembering when Lisa had managed to dig up some Tickle Me Elmo dolls for the kids' fourth birthday. Len had nearly strangled her - it was a rare item nowadays, so she'd clearly put time and effort into finding them, but it was also designed to drive Len, Mick and now Barry absolutely insane.

"You are menaces, you know," Len informs the twins.

"Like Dennis!" Dawn says excitedly. "Dennis the menace."

"Pa and Abba are pretty good menaces, too," Duckie says loyally.

"I'm not a good menace?" Barry pretends to pout.

"No! You're a hero!" Duckie proclaims. He’s maintained that ever since he found a Flash action figure.

Dawnie gives Barry a hug. "That's almost as good," she assures him with her nearly-a-five-year-old-really solemnity.

Barry laughs and hugs back. "Now," he says, making a big show of checking his watch. "I think you promised me that if I showed you how to play Twister..."

The twins giggle and run away from whatever chore they promised. Barry doesn't give chase, just watches them fondly.

"You're good at this," Len tells him.

"I'm a little jealous," Barry admits. "I've always wanted kids."

"You and Iris...?"

"Oh, no," Barry says. "We were only just getting married. Do you know what Joe would do to me if she'd gotten pregnant? Shotgun wedding doesn't even begin to describe it."

Len frowns. "But if you were getting married already..?"

"Doesn't mean Joe wants to think about us having sex," Barry says dryly. "At least if we were married, he could imagine that we conceived by magic or something."

Len shakes his head. He doesn't understand, but then again, he hadn't ever really expected to have kids.

"You're good with them," he says again.

"They're good kids," Barry agrees. "I hope that if Iris and I ever do have kids, they'd turn out like that." He thinks about it for a second. "Maybe slightly less larcenous."

"That's all good parenting," Len says proudly. "Now c'mon, I want you to see the plans."

Barry nods and is standing by Len's side before the words fade away. "What's the next step, now that we've cleaned out Central City?"

"Figuring out a way to consolidate our gains - installing those shield-makers Felicity reverse-programmed from alien ship tech, for one thing. I want Central City to live like a community again, not just refugees."

Barry nods.

"Also," Len says, "I think it's time to go north."

"North?"

"The largest single pod housing facility in the Midwest is located in the Dakotas," Len says. "We break that, we're talking tens of thousands of people. Possibly hundreds."

"Crap," Barry says, blinking. Most of the pod facilities were measured in the dozens or hundreds. "That means transportation. Serious and immediate transportation. That many people all together will definitely catch the attention of the local patrol ship."

Len stays silent.

"Unless that's the goal," Barry says.

"Mick's in Starling getting a crash course in alien tech," Len tells him. "Between Felicity's deductions and his own knowledge of piloting from his time with the Time Masters, I think we can do it."

"Are you planning on stealing an alien ship?" Barry demands, half-horrified and half-impressed. Mostly impressed.

Len smirks. "I told you, Scarlet. I intend for Central City to be free. The shields will help. Having our own gun-ship? That'll help more."

Barry nods. "And the people -"

"If we can defend them in the ships, we can do a slower transport. Cars, trucks, buses, the works."

"It's going to be massive."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Barry says. "We're opening pods, which means we could be finding Cisco and Iris. I'm totally in. I'm just saying, it's going to be massive. Who's gonna watch the kids?"

"Mrs. Levy's agreed. Her husband was podded, too."

Barry nods. "Slow and steady," he says. It's been his mantra when it comes to dealing with the frustration that there isn't a single bad guy he can punch to make things better. "Let's save the world."

"Let's steal an alien ship," Len corrects him. "Stop making me sound heroic."

"Oh, no," Barry says, voice dry as dust. "Heroic? You? Never."

"Shut up."

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

"I don't want to sit this one out," Barry says stubbornly, but he's already given in, Mick can tell. More to the point, Mick can tell that Len can tell.

It's in the way Barry’s already started to make mac-and-cheese for the kids.

(They'd all been delighted to discover that certain farm-to-pre-made-food had been so automated that re-starting them was a cinch even after the apocalypse, but none more than the kids.)

"Uncle Barry!" Duckie shouts from the next room over. "We wanna piggy-back ride!"

"When the food is cooking," Barry automatically calls back, then scowls as he reveals his intention to be there in a few minutes. "Len, if you're sure -"

"You know we can do it without you," Len says reasonably. "And you know they're expecting you."

Barry sighs and nods. The aliens had immediately pegged Barry as the leader of the resistance once he had made its reappearance, presumably based on their snooping through old files, and they'd taken measures against him that Len was avidly noting down for future speedster problems (Barry seemed to attract future speedsters like flies, before - undoubtedly he would again; besides, what if he got around to having kids?)

The calculators behind the alien army, back on their homeworld, had made assumptions about Barry and Barry's inability to sit a mission he led out.

The calculators still had no conception of how to deal with Len. It helps to have all of your records eliminated, hard and soft copy both, so that the aliens look at you and see some asshole who got rung up on a single manslaughter count (murder in the heat of passion had been the final charge, and wasn't that hilarious?) who was assumed dead less than six months later.

They don't see Len.

And that's the way Len likes it, thank you very much.

Even without that well-timed deletion, though, Mick could've told them that none of them would ever have been enough to predict Len.

Mick has enough trouble doing it, even after all these years. That's why he only gets it then, and waits until they're in the car to actually bring it up.

The car, not the modified alien ship that even now patrols the skies of Central City.

"You think this is the one."

Len glances at him and smirks. "You always did know me best."

Mick nods. Normally, he'd leave it at that, willing to trust in Len, but maybe having two kids has made him a bit more open to actually talking about stuff out loud. "The reason this pod storage expects the Flash to hit it is 'cause that's where they've hidden his girlfriend."

"It was always too well guarded," Len murmurs. "I knew they had to have some valuable people there. It's not until a gap in their security opened up - a very specific gap, best exploited by a speedster - that I realized it was their idea of a trap. And to bait a trap..."

"Why not just fake us out?"

"Aliens," Len says. "Calculators for brain. They understand subtlety in attacking, sometimes, but not subterfuge. This trap is a step forward for them."

Mick nods. "Did you tell him?"

Len shakes his head. "I might be wrong," he offers.

"You don't think you are," Mick corrects. "You think Barry won't be able to resist the obvious trap."

Len shrugs, conceding it. Barry's been working with them for eight months, by now - long enough to celebrate the kids' fifth birthday with them as a much-beloved uncle - and Len usually trusts Barry to listen to the plan.

But, Mick supposes, this is Iris West. She always did make Barry irrational.

"You think maybe Cisco as well?"

Len is silent for a moment.

Mick glances at him sidelong.

