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dothwrites · 4 years

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Cas using Enochian pick-up lines on oblivious Dean. Dean doesn't get them, Cas feels rejected each time, and Sammy is done with it all! Can I have that fic, pretty please?

ah, this has been sitting here for a WHILE, so i’m sorry that i’m trash

lost in translation

---

It begins when Dean is pathetically trying to impress his crush.

Or at least that would be Sam’s take, if Dean cared enough to ask him.

Dean would rather say that it began with a simple misunderstanding, one which could happen to anyone.

He doesn’t ask Cas’ opinion of the situation (and Cas would say that’s the whole crux of the problem).

Whoever has the correct perspective, no one would argue about the beginning of the affair. It starts one afternoon when Dean is contemplating switching Sam’s creamer with buttermilk, just for a break in the monotony. Cas is with him in the library, his customary suit and coat exchanged for a hoodie and a comfortable looking pair of jeans which Dean suspects used to belong to him (there’s something vaguely familiar about that hole in the knee, and it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pilfered his room for clothing; several of Dean’s shirts have ended up upon the angel’s body. Cas always seems perplexed when Dean calls him on his thievery, plucking at the shirt with faint confusion--Oh this? I found this down in the laundry room a few days ago and thought it looked familiar, do you want it back? And the question is phrased so forlornly that Dean can’t help but allow Cas to steal another article of clothing out from under his very nose.). Cas dresses down these days. And slouches. Right now, his chin is in danger of disappearing into his chest. The sight delights Dean. There for a while, he hadn’t been sure Cas was capable of relaxing.

It’s an overwhelmingly quiet afternoon. It’s nice, because Dean loves to spend time with Cas when there’s no imminent blood or monsters on their horizons, but it’s also boring. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas over the top of his book. Cas seems perfectly content to sit all day reading some godawful thick, leather bound tome. Dean finds himself less than content, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He sighs, shifting in his seat as he pretends to read. After a few more minutes, he sighs again, this time with a little more spite in the sound.

(Dean’s about three seconds away from kicking his feet and whining I’m bored, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.)

Cas mutters under his breath. Dean recognizes the guttural syllables of Enochian, which is Cas’ go-to language for when he’s saying something hateful and he doesn’t want to get called out on it. Tough luck for him, though, because Dean’s heard one of those words enough to parse its meaning.

“Did you just call me stupid?” he demands, slapping his book down on the arm of the chair.

Castiel looks at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “You...understood that?” he asks. “You understand Enochian?”

Not in the slightest, is what Dean should say. He understands one word, and that’s only because Cas uses it enough as an insult that it managed to stick in his mind. But something that looks like fondness, and admiration, and other nice adjectives which Dean would like Cas to apply to him, shines at the edges of Cas’ eyes. So he rolls his eyes a little bit (the audacity of Cas! Asking him if he bothered to study something which was not strictly required!) and scoffs, “Uh, kind of hard not to at this point, you know, what with...” He waves his hand at Cas, hoping that the vagueness of the gesture will cover a multitude of sins.

And really, he should come clean. If the past fifteen years have taught him anything, it’s that nothing good comes from lying to your nearest and dearest. But this is just a little white lie. Like when he was sixteen and he told Brandy Fletcher he could play a rocking drum solo, because he wanted to impress her and there was no way he would ever be called upon to perform such a task. This is just a little fib, made so that Cas doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot.

Plus, there’s something which looks horribly similar to gratitude shining in Cas’ eyes. The emotion brims over until those baby blues can hardly contain it, and Cas looks so goddamned happy. Dean’s not a monster. He’s not going to take that away from Cas just so he can come clean with a Gotcha! moment.

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean.

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish.

---

After that, things get a little weird. Considering Dean’s general life, that’s saying something.

Dean catches Cas looking at him more, like Cas is having a one-man staring contest with the side of his face. Cas staring at him is nothing to write home about, but his looks have gained new intensity. It makes Dean’s innards squirm with worry as well as something deeper. He’s not willing to examine that feeling any closer, though it is pleasant.

As if the soulful looks weren’t bad enough, there’s also the thoughtful slant of Cas’ eyes to worry about. Every time he looks at Dean, he looks like he’s working himself up to something momentous. Since momentous decrees from Cas usually come hand in hand with world-ending events and revelations, Dean thinks he can forgiven for dodging Cas’ presence.

It does him no good: the bunker, for all its space, is only so large in the end, and Cas was once a heavenly messenger who has the patience of millennia. Add that to the fact that Dean needs to eat at least twice a day, and the game of Cornering Dean becomes a game of cards, in which the deck is stacked firmly in Cas’ favor.

Dean sneaks into the kitchen sometime between midnight and two am. If Sam caught him, then he would get a talking-to about the most appropriate times to eat, better digestive function, and the ravages of heartburn in a man his age, but it’s not his brother sitting at the table when Dean flicks on the light.

It’s Cas, who blinks owlishly at him, before his face splits into his brightest smile.

(Cas’ brightest smile is an awkward, crooked little thing. On a regular human being it would be considered unbecoming. On Cas, it’s a thing of glory.)

“Dean,” Cas greets him. Hearing his voice in that low, rough voice never fails to send a little shiver down his spine, and today is no different. “This is an odd time for a snack.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little lamely. The shock of finding Cas in the kitchen has kind of killed his appetite, but it’s not like he can turn around and leave. “Just, you know, had a craving. Why were you here?”

Cas looks around the kitchen, his mouth pursed. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.”

Dean looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “You were sitting in the dark, dude.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t need lights to see in the dark,” Cas says, as though the knowledge that his best friend has some freaky see in the dark cat eye nonsense going on with him isn’t the weirdest thing Dean’s heard all day.

“Great.” Dean opens the fridge and pulls out a container at random. He spares one second to hope that Sam got rid of all the moldy food before he samples the contents. “Well, I think I’m going back to my room now.”

He wants to get out of here, not so much because he doesn’t want to talk to Cas (he has no problem with late-night chats with Cas, it’s just that he would prefer such chats take place in his room, preferably in his bed, preferably while both participants were significantly less dressed), but because Cas is starting to get that look again, like he’s getting ready to drop an atomic bomb’s worth of shit on Dean in the middle of the kitchen.

“Dean.” Cas stands up. He twists his fingers together before he realizes what he’s doing, and then places them flat against his thighs. He takes a deep breath. Before Dean can stop him, Cas opens his mouth.

Low, rolling syllables flow through the kitchen, the harsh notations of Enochian softened by Cas’ voice. There’s a question in Cas’ eyes, and Dean would answer it, if he only knew what Cas was asking.

The kitchen falls into silence. Dean gets the distinct impression that walking away is not the appropriate reaction. If only he knew what the appropriate reaction was.

He settles for plastering a fake ass smile on his face and loosing a brittle laugh which threatens to shatter the lighting fixtures. The corners of his mouth hurt from the wideness of his smile, but not even the small twinge of pain can take away from the brief flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes.

“Yeah. You bet.” Dean barely restrains himself from giving Cas a big thumbs up.

Cas’ face, if possible, turns even more disconsolate. Dean’s stomach twists at the sight.

This would be the correct moment to confess. Cas, I don’t have the faintest idea what you said, but I’d really like it if you could say it again in English, so that I could maybe comment on it. Sorry I’m such a jackass.

Dean does not confess. He reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder, almost buckling Cas’ knees under the friendly contact. Dean almost stops, but he continues to his room, trying to erase the memory of Cas’ stricken face.

---

It gets worse.

Cas says something in Enochian to him the next morning, a tiny, hopeful smile darting across his face. Dean gives him a weak smile in return and tries not to focus on the longing, almost desperate tone of Cas’ voice. “Ok, Cas,” he says, when it becomes clear Cas is angling for something more than a smile that makes it look like he ate some bad tacos.

Cas takes him by the wrist. This time the syllables which come out of his mouth are almost frantic. His eyes are wide and imploring, and his voice cracks on the last word.

The truth, Dean. Tell him the truth.

“Look, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says. Confronted by the weight of his failings and his inadequacies, he flees. All the while, he feels Cas’ eyes on his back.

---

It gets worse.

Cas continues to mutter Enochian at him, alternating between frustrated, hurt, mocking, and pleading inflections. Each time, Dean looks at him in a mixture of helplessness and shame.

The last time Cas tries, there’s a faint snap and tingle of grace curling around the room. Dean can taste it in the air, ozone and electricity, before it makes the lamp closest to him spark and pop. “Great, now you’re killing the furniture,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Cas recoils as though Dean reached out and slapped him. He says something else in Enochian, his voice small and defeated. He won’t even look at Dean.

If Dean were a better person, he would come clean. He would apologize to Cas and beg his forgiveness. He would take Cas’ scorn and irritation and lump it in with the rest of the shit that’s gone wrong with his life, and they would move past this.

Dean’s not a good person. Hell, he’s not even an okay person. He’s a piece of shit who got a hell of a lot luckier than he ever deserved, and Cas is just naive enough not to realize that.

---

It gets worse.

Sam walks into the library one afternoon with a dazed look on his face which means he’s just emerged from being caught deep in a book. He runs his hands through his hair and only then seems to realize that Dean and Cas are sitting at opposite ends of the library, deliberately ignoring each other. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut.

“You guys okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between them.

“We’re good,” Dean says shortly, flipping a page of his book with unneeded aggression.

Sam flicks his eyes towards Castiel. Cas looks over the top of his book, his eyebrows twisted in a scowl. He mutters something most definitely not English under his breath, staring at Dean.

Sam chokes on nothing.

“You all right there, Sammy?” Dean glances at Sam, only to see that his brother’s face is bright red.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

Castiel says something else in Enochian, sounding more forlorn than angry. Dean didn’t think it was possible for his brother’s eyes to get any wider. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on Cas, but the question is meant for both of them.

“I think you two should really talk,” Sam says, looking back and forth between him and Cas. “I think you’re both missing some information.”

“What do you mean--” Dean pauses as the obvious answer comes to him. “Hold on. You can understand him?”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Castiel says, proving that he can speak English just damn fine when he wants to. Then, because Cas is an asshole whose main job is torturing Dean, he mutters something in Enochian.

Sam snorts.

If he didn’t know he would later regret it, Dean would put both of them in the ground.

“Well, if you want someone to talk to you, then knock it off and speak English!” Dean snaps. “I’ve got no idea why you’re babbling on like that and looking like I kicked your puppy when I don’t answer.”

Cas scowls, the full wrath of Heaven in his eyes. He starts what sounds like it will no doubt be a lengthy tirade (in Enochian of fucking course), before he’s interrupted by Sam.

“Dean doesn’t understand Enochian, Cas!” he shouts.

Two pairs of eyes snap to Sam. Dean’s are filled with furious betrayal, Cas’ with frustrated confusion. Sam ignores them both, rolling his own eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry to cut in your drama or whatever, and I’m sure that you two could keep this up for another three weeks, but I value my sanity. Dean, nut up and tell Cas you don’t speak Enochian. Cas, stop running into a brick wall and tell him what you want. I mean, good God, it’s like I have to do everything around here myself!”

Sam’s complaining never ceases as he peruses the shelves for the particular book he’s looking for. Both Dean and Cas are referred to multiple times as idiots, sometimes assholes, and once even idjits. Throughout his litany of abuse, Dean and Castiel refuse to look at each other, though Dean does feel a telltale prickling at the back of his neck several times. Every time he looks at Cas, however, the angel has his eyes firmly fixed on his book.

Dean wonders if Cas would get more pissed if he told him his book was upside down.

“You ever think about how much pain and agony you could save me if you two assholes would just talk to each other?” Sam finally snaps. Arms laden with books, he levels a fearsome glare at the both of them. “For homework, neither of you are coming out of this library until you’ve actually talked to each other like rational adults. And if you make any weird noises, I’m going to smother both of you in your sleep.”

He stalks out of the library, leaving Cas and Dean alone once more. Cas looks up from his book, finally realizing it’s upside-down, while Dean puts down his own book. They stare at each other for a long moment, then speak at once.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t understand Enochian?” “What were you trying to say to me?”

They stop. Dean swallows, gathers up all of his manly courage, and speaks.

“So what were you trying to say to me? It must have been pretty exciting to get Sammy clutching his pearls.”

Cas tilts his head. He considers Dean for a long moment before he crosses the space between them. Cas leans forward, putting his hands on the arms of Dean’s chair. The gesture boxes Dean in, a turn of events which Dean doesn’t struggle against.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t speak Enochian?”

Pinned beneath Cas’ gaze, Dean squirms uncomfortably. Now that it’s just him and Cas, his deception seems childish. Would it really have been the end of the world if he’d told Cas he was too stupid and selfish to learn his language? It would have just been another disappointment in Cas’ life, but has it been worth these past few days of being at odds with Cas?

Heat flushes along the bridge of Dean’s nose as he mutters, “I wanted you to think I was smart.”

Damn super-angelic hearing. Cas doesn’t miss a beat, though his forehead creases. “You wanted...what? Dean, you are smart.”

He says it so naturally, as though Dean doesn’t struggle over translations or speaking Latin or cross-referencing indexes or any of the thousand other things that seem to come naturally as breathing to Sam and Cas. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular fucking genius,” Dean mumbles.

“You’re capable of finding the problem with a faulty engine with a single look. You built your own EMF meter out of a spare Walkman. Despite your efforts to hide it, you’re very well-read, and you have an innate understanding of some fairly complicated mathematics. I’m not sure exactly what humans qualify as intelligent, but I feel as though all of those skills count.”