"I don't have any reason to think so," he says slowly. "And yet - I hope he is. There haven't been any transfers out of this facility. But he'll be as hidden as Iris is prominent."

Mick nods. "Then we'll look twice as hard," he says, knowing they'll be working on a very limited time frame.

Len smirks. "Oh, you bet we will."

Mick thinks about the extra surprises he packed into his gear this time, the ones not even Len knows about, and wonders if today is the day he'll get to play with them.

Turns out it is.

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

"Oh, God, Iris!"

"Barry?" Iris gasps, her knees buckling, but Barry is there to catch her.

There's gasping and hugging and kissing.

Mick edges back.

Len studies the wall pointedly.

"Forgot how awkward these reunions are," Mick mutters to Len. They hate public displays of emotion.

"Don't remind me," Len says through gritted teeth. "Lisa's taking care of Cisco's, uh, reunion."

Mick snorts. "When's Ms. Levy dropping off the kids?"

"Soon enough. Figured Barry ought to be alone for this."

"Figured the kids didn't need to be getting the wrong idea about being all touchy feely, you mean."

"Or getting an advanced education in human reproduction. Besides, I was thinking we could have Cisco knock open the door to Earth-2, stat, before the aliens figure out how to stop us."

"Good plan."

"Told Lisa," Len says. "I figure they'll be opening the door pretty soon now."

There's a gasp from where Barry and Iris are intertwined.

Len and Mick look over.

Barry's sitting down, looking dazed, like Iris got in a good punch. More likely she said something, Mick supposes. Maybe she got a new boyfriend in the two and a half years he was gone before she also got disappeared?

It's been nearly four years since then, too. The staggered aging of the pod-freed humans and their free counterparts was one of the weirdest elements of the whole apocalypse.

"I'm so sorry," Barry says to Iris, who has sunk down next to him and is clutching his hand. No new boyfriend, then. "God, Iris - if I'd known - if I'd had any idea -"

"I didn't either," she tells him. "I had no clue until a month or two after you'd gone - and then - oh, Bear. I thought I'd lost you forever. I thought it was all I'd ever have of you."

"Of course," Barry says, wrapping his free hand around hers. "I'm so sorry I left you at all - if I'd been here -"

"If you'd been here, the aliens would've adjusted their plans to attack you first," Len says dryly.

They blink at him, clearly having forgotten anyone else was in the room.

Mick's just happy they decided to go with 'shocking revelations' instead of 'joyous reunion sex'.

"Cisco's free, too," Len tells the two of them. "We found him in a hidden chamber."

"Cisco," Iris breathes. "Oh, god, Cisco! Barry - that means he can go to Earth-2 -"

"He'll be able to get Joe and Wally and the others -"

One of Cisco's holes in reality open up in the middle of the room.

Mick hasn't seen them live before, but it's a welcome sight regardless, especially when Cisco and a second speedster stumble out first, quickly followed by Detective West and a handful of others: Killer Frost, a guy that looks like Harrison Wells, a girl dressed similarly enough to the speedsters for Mick to hope that they've now got three speedsters for the aliens to contend with.

He glances at Len, who's smirking his ass off in a way that signifies real pleasure and anticipation.

"You think..?"

"The aliens went for "em first deliberately," Len replies in an undertone, understanding Mick's unvoiced question. "Their calculators-for-brains know that the odds are against them if we've got the full set of speedsters."

Mick nods, pleased. It's well past time for the world to rid itself of the alien scourge so that they can go back to having regular communities and not having to depend on a group of radical net-neutrality activists to man the various ISPs in the area so that everyone else could cooperate using the Internet.

Joe goes straight for Iris and Barry, shouting their names.

Mick sighs.

More reunions. Great.

If only the house were big enough for them to leave...

There are tears. So many tears.

Barry keeps saying, "If I'd only known -" and getting shushed.

Eventually Len runs out of patience (thank god) and says, "As touching as this is, we're starting to get near capacity. Maybe we ought to stop with the hugging and get with the planning?"

"We're nowhere near capacity yet," Barry says. "We have at least room for -" A quick count. "- uh, okay, only ten more. But that’s still something!"

"Capacity?" Joe asks.

"The aliens attack places where humans cluster in too-large numbers," Barry explains. “Well, they try, anyway. It’s a reasonable precaution not to cluster too large.”

"So that's why Snart and his buddy are here," Joe says, nodding. "You're working together against the aliens."

Mick doesn't like how that implies that Barry would otherwise pick literally any group of people other than them if they weren't useful, but he supposes if you've not been around for the last few years, you couldn't be expected to understand. Communal living is the way people survive, now.

"Iris," Joe continues. "What about..?"

"I was captured by a pod," she says, her voice breaking. “I looked through all the pods when I was rescued – they weren’t there –”

Joe’s face is ashen, grieved.

“What were you looking for?” Mick asks.

“My babies,” she whispers, tears filling her eyes.

“You let Barry reproduce?” Len asks, sounding appalled.

Everyone glares at him.

“They might not be dead,” Mick offers into the silence. “Aliens usually ignore kids if they’re on their own – not a large enough heat signature – and there’ve been really good networks for recycling lost kids into the community.”

“Recycling’s not the word,” Barry says, correction made more out of habitual bickering than actual attempt to correct Mick. “But you think – there might be a chance?”

“It’s always possible,” Len says. “Even if we do track 'em down, though, will you recognize even 'em? It’s been three years, and babies grow fast.”

“I’m their mother.”

“Three years,” Len says implacably. “Kids. Trust me, I’ve got two of my own.”

“Who let you reproduce?” Joe asks with a bit of a sneer.

“They’re adopted,” Barry says quickly while Wally elbows Joe, likely more because of the way Len’s hand moved to sit on his gun. “And very happy. Good kids. Ms. Levy have them?”

“She’ll be dropping ‘em off soon.” Len tilts his head to the side a second before Mick hears the sound of the door opening. “Make that, dropping ‘em off now.”

“Abba!” Dawnie shouts. “Pa! We drew pictures today!”

Mick mentally canvasses how much fridge space they have left. They may need to start overlapping…

Dawnie and Duckie skitter into the room, big grins on their faces, sticky hands clenched around artwork made in crayon, and Mick watches in amusement as the amount of tension in the room relaxes as everyone smiles helplessly at the adorable kids.

Then it all goes to shit, because Dawnie’s smile fades into something nervous and wary and wanting and she stares at Iris and squeaks, “…Momma?”

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

It started, of course, with a lot of yelling in surprise and "holy crap!" and re-introductions and hugging.

Then, of course, came the recriminations.

"Why is my grandson think he's named after a duck?" Joe demands. He's a bit sore because the kids only had the vaguest recollections of their Paw-Paw.

"His name was Donald," Mick says defensively. The nickname had been his. "How were we supposed to know?"