Dean knows his whole face is red. Heat prickles along the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Jesus, Cas,” he mutters. Unable to withstand the force of those blue eyes, he darts his glance down towards the floor. “Most people don’t start sweet talking until the third date.”

“Well, I’m an angel,” Castiel says, smugly, as though that solves every argument (not a bad strategy; that line’s worked for Cas for years. What else can you say after that?).

“All right, I answered yours, now you answer mine. What were you trying to say to me?”

Amazingly, Cas’ cheeks color.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean wheedles, when Cas doesn’t immediately answer. “I told you mine.”

Cas looks off to the side. He actually shuffles his feet before he answers, “It was just a thought. I thought, maybe, we could...Never mind. It was stupid.” He looks back at Dean and rolls his eyes, showing how ridiculous he finds this whole trial. “I guess, roughly translated, it would amount of something like ‘If only he were as decisive as he is pretty, then there would be no problem’.” He forces a weak laugh. “I said it in the heat of the moment. I was frustrated.”

Dean blinks in astonishment. Only one fact has managed to slip through the tangle of Cas’s words. “You think I’m pretty?”

Castiel’s blush deepens. “Anyone who has eyes would think that,” he says, a little roughly.

An automatic flush spreads across Dean’s cheeks, but he’s able to ignore that. He’s much more interested in what else Cas might have been telling him. “And what was something else you said?”

Cas coughs. “’Your eyes are bright as the sunrise, yet they fail to see what is in front of them’,” he says. If possible, his already rough voice has deepened.

“Another.”

Cas doesn’t pretend coyness. “’You had my heart from the first time I saw your soul’,” he says, in a near whisper.

Dean can’t hold himself back. He snatches Cas’ hoodie in his hands and drags Cas down to his level. Cas lets out a surprised grunt before he gracefully collapses atop Dean. He’s barely managed to balance himself on Dean’s lap before Dean’s lip are on his.

Despite Dean’s rushed actions, the kiss is sweet and almost chaste. Cas’ lips are warm and chapped and utterly wonderful. At first, they’re stiff, but only for a second. Then Cas relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily as his hand cups Dean’s cheek. Cas’ stubble scratches against his chin. He’s going to bear the marks of Cas’ affection later, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

Cas parts from him, but not far. In fact, he’s close enough to Dean that when whispers a phrase in Enochian, his lips brush against Dean’s.

A shiver of delight runs down Dean’s spine. Now that he knows the gist of what Cas was trying to say to him, Enochian fills him with illicit glee. “What did that mean?”

Cas kisses him again, adding a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips. “’Of all the stars in the heavens, you shine the brightest’,” he translates, resting his forehead against Dean’s.

Heat floods through Dean once more. It’s everything he ever dreamed of hearing. It seems impossible that he could have it. There should be a rule against it. Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants.

Except, apparently, Dean Winchester does get what he wants, as evidenced by his lapful of angel murmuring Enochian endearments into his ear. “Hey Cas?” Dean tilts his head to catch Cas’ eye. “When I first saw you, sparks flew. How would you say that in Enochian?”

Cas thinks for a second before a smile spreads across his face. “I’ll teach you,” he promises, before he pulls Dean’s face towards him once more.

(Sam’s warning about making weird noises makes a lot more sense now.)

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #canonverse fic #fluff #dothwrites

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

Text

Under Atomic Skies {John Blake x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2558 Summary: John Blake would do just about anything to keep his family safe.

You looked over at John as he came into your cozy little Gotham home. His mouth was set in a grim line against the contours of his handsome face. You could feel the stress radiating off of him. “Did the kids see?” He asked, turning off the television that you were sitting in front of. You shook your head in a no, and he sighed in relief. They were playing in their rooms, your son and your daughter. The blasts in the street had caused the house to rumble, but they didn’t ask any questions. They just played ‘earthquake’. You didn’t want to explain to them what happened until your husband, John, got home with his own explanation. And what he said, all of it, it broke your heart. This was the city you both grew up in. This was the city you had fallen in love in. Gave birth in, raised your kids in, got a mortgage in, worked in, made your home. And it was being threatened once more.

“There’s going to be riots, and looting, and who knows what else,” You said, your eyes looking over to the front door. There were three locks on it already, with John being a bit of a cautious man. With you being a cop’s wife. But those three didn’t seem enough when you were now the wife of the only cop, or detective, left to protect the city. The rest were caught in the underground. John’s partner included. “What are we going to tell the kids? Is Ross alright? Should we move to a safe house?”

“Ross is fine, I’ve already figured out where he is. There’s a sewer grate right above them, I can talk to him,” John said, which made you give your own sigh of relief. Your husband’s partner was like family, your kids even called him Uncle Ross. “I have hope in Gotham, we’ll get through this, sweetheart.”

But you weren’t so sure. You loved this city, but it tended to turn out bad people one after another. Thieves, mobsters, even an evil clown. And now this man who called himself Bane. It was safe to say that you were terrified, and wished that you shared in your husband’s positivity. In his hope. It was one of the things that you loved best about him. And things usually turned out pretty okay. The city had John Blake - it was going to be okay.

The days started to seem shorter as the countdown to the bomb began. There just didn’t seem to be enough time in the day to really appreciate each and every one. John was gone most of the time, working as a Detective, working with Batman, being the only cop in a city which was run by madness. You hardly ever left the house, and when you did, it was to go to the boys’ orphanage and help out there. There was no point in trying to work from home right now, the business was down the toilet. So you took on volunteering at the boys home, bringing your kids with you so you could keep an eye on them all at the same time. Father Reilly appreciated your help.

“It’s good for the boys to see a friendly face,” He admitted to you as you were passing out juice boxes to the kids. “All of them seemed to be glued to the news the days. They’re too young for such things. Too innocent.”

“If I wasn’t here, I’d be doing the same,” You admitted to the friendly father. You kept pressing that smile on your face, just as John did when he came home and gave the kids a huge hug each night. But the news was wearing you down. Scarecrow, Dr Jonathan Crane, was acting as judge, jury and executioner. All of the major shopping centers were looted as ‘wealth’ was dispersed in the way of material goods. You never joined in on any of that. You weren’t going to let the city take you down with it.

“There’s always hope,” Father Reilly said, putting his hand on your shoulder in solidarity. “That’s something I learned from being around these boys. No matter what life throws at them, they still play with a smile on their face.”

“It’s hard not to stay hopeful with John around,” you admitted, sitting on a bench with a juicebox of your own. You looked out over Gotham. There was still smoke in the air. There was always smoke in the air. The sounds of chanting from the courthouse. Vehicles still moving about down there, despite there really being nowhere to go. John had filled you in that one of those large trucks was carrying around the bomb, and your eyes caught on one as it turned a corner a few blocks down. It was terrifying, knowing that it was so close. But you still had a few days before it would go off. There was still time to find it. There was time to fix this whole mess. “Include John in your prayers tonight for me, father? It can’t hurt for us to be a little louder.”

“I already include him every night, y/n,” Father said, sitting beside you, stretching out his old leg bones. He was no longer the young man who used to chase John around this very building. The stress was taking a toll on him, and had even before the bombings. “And all of those officers stuck under the city.”

“They’re getting food and water, and vitamin D tablets,” You explained. “John and Ross have been keeping in touch. He’s even been scouting out an area where he might be able to get them out. He’s been working nonstop on this. I hope that when it’s all over, I can convince him to take a break.”

“Good luck asking him to take a break from anything,” Father Reilly laughed. It was the first real laugh you had heard since this whole thing began, at least from someone other than a child. It made you grin. You knew that it was absolutely true. John was one of the most dedicated people in this city. And when he believed in something, whether it’s in Batman, or in you, he never gave up on it. He’d fight til the end.

The day after tomorrow. The bomb was going to blow, according to John. The military still weren’t letting people go across the bridge. They were even threatening to blow that up themselves to stop people. Most of the population didn’t know, they were much too busy fighting each other to realize that Bane wasn’t actually going to give a detonator to an ordinary citizen. Or that an ordinary citizen would even want this city to blow up. He had to have the detonator all this time. And with Batman missing again, and the cops still trapped, and only very few people actually working on the streets... even your hope was beginning to wane. And John’s.

You moved into the shelter with the boys, taking care of them, tucking them in, acting like the mother that they never had. Because if all went wrong, this would be their last few days and they deserved to feel that love. You put the blankets over them, made sure that they had their bears which they were given as emotional support, and gave them each a peck on the forehead. Even the older boys, so quick to shun the bears since they were childish, needed something to hold onto.

The day before the bomb went off was chaotic. All of your rations were packed away to take off in the morning, just in case things didn’t work out. John was convinced that the military would see reason and let a bus full of children across. And you, importantly. He wasn’t going to be able to go on if anything happened to you, he admitted.

“You just do your job, Detective Blake,” You said, laying in bed with him, looking into his big, dark brown eyes. “And keep up hope that everything is going to turn out alright. It’s like that saying you know I love so much. Everything will be okay in the end, and if it’s not okay, then it’s not the end. We have to remain optimistic about this. Not just for us, but for the kids.”

The bomb was set to go off in less than an hour. All of the kids, the father, a few other works, John and yourself had piled onto the schoolbus and tried to get out to the bridge. The military were guarding it cautiously. Too cautiously. Guns were pointed not only at you, who had gotten out to support John, and your husband. Father Reilly was giving up hope. But you weren’t. The second that John had gotten the door unlocked, you slipped through it, standing in front of him.

“Please,” You pleaded, stepping forward tentatively. Your eyes were struggling to meet the soldier’s, and not just focus on his gun. “I’m asking you not as a citizen of Gotham, but as a mother. As a human being. These children are innocent in all of this. If they don’t leave, they’re going to get killed anyway. Have you seen the riots, and the looting, and all of the crime? Is that an environment you want your kids raised in?”

“You need to get back,” The soldier said, though his voice was shakier than before.

“Please, do not shoot,” John yelled, his accent cutting through the air. He walked up alongside you, badge in hand, those hands up towards the sky. He stepped in alongside you, then a step ahead, protecting you. Always acting like your human shield. Warning shots came towards you, to the ground by your feet.

“Get back,” John whispered to you. And you didn’t fight him on that, you went right back behind the chain-link door with the others, but watched with worried eyes. Your fingers slipped through the holes, gripping onto the metal. However much John worried about you getting hurt, you worried right back. Tenfold. The city would be lost without him. You would be lost without him, so would the kids.

“Detective, please, stop!” The young looking officer barked out. He looked as scared as you felt. But John was stubborn, and wasn’t going to stop for anything. He took two steps forward. More bullets shot near his feet, sending little shocks of light. That made him pause, but not stop. Another step. “STOP WALKING.” He looked towards another soldier that was with him and said the words that made your heart stop. “BLOW IT.”

The two men disappeared behind the shelters made of sandbags. “John-” You cried out, hoping to God that he would turn around and walk back to you before the explosives would go off.

“DO IT.” The soldier ordered.

Your stubborn husband. He made another step before the explosives detonated. Smoke filled your vision, but you saw that he was thrown backwards. You went through the door again, coughing through the dark and acrid smoke, trying to find him. A whole section of the bridge fell from existence, causing a rumble that made you fall. A hand caught your own, and you could feel from familiarity that it was John’s.

“YOU SONS OF BITCHES,” John said, getting onto his feet and pulling you up alongside with him. He had his arms around you, still shielding you from the military. You avoided looking at them now, because John was speaking what you were thinking. “YOU KILLED US.”

It was hard to maintain that hope in the face of this much adversity, but you had to try. He was moving back towards the door, back towards the kids. You stopped him outside of the bus, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and brought him in for what might be your last hug. “You’ve done everything that you can, my love,” You said, looking into his dark eyes. “I have faith in the Batman. And in Gordon. They’re figuring this out, and if they don’t then - then you cannot blame yourself. You risked your life time and time again. Gotham can not ask any more from you.”

John nodded, but you could still see the frustration on his face. But then another expression took over it. One of hope. And wonder. He pointed behind you, towards the skies, towards the water. You turned around to see that there was some black thing flying through the air, holding what looked to be-

- the bomb.

It was being flown over the waters, towards the sea, away from Gotham. Batman had come through. There was no mistaking who else it could be in that jetblack air craft. Nobody else had the technology for that. Your hands went to your heart, holding it in because it was beating so quickly, it felt like it might pop out. John put his arms around you from behind. All of the kids rushed to one side of the bus to look out of the windows. There were excited voices coming from everywhere.

Then the bomb went off. You could see the explosion from where you were. It caused a stiff wind to blow towards you. The bridge rippled as the water beneath it did as well. It was a wonder that the windows of the bus didn’t break. But it was gone, and it was over. And though you felt relieved, you looked up at John with sorrow. He had believed in the Batman, more than he believed in his own police force. But at least the threat against your family, for now, was over and done with.

When you first saw him wearing the mask and the suit, you were worried. Who wouldn’t be? He was taking over the moniker of Batman and all of the enemies that brought along with it. But at least he had promised that he would wear the mask, something he had sworn never to do in the first place. But he had you to think about, and the kids. He’d already had an enemy threaten you, with Bane and the entire city, and he realized this wasn’t just about playing heroics. It was about taking care of his own. His people. Gotham’s people.

“Are you going to be home to tuck the kids into bed?” You asked, before John set off to go to the underground bunker. Even you didn’t know the exact location. The less you knew, the better.

“I’ll try to be,” He said, cupping your chin and pressed a sweet and loving, though quick, kiss upon your lips. “Don’t wait up for me though.”