"He was already nicknamed Don," Joe snaps. "Just like my dad."

"I'm amazed they didn't kill them," Wally mutters to girl speedster.

"You saying I hurt kids?" Len snarls at him. "Or just that I'm incompetent?"

"I didn't mean -"

"I bet."

"I'm just saying," Wally says, starting to get annoyed. "You're supervillains -"

"And you were gone, hero."

"That's not Wally's fault," Cisco exclaims.

"Oh, yeah, he's just saying – just like I'm just saying -"

"Why is everyone fighting?" Duckie asks in a small voice.

Mick puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles as loud as he can. Given that he's been using his whistles to silence entire stadiums, it's pretty effective in such a small space.

Everyone shuts up.

"It doesn't matter," Mick says. "We can fight about the details once the kids are asleep."

The Earth-2 people look at him like he kicked a puppy by admitting that they were going to keep fighting. Dawnie and Duckie (and, amusingly, Barry) all relax because this is something familiar. Len and Mick always schedule their fights for after the kids are asleep, explaining to the kids that it helped them get out their annoyance in a reasonable fashion; as a result, the kids have gotten used to thinking of fights that can be rescheduled as no big deal. No need to worry until you wake up in the morning - if the fight is still ongoing at that point, then you know it's serious.

"Let's go have dinner instead," Barry says. "We can talk over that."

"I can make Grandma West's noodles," Joe agrees.

"Not in my kitchen, you ain't," Mick says, because he's got a reputation as a kitchen tyrant to uphold. Neither Barry nor Len can cook, and if he gives an inch now, they'll be back to eating uncooked pasta. In the interests of avoiding another fight, though... "Maybe another time."

They all go to the kitchen. Mick ends up serving out a few cooked chickens he'd been freezing with plans to use over the next few weeks in different preparations, but chicken enchiladas are good for a crowd.

Most of the conversation is fixed on safe subjects, like goings-on on Earth-2 (alien free and a little boring, but for the gorillas) or the kids' achievements.

"They're even doing above their grade level in math," Barry boasts. He's selling the kids hard, but in fairness to Barry, he always does that. It doesn't feel personal.

"That part definitely came from Iris," Joe jokes. "I remember your math scores, Bear."

Mick personally thinks it came from the hours of tutoring Len put in with the kids, but - he reminds himself - they're trying not to fight.

"Kids, dishes or no dessert," he says.

The kids leap to their feet and start collecting plates. There's no dishwasher - or spare electricity to run one - so they'll be in the kitchen extra-long washing plates this time.

"Aww, let 'em have a day off," Wally says, winking at them. "Not every day they get their whole family back."

"If they don't wash the plates, they'll become unusable," Len says, pointedly ignoring Wally’s phrasing. "Humid climate like this, we'll get mold right quick. Rules are rules for a reason."

He waves the kids off.

"Strict," Joe comments. It doesn't sound like a compliment, though it doesn't necessarily sound like an insult, either. He chuckles, his mind clearly shifting directions. "Bet things'll be different when they go back home. Be careful not to give them culture shock, Iris."

"Home?" Len echoes. It's good he does, because Mick was going to speak and the wording wasn't going to be intelligible. "Not sure if your skills have deteriorated in the last few years, Detective, but they're home now."

"I just meant when they go home with Barry and Iris," Joe says.

He doesn't even mean anything by it, that's the most infuriating part of it; he just says it like it's a fact.

Mick sees red anyway.

"Now listen here, you little -" he starts, but Len's hand snaps out and catches Mick's wrist in an iron grip, signaling silence.

"Mick," Len says calmly. "Don't overreact."

"Overreact?”

"Yes. What's happened here is clear." He smirks. "Detective West has gone senile."

"I what?" Joe exclaims. “I have not –”

"You've lost your fucking mind," Mick says. "If you think anyone is taking the kids away from us."

"I just meant -"

"You'd think as an adopted father himself, he'd have more sympathy," Len says. "Unfortunately not."

"Excuse me if I don't want a pair of supervillains anywhere near my grandkids -," Joe says.

"They're our kids, asshole," Mick says.

"And we're grateful you took care of them for a bit while we were gone, but now Barry's here and Iris' here and I'm here, even Wally's here, and we're obviously more fit to raise them, that isn't even in question -"

"Dad, maybe we should wait -" Iris starts to say soothingly.

"No, Iris, I don't think this can wait. I don't see why there's even any debate about this. They're kids. They need a good, loving, stable and safe home environment, and we'll be able to provide that."

"And we won't?" Len says dangerously.

Joe snorts. "No offense meant, Snart, but you're hardly a good role model, and I can't imagine you know anything about raising kids to be anything other than a pack of criminals. Which isn't happening, in case I wasn't clear about that up front."

"Ain’t really your decision."

"No, it's Barry and Iris', as their parents," Joe says like he's speaking to an idiot. Barry and Iris look uncomfortable. "And they will obviously want to take Don and Dawn -"

"We're not going anywhere!" Dawnie yells from the doorway.

Mick immediately twists in his seat to look at them. Their faces are red and they're clearly upset, clutching at each other for comfort.

"We don't want to go away," Duckie adds, his lower lip trembling so hard he's nearly stuttering. "We wanna stay with Pa and Abba -"

"Don, my little guy," Joe says, standing and moving towards them, "you don't understand - you'll be going back to your Daddy and your Momma and your Paw-Paw -"

"We wanna stay with Pa and Abba," Dawnie says, starting to cry, Duckie right beside her. "We wanna stay! We don't wanna go with you! We hate you!"

Joe takes another step forward, clearly intent on convincing them. Mick gets up in his chair, equally intent on punching him in the face - Len is getting up, hand on his gun, face murderous -

"We're not going anywhere!" Dawnie says, and she grabs Duckie's hand and they turn -

There's a crackle of lightning and they're gone.

Everyone blinks.

"Barry!" Joe exclaims. "Bring them back this instant!"

"Uh," Barry says. "I didn't do that."

"Another speedster?" Cisco exclaims.

"I think," Iris says very carefully, "another two, actually."

"Whatever," Len says, clearly done with all of this; the revelation about the kids isn’t even making a dent in his rage. Mick sympathizes. "I don't care. Now stay down here while Mick and I go fix the damage you just did."

The kids are curled up in bed, just like they were taught to go when they’re angry.

Good.

Len and Mick spend three hours getting the now-vibrating-fast-enough-to-hurt children to calm down, explaining that they're not going to be taken away. Eventually, with the help of multiple assurances, a few more comfort animals than they're usually allowed, and a bedtime story or four, they fall asleep.

Then Len comes downstairs, Mick right beside him, and says "Barry, get Detective West the hell out of my house. Take him to Ms. Levy's place and tell them to send a signal to the next train transport - I want him out of Central City by the end of the week."

"You can't do that!" Joe shouts, whatever efforts to calm him swiftly evaporating. “Listen here, you little –”

"Joe," Barry interrupts. "You don’t understand. He can."

"What?"

"He's the head of the Rogues," Barry says. "They protect the city. If he says you're out, then you're out, and you're lucky to be out alive."

"You'd never let that happen."

"No, but - damnit, Joe, he's my boss now! And a good friend! His kids call me uncle!"

"Your kids, Bear, not his kids -"

"His kids! Their kids! Joe, they've raised them for three years; that's more than Iris and certainly more than me. They're the only parents Duckie and Dawnie remember. We're not taking them away."

"Iris -"

"I agree with Barry, Dad," Iris says. She shakes her head a little. "Dad, if Mom had shown up when I was ten or twelve and decided she was taking me away, I'd have thrown a fit about leaving you, and rightfully so. If we have a big fight about this, they're going to pick them, not us, and then next thing you know I'm not going to get to see them anymore and that's just not acceptable. I lost three years of their lives. I'm not missing another day."

Joe is silent, for once. He doesn't agree, Mick can tell that much from the way he's scowling, but he's silent. Good enough.

"West can stay," Mick says, and Len glances at him. "Kids ought to have a chance to know him. One chance. If he acts up in any way, I'll burn him."

He means it, too.

"Won't that be more traumatic?" Wally asks, crossing his arms.

"I'll say he was an alien spy masquerading as their grandpa," Mick shoots back. "They'll be cool with it."

Joe bristles, but Iris glares him silent.

"Let's at least try to make this work," Barry says.

He always was an optimist.

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

To say that this wasn't the life Iris was expecting is something of an understatement.

She'd planned a life with Barry by her side having adventures as a journalist, maybe a kid or two down the line to be taken care of at home. Maybe by her, maybe by Barry, maybe by Joe if he'd retired - maybe even with a nice babysitter helping them out.

Then Barry went away into the Speed Force - for good, she'd thought - and she was pregnant and then she had a new life in front of her: single motherhood, with help from Dad and Wally and her friends, of the two most amazing (and infuriating) babies of all time.

And then the aliens came for them, and her support system disappeared, and she'd thought of herself as a grim Sarah Conner, the prototypical mother figure, determined to survive and to keep her children alive until they could push the aliens back.

Then - nothing.

The sleep of the pod was like sleeping in bed, deep and dreamless as far as she recalls. Like a coma, maybe. Like Barry's descriptions of his own coma, at least.

And now -

Now, Iris has a life with Barry by her side having adventures as the captain of her own alien warship, and she still hopes to have a kid or two down the line to take care of at home when the aliens are gone. But she's also a part-time Momma to the two best kid-speedsters in the world - Cisco calls them the Tornado Twins - and she co-parents them with Barry and his supervillains.

One of whom is the widely acknowledged commander-in-chief of the United States, leader of the real fight against the aliens and to whose offshoot Rogue branches the armed forces have swarmed to pledge their allegiance - not that he knows it, since Mick still refuses to tell Len that the people he's commanding aren't just surprisingly competent criminals - and the other one is the guy who makes sure said commander remains functional. Iris wouldn't have believed that Len thinks ketchup is a legitimate vegetable if she hadn't walked into that argument herself, but she did, so she guesses that if Len has inadvertently become leader of the free world, that makes Mick his First Arsonist or something, and they're all very lucky to have him, too.

They all live together, with Barry and Iris having one master bedroom and Len and Mick sharing the other, and the kids have the entire downstairs to run around in. The downstairs is a disaster zone as a result, of course.

It's okay; Iris spends quite a bit of her time captaining the newly dubbed (by utterly unanimous agreement) Enterprise and supporting Barry from the air. It's awesome.

Wally's slipped happily into the role of Kid Flash and cool uncle, and even Joe has come around.

It's not the life she imagined, but it's a good life. She likes this life.

She leans back in her captain's chair. "Show them in," she orders, and watches as a handful of strange-looking aliens and one human, all dressed in shiny green suits, walk in. Iris smiles. "Welcome to the Enterprise, representatives of - how did you call it - the Green Lantern Corps. Let's talk about what exactly it is you think you can do for Earth - and whether we're going to agree to any of it."

#dccoldwave #westallen #leonard snart #mick rory #barry allen #iris west #my fic

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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

Text

Fic: The Most Beautiful Mistake (7/?)

Here we are! I promise that things start to get less angsty from here on in.

Summary: Belle French and ‘Rumpel’ Gold have been best friends for a long time, ever since Belle first walked into Gold’s yarn shop. One stormy night, one bottle of wine, and a couple of heartfelt confessions later, and their relationship will never be the same again.

Rated: NC-17 overall, this chapter is PG.

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [AO3]

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Seven

Belle was pacing up and down the foyer of the bed and breakfast, unable to work off her nervous energy. Granny came through from the office and watched her with a raised eyebrow for a few moments before leaning on the reception desk and giving a little smirk.

“You know, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep doing that,” she remarked dryly.

Belle stopped, turning to Granny, and her shoulders sagged.

“I’m just worried, Granny. What if I get there and something’s wrong?”

“Then you’re in the best place for them to fix it, aren’t you?” Granny pointed out gently. “This isn’t something that you can put off, love. And I swear that once you get there and you see your baby for the first time, you won’t be worried any more. It’ll all just melt away. I know I was a nervous wreck before my first appointment when I was expecting Ruby’s mother, but it’ll pass.”

“But what if…”

“No more what ifs,” Granny interrupted sternly. “The more you worry about what ifs, the more likely you’ll be to get one. I know it’s scary and it’s even more scary that you’re going through all this alone, but we have faith in you, me and Ruby. You can do it.”

“Speaking of Ruby…” Belle glanced up the stairs towards Ruby’s room. “Where is she? If she doesn’t get a move on then we’re going to be late for the appointment.”

“I’m coming!” Ruby clattered down the stairs in a vision of high-heeled boots and red leather, and Belle had to double-take, but didn’t say anything. Granny had no such qualms.

“Aren’t you slightly overdressed for accompanying your friend to a sonogram?” she asked.

“No!” Ruby exclaimed. “I just always like to look my best, that’s all.”

“And the fact that you might run into Dr Hopper has absolutely nothing to do with that at all, of course.”

“Granny, how many times do I have to tell you that I am over Dr Hopper. Well, he’s still very handsome of course, but… Oh, we don’t have time for this, come on Belle, let’s go!”

She steered her slightly bemused friend out of the bed and breakfast and towards her little red car, the wolf charm hanging from the rear-view mirror swinging with alarming vigour as she got in.