“Easier said than done,” You said. He chuckled, knowing that was the truth, gave you a long look like he was memorizing your face, then disappeared out into the evening twilight, to get ready to prowl the night in his newly assigned role as The Batman.

#John Blake #John Blake x reader #John Blake oneshot #DC #DC oneshot #request #oneshot #x reader #johnb

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popwasabi · 3 years

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The monster of “Shin Gojira” is government incompetence

I know it doesn’t feel like it but we’re just three months away from March again.

It’s been almost a year now since the beginning of quarantine, when the world had to be shut down due to the escalating nature of COVID-19 and things have…largely only gotten worse.

In the US specifically.

On March 13th we had 2,204 cases of COVID in the United States and a total of 49 deaths. Today we have 14 MILLION cases across the country and currently 274,000 plus deaths. To put that in perspective we have nearly as many cases of COVID in the US alone as there are people in the cities of Los Angeles, New York, San Francisco, and Chicago combined and we’re experiencing a 9/11’s worth of new deaths every day.

This is not even to mention the economic strain the pandemic has put the country under. Lockdowns and quarantines, without supplemental income to bolster those losses have led to closures, massive unemployment, people running deeply behind on their rent, and crushing debt for many if not buried in medical costs from being infected. Common people are trying their best to navigate a year unlike any other and are largely floundering with little to no help in sight.

And all this can be chalked up to one culprit in particular: our government’s incompetence.

(Remember all that fuss made about “breadlines” in the global south back during grade school?)

From the beginning when this virus first reared its ugly head in 2020, not enough was done to prepare the country for what would come next. Call it hubris or American Exceptionalism, but our government just was not taking it seriously as the President boasted cases would just “disappear” after late February and our leaders largely pretended it either was a) not a big deal or b) would never be a big deal.

Nearly nine months later senate Republicans still think another massive bailout for the nation’s richest coporations is the way to go, all while giving us $1,200 band aid for our troubles.

And make no mistake, the Dems have hardly been guiltless during this crisis themselves.

(“It’s a biiiiiig club, and you ain’t in it...” ~ George Carlin.)

As we see other countries largely find ways to navigate around COVID and create a safe environment where some normalcy can be maintained it becomes increasingly clear to anyone who isn’t a psychopath that the US has grossly mishandled this threat from the beginning. It’s a slow moving disaster that could’ve largely been avoided if our leaders gave a damn and it feels increasingly like we’re all just going to get the virus at some point because there’s virtually no structural safeguard in place to protect us.

This lamenting of the futility of our government’s response to crises is the central theme of one of my favorite monster movies of all-time; “Shin Gojira” (or “Godzilla Resurgence” for American audiences). Directed by “Neon Genesis Evangelion’s” own Hideaki Anno, “Shin Gojira” tells a similar story of a literal slow-moving disaster in the form of titular atomic fire lizard rising from the Pacific Ocean to decimate Japan once again and how the government poorly responds to it.

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For most Americans, Godzilla is something of a joke as a movie character.

He’s Japan’s version of King Kong, a great fire-breathing reptile for thousands of random Japanese to scream “AAAAHHH! GODZILLA!!!” at while a man in a rubber suit knocks down model buildings for two hours. For several decades, he was even a bit of a superhero for children; the good monster who fought bad monsters like King Ghidorah, Gigan, and Hedorah.

The newer American remakes by Legendary Studios have not done much to change this perception. In these films, Godzilla is again depicted as a “titan” for the people doing battle with the bad titans set with people in mo-cap suits duking it out in front of greenscreens that create elaborate cities for the monsters to stampede through.

It is just not that deep to most people and who could blame them? Godzilla is cheap popcorn escapism for most audiences and most of his films see him as such.

(“Wait you mean to tell me this isn’t serious theater??”)

But Godzilla has a much darker origin, however. 1954’s original “Gojira” isn’t some cheap monster flick; it’s an allegory for the atomic bomb and the terror it brought upon the people of Japan. At the time of its release the Japanese hadn’t really reckoned with what happened in WWII, it was a source of deep shame and horror and it broke the spirits of many back then. After an atomic bomb test accidentally radiated the crew of a Japanese fishing boat in 1954, director Ishiro Honda became inspired to create the King of the Monsters after Japan’s own government largely mishandled the fallout. The film was a huge hit and Japanese audiences were moved by the dark allegorical nature of the story.

With “Shin Gojira” Anno brings Godzilla back to this grimmer tone. He was inspired by the events of 2014’s Fukushima nuclear plant disaster and how the Japanese government once again failed to act in a major crisis. Through his 2016 film, Anno aimed to depict the slow moving nature of a developing disaster quite literally with the character of Godzilla and how a crisis can only get worse and worse if left largely unchecked by those tasked to protect us.

(Hardly Hideaki Anno’s first forray into movies about crises, of course, but that’ll be for another write-up. Stay tuned...)

Godzilla begins in “Shin Gojira” as a small, destructive, but ultimately killable lifeform as he appears in the waters off Tokyo Bay. His beady, soulless eyes, tadpole like form, oozing putrid toxic blood everywhere through his malformed gills are pretty gross and Anno directly references Fukushima as the beast creates a tidal wave as he makes his way toward land in the opening sequence.

Meanwhile as Godzilla causes horrific damage to the city in this small (comparatively to earlier films) but powerful form, the Japanese Government tries to put an end to it. But as they try to address the escalating nature of the problem, bureaucracy gets in the way at every turn. Through the use of fast cuts and dark humor, Anno creates his own “Dr. Strangelove” set of scenes as Japanese politicians scramble from one board room to another to weigh options in cold math against the very real people who are fleeing for their lives as they debate with one another. Anno, doesn’t go out of his way to depict anyone as explicitly the villain here, but he does make it very apparent that when government officials refuse to accept the reality of a crisis people die. In a scene that is played partially for laughs, that feels all too relevant and frankly on the nose now, the Prime Minister addresses Japan on TV by assuring the people that there is “no way” Godzilla can make landfall and everyone will be safe. Moments later he is interrupted on live TV as Godzilla has in fact made landfall.

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(Yea and he’s one ugly motherfucker in this movie too...)

Early in the film though, as Godzilla has done already immense damage in his adolescent form, Japan’s government has a chance to kill the monster once and for all by mobilizing the Japanese Self-Defense Force (JSDF) a move, that if you are not familiar with Japanese politics, is rife with concerning optics. The moment comes where Japan’s government can pull the trigger and kill the threat once and for all but in another, darkly humorous, turn of events decide not to as some nearby citizens who could be caught in the crossfire become a hazard for the JSDF. Godzilla goes back into the sea from there and Japan is left to pick up the pieces.

In the early months of the COVID lockdown, things appeared to slowdown. From about April to June, those states that took the virus seriously at the start saw some plateauing of the daily cases. While hardly a victory, things at least appeared to be going in the right direction. Then inexplicably in July a bunch of states declared premature victory and began reopening back up in certain areas such as gyms, salons, and some restaurants. I wouldn’t say we had the virus on the ropes but we were trending generally in the right direction (though nothing was really being done about loss of employment and cancelling rent and evictions, of course…). So, in a moment when the government could’ve kept trying, mostly at least, to do the right thing they failed to keep going and pull the trigger.

And just like in the movie, COVID (ie: Godzilla) came back stronger and even worse than before.

(Again, just the ugliest motherfucker...)

After the JSDF failed to kill Godzilla in the opening act, the big guy returns later on in the movie having evolved into his more indestructible final form. Where the JSDF’s weapons may have had an effect before they find their tanks, helicopters, and other military hardware have no effect on Godzilla now. It is too late to stop what is now inevitable. Godzilla walks literally through it all, causing waves of destruction with each step and Japan’s government watches in horror as they lament their failure to stop him when they had the chance.

This failure comes to its ultimate head in the final moment of this sequence when Godzilla revs up his dorsal fins and unleashes his horrifying atomic breath. It’s more powerful than anything he has done previously and absolutely wastes Tokyo in a brilliant display of raw destruction that is honestly one of the best most terrifying sequences in Kaiju filmmaking ever.

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Godzilla is best used in cinema when he is a titan-sized walking metaphor for the destruction that happens when governments fail their people. Where the recent American Godzilla depicts him as a force of nature, like a walking hurricane, Ishiro Honda and Hideaki Anno see him more as a vengeful God coming to punish the wicked for their sins or, in the case of the government, their incompetence.

If COVID is a metaphor for anything this year, it is a microcosm for a wide range of problems that go unaddressed for too long by our leaders and only given notice when it’s far too late. Climate Change continues to get worse and worse each year as I am quite literally choking on ash as I type this due to yet another wildfire in the California area. The riots that erupted over the summer and continue to go on in response to the gross militaristic, overfunded, and racist structure of law enforcement in this country are the result of decades of not doing the right thing to curb the problem. The reason we are by far the worst equipped first world country to handle this crisis right now is quite literally due to years of gutting our social safety net, slashing our wages, and privatizing our health insurance.

Though there is a wide range of Japanese specific politics in the film, “Shin Gojira” is an unfortunately timeless film for people who have suffered from leaders who fail to act in moments like these. It shows what happens when our government drags its feet on transformative legislation and actual measures that can save lives. It criticizes our leaders for choosing to save themselves in the moment, with performative optics, over helping their own people. It argues that the results of bureaucratic red tape and bad politics will always end in disaster for its citizens. And most relevantly it states that governments have a duty to stop a crisis in its infancy before it’s too late.

“Shin Gojira” is a perfect monster film for the year of COVID and distressingly accurate to the way the US has mishandled this crisis from the beginning. Everyday, more and more people suffer and die because our leaders have failed to act in an unprecedented time, whether it’s the usual suspects who think any government social service is “cOmMuNiSm” or the feckless cowards who twiddle their thumbs and shrug each time a conservative tells them “no.”

We are far past the stage where this can be solved the easy way anymore and though there are still many proven ways to help the common people right now, it unfortunately feels like 2020’s Godzilla cannot be stopped…

Yea, things will totally get better in 2021, guys...

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fireblaze5555 · 4 years

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Fire Away: Chapter 8

Also on Ao3: Fire Away: Chapter 8

Frank was so fucked. He watched Karen dozing on his completely numb arm as the morning light streamed through the balcony doors and he couldn't tear his eyes from her. Last night kept playing over and over in his head. The expanse of her beautiful pale skin, perfectly shaped breasts, the noises she made when he had his hands on her. The way she looked at him, like he mattered. Like he wasn't a monster. Like she loved him.

He watched her face as she took in the long slow breaths of someone in deep restful sleep, his eyes scanning her features and memorizing every line, as if he hadn't already. Her bruises had almost completely faded, leaving just a light discoloration at her temple and he wanted to press his lips to that spot and kiss away the last of the damage. For a moment he nearly forgot why he shouldn't be doing this, he just reveled in holding this incredible, beautiful woman in his arms.

Frank was unable to stop the flash of pride in his chest, he was one lucky bastard. Her words, I never regret you , echoed in his head over and over and each time he felt a little piece of his soul repairing itself. His demons never retreated for long though, rendering what Karen had managed to rebuild back to rubble. Suddenly it hurt to look at her, flashes of the family he couldn't protect filling his vision only this time her face was there too, covered in blood and unblinking.

He could no longer lie still, so to keep from waking her, Frank stood and threw his sweats on before stepping out on the balcony. She couldn't love him. He doesn't get to have that anymore. Karen was smart, beautiful, strong and resilient. She could have anyone she wanted. She fought for justice and saw the best in people while still accepting the darkness in them. There was no universe where he deserved her love.

It was that moment, with sickening clarity, thinking about her bravery, her smile, her kindness and her wicked sense of humor, that Frank realized he loved her. Most people felt light with a realization like that but all he could feel was a mix of guilt and disdain for himself. That's what she fucking needs, your psycho ass adding your bullshit to hers . A small childish part of him had hoped maybe it was just sexual tension and once they got that out of the way, they could walk away from each other. He knew how ridiculous that was when his heart wrenched painfully at the thought of being done with Karen when this was all over.

Frank was lost in his thoughts, not acknowledging the chill of the morning until a warm pair of arms wrapped around his torso and Karen pressed herself flush to his back.

Her voice was light but he could hear tension and worry there as well, "I could hear you thinking in my sleep." He felt her lips moving against his skin as she spoke, "Wanna talk?"

Frank turned in her arms so they rested chest to chest against the balcony railing. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she was squinting against the morning sun. Frank shifted a bit to shade her eyes with his body and the smile she gave him was so radiant he was nearly blinded himself. Her eyes were so blue Frank felt like he could drown in them and for a moment all he could do was stare in wonderment, his hand coming up to rest against the side of her face.

She leaned into his hand and stared at him expectantly and it took him a minute to remember she had asked him a question. Looking to the side to try and break the spell she had put over him, Frank took a deep breath, steadying himself for what he needed to do. He kept his voice low as he dropped the hand from her face to rest at her hip, "This," He looked at her hand that had come to rest on his chest over his heart, "is not a good idea."

Karen's beryl eyes turned to flint, pinning him to the spot even as she took a step back. Frank instantly felt the warmth she had brought retreat with her. He tried not to let it affect him. He tried not to feel the loss as acutely as he did. Tried but didn't succeed.

Frank wanted so badly to say something, anything to make her smile again or something to make her see how right he was but they had been through all of this before. So instead, he braced his arms on the railing behind him and regarded her carefully with narrowed eyes.

"Honestly, Frank, you give me whiplash." Her eyes were still hard but the gentleness with which she addressed him did far more damage, "You think that you being around is what gets me hurt. The truth is, it's watching you leave that hurts me more than anything. Seeing the way you look at me, the way you touch me, only for you to turn it off a second later and disappear." She gives a humorless laugh and his lungs constrict when he sees her eyes swimming. If only she knew how much he couldn't turn it off.

His throat is tight but he forces the words out anyway, "I can't be responsible for getting you killed Karen, I just can't. That's why this is a bad idea, 'cause when you're around I forget why I'm supposed to push you away."

She wiped a stray tear away quickly and took a step closer to him. Frank gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white, trying so hard not to reach for her. He was busy watching her rose colored lips as she pulled them between her teeth so when she spoke again it took him a moment to process her question.

"Then why are you here?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at his frustrated confusion, "I know you don't want anything to happen to me, but Frank, my job is dangerous. I deal with dangerous people almost every day. I mean, for God's sake, I work with the devil of Hell's Kitchen. If you think you shouldn't be around me, you didn't have to track me down, you could have left it up to Matt to help me." He hopes she doesn't notice the flash of contempt he feels cross his face but she doesn't miss anything with him. She huffs out a humorless laugh before fixing him with a hard stare, "You don't get to make me walk away only to pop back up when it's convenient for you. It's not fair. To either of us. Either you are in my life or you aren't, you can't have both."

Logically he knew she was right, he's sure he has told himself that before, but hearing it fall from her lips caused his chest to spasm painfully. He felt panicked, like he had to make the call right now which caused anger to spike since he thought he had already made that call. He's the fucking Punisher, he didn't need anyone, everything he needed died at that carousel but facing her now, last night playing over in his head in startling detail, he realized he hadn't been as sure as he thought. His chest and throat hurt, everything he was trying to say blocked his airways and made him choke, a small distressed sound the only thing he managed. Frank was shaking his head, trying to jostle some coherent thought loose and his eyes were wild, like a trapped animal.

Karen saw him struggling and like the angel she was brought his attention back to her and away from his spiraling thoughts, her voice was solid as she said, "Back in that hospital room, I told you to make it mean something, me being there. What were you going to say? Before the kid walked in."

The vortex of his thoughts came to a sudden, disorienting halt, focused solely on that memory. Clicking his tongue, Frank turned to glare into the distance. He really didn't want to relive that day. He regretted so much about it.

"I don't know." he said.

"That's bullshit." she spat.

He turned to look at her, her cheeks were slightly pink, her eyes glinting in the early morning light and she was so damn beautiful. Calm and steady to his anxious, agitated uncertainty. He wanted to tell her there was nothing he wanted to say, that he had already said it. He wanted her to believe that he was pushing her away because he genuinely didn't want her. But they never lied to each other.

His voice was rough, almost resigned. "I had no idea how to tell you everything I wanted to in the time I had left to do it. I wasn't lying, Karen, I don't want to give up the war. I don't know if that will ever change, it is something that is a part of me now. It may have always been a part of me. I thought if I could push you away you would be safe." He gave her a pointed look. "That was obviously a bit naive of me, knowing you. I couldn't stand the thought of you getting hurt because of me. Still can't. The idea was I would distance myself, then I could just focus on fightin', cleanin' up the city without worrying it would reach you. But I can't stop thinkin’ about you. Thing is, you don't know when to quit, even when you're just in my head."

Karen gave a little sniff, stepping back into his space and placing her hand back over his heart. The smallest touch, one she had perfected, one that could dismantle his armor in seconds. He wondered if she knew how much it affected him. How he could feel that small touch in every atom of his being. She stared at her hand where it rested for a moment while he stared at her and tried to control his breathing.

"In that hospital room, when I said you could love someone else, instead of another war, I didn't mean you had to give up the war. I just meant you could love someone else, not just the war. I do wish you could leave it behind but I understand why you can't." She looked up at him, eyes like blue fire as she flexed her fingers on his chest, voice vehement, "I know who you are Frank Castle. I know what you are capable of. Hell, I've seen what you are capable of, first hand. I know you can kill a man with your bare hands. Take down entire cartels in a matter of a week. I also know that you nearly gave your own life to give David Lieberman his back. That you would have given everything to keep Amy safe, both people you barely knew. That you used your own body to shelter me from a spray of bullets, from a fucking bomb. I know that this mission you have means dangerous people will be after you. Most importantly, I know, I would rather face that danger with you than live safely without you. What you do with that is your call."

Frank could feel his heart beating harshly against his ribs. It almost felt as though it were trying to break out of his chest to rest in her capable hand, God knows she already had his heart metaphorically, she might as well have it literally. He watched in fascination as her other hand loosened his death grip on the railing to place it on her hips once more and his other hand followed suit without a second thought from him.

"I'm not asking you for forever right now Frank. I am just asking that, once we are back in the city and this whole mess is over, you give this a chance. I can't promise that shit won't go sideways but I want us to try. Okay?"

It was a bad idea. He knew it was but that voice that always urged him to deny her couldn't be heard over her soft breathing as she is watching him expectantly. With no shortage of hope and anxiety. Everything swirling around in his chest made it difficult to form words but finally, he said, "Okay."

The smile that tilted her lips would have knocked him off his feet if her hands hadn't come up to wrap around the back of his head, pulling him to her so she could ghost a quiet, "Okay" over his lips before she was kissing him fully, running her tongue over his and holding on to him like he may fade away in her grasp.

Finally Frank pulled back, giving her a light kiss on the cheek before turning her back towards the door and nudging her into the condo. "Let's get our stuff together, we've already stayed too long, we need to get moving." He tried to sound rough and in control but it came out soft and more of an entreaty than he had intended. Judging by the little smirk Karen threw over her shoulder she wasn't impressed but she dressed quickly and started to gather her things.

They ate a quick breakfast with what was left in the fridge and in less than an hour they had all of their things together and loaded up, surveying the condo to ensure they didn't leave anything behind. Frank glanced over and felt a pang of sadness when he saw the open longing in Karen's face. Maybe, if they get through this and actually get their shit together, maybe they could come back. Actually explore and relax and just...be. But they had things to take care of first so he turned, watching her carefully as she turned as well, giving him a small smile before she stepped out of the door.

Mountains rolled by as they hit the interstate headed East and they settled in for the long drive back. It was a quiet comfortable silence in the cab as both were lost in thought, whether it was about their earlier conversation or what was to come. It had been nearly two hours when Frank glanced over to see Karen sifting through her bag. She held up the burner phone they had purchased for her triumphantly and began to punch in a number.

Karen didn't even look over to respond, she knew Frank was dividing his attention between the road and her. "Watch the road soldier, I'm just calling Foggy. I want to check in and let him know that we are headed back. I won't give him any details yet, maybe once we are back in the city we can get everyone together to finalize a plan." She looked over to him, he wouldn't say it was to ask permission, more of a chance for him to protest and her to probably do it anyway.

When he glanced over again he gave a small nod. If it were up to him he would storm the place, give the lady no other option but to leave Karen alone and then find a way into Rikers to kill Fisk. Simple. But this was Karen's plan, her situation. As much as he wanted to take care of it for her and remove all the danger, he knew she would resent him for taking it out of her hands. That being said, if it looked at all like shit was going sideways he was taking over, she could be as resentful as much as she wanted, as long as she was alive when it was over.

Frank focused on his driving, occasionally checking the rear view to ensure there was no one following them. When he tuned back in it was to Karen laughing quietly into the phone. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on the road instead of putting his full attention on her. It was novel, witnessing Karen just...being. No bad guys, no immediate danger, no bombs or hospital rooms. Just Karen talking to her friend.

"Yeah Foggy, I'm fine, I promise. We are headed back now. What?" A startled laugh. "Sorry I forgot to get you a souvenir, will a gas station shot glass be okay? Sunglasses for Matt? What an original idea you have." She giggled a little bit more before he heard her sober up. "Yeah, we know who is behind it, I-" He looked over just in time to see her roll her eyes. "Tell Matt eavesdropping is rude, even if it is a superpower." He couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped, Karen turned to him with a smirk and a wink. "I'll fill you both in once we are back in the city and I've got all of the information. I want to be sure we aren't being followed and there is a safe place for us to meet, I don't want to put you in danger." Her voice gave a little tremor but before he even had a chance to reach for her, she gave another laugh, "You're right, Marci would probably scare off anyone threatening her Foggy Bear."

Frank's eyes went wide, storing that information for future ammo in case he needed it. Judging by the loud groan he heard over the line, Nelson had not wanted that said out loud. A couple more reassurances and pleasantries and Karen was hanging up the phone, tucking it back into her bag.

Clearing his throat, Frank gave her a mischievous look, "So...Foggy Bear, huh?"

Karen bit her lip, laughter in her voice, "He's never going to forgive me for saying that in front of you. Try not to torture him too much with it."

A loud ping came from Frank's front pocket before he could make any promises he couldn't keep. He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Karen to read the message.

"It's from David." She said, quickly scanning the text. "He got the information all together and has sent it. Once we get somewhere with internet I'll download it and work on it more. He also says your safe house is clear, there hasn't been any activity there since before you left."

Frank scowled. He never gave David any indication of where his safe house was located. They were going to have to have a serious talk about boundaries, that may include Frank punching him at some point.

He glanced over quickly when he heard Karen snort, she was looking at him, "You never told him where it was did you? He just used creepy hacker skills to find it didn't he?"

With a resigned sigh, Frank just nodded.

"God, he is terrifying." she said, a mix of admiration and a healthy dose of wariness in her voice.

"He can be but he's also an annoying idiot so I guess it balances out." He gave her a sideways grin when she let out a surprised laugh, tucking the phone into the center console and settling herself back in the seat.

Despite the shit storm they were driving back into, Frank felt at ease. They bantered about music, both settling on an old rock station for the trip. He outlined why The Boss was one of the best musicians out there and she nodded along in a placating manner. Her preferences were all over the place, some he could agree with others that just had him shaking his head.

It took them nearly two days, Frank insisted they take their time so they could arrive back in the city when it was dark. Karen would take over driving when Frank got tired and he would crash on the cot in the back or just lay the passenger seat back. The easy conversation slowed as they entered the city and their situation came back into focus. Frank took them in convoluted loops through the city until he was confident they wouldn't be followed before he finally pulled into a small abandoned warehouse.

Despite David's reassurance, Frank did a quick sweep of the premises before letting Karen out of the van, insisting she stay in the back where he had her hiding for most of their trip through the city streets. When he gave the all clear and she stepped out, Karen turned slowly taking in her surroundings, from the mini-fridge next to the table that held his burner for cooking to his sparse cot and neatly stacked clothes. Of course there were also stacks of weapons lining the walls and a computer set up he had gotten from David. Frank cringed inwardly when she leveled her gaze back on him, he fully expected her to give him the third degree for living like this.

Before she could comment he spoke up, "I have an apartment. I stay here when I need to lay low or if I need to do some recon." Karen gave him a small knowing smile and he felt the tips of his ears turning red. Here he was, a grown man, feeling as though he needed to explain his living situation to a pretty girl like he was a teenager who didn't clean his room. Admittedly, it had been awhile since he had been to his apartment and it wasn't much more furnished than this but she didn't need to know that.

Turning back to the van, Frank busied himself with unloading the rest of their supplies before he could say anything else embarrassing. The first thing he brought out was Karen's laptop, he set it up with the password for the wifi and pulled up the most comfortable chair he had to the workstation for her. He was a bit distressed, these kinds of conditions were okay when it was just him but he hated the idea of Karen living with so little comforts, even if it was only temporary. It couldn't be helped though, so he tried to make it as comfortable as he could.

Karen sat down at the laptop giving him a grateful smile and began digging through the files that David sent over. He knew she would be at it for awhile so he went about checking his ammo and supplies, grimaced at the very empty mini-fridge, and then made up the cot with the procured hotel comforter.

It wasn't long before he had everything in order so he stepped over to where Karen was jotting down notes and furiously scrolling through files. He gripped the back of her chair, reading a bit over her shoulder, "Finding anything you can use?"

She made a somewhat noncommittal noise and continued to scroll for a few more seconds before she answered distractedly. "There is a ton of suspicious activity here, a lot of it corresponding with her communication with Fisk and that is just the phone calls I see on her calendar, there are probably more. If it were anyone else, I would say yes, we should be able to take them down with what we have here." Pausing for a second to bury her hands in her hair, Karen let out a disgusted huff. "But this is Fisk we are talking about. This is the second time we have sent him to prison and he still has just as much freedom as he did before. It's infuriating."

Frank moved his hands to her shoulders, rubbing them soothingly but when he spoke his voice was hard and unforgiving, "He needs to be put down."

Karen's shoulders tensed for a moment before she lowered her arms with a resigned sigh. "I really want to disagree with you Frank. I really want to say that the justice system will prevail and he will be held responsible but we both know that sometimes the justice system doesn't work, don't we?" She looked over her shoulder to give him a sad smile and Frank wished the world was good enough to deserve Karen Page.

There was really nothing he could say to that so he brushed his lips over her forehead in a light kiss before pulling back and heading to his own computer. "I'm going to go over the blueprints for the house, look at security details and schedules and put together a tactical plan. Do wanna meet with the lawyers tomorrow, run what we got by 'em?" He turned enough to see that she had already gone full steam back into her research, giving him a distracted 'Mhm' as she made a couple more notes.

Shaking his head with a smirk, she was an investigator through and through, Frank sat in his own chair and began booting everything up. While he waited he pulled out his phone and sent David another request.

The house, well mansion really, that Vanessa Fisk was residing in was a pretty basic floor plan and Frank had outlined an infiltration plan in a couple of hours, leaving room for adjustments if they got any additional information from Nelson or Murdock. All said and done he figured he could have Karen and himself in and out of the house within 30 minutes, more than enough time to say what needs to be said and get out. His email pinged, David getting him the earlier requested information just in time for Frank to shift his attention to his next objective.