“Are you all right?” she asked, fussing around her friend as Belle slipped into the passenger seat.

“I’m fine, Ruby, honestly. You can’t even see the bump yet.”

“I know, but I don’t want the seatbelt cutting off the circulation to its feet or something.” Ruby started the engine, driving remarkably carefully along the roads towards the hospital on the edge of the town. “Can we find out if it’s a boy or girl today and stop calling it an it?” she asked excitedly.

“No, not today. It’s too early to tell. It’s only about that big.” Belle held up her thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart, and then decided that it was time to change the subject before she got too worried about what was going to be happening once she got to the hospital. “So if you’re not dressed up for Dr Hopper, who are you dressed up for?”

“I am dressed up for you, my friend.”

“Ruby, you’ve gone as red as your leggings.”

“Fine. There’s a nurse. I met her at the Rabbit Hole a couple of weeks ago and I think we hit it off pretty well. And you know, any opportunity is a good opportunity, right?”

Belle gave a snort of laughter. “You’re incorrigible, but I love you. If you start making eyes at my sonographer over my belly, I’ll consider my role as a matchmaker confirmed. What’s her name?”

“Dorothy. She works in the emergency room so you should be safe.”

Belle settled back in her seat for the short journey. She was glad that Ruby was happy with her crush, even if it did set her thinking about her own unrequited love. She hadn’t seen Gold since that morning in the library, and she couldn’t really blame him for avoiding her after that display. All the same, she wanted to know how he was, whether he’d got through the storm ok, whether he wanted her to come over for the next one… Despite the distance that had come between them over the past couple of weeks, she still held out some kind of hope. There was something still there, that connection they shared hadn’t died completely. She’d felt it when they talked in the library and it felt like suddenly her world was brighter despite the wind howling outside. Belle glanced sideways at Ruby as her friend drove. Although she had accepted being a single mother, she had also accepted that she didn’t have to do everything by herself and it was fine to ask for help if she needed it. Ruby was overjoyed to be able to offer assistance wherever it was required, if that included coming to sonogram appointments with her then so be it - especially if there was a chance of seeing Dorothy. But really, in Belle’s mind, Ruby was not the person she wanted at the appointment with her. She wanted Gold there, wanted him to see their baby for the first time at the same time as she did.

But she couldn’t ask him for that. She’d told him that he didn’t need to get involved and it was clear that he didn’t want to get involved. She couldn’t start asking him to come to her appointments with her now. The last thing that she wanted was for him to feel like she was pressuring him into something that he wanted no part of.

Ruby, she knew, would take a different view; that since Gold was a part of this baby already having given it some of his DNA, then he had a duty to be involved, but at least she accepted that the situation was more complicated than that and had duly kept her mouth shut on the subject. For all the circumstances around it were saddening, Belle was happy to be pregnant and for all her fears was looking forward to having a baby.

“Ok, let’s meet this little one.” Ruby parked up outside the hospital and positively bounced towards the doors, Belle following at a more sedate pace behind her.

“You know, I think you’re more excited about this than I am,” Belle remarked.

“Well, I think it’s easier to be excited when you’re not the one who’s going to have cold gel slimed all over you and be prodded and poked,” Ruby said. “I really hope I’m in the running for godmother, here, by the way.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “You’re way too excited about this.”

“Well, one of us has to be.” She slipped her arm through Belle’s and led her down the corridors towards the maternity unit. “Can I have a picture?”

“Why would you even want a picture?”

“Because you’re the first one of my friends to have a baby!” Ruby exclaimed. “This is a momentous occasion!”

“Ruby…” Belle trailed off as they passed the bone clinic. Gold was coming out of the outpatients’ centre. Of course he was, because fate had decided that it hated them both and had scheduled his quarterly orthopaedic review on the same day and the same time as her sonogram.

Ruby followed her gaze.

“Ok, snap decision, do you want to hide or do you want to talk to him?”

“Ruby, we can’t hide, we’re in a hospital.”

“There’s a janitor’s closet literally right next to us, I can bundle you in there and he’ll be none the wiser…”

It was too late, Gold had noticed them conspiring, and Belle could see the brief flash of fear that crossed his face. Gold knew that Ruby knew he was the father of her baby; the three people in the world who knew the truth were all standing here in this corridor and it was painfully obvious that none of them knew what to say.

“Hi,” Ruby said brightly.

“Hello Ruby. Belle. It’s good to see you. You’re looking… well.”

Belle smiled. “Thank you.”

“We’re here for Belle’s first scan,” Ruby said pointedly.

“I hope it all goes smoothly.” Gold opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but then shook his head. “I should let you get on. Don’t want to be late for that first meeting.”

“No…” It was so tempting to ask him to come. Just make the offer nonchalantly, it didn’t have to mean anything, he was the father after all, and even if the doctor didn’t know that, he knew that Gold and Belle were friends. It wouldn’t look strange. But in the end, conscience and good sense won out. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

Gold nodded. “I’ll see you around, Belle.”

Except they wouldn’t see each other around. As Belle continued down the corridor, she knew that they wouldn’t see each other and the words sounded hollow in her head as she replayed them. They’d been actively avoiding each other for weeks and it felt so stupid saying something so meaningless. She glanced back over her shoulder at Gold’s retreating back, watching him limp away towards the doors. His shoulders were hunched, as if he was trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. It was a defence mechanism she’d seen in him often over the years.

“Come on.” Ruby gave her elbow a gentle tug. “Let’s go meet your baby.”

They reached the maternity unit right on time and took a seat in the waiting room.

“You do realise that when you find out whether it’s a boy or girl, Granny’s going to want to know so that she can start knitting,” Ruby was saying.

“But what if I want a surprise?” Belle asked. She hadn’t thought about the baby’s sex yet. She hadn’t planned that far ahead. Right now, all the planning that she was doing involved the fact that there would be a baby, and childproofing her apartment.

“I’m not sure that Granny will let you have a surprise. Have you thought about names yet?”

Belle shook her head. The baby needing a name was too far in the future to think about just yet. Although… It was less than thirty weeks away now, which didn’t sound all that far away. Baby was just Baby for now. She pressed a hand over her stomach. In an ideal world, she and the father would be discussing names together, and for a moment, Belle allowed herself to imagine a different situation, sitting on the sofa in Gold’s flat, her flicking through a baby name book whilst he massaged her aching ankles, exchanging names for ideas and dismissing the ridiculous ones out of hand, fighting over the ones that she thought were good and he thought were awful. It was such a simple thing, and yet it was something that she wasn’t going to have. The name would be her choice alone. Anything she wanted.

“I like Gideon for a boy,” she said eventually. “A good strong name for a hero. And Thea for a girl.”