A few more hours passed and vaguely acknowledged Karen moving behind him before he heard the bathroom door shut. There were many moving pieces with this objective and he didn't want to miss any details so he poured over it again and again.

"What is this?" He had been aware of Karen exiting the bathroom but it still startled him a bit to hear her just over his shoulder. She could be damn quiet when she wanted to be, noted.

"It's the blueprints for Rikers, personnel list and where the high profile inmates are kept." Frank felt Karen go completely still.

"No." she said. Her voice was sharp and when he turned to look at her, her eyes never left the screen.

"What do you mean 'no'?" His own tone was sharper than he meant.

"I mean, no, Frank. You're not breaking into Rikers to kill Fisk." She finally tore her eyes from the screen to glare at him. "Are you crazy? Do you want me to wrap you up in a pretty bow for them? Go ahead and put you in an orange jumpsuit to save them the trouble so all they have to do is throw you in your cell, lock you up and throw away the key?"

Frank felt his own anger rising, "You just agreed that he needed to be put down." He stood and took a few steps toward her when she turned, tugging at her hair and cursing quietly.

She whipped around so fast her hair came undone from the loose bun she had it in, hissing at him like a feral cat, "I said the justice system fails sometimes. How the hell did you get, 'Break into a maximum security prison to murder the biggest kingpin in New York' out of that?" She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and stared him down.

Frank advanced, stopping just in front of her, his voice dark and echoing around the room. "He's a threat Karen. He's already had too many chances at you and I'm not gonna let him have another one. He signed his own death warrant when he signed that letter to you. Besides, I've got unfinished business with him." He started to turn but Karen gripped his arm, spinning him back around.

"You are NOT breaking into Rikers, Frank. Whether or not he deserves it, I'm not letting you put yourself in that situation for me! So fucking forget it!" She was shouting, her cheeks were red and her chest heaved with her anger, it would have been a beautiful sight if he wasn't so pissed off, his own breath coming in angry bursts.

Placing a hand by her head, Frank leaned in, his voice going deadly soft, "Fisk is a dead man, Karen. There's nothing that is going to change that." He saw a shiver run through her as she looked away but when she brought her eyes back to his, his lungs seized. The fire in her blue eyes burned hotter than anger and he had to place his other hand on the wall as well to steady himself when she slid her hands under his shirt to skim up his sides.

It was his turn to shiver when she ran her nails down his sides to hook in the waist of his jeans, her voice was quiet as well when she leaned in. "I'm not asking you to let him live, Frank. I'm asking you to not throw your life away to kill him.” Her breath tickled the sensitive skin behind his ear and Frank was dizzy with the sudden shift. He wanted to still be angry but the way she was running her fingers along his waistband he found that his anger was bleeding into arousal, the adrenaline fueling something else entirely. His body was reacting to her without much input from his brain.

She pulled back to look at him and the mischief in her eyes made him step closer until they were chest to chest. Karen’s back was pressed against the wall and Frank leaned his forearm above her head, his lips ghosting over her temple, “Are you trying to distract me from the discussion, ma’am?”

Karen turned just enough to nip his jaw, one of her hands ghosting down the front of his jeans, making him clench his teeth, her voice was low as she alternated between laying dragging kisses over his jaw and sucking at his pulse-point, “That depends, is it working?”

It definitely was. Between the residual anger and adrenaline from their fight and her wicked hands running patterns over his stomach, occasionally dipping into the waist of his jeans, he was rock hard. With the hand braced above Karen’s head, he buried his fingers in her hair and lightly jerked her head around to devour her mouth. Frank felt his cock twitch when she let out a breathy moan. It seemed Karen liked a little rough handling and that was knowledge that nearly had Frank weak in the knees with need. Once he had ravaged her mouth to the point they were both panting, he started to push away from the wall and guide them over to the cot but Karen dug in her heels and kept him in place by holding on to the front of his waistband, her long fingers tucked against his skin while her thumb circled over the button.

Frank was distracted by the sight for a moment, staring down to where her hand was so close but not nearly close enough, he wanted so badly to guide her hand further but didn’t want to push too hard. However, when he looked back up to Karen, she had a determined devilish smirk on her lips and he felt the silky strands of her hair still tangled in his fingers slip free as Karen slowly slid down the wall until she was looking up at him from her knees, her eyes wide and the darkest blue he had ever seen them.

The image made Frank blink rapidly to ensure he wasn’t dreaming because if he woke up from this it damn well may kill him. When Karen leaned forward until she was directly in front of the bulge in his jeans, he held his breath. She studied him for a moment before she brought one of her hands up to cup him firmly, drawing that damned bottom lip between her teeth and suddenly the breath he had been holding left him raggedly as he watched in fascination when she dragged her teeth gently over the head of his dick through the fabric of his pants.

“Holy shit .” His voice was broken and he was surprised he hadn’t been able to say anything considering he still hadn’t been able to refill his lungs.

Karen drew back just enough to allow her nimble fingers access to the button and zipper of his jeans, making short work of them before hooking her fingers into his pants and underwear alike and slowly tugging them down. She hummed appreciatively as he sprung free and Frank had to bite back a groan when she turned hungry eyes up to him. If there had ever been any question of the power Karen Page had over him it evaporated when she slid her hands up his thighs so she could dig strong fingers into his hips and run her tongue from base to tip of his cock, never breaking eye contact with him.

He let out a growl, burying the hand not braced against the wall into her hair, “God Dammit Karen, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” She didn’t reply but he saw the shiver run through her body, instead she ran the flat of her tongue up him again this time wrapping her lips around the tip bobbing her head shallowly over him. Frank rested his forehead against his arm on the wall for a second, clenching that fist tightly, closing his eyes and just focusing on the sensation. Her lips felt so fucking good on him, he felt lightheaded.

His eyes snapped open and another curse escaped him when he felt one of Karen’s hands wrap around the base of his cock, her mouth sinking to where her hand was squeezing before he rocked back in time to see her full lips slowly dragging back up. Her pace was torturous but he fought to keep his hips still, letting Karen take her time. As torture goes, this was more than acceptable and Frank would endure it happily.

Having Karen Page, a woman so fierce and strong, on her knees in front of him was a humbling experience for Frank and he extricated his fingers from her hair only to reverently push them back through the silken strands, pulling it out of her face and gripping it loosely at the crown of her head. Her lips leave him with a soft pop and she looks up at him with hooded eyes when she strokes him firmly with expert hands. Frank lowered his hand from the wall to run a calloused thumb over her bottom lip, smearing a bit of saliva across the swollen skin. She catches his digit between those sinful lips and swirls her tongue over it before sucking lewdly, rolling her palm over the head of his cock at the same time. Frank has to remove his hand from her hair to lean against the wall once more when his knees threaten to give out.

Releasing his thumb, Karen gives him an innocent smile which, considering the proficient way she was building him towards release, was far from innocent. He gives her smirk of his own, burying his other hand in her hair this time and slowly, giving her a chance to protest, guides her back to his straining dick. She purrs, parting her lips slightly, just enough to drag them down one side of him and back up the other before she opens again and takes as much of him as she can. Frank growls at the sensation, he’s too big for her to take him completely in her mouth, but she doesn’t flinch when he feels himself bump against the back of her throat. Goddamn . As if he didn’t already worship this woman enough. She moved fluidly back and forth over him, her hands alternately gripping and pumping him to groping at his hips and thighs.

The telltale coiling of pressure at the base of his spine had Frank tightening his fingers in Karen’s hair urging her to move faster. She didn’t need much encouragement, bobbing her head quickly, her hands moving in tandem with her talented mouth. He was on fire, he felt sweat dripping down his spine and every muscle in his body was straining to reach his release.

Frank never tore his eyes from her face as he ground out a warning, “I’m coming, fuck , Karen-” She hummed against him and snapped her eyes open to watch him, never slowing her pace. It only took a couple more pumps from her and Frank was letting out a low gravely shout, leaning heavily into the wall as his orgasm tore through him. A deep moan escaped him as Karen continued to work him over, drawing every last bit of his release from him. When he had the strength to open his eyes again he watched as Karen sat back from him, holding his gaze as she swallowed, giving him a knowing smirk when he growled lowly at the sight.

He tugged gently at the hair he still had fisted in his hand and helped her back to her feet. Before she could say anything, Frank had her pressed against the wall once more, kissing her with all the gratitude and adoration he was feeling. When he pulled back he shook his head, smirking at her smug expression. His voice was rough, still recovering, as he attempted to reprimand her, “You don’t fight fair, Ms. Page.”

She smiled coyly at him, “Yeah, well, all’s fair in love and war and all that.”

Frank gave a huffing laugh, pressing his lips over hers in a quick kiss. “The discussion isn’t over, just to be clear.”

Karen’s smile grew before it turned into a yawn. Taking her hand, Frank pushed away from the wall and moved them toward the cot.

“What are you doing? I still have stuff I want to go over.” She asked even as she stifled another yawn.

“It’s been a long couple o’ days, we need to get some sleep. We can sort out the rest tomorrow.” Truth be told, if it were just him, he would stay up all night until he had everything planned to his liking but he didn’t just have his own health and safety to look after at the moment so Frank climbed into the cot first before pulling her down and tucking her between him and the wall and tugging the blanket over both of them. Despite her protests, Karen tucked into his side, burying her face in his neck with an arm thrown over his chest and was breathing deeply in a matter of moments. He wasn’t far behind, turning just enough to be able to drape an arm over her waist, Frank breathed her in, honeysuckle and vanilla, and drifted off as well.

#kastle #frank and karen #frank castle #karen page #fanfic #sexy times

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mca-attack21 · 5 years

Text

The Parting of Ways

This imagine is based off of Episode 13 of season 1 with the 9th Doctor and the reader. It can be read as part two of “Bad Wolf” or as a stand alone imagine. Enjoy! Word Count: 1920 This is my Masterlist!

You were still trapped on the Dalek ship. But you didn’t lose hope, after all the Doctor had told you he was coming for you. And to date he had given you every reason to believed him. This however did not mean that you were not scared. On the contrary, you were terrified. You had already seen one Dalek kill hundred’s of trained soldiers and now you were in a room with thousands of them. They questioned you about the Doctor, asking you to predict his next move. And then they made you watch as they bombed the TARDIS. You watched it disappear into nothing.

You started to lose hope when you found yourself inside the TARDIS. One of the Daleks had been beside you and aimed his ray at the Doctor. “Get Down!” you yelled and he ducked just in time. Jack quickly fired at the Dalek killing it instantly.

After the shot, the Doctor rushed towards you, hugging you tightly. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.” you breathed taking in his familiar scent.

“I told you I’d come for you” he whispered.

“Never doubted it” you assured.

“ I did. You alright?” he asked pulling away to look you over.

“Yeah. And you?” you asked.

“Not bad, I’ve been better.” he said as he stepped towards the Dalek remembering that this whole thing was far from over.

“Hey, don’t I get a hug?” Jack said from the console.

“Oh come here” you answered, arms open.

“I was talking to him,” Jack joked before pulling you close. “Welcome home”

“I thought I was never going to see you again” you replied.

“You were lucky, that was just a one shot wonder. I drained the gun of all its’ power supply. Now it’s just a piece of junk,” he said referring to the shot that took out the Dalek as his tossed the gun aside.

“So what do we do now Doctor? There are thousands of them out there and we could barely take down one?” you asked.

“We go see what they want” he said before exiting the TARDIS,

“Doctor they’ll kill you,” you screamed running after him.

And they tried, all blasting at him simultaneously. But it was of no use. He had a force field around him. After a long conversation the doctor had discovered that the emperor of Daleks had survived the Time War and used humans off of earth to create a new line of Daleks. The Doctor summoned you and Jack and went back into the TARDIS. He needed a plan. There were so many Daleks and so little time. The Doctor was trying to create a Delta Wave to destroy all of them at once. But the problem was that they were already headed to the ship and these things take time.

Jack had created a defense plan and was preparing to put it in action. He went over to the Doctor saying “This has been fun,” he said.

You caught him off guard, cutting him off with- “Don’t do that! Don’t act like this is goodbye we are with the Doctor. He’ll figure it out in the end.”

He put his hands on your face and looked into your eyes, “You, Y/f/n Y/l/n, are worth fighting for” and then he kissed you.

He went back to the doctor, “I wish I never met you, Doctor I was much better off as a coward,” he said before kissing him. “See you in hell then,” he replied before running off.

As you and the Doctor were finishing off the wiring for the wave, you spoke up, “Suppose-”, but then you stopped. You knew if there was any other way out of this the Doctor would have already came up with it.

“Suppose what?” he asked.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking that it would be nice if we could just go back in time and prevent this from happening. But I know that isn’t how it works” you answer.

“There is something the TARDIS could do. It could take us away. We could leave. Let history run its course. We could go somewhere else. Marbella in 1989?” he said avoiding your eyes.

“Yeah, but you’d never do that. You couldn’t leave all of these innocent people here to die. That’s not who you are.” you answered with certainty.

“No, but you could ask. It never even occurred to you, did it? “ he replied

You were silent for a moment, “I choose this. I choose you. Always have, always will. I know what I signed up for, saving the universe comes with risks. And I wouldn’t change any of it.”

Just then buzzing went off. The delta wave was officially online. It was just a matter of time before it was ready. The Doctor rushed over to the computer to see how long it needed. All hope vanished from his face.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” you questioned.

“It is bad, but if we go in the TARDIS I can use that energy to speed up the process,” he said excitedly as he ran inside you right behind him, “stay here and hold this down, I’m going to go restart the connection,” he said before leaving.

As soon as he exited the TARDIS he dropped his façade. The truth was that there was no way out on this one. Which is why he had to send you home, he had to know you were safe. That way his life would not end in vein.

When the TARDIS started moving you realized what he had done. You ran towards the door trying to open it. You didn’t know how to stop it. You were pounding on the door when a hologram popped up.

It was the Doctor:

“Y/n. If you are seeing this message we must be in danger. And I mean fatal. I am dead or about to be in a second’s time. And that’s okay. I hope it is a good death. I made a promise to keep you safe and that is what I am doing. The TARDIS is taking you home. I bet you are fussing and moaning now. Typical. But hold on and just listen a bit more. The TARDIS can never return for me. Emergency Program One means I’m facing an enemy that should never get their hands on this machine. So this is what you should do. Let the TARDIS die. Let the old box gather dust. No one other that you can open it, no one will ever notice it. Let her become a strange little thing on a street corner. And if you want to remember me you can do one thing, just one. Have a good life. Do that for me Y/n”

The TARDIS stopped and he was gone. You peeked outside to see that you were in fact home. But that was the thing, the doctor had never asked you about your family. He hadn’t known that he was the closest thing to family you had had in a long time.

You started to walk away trying to clear your head and figure out what you could do. That was when you saw it. The words BAD WOLF. They had been everywhere, you had thought the were a warning but maybe not. They were in the future too, with the Doctor 200,000 years in the future. That is when it hit you. When the Slitheen tried to open the the wormhole that would collapse the earth. The Doctor had hit a button that opened a panel into the heart of the TARDIS. The TARDIS was telepathic, she could hear you and take you to him. There is no way she would want her Doctor to suffer.

After hours of trying different buttons and levers and every possible combination of the two (okay maybe not every combination). You finally figured it out. The door slammed shut and the panel opened you looked into her and willed her to return to him. The light overtook all of your senses. All of time and space was coursing through your veins. You didn’t even hear the TARDIS lift off.

-------------------Meanwhile--------------------

Everything was ready, all the Doctor had to do was pull down the lever and there would be no more Daleks. He would be killing billions of innocent humans, but if he didn’t every race would be in danger. He had no choice.

“You really want to think about this,” he urged the emperor as the room started to fill with Daleks, “I pull this trigger and no more Daleks.”

“I want to see you become like me. The Doctor the great exterminator. What are you coward or killer?” the emperor snapped.

The Doctor hesitated. When did he become so much like the things he was fighting against? “Coward. Coward any day” he answered preparing himself for what he was sure would follow.

“Then you will be exterminated,” the Emperor spoke.

Just then the TARDIS started to materialize. The Doctor didn’t understand. He turned to look at it and was taken aback when the doors open. He had to shield his eyes from the light. It was blinding.

“What have you done?” he demanded as the light faded ever so slightly.

“I did what I had to do. It was the only way to save you,” you answered

“You looked into the time vortex. Y/n- no one is meant to see that. Not even me.” he cried realizing how dire the situation was.

“This-Is-An-Abomination” on of the Daleks screeched.

“Exterminate” another one said as it tried to blast you. You merely returned the energy and looked at your Doctor.

“This is what was meant to happen. It is always what happens. I know that now. This is how I become Bad Wolf, I’ve lead myself here. To this. To save you.”

“Y/n you have to stop this now! You’ve got the entire vortex running through your head. You’re going to burn!” he pleaded with you.

“It will all be worth it as long as you are safe. I can end this, the Dalek’s can be stopped once and for all.”

“You cannot hurt me I am immortal” the Emperor exclaimed

“Nothing can ever truly be immortal. Everything has a weakness. I can see the whole of time and space. I can see every atom of you existence of your essence and I can divide them. Ending the time war once and for all,” you say as the Daleks begin to disappear around you.

The Doctor took a cautious step towards you, “Okay Y/n, you’ve done it, I’m safe now. The Daleks are gone. Now let go of the vortex energy.”

“How can I let go of this? I can save him. I can-” you resurrected Jack before gripping your head, “but why does it hurt?”

“Nobody is meant to harness that much power. You have to let go or it will kill you,” he pleaded.

“I can see everything. All that is, all that was. All that ever could be. It’s beautiful and terrifying” you whimpered starting to lose control.

“That is what I see all the time. Doesn’t it drive you mad?” he asked steadying you.

“I’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” you struggled.

“It’s okay, come here” he said kissing you and extrapolating the Vortex power until your body went limp in his arms. He returned the power to the TARDIS and then carried you to the Med-bay. He had no idea if you were going to be okay or not. Nothing like this had ever happened before. And just to make things worse he could start to feel the regeneration energy coursing through him. So he tapped into your mind.

“Y/n when you wake up. I will be different. You see- timelords have this little trick we do to escape death. I’ll still be the same doctor just different. And I just wanted to say that you and me we were fantastic. Truly fantastic!”

And then it happened he screamed as every cell in his body died. And he morphed into the new doctor just before passing out on the ground beside you.

#dw #dw imagines #dw imagine #doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who imagines #doctor who x reader #doctor who fanfic #9th doctor #9th doctor x reader #9th doctor imagine #9th doctor imagines

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doublerumnukacola · 5 years

Text

Addictionary

Present, Week 11 in the Wasteland

The Old State House was quiet, as usual. Only the occasional chat between Neighborhood watchmen was heard. It was one of the few things Goodneighbor and Diamond city had in common; their guards spent more time trading gossip than doing their jobs, left a lot of slack for Fahrenheit to pick up.

The air in Hancock’s office was musty and damp, the few sunbeams that filtered through the thick moth-eaten curtains were cluttered with dust motes and drifting smoke. Fahrenheit sat at the desk, holding her cigarette in one hand, and writing notes with the other. Hancock woke up on his couch, listening to the scratching of pen on paper, the long sighs of smoke, and the occasional murmur of something chess related.

He stretched out his sore limbs, hearing the familiar pops and creaks of his joints. He sat up slowly, propping his feet on the ground. His head was already starting to ache, he needed a hit of something. Jet was the obvious solution.

He rummaged around in the couch cushions, there was always a spare canister wedged in there. He struck gold as his finger wrapped around a dusty jet canister. He gave it an experimental puff to clear out anything stuck in the mouthpiece, last thing he needed was to choke on a piece of lint while inhaling brahmin dung fumes. He took a long hit, the chems burning into his lungs, spreading a shock of energy throughout his body.

“Why don't you just drink coffee like the rest of us?” Fahrenheit asked in her usual monotone.

“You kidding? You know how bad caffeine is for you?” He joked, “My Uncle drank coffee everyday since he was ten, dropped dead of a heart attack at twenty.”

“And coffee was what killed him?” She asked, a skeptical smile on her face.

“No, he was sleeping with some married dame in the stands, had a heart attack when her husband came home early. But the coffee didn't help.” She exhaled sharply, which was as close to rip-roaring laughter as he was going to get. She looked down at her notes for a moment.

“A few things happened while you were out, but nothing too noteworthy.” Fahrenheit mused. Hancock leant back and groaned. He hated these long reports he took another hit of jet, which wasn’t smart, it’d only make the lecture seem longer. “A caravan came in for Daisy, a few packages came for Doctor Amari, and piles of super mutant corpses are dotted around Goodneighbor.” Hancock coughed mid-hit as she finished her notes.

“What?!” He spluttered through coughing fits. She looked down at her papers again.

“The Vault dweller, aka the general of the minute men, aka the Silver Shroud, killed no less than eighty-two Super Mutants, judging by the amount of semi-intact corpses.” Hancock rubbed his skull, he could feel the headache starting to come back.

“Any reason why?” He asked, it felt as though there was something he was forgetting but it wasn't quite coming back to him….

“Because you asked.” A voice answered behind him.

“Pawn takes king…” Fahrenheit muttered to herself in amusement. Hancock stood up slowly, doing his best to grin at Sole who was standing in the doorway, looking particularly chipper.

“Right on cue, Sister.” He greeted, but the gaps in his memory were still bugging him. “But catch me up on when exactly I set you up on this little job.” Sole frowned.

“The other night, at the Third Rail when you… Never mind.” She started, but thought better of finishing the story. “Consider it my way of being a good Neighbor.” She winked, before turning to leave.

“Hey, where’re you going, killer?” Hancock called after her.

“Got business with Kleo. Bullets don’t buy themselves.” She called back. He had to smile at that. He heard the State House door shut behind her and turned to face Fahrenheit.

“How long was I out?” He asked seriously.

“Since I found you passed out on this sofa, it's been about a day and a half. Not the longest you've ever been out, but it's up there.” She replied, glancing at her notes again. “Last reports show you leaving the Third Rail, the Vault dweller hanging on you, heading towards the Rexford Hotel, entering the hotel, and you leaving a while after that, alone.” Hancock fought through the fog, trying to remember. He vaguely remembered speaking to Charlie….

“Take a mentat, usually jogs your memory.” Fahrenheit advised. It irked him, but she was right. He popped open the tin, only a few left. He dumped the contents into his mouth, crunching the mints into a peppermint paste. He could feel the fog instantly clear. It came back to him in a flash.

“Oh shit I did ask her to do that.” He grumbled, “Why did I think that was a good idea?” She checked her notes again.

“We discussed the growing Super Mutant problem three days ago.” Fahrenheit explained. “I suggested a perimeter of plasma mines to deter them, but you made the point that it would also deter caravans and drifters coming in. Your solution was to send someone to take out the closer nests, without getting attention from the larger ones. In addition, we both noted that some were necessary to keep the raider population distracted.”

“I don't remember that last part…” Hancock cut in. Fahrenheit looked up from her papers.

“As we were discussing this, I noted that you’d had two tins of mentats. You were ‘delightfully rational’. That’s a quote.” Hancock shuddered. Two tins was a lot, even for him. He'd have to take it easy.

“Fine, and I guess we decided to send in our personal atom-bomb as a solution?” He hazarded a guess. She shook her head.

“You just said you would take care of it. Next thing I hear is that everything within a miles radius of Goodneighbor has been shot, blown to pieces, or in one instance permanently spasming in in a pile of garbage.” Hancock gave her a confused look. She looked down at her notes.

“Yeah, says right here: ‘permanently spasming in a pile of garbage’. She shrugged her shoulders. Hancock adjusted his hat, pulling it further up his brow.

“Well, gives the Raiders something to… She killed them too. Didn't she?” Hancock asked tiredly. She nodded.

“There's good news, though.” She added. “The lack of threats was what brought in the ‘packages’ to Doctor Amari. Got a lot of positive attention from our friends on the freedom trail. The bald one in sunglasses has been snooping around more than usual. I suppose he likes to think that drifter outfit is fooling someone.” She smirked.

Hancock groaned, that guy really got under what was left of his skin. Something about all the cloak and dagger routine really clashed with his way of doing shit. He needed another tin of mentats, he could already feel the haze returning. He reached into the cushions again hoping he’d be lucky a second time.

Fahrenheit frowned, it seemed too soon for his high to be wavering. He successfully fished out a bent tin of Mentats, popping it open and topping up his high. She knew if she attacked directly he’d shut her out.

“Hancock...” She started, but he knew that voice. He shot her a look. She cleared her throat, trying to adjust her tone. “Have you ever considered a fresh start?”

“Pardon?” Hancock asked in surprise, expecting one of her lengthy lectures.

“A clean slate. Starting over.” Fahrenheit reiterated. “Have you given it some thought?” Hancock crossed his arms, studying her expression. Nothing was straight forward with Fahrenheit, and there was a point to this. But he took the bait anyway. “Sure, the idea’s appealing. Get out on the open road again, bring the fight to someone else for a change, rather than wait for it to bang on my front door.” He answered with a shrug. “But a town needs its Mayor, otherwise the shit show falls in on itself.” Fahrenheit gave a soft snort.

“I’ve grown up here, Hancock.” She countered. “Until Vic came in and took over, the place did fine running itself. A figurehead Mayor would run it just as well as a real one.” Hancock looked away.

Nobody understood Goodneighbor like Fahrenheit. She’d never travelled far from it, knew every inch of it, every soul that passed through its gates. He’d watched her grow up on his visits from Diamond City, back when he still had a nose. So if she said it could live without him, he believed her.

“What brought this on?” He asked. “Getting a bit too cosy behind that desk?”

“You’ve been distracted from the second you met the Vault dweller.” Fahrenheit replied bluntly.

“Pfft, ‘the second’ I saw her?” He questioned skeptically. “How do you figure?” She flipped back through a stack of notes and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“You stabbed Finn.”

“He had it coming.”

“Then you introduced her to Goodneighbor.”

“Obviously, introductions always come off friendlier after cold-blooded murder.”

“After she walked away, you stepped into a lamp post.”

“Bullshit.”

“Says right here in my notes, ‘stepped into a lamp post’ followed by ‘Threats to all witnesses.”

“Tell me Sunglasses wasn’t there…”

“I could tell you that, but I would be lying.”

Hancock sighed. It was true, if it weren’t for Fahrenheit and Sole, he’d be out on his ass right now, probably with a few more bullet holes than he was comfortable with.

“Say I went along with this.” He started. “Where would I go?”

“Where ever the Vault-dweller takes you, i’d imagine.” She guessed, rearranging her notes. “Now that she’s back to business as usual, she won’t be staying much longer.” Hancock thought for a moment.

“You seem to have this all planned out…” He observed.