“I like Gideon,” Ruby agreed. “Not that it really matters what I think, but I might rescind the godmother thing if you ended up calling him something like… Englebert.”

“And what, precisely, is wrong with Englebert as a name?” Belle looked around the waiting room and picked out a man sitting with his heavily pregnant partner. “He might be called Englebert. You might just have offended him greatly.”

“I apologise to any and all Engleberts in the vicinity, but I stand by my notion that it is really not a name you should give your child,” Ruby said solemnly. Her straight face lasted for all of five seconds before she burst out laughing, and Belle had to do the same. It felt good to laugh again. There hadn’t been a lot to laugh about in the last few weeks. She’d mainly spent the time being sick or being in pain as her body steeled itself to make room for the new life growing inside it. When she hadn’t going about the business of being pregnant, she’d been lamenting the effects that her pregnancy had had, on her friendships and on the rumour mill. Being able to laugh now at something so silly made things feel like they were getting back to normal, and that she would be able to cope with whatever life could throw at her and still find the humour in it.

“You know, we need a girl’s night out,” Ruby said once the mirth had died down. “You, me, Ariel…”

“Dorothy,” Belle supplied.

“Yes, well, if she wanted to come too then I wouldn’t be averse,” Ruby said coyly. “You and I haven’t been out for ages.”

“We haven’t, but Ruby, I think you might be forgetting the tiny detail that I’m pregnant.”

“We’ll keep you stocked up in fruit juice and soda!” Ruby said. “Come on, you need to live a little. You won’t have much chance after you give birth, you’ve got to admit that.”

“True…”

“Besides, you need some fun. You’ve been so stressed recently thanks to everything that’s been going on and I haven’t seen you smile like you just did for ages. We need to get you smiling more. You’re going to be a mum and everything’s going to be all right.”

Belle nodded. Ruby’s words made sense. She couldn’t stay in her melancholy state forever, not when there was so much to look forward to. The circumstances were not the ideal ones, but they were what they were and she had to make the best of them.

“Belle French?”

The sonographer called her in and she and Ruby followed through to the consulting room. Ruby gave her hand a brief squeeze as she got comfortable on the bed and pulled her sweater up to expose her belly. There was nothing really to see yet, just a slight curve that was not normally there but could be put down to overindulgence if it was noticed. The sonographer, a cheerful lady named Dawn, tucked some paper into her waistband and smeared gel over her stomach.

“Ready?” she said. “I’ll check everything’s as it should be first, and then you can take a look and meet your baby for yourself. Are you excited?”

Belle nodded. Just as Granny had said, now that she was here, the fear had lessened. Dawn switched the transducer on and pressed it over Belle’s tummy, and a steady swishing sound, like ocean waves in a shell, filled the room.

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” the sonographer said. “Nice and strong and steady, just what we like to hear. I’ll just get the measurements.”

She clicked a few buttons on the computer screen as she measured the baby, and then turned the monitor towards Belle.

“Here we are,” she said, pointing to the fuzzy black and white image and moving the transducer over her skin again to get a better picture. “Legs, arms, head, all perfectly formed. You’re definitely not expecting twins, and looking at the measurements, your due date will be..” She looked at the calendar, counting down weeks. “June 3rd.”

It didn’t really look much like a human baby, more a vaguely human-shaped blob, but Belle couldn’t help staring in wonder at the picture. This little nugget was her baby, safe and snug inside her, and in seven and a half months she’d get to hold him or her.

“Hello sweetheart,” she murmured, waving to the monitor. “I’m Mama. This is Aunty Ruby. She’s a bit strange, but we all love her really.”

“Hey!” Ruby gave Belle an offended look. “If you weren’t pregnant I’d hit you.”

“Would you like a printout?” Dawn asked.

Belle nodded. “Yes please. And one for Ruby too, she’s insisting on it.” She paused. “Actually, can I have three copies?”

“Sure. We start making you pay print fees after the third though.” The sonographer winked and sent the image to print before turning off the transducer and cleaning the gel off Belle’s stomach before helping her make herself decent again and handing her off the bed. The pictures would take a little while to print, so Ruby and Belle went out into the waiting room again until they were ready.

“Are you going to give the third print to Gold?” Ruby asked.

Belle didn’t reply. She wanted to, but she hadn’t quite decided yet. Best to have the opportunity to send it rather than regret not having done so. If she didn’t end up doing anything with the third copy, then so be it, but she wanted to have that option. She didn’t even know what she was hoping to achieve by giving the picture to him, but since he hadn’t had the opportunity to meet his child in person, she could do the next best thing for him. If he didn’t want the picture then that was his problem.

Then again… Belle sighed. Maybe it was too much, maybe it would come across as desperation, trying to guilt trip him into becoming more involved. She didn’t want that, but she desperately did not want him not to know his child. Still, it wasn’t as if she had to make a decision right away.

The receptionist brought over the prints and Belle handed one to Ruby before tucking the others safely into her purse. Ruby wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders as they made their way back to the car.

“Whatever happens, it’ll turn out for the best,” she said. “I promise.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Ruby Lucas #Pregnant!Belle #Fic: The Most Beautiful Mistake #Ruby Slippers as a mentioned sidepair

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chocolatequeennk · 7 years

Text

Redefining Forever

Rose is home again, and she and the Doctor are ready to take whatever variation of forever Time is willing to give them. Then in a routine medical exam they learn forever is more literal than they thought, and that there are options open to them that hadn’t been possible before. Part of Romantic Transferences, following Holding Onto Forever. Eventual baby fic.

This is for @doctorroseprompts “physical changes caused by Bad Wolf” prompt.

Thanks to @lastbluetardis for betaing for me!

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Rose wasn’t surprised when the Doctor insisted they visit the med bay immediately after breakfast on her first morning home. She still hadn’t told him about the dimension cannon, but obviously, she’d crossed the Void to get home, and she’d been through enough post-jump physicals to know that carried a certain amount of risk.

“What about Donna?” she said, hoping to put off the exam and explanation for a little bit longer. “We were supposed to go get her this morning.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “We can go into the Vortex and take all the time we need on your physical, then land back on Legilo and pick Donna up.”

Rose nodded reluctantly and followed him to the console room. When the TARDIS shifted into the Vortex and away from the telepathic dampening field of Legilo, the full return of her telepathy made her dizzy, and she grabbed onto the railing.

“Rose?” The Doctor was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong, love?”

She reached for his arms instead of the railing and looked into his eyes. “Nothing,” she gasped, blinking back tears. “I just… I forgot…”

The furrow between his brows smoothed out. “Oh,” he breathed. “You’re back.” He put his hands on her waist and slid them up under the hem of her shirt, until his palms were pressed against her bare back. “Oh, Rose.”