“It’s my job.” She replied, grinding out her cigarette. She looked away for a moment. “There is one condition, though.” He knew it was coming and it still pissed him off.

“Cut the bullshit and tell me.” He snapped, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. He popped a few more mentats, it cleared up the pain a little.

“See Amari about what we discussed…” She started hesitantly. “About the fixer-”

“Really, all that for another lecture on chems?” He asked, anger starting to boil off of him.

“You need it this time.” She insisted. “You can’t go five minutes without taking something. How do you plan on surviving in the wastes if you keep looking for a fix?” He was silent. He had a problem. The words were on her lips, but she knew better than to say it. The cliché was too much.

“You don’t have to go clean completely. You just need to get to a point where you can use chems again, rather than them using you.” He groaned, she was right. How was she this good without a pick-me-up?

“You got me.” He conceded. “But you sure you guys will be fine without me? I don’t want to come back to a smoking crater.”

“Unlikely,” She mused. “The Vault dweller hauled in enough guns and armour this morning to weaponize every drifter and Watchmen for a year. Kleo is still leaking lubricant over the hoard.” Something clicked. Sole and Kleo…? He fought through the haze.

“Hold it…” Hancock cut in. “If she's already shown Kleo a good time today, why did she say she was going there just now?” Fahrenheit shrugged.

“I suppose she lied.” Fahrenheit hazarded a guess. Hancock’s head was working overtime. Why would she lie…? Shit, Daisy….

“Where did that caravan blow in from?” Hancock asked frantically. Fahrenheit looked down at her notes, then frowned.

“Some place called…” She squinted at the writing. “The Republic of… Dave? It's somewhere in the-”

“Capital Wasteland.” Hancock finished for her, already flying down the stairs.

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

“-Sorry, sugar, I haven't seen head or tails of him since he left weeks back.” Daisy apologised.

“Are you sure he hasn't… hasn't even sent a letter?” Sole pressed, her voice lowered to just a hoarse whisper. Daisy shook her head, a sad look in her eyes… A sad and guilty look.

Hancock watched from the doorway, caught between wanting to give Sole space, and wanting to investigate what Daisy was hiding for himself. He compromised, knocking on the doorway to announce his presence. The two women looked up, Sole pausing to clear her throat and wipe the corners of her eyes. Funny, this was the same woman who left at least eighty-two Super Mutants dismembered at his doorstep.

“Hate to Interrupt, but word on the street is there there’s going to be a pretty groovy shindig at the Third Rail tonight, thought I’d extend an invitation to a few lovely ladies.” Hancock grinned, strolling into Daisy’s store.

“What are you doing here then? Kleo’s next door.” Sole joked, clearing her throat to mend the cracks in her voice.

“Kleo’s no good at parties that don’t involve target practice.” Hancock started to explain.

“So what’s the occasion?” Sole asked, a little curious. “Isn't everyday with you a party?”

“Flattering, but this one’s special. It's a farewell party.” He explained. Sole opened her mouth to ask more, but Hancock gave a wave of his hand. “Working out party details with Fahrenheit, but I’ll be back to see you later, Daisy. To sort out some, ‘party supplies’.” He finished, eyeing Daisy, who refused to meet his gaze. With that he turned and strode off, head already starting to fog up. He was going to need to be at the top of his game tonight.

#fahrenheit #hancock #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic

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tisfan · 5 years

Text

Time after Time

Nopennamesleft: Spending another day in the waiting room of the hospital. If you have a time for a prompt, I’d love to see something with one of the boys waiting by the bedside of the other.

A/N -- This prompt was left for me in a comment on A03 and I’m filling it because I love this person dearly, they’re a regular commenter on my fics. That said PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS to me. I spent like 20 minutes looking for this prompt. Send all prompt requests to my Tumblr askbox or to pillowfort

co-written with @27dragons Winteriron - sick fic, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending.

When Bucky is hit by a magical time bomb, he loses most of his memories... of the War, of his time as the Winter Soldier... but most importantly, of his husband.

The worst thing in the world was to be standing in the faded green corridor outside a hospital room, hands clenched together, the fingers wrenching at each other, as two experts calmly and quietly told Tony, “We don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

The bad guy was dead, killed in his own explosion, but Bucky had taken the backlash of the energy output, retreating last, as was his habit. Normally, Tony would have said something as minor as an explosion couldn’t hurt his husband, but Bucky had been unconscious, and had remained so for a few days.

And when he’d woken up, finally, he hadn’t recognized anyone. Bucky had panicked, screamed, fought. Medical staff had been forced to sedate him. Watching him crumple onto the floor, dressed in a hospital down, face twisted with fear… maybe that had been worse.

Tony gritted his teeth. “What do you mean-- No, that’s not fair. You don’t know. Okay. But you’re working on it, right? You’re going to figure this out.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” the lead doctor said. “We’ve called in some experts in neurological damage. If you -- or any of the other Avengers, really -- could look into what sort of explosive device? We’re detecting some anomalies in Mr. Barnes’ blood that make no sense. If we knew more about what caused it, we can treat the symptoms, at least.”

“Send the workup on the anomalies to me,” Tony said. “I have some people I can put on it. And I’ll disassemble the remains of the device myself. I was just... waiting for him to wake up.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Bucky had woken up. It just hadn’t been as much of a relief as Tony had hoped.

(more under the cut)

He waited until the doctors had gone on their way, then closed his eyes and took a few deep, fortifying breaths before going back into Bucky’s room. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he said softly. Bucky was still unconscious, and maybe it was better that way, until they figured out why he’d forgotten them all. He brushed back Bucky’s hair and leaned over to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “We’re going to fix this. I promise.”

Tony had always noticed, when he’d visited Steve from time to time, or Wilson, or even Clint, how much smaller and less heroic everyone looked in a hospital bed. There were tubes in Bucky’s elbow and machines hooked up that detected his heartrate and oxy count. His metal arm was swathed in bandages to hide it from him, since the first time he’d woken up, he’d tried -- and horrifically, nearly succeeded -- to remove it. The second time he woke up, staff had convinced him that the first wake up was accompanied by vivid hallucinations and that he’d been badly burned, which is why he didn’t feel any pain in that arm.

Tony wasn’t sure the lies were going to do any good in the end, but they were all somewhat at a loss.

What did you do with a super-powered human who didn’t know they were super powered?

He was a danger to others, like this. He was a danger to himself.

Didn’t mean looking at him, with the adamantite cuff holding him to a reinforced bed, didn’t hurt any less.

“I love you.” Tony swallowed again. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, ever, to walk away from Bucky’s bedside. But he needed to fill the others in on the utter lack of answers. He needed to get the doctors’ records and analyses to people who could, perhaps, make sense of them. And he needed to strip the remains of that damn bomb down to its component atoms, if necessary, to figure out how to bring his Bucky back.

Steve was the first person on his feet, as soon as Tony entered the waiting room. It couldn’t have been any easier on him; having Bucky forget Steve, his best friend, more than once, even. It was… mind-numbingly awful, or it would have been, if Tony had been able to get his mind to go numb. He wasn’t sure that was possible.

“Is he okay?”

Nat was there, too, in the waiting room. The important people in Bucky’s life that he’s forgotten club. They should get jackets.

“He’s... resting. Physically, he’s as healthy as he’s ever been. The doctors found some anomalies in his system. They’re going to send me the details, and I’ll feed that to Bruce and Helen. Otherwise... they have no idea what happened.”

“He didn’t get hit on the head,” Clint supplied. “Just finished my scan of the street-feeds. He just… well, look.” Clint popped up the 3D reconstruction, showing the ripple of the bomb’s massive energy release, which hit Bucky full force, and then reached about another meter or so beyond him before dissipating.

Bucky in the film didn’t do more than stumble, shoved by the blast wave.

What did happen was that he blinked, looked around wildly as if he had no idea where he was. Reached up to scrub at his face and saw--

He had stared down at his metal hand as if he’d never seen it before. Turned it slowly, and then screamed. Started trying to get inside his tactical armor, but the fastenings were unfamiliar, he didn’t know where the autozips were. Scrambled at his uniform, tearing the fabric and nano-mesh.

Screamed again, and then went to his knees, still staring at the outstretched hands.

He collapsed, sobbing with terror, and then, mercifully, blacked out.

“No head trauma,” Tony observed. He was shaking all over, just from watching the footage and being unable to comfort his husband. “So it’s not standard amnesia.”

Natasha reached out and caught his hand, squeezing it tightly, trying to comfort him. He gave her full credit for the attempt, but he wasn’t going to feel right again until Bucky came back to himself.

God, what if he never... Tony closed his eyes and let himself hang onto Natasha like a lifeline. “He can’t be gone. He can’t.”

“Buck’s tough,” Steve said, as if anything about any of this was reasonable, rational, or had anything to do with physical strength. “If he can come back from Hydra, he can come back from… whatever this is. I just know it.”

Nat took pity on him, because she knew him so well. “Go home,” she said. She didn’t tell him to rest, or eat something, or even to take care of himself, because she knew that he wouldn’t. “Dig into this, and we’ll let you know if there are any changes.”

“The instant anything changes,” Tony insisted, because he had to, not because he thought they wouldn’t. “I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. I have to... to be here.”

“We know,” Nat said, and she brushed her mouth over his cheek in a light kiss. “But you can’t be here, not right now.”

“He’s awake,” Steve reported, panting for breath. Steve seldom ran short of breath, so Tony was going to assume he was experiencing stress, rather than fatigue. “But he doesn’t-- he thinks it’s 1940. That he’s twenty-three years old, that he’s never even been drafted. He knows who I am, but he doesn’t remember how I got this way. Doesn’t trust me.”

Tony stared at Steve dumbly for a long moment, trying to process that. 1940. “So he... he knows who he is. Sort of. That’s... that’s a step.” It was better than the worst-case scenarios that Tony’s brain couldn’t seem to stop spinning every time he tried to rest. Tony shoved his hand through his hair. Christ, in 1940, Bucky hadn’t even been a soldier yet. He was just a kid, really. “It gives us somewhere to start, anyway. I guess. Anyone tried to explain to him what happened? In a general sort of way, obviously, since I’m still trying to separate the tech-bits from the magic-bits on this damn bomb?”

“Well, Buck-- he was always into that future stuff, when we were kids,” Steve said. “He, uh… kinda thinks we’re either aliens who’ve kidnapped him, or some sort of Things to Come, Chandu the Magician science fiction crap going on. He was… they didn’t have to sedate him again, but he only stopped resisting because they said they were going to.”

“Science fiction crap is definitely on the right path,” Tony said, a sad smile tugging at his lip. Bucky was an adorable nerd and Tony loved him for it. It was good to know -- well, have it confirmed -- that it was a longtime trait. “You keep... filling him in. Maybe find him some of those biographies about him? The ones that were written before... you know, the Winter Soldier. He’s probably still too freaked out to cope with all that.”

Steve nodded. “You should… you should go visit. Nat thinks it’ll be good for him to see people who care about him, even if he doesn’t remember. Since we can’t, you know, bring his family in.” The last of Bucky’s siblings had passed on from extreme old age a few years back, and while he had grand nieces and nephews, those relationships were still tentative, all the way around. Hard to cope with, for them, and for Bucky as well.

Tony drew a shaky breath. “Yeah, okay. I’ll... I’ve got some magic-gunk samples I want to drop with Strange, and then I’ll head to the hospital.” That was going to hurt. A lot. But if it would help, Tony would do goddamn near anything.

“Nat’s with him, now,” Steve said. “Thought I’d grab some food, and a little sleep, before I head back.” He squeezed Tony’s shoulder, bracingly. “He’s alive. There’s still hope, Tony.”

“Trust you to be all chin-up Captain Optimism about it,” Tony gibed, though his heart really wasn’t in the banter. He desperately, desperately wanted Steve to be right. “Go fuel the righteousness and get some rest, Steve.”

“I remember when I thought the world’s problems could be solved by socking Hitler in the jaw,” Steve said. “I miss those days, sometimes.”

It would have been nice, Tony supposed, if the guy who’d done this had lived through it, and therefore, could be blamed and held accountable. But no, he’d vaporized himself, along with half the city block and the last half century or so of Bucky’s memories. Pity. Tony would have liked to punch that guy.

Nat was nowhere to be found when Tony arrived at the hospital. In further fact, Bucky was alone, and awake, in his hospital room when Tony walked in.

Bucky glanced up and a strange spasm of emotion crossed his handsome features before they smoothed out again. “So, what’s your story?” he scoffed. “My long-forgotten kiddie school teacher?”

Yeah, Tony had been right. This was going to hurt. But he and Bucky had promised not to lie to each other, no matter what, and even if this Bucky didn’t know that, it went against the grain to do anything else. “Nothing as easy as that,” Tony said, lowering himself into the horrible chair that was in the room for visitors. “I’m actually your husband, here in the future.”

“That’s jus’ about the least believable thing anyone’s told me yet,” Bucky snorted, his voice straining for calmly rational, although there was a nervous stutter near the end, and his eyes darted wildly around the room to see if anyone else was listening. If anyone… knew. The face of a kid who’d just been outed in front of his church group.

“I know it must sound crazy,” Tony said. “But it’s really true. I know, right now I probably don’t look like any kind of a prize, but we’re actually... We’re role models, we’re hope for a lot of people who have been afraid to be themselves.”

Bucky glowered, not the crazy-eyed assassin that Tony sometimes saw come out when they were Avenging, but a young man who was desperately frightened and trying not to be. “I ain’t-- who tol’ you I was some sort of nancy-boy queer?”