Rose tilted her head back, and that was the only invitation the Doctor needed. He swooped down for a kiss, catching her bottom lip between his and nipping at it lightly before running his tongue over it. Her hands glided over his shoulders to sink into his hair, and she felt his moan against her lips before his tongue swept into her mouth.

Doctor, she sighed. Oh God, I missed you. So much. The last remnant of her headache finally eased away, and the sudden relief after five years of constant pain was almost orgasmic. One of his hands left her back and cradled her neck at the base of her skull, massaging the previously-aching spot gently, and she shuddered in delight.

The telepathic ties of their bond tightened and strengthened around them, until it almost felt like they were one person. Their emotions were shared—joy, relief, love, desire…

Fear?

Rose eased out of the kiss when she detected that jarring note. The Doctor followed her, catching her lips in another kiss, and she used their bond to point out his fear. He sighed, but let the kiss end.

“Right. We were going to the med bay,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. “And then once we’re done with the scans, we can revisit this.”

Rose smiled and took his hand. “I approve of that plan,” she told him as they started down the corridor.

“Tell me about the dimension cannon,” he requested when they entered the med bay.

Rose hopped up on the examination table and lay down while the Doctor turned on the scanner. “I told you on that beach that I was looking for a way to come home,” she began once she was comfortable. “I was already working on my A-levels, and when I was done, I had one of Torchwood’s scientists tutor me in quantum physics.” She laughed and shook her head. “You’d like Malcolm, Doctor—he’s a proper genius.”

The Doctor ran the sonic over her body in long, sweeping passes. “Maybe we’ll run into his counterpart in this universe one day.”

Rose focused on his eyes so she wouldn’t following the blinking diode of the sonic screwdriver. “That’d be nice.”

She took a deep breath; the next part wouldn’t make him happy. “Anyway, we still had the hoppers, and after taking them apart to figure out how they worked, we built this thing, this dimension cannon, that was supposed to send me through the Void to another universe.”

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “You were supposed to get rid of those things.”

Rose attempted a cheeky smile. “You never actually said that.” The Doctor didn’t laugh, and she sighed. “Look, if we hadn’t used the hoppers, it would have been decades before we developed the technology to go between dimensions. I’m here because we used all the resources we had—including the hoppers. Would you rather I weren’t here?”

“No!” The denial leapt to his tongue as a visceral recoil swept through the Doctor. Having Rose here was everything he’d wanted for three years.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyebrow, letting the strength of his reaction fade. “No, of course not, but…” He shook his head and pressed the button on the sonic, sending the information through to the waiting computer. “Here, sit up.”

Rose swung her body around so she was sitting up with her legs dangling over the side of the bed. The Doctor sat down beside her and took her hand. As always, the skin-on-skin contact intensified the already deep connection between them, and he could sense the nuances of her frustration.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just can’t ignore how much danger you put yourself in, and it scares me. Because you’re here now, but what if the way you got home ends up making you sick?” He drew a shaky breath. “I can’t lose you again, love.”

His fear mingled with her frustration, and then washed it away as she understood his reaction better. A moment later, Rose rested her head on his shoulder and ran her free hand over his arm. “We did everything we could to make it safe, both for the universe and for me,” she told him. “The dimension cannon opens a wormhole that only oscillates at a rate of five Malcolms per second. That means it’s extremely narrow, only allowing for the travel of one person in one direction. But it’s still fast enough to close itself as soon as transit is complete.”

Five Malcolms… The Doctor twisted his neck so he could look down at Rose, a smile stretching across his face. “Did your friend name a unit of measure after himself?”

Rose laughed. “He did, yeah. But he discovered it, so I guess that’s his right. A wavelength parcel of ten kilohertz operating in four dimensions equals one Malcolm.”

The Doctor whistled. For a human to measure something in four dimensions… A proper genius indeed. He did the calculations in his head and nodded; five Malcolms per second would create the force necessary to penetrate dimension walls.

“So, the dimension cannon was supposed to send you across the Void?” he said, bringing them back to where his fear had derailed the conversation.

“Oh, right.” Rose straightened up and continued her story. “It didn’t work. Malcolm and I couldn’t figure out why. All the calculations were correct. And then the stars started going out.”

“What?” Of all the things she could have said, that was not even close to what he had expected.

Rose turned to look at him, and the merry twinkle in her eyes had faded to sober determination. “Yeah. I’m actually here on an official mission from Torchwood. About ten months ago, the stars started going out. Not long after, the readings from the dimension cannon changed. It started picking up radio signals from other universes, and then letting us do do basic scans to check the atmosphere on the other side. And then, one day… the cannon worked. I went through the Void to another world and came back ten minutes later.”

But that means… “You mean reality itself started to break down, and that made the walls between the worlds porous,” the Doctor said slowly.

Rose nodded. “That’s what Malcolm reckoned, too. Even the Void is dying, Doctor. The first few hops I took, I could… well, I could sort of feel it around me? The nothingness, I mean. Passing through it felt like going through treacle. But after a month, it got easier. And now… now it’s like teleporting.”

The computer beeped, interrupting the thoughts whirling through the Doctor’s mind. If reality was breaking down, then an end-of-the-universe crisis was looming… but for the moment, Rose’s health and safety were his priority.

“We’ll talk more about the stars going out later,” he promised as he stood up.

She rolled her eyes fondly. “Go on, check the tests. And when you have proof that I’m just fine, we can pick Donna up and I can tell both of you what I know.”

The Doctor nodded absently; his focus had already shifted to the charts and numbers filling up the monitor. He frowned when he recognised the form the TARDIS had dropped the data into—this was the one he used for his own medical tests, not for his human companions.

“What are you up to?” he muttered, smacking the side of the monitor.

He heard the sound of fabric against fabric as Rose slid off the exam table. Then a moment later, she was at his side, peering at the monitor with him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He typed in the command that would transfer the information to the proper form, but the TARDIS whistled sharply in his head.

Rose winced at the sound of the TARDIS’ annoyance. “What was that?” she asked, rubbing her temple.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor repeated. “But she refuses to transfer your scan results to the human form, so we might as well read them here.”

Rose turned and leaned against the nearby counter so she could watch his reactions. The medical results were beyond her understanding anyway, and she would learn more by watching the shifting expressions on his face. Gradually, his irritation was replaced by confusion, and she turned just enough to be able to also see whatever was on the screen.

The Doctor’s eyes were wide, and Rose looked from him to the results and back at him again. A deep furrow in his brow went along with the sharp tone in his voice when he asked, “What?” He shook his head. “That can’t…” He tapped in a command, and another image popped up. “I’m sorry… what?”

“What is it?” Rose asked. She knew he wasn’t scared, just very confused.

The Doctor took a deep breath and turned the monitor so she was looking at it straight on. As he did, the text on the screen was replaced by a diagram of three strands twisting together. There was something familiar about the image, but it was off by just enough that Rose couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“What is it?”

He ran a hand through his hair. So far, the only emotion she’d been able to pick up from him was shock.

“It’s… That’s your DNA, Rose.”

Rose frowned at the screen and shook her head. That was why it had looked familiar, she realised now, but… “DNA has two strands,” she said. “It’s a double helix.”

Some of the Doctor’s shock was fading, and Rose felt a hint of excitement coming through. “Human DNA, yes. But Time Lord DNA is a triple helix.”

Rose looked at the image, then at her husband, bouncing lightly on his toes while he waited for her to put the pieces together. He was practically vibrating with excitement now, and she let the obvious solution sink into her mind.

“I’m a Time Lord,” she said slowly. “Because… Because of what I did as Bad Wolf? That made me like you?”

The Doctor giggled and picked her up and spun her around. “Yes!” he crowed. “Oh, my beautiful, brilliant Rose. Do you know what this means, love?”

He set her down, but kept his hands on her waist, and Rose looked into his sparkling eyes. The shadow that had lingered there, even in their happiest moments, was gone completely.

“It means we can share our forever,” she breathed, swaying on her feet as the truth hit home. “If I’m a Time Lord, I’ll be able to regenerate. You won’t have to be alone again.”

As she spoke the words, a golden memory unlocked in her mind. “I did this,” she whispered. “I saw your future, so alone… and I said no. So I reached out with the Time Vortex, and I changed my own body so I could be with you forever.”

The Doctor’s breath caught in his throat and he pulled Rose into a hug with his arms wrapped tight around her waist. “Oh Rose,” he said into her hair.

Rose turned her head and kissed his jaw. “I want you safe, my Doctor,” she told him. “Safe and happy, for as long as you live.”

She carefully disentangled herself from him and pulled gently on his arm, tugging him towards the monitor. “So, can you tell me about the new me?” she asked. “What should I expect? Super-human strength? A superior biology?”

The Doctor stuck his tongue out at her gibe. “As a matter of fact, yes,” he said. “And you’ll soon discover I’m not just making things up when I say that.”

Rose frowned; another fact had just slipped into place. “I think I already have, kinda,” she said. “I’ve been sleeping less, and I heal much faster. It always amazed them in my post-jump physicals how few side effects I experienced from going through the Void.”

The Doctor nodded. “Time Lords are pan dimensional,” he explained. “We’re made to travel from universe to universe. That’s why we only exist here, in the prime universe.” He tilted his head and rested his tongue on his teeth. “I should have wondered when there wasn’t a Rose in Pete’s World,” he realised.

Rose pushed a reminder over the bond, and the Doctor jumped slightly. “Oh! But you wanted a quick tutorial on your new body.” He closed the diagram of her DNA and went back to the top of the report, pointing out the important things like respiratory bypass and the enlarged frontal lobe of her brain that made telepathy possible for Rose.

When they got to the last paragraph, Rose could tell whatever it said was almost as surprising to the Doctor as the news of her genetic transformation. He looked up at the ceiling through half-closed eyes, his mind whirling with some kind of calculation.

“Right,” he muttered as he spun away from the monitor. “Well, that’s easy enough to take care of.”

Rose frowned when he opened a drawer and dug through its contents, pulling several bottles out and setting them on the counter. He started mixing something, muttering to himself as he went along like he was creating a potion.

“Not a potion,” he said absently. “Birth control.”

Rose’s jaw dropped, but it only took a moment for her to fit the puzzle pieces together. They’d never used birth control, because humans and Time Lords weren’t genetically compatible enough for natural conception. But if her DNA had changed to match his, she could get pregnant.

“Exactly,” the Doctor said. He carefully put his formula in a test tube and put it in a centrifuge. “So I’ll just take this birth control, and we’ll be taken care of.”

Rose looked at the machine, then at the Doctor. They’d never even talked about kids, except the one conversation where he’d told her they weren’t possible. And now he was just… She clenched her hands so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms.

“Rose?” the Doctor said carefully. The anger and hurt pouring off her were strong enough to give him a slight headache, and he turned away from the machine to look directly at her. “Have I done something wrong?”

She snorted. “Well, usually a couple talks about kids together,” she pointed out, her voice sharp. “Before one of them opts for permanent birth control.”

The Doctor blinked, then shook his head. “But you… I didn’t think you wanted kids,” he said, stammering just a little. “You’ve never mentioned…” He let the words trail off and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Rose sighed, and some of her anger eased. “Well, I hadn’t really thought about it before we met,” she admitted. “I was only nineteen, after all—settling down with a husband and kids was still several years out, if I thought about it at all.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him. “And then I fell in love with an alien,” she said pointedly. “Not much point thinking about something you know you can’t have.”

The Doctor studied his wife carefully. “Rose… do you want to have a family?”

“We’re already a family, Doctor,” she corrected.

He nodded impatiently. “Right, but would you want a baby? Or maybe… a few children?” he asked.

The Doctor tried to keep his imagination under control while he waited for her answer, but he couldn’t stop himself from picturing a little girl with Rose’s cheeky smile, laughing as he spun her around. His hearts ached when the childish voice called him Daddy, and despite himself, he wished fervently that the vision might be his time senses giving him a glimpse of the future, and not just his over-active imagination.

“Oh!” Rose’s eyes widened. “You want kids. You really want kids. Why didn’t you ever say?”

The scene in his mind’s eyes faded away, and the Doctor focused on his wife. Rose had her hands knotted together the way she did when she felt uncertain about something, and he reached for them, gently untangling her fingers and lacing them through his own.

“Because I don’t want them if you don’t,” he told her seriously. “So please don’t feel like you have to agree to have a baby now, just because it’s possible and you know it’s something I want.”

Rose bit her lip. “Can I… Can I have some time to think about it?” she requested. “Because I’ve never even thought about if I wanted to be a mum, and now…” She shrugged. “Even if I do decide I want to have a baby, I think I want a little time alone with you first. Plus, it’s not exactly the best time to get pregnant, when we’re in the middle of a universe-threatening crisis.”

“Right, the stars,” the Doctor remembered. He smiled at Rose. “You can have all the time you want, love. You were right that this birth control I was formulating would have been permanent, but there’s a shot I can give myself that’ll last for three months. And if you’re not sure then…”

Rose nodded, and he knew she understood that he would give her all the time she needed. She stretched up onto her toes and brushed a kiss over his cheek. “Thank you, Doctor.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #dwfic #doctorroseprompts #series: romantic transferences #cq's fic: redefining forever #post reunion fluff #bad wolf reveal #bad wolf!rose is important to me #babyfic #fic by Nancy

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