God, it was his Bucky’s face, but that expression, that voice was so young. Something in his chest squeezed until Tony began to wonder if he were going to have a heart attack. “You did,” he said gently. “You told me you’d figured it out when you were, what, fourteen? Watching Joey Kinley lighting candles at church.”

Bucky’s eyes got huge, rounded, and his mouth dropped open. “I never… I never tol’ anyone,” he said, voice a tiny little thing wrapped around a huge confession. “Thought God would strike me dead, right there on the spot. Was gonna go to hell and no one was going to mourn me. I told… I told you that?”

“Yeah. I don’t think it was easy, but you did. We were still dating then, had been seeing each other for about six months.”

A mix of terror, anxiety, and somehow, like he was putting down a huge burden that he’d carried for as long as he could remember, relief, crossed Bucky’s face. “Uh… what’s your name?”

“Tony.” He wondered briefly if Bucky would connect the dots, then mentally shrugged and added, “Stark. Tony Stark.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, not like he was agreeing, but just filling up the space. “Damn, Joey, I… he had just the prettiest brown eyes I ever saw, like… like velvet. My ma had a velvet collar on one of her coats, it was so soft. Th’ softest thing I ever touched. Did I tell you that? It don’t… what you say, it don’t feel real, I feel… lost.”

He shifted a little to look straight at Tony. “You have brown eyes, jus’ like he did. Can you look right at me an’ swear, swear this is real, this is really happening?”

Bucky’s eyes were wide and scared and still so goddamned young, and Tony wanted to just gather Bucky up in his arms and promise that everything was going to be okay, but he didn’t think Bucky would welcome such close contact, not yet. That didn’t stop Tony from needing it, though. “I swear,” he said. “I swear on, on my parents’ graves, that I’m telling you the truth, that this is real. That we’re married and it’s been the best damn two years of my entire life, and I love you with everything in me, and I’m not going to stop until we find a way to help you.”

Tony wasn’t even sure if Bucky realized that he was crying; it wasn’t really full on weeping, just a shimmer in those pale, blue eyes. He blinked rapidly and the tears vanished into sparkles along his eyelashes. “I--”

Which of course was when Nat strolled in, a weapon’s satchel over her shoulder. “S dobrym utrom,” she greeted him in cheery Russian, then paused. “Tony--”

Tony’s Russian was never going to be as good or unaccented as Nat or Bucky’s, but he did understand it.

He wasn’t sure who was more shocked, Bucky, or himself, when Bucky returned Nat’s good morning without hesitating. “Do you know when I can leave?”

“Ha!” Nat said, grinning and returning to English. “I thought that might work. Sorry to interrupt, Tony.”

Bucky looked shocked, nearly to the point of comedy. Tony jumped out of the chair and flung his arms around Natasha, because he needed to hug someone. “He’s still in there,” Tony gasped. “It’s not gone, just... hidden.”

“He is,” Nat agreed. “You are. He is.”

“What… what was that, what did I say, is this… witchcraft?” Bucky stammered.

“As far as we can tell,” Nat said, “yes. Ever use a gun before, Barnes?”

“No,” Bucky said, forehead wrinkling. “Was the welterweight boxing champion two years running. Never needed more than my fists, to--”

Nat rummaged in the bag and pulled out Bucky’s favorite short range pistol. “Field strip that for me, soldier.” She tossed it on the bed, where it bounced between Bucky’s knees.

Bucky picked it up doubtfully, handling it almost gingerly. It looked foreign on Bucky, who was so casually comfortable handling firearms that he nearly looked naked without one. “Look at me,” Tony suggested. “Don’t think about the gun, you’ll just get in your own way. Look at me and tell me something about... Oh, about Steve.”

Bucky turned his chin at the sound of Tony’s voice, hands moving automatically, the gun turning from a strange, alien object into his trusted weapon, into an extension of himself. “Uh, well, one time, we were jus’ near to getting done with schoolin’ and he had to miss a bunch of it, he caught scarlet fever, and he couldn’t draw or write or nothing. His hands were shaking. But we had this stupid essay to write, and he didn’t want to fail. So he told me what to write, and I… I used my right hand to do it, so that it would look all shaky, like Steve’d done it his own self.”

Tony kept looking at Bucky, holding that gaze, but by the time Bucky was half a sentence in, his hands started moving, methodically stripping the gun and laying out the parts on the blanket. When his eyes started to drift, Tony drew him back. “Well don’t leave me in suspense,” he cajoled. “Did he get a passing grade?”

“He did,” Bucky said. “In English an’ art, but he failed outta history.” Bucky put the last piece of the weapon down and then stared at the neat layout. “Am I possessed? You gonna call a preacher t’ get the devil out of me? Husband an’ knowin’ and… what is fucking going on here?” His voice spiralled up in a panic, and then--

“You have retrograde episodic memory loss,” Nat said, cutting through the panic. “You remember everything that happened to you before-- whatever happened to send you back to 1940. But all your procedural memory is intact. You know how to do things. Your skills aren’t lost to you.” She shoved a pad of paper onto the bed along with a pen. “Sign your name.”

Bucky didn’t hesitate, plucking the pen out of her hand with his left hand. He scrawled and then stared at his signature. J. Barnes-Stark.

Tony swallowed against tears of relief. He was still in there. They were going to find a way to bring him back. “Told you,” he said, making it as light as possible. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Procedural memory, huh?” Bucky wondered. “I just… know how t’ do these things, because I learned it? Before… after? I will have learned this?” He chewed his lip for a moment, then crooked a finger at Tony. “Only one way t’ be sure, I guess.”

Tony stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Bucky appeared to brace himself, like he was about to put his hand in a fire, then--

Tony was being kissed.

He’d kissed Bucky hundreds, probably even thousands of times, sweet and soft, or rough and dirty and everything in between. Like the first time they’d kissed, or the last time they’d kissed, it was both perfect and extraordinary and utterly familiar. His lips knew the shape of Bucky’s mouth, his tongue knew that taste, his hands went around Bucky’s shoulders, fingers curling in the same, familiar pattern. Bucky’s hands were in Tony’s hair and he was doing that thing, where he brushed his thumbs along the underside of Tony’s ears. That thing that made Tony weak in the knees, every single time.

Tony groaned and sagged against the bed, all but climbing right onto Bucky’s lap. He fell into the kiss with a desperate, frantic need, clutching at Bucky’s shoulders and then sliding down Bucky’s arms, tracing at the seams of the metal arm and holding on as tight as he could. “Oh god,” he rasped when Bucky finally drew back a little, and slumped forward, resting his forehead against Bucky’s.

“You sure as hell kiss me like you know what you’re doin’,” Bucky said, touching his lips lightly with his fingers. “That…. That was so weird, like… kissin’ you for the first time, but… not.” He suddenly went tomato red, eyes darting over to Nat, who was casually looking out the window, as if she wasn’t the least bit affected by their display.

“I’d tell you to get a room, but… you have a nice one here, and I’ll just… see myself out,” Nat said.

“Yeah, go on,” Tony said, grinning. “Go give Steve the good news.”

Nat disappeared in one of her characteristic fades, the door barely making a sound as she closed and probably secured it behind her.

“Tony--” Bucky said… “we’re. Actually married? Like, that’s allowed?” When Tony nodded, he held up one finger, then added. “Do you… do you love me? Could you say… like you always say it?”

Tony leaned in close, nuzzling very lightly at Bucky’s temple, breathing in the familiar scent. “Love you, snowflake.”

“Love you, too, dollface,” Bucky told him, and his eyes were wide and shining again. He stroked Tony’s cheek with his fingers. “Guess… guess I must, ‘cause… I feel that. Right in here--” he touched his chest. “You’ll… you’re gonna wait for me, right? While it all comes back?”

“As long as it takes, I’m here for you, sweetheart,” Tony promised.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #bucky barnes #tony stark #sick fic #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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almostafantasia · 6 years

Text

tenderly, tragically, beautifully

Summary: In which bad things happen to the people who deserve them the least and Lexa learns that although cancer can be treated, the scars it leaves behind take much longer to heal.

Read on AO3.

Trigger warning: Clarke has cancer in this fic but it’s non-terminal and she doesn’t die. There’s a fair amount of angst though.

She feels as though every pair of eyes is watching her from the moment that she steps through the school gates. Which is just paranoia at its absolute finest because the reality is that not a single person is actually looking at her, but with the very obvious way in which the other kids are deliberately trying not to stare at her as she walks up to the red brick school building, Clarke might as well have a giant flashing sign above her head.

A giant flashing sign reading this kid has cancer, with a vertical neon arrow pointing down at her.

Clarke knows that they all know. Even if Raven hadn’t already filled her in on everything that happened while she was in the hospital, this is high school so gossip spreads faster than a race car speeding around an asphalt track.

“Yo.”

Raven makes an unnecessarily loud entrance, clattering into the row of lockers beside Clarke’s and dropping her shoulder bag to the floor with an unceremonious thud. It catches the attention of those nearby, but upon realising that Clarke is there, those heads quickly turn away for fear of being caught staring.

“Everyone’s treating me like I’ve got a deadly virus. It’s cancer, it’s not contagious!”

She raises her voice with this last bit, startling the group of freshman boys who cross to the other side of the corridor in order to give Clarke a wide berth as they pass.

“Clarke,” Raven hisses, resting a comforting hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

“I’ve been here for two minutes and I already wish I was back in that stupid hospital,” Clarke complains through clenched teeth, taking a heavy textbook out of her bag and throwing it into her locker with slightly more force than actually necessary.

“They probably all heard the word ‘cancer’ and assume that you’re on your deathbed,” muses Raven.

“I’m not.”

“I know,” Raven agrees, as she reaches out to give Clarke’s fingers a reassuring squeeze with her own. “You’re going to be fine, you’ve just got a few shitty cells in your body.”

“John Murphy’s got more shitty cells in his body,” Clarke comments, as the shaggy-haired boy saunters past the two girls with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, giving Clarke the side-eye as he passes.

“Well unlike Murphy, your shitty cells are going to be killed by the chemo. He’s stuck with his for life.”

Clarke appreciates what Raven is trying to do, but that doesn’t mean that it works. As grateful as she is for her best friend’s insistence that she’s going to survive this new obstacle in her life, it doesn’t really detract from the fact that she has months of having her body pumped full of chemicals to get through first.

“Raven…”

“What? I’m just letting you know that I’m sticking by you no matter what.” With a wicked smile, Raven adds, “I’ll always be your best friend, even when you go bald.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” Clarke whines, shutting her locker and turning around to lean against it dramatically.

“You finish treatment just before Thanksgiving, right?”

“Yes,” Clarke nods, wondering in which unpredictable direction Raven’s train of thought is heading this time.

“So you’ll be rocking the cutest pixie cut in town by Christmas.”

Clarke lets herself imagine it for just a second. She hasn’t had her hair shorter than shoulder length since a disastrously bad haircut at the age of ten, but when she pictures herself with much shorter hair, barely long enough to curl ever so slightly around her ears and the top of her neck, she smiles slightly. Mostly at the realisation that with virtually no hair to have to deal with each morning before school, she’ll be able to get out of bed a whole fifteen minutes later than usual, but also at the thought that with minimal effort and a bit of strategically placed styling cream, she can probably make herself look hot as fuck.

“Thanks Raven,” Clarke smile gratefully.

But Raven’s brain is always moving way faster than Clarke is able to keep up with and she’s already onto the next thing.

“Hey, do you think the chemo is going to give you superpowers? Wouldn’t it be awesome if you got x-ray vision or invisibility or something even cooler?”

“Raven…”

Class is weird. Raven walks her to the door of her classroom like a mother dropping her young child off for the first day of kindergarten, and when Raven departs with a final wave over her shoulder, Clarke feels exactly like that scared five year old, out of her depth in a world that seems far too big for her.

It’s pretty much exactly the same routine in the classroom as it was out in the school corridors, except that now, in this more confined space, Clarke can’t really do much to pretend she hasn’t noticed how everybody is behaving around her. Each pair of eyes fall onto her as she passes, then glance away when they realise who has just walked by.

And then the hushed muttering starts. Clarke’s classmates must be seriously misinformed about the symptoms of cancer if they think that she isn’t able to hear the whispering as she makes her way to her usual seat on the far side of the classroom.

As the clock on the wall just above the teacher’s desk slowly ticks away towards the start of another day at school, the desk next to Clarke remains empty. Finn Collins, the desk’s former occupant, who Clarke is ninety-five percent certain was flirting with her in the few weeks leading up to the discovery of the tumour in her back, has moved to a previously empty seat in the back row next to Atom. It’s too much of a coincidence for Clarke to blame this on anything but the cancer. Who would want to flirt with her when there are plenty of other much prettier, much healthier girls in the school to flirt with, all of whom are still going to have a full head of hair in a few months’ time?

“Hey.”

Ten minutes into her first day back at school and already so used to being treated like a bomb that is waiting to go off, Clarke actually startles in her seat a little bit when the girl in the seat in front of her turns around to say hello.

“Oh, hi Lexa!”

Lexa Woods was Clarke’s elementary school best friend until the two of them slowly drifted apart as they grew up and their interests changed. Not to say that they no longer get along, but that they move in different circles now, with nothing more than a polite smile if they pass in the school corridors.

Until now.

“This is for you.”

Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise, then her entire face twists into a confused frown as Lexa places a thick ring-binder down on Clarke’s desk, upon which lies an envelope.

“Um, thanks,” Clarke replies tentatively, picking up the envelope and sliding her finger into the small gap at the edge to tear it open and remove its contents.

It’s just a card, white with pastel coloured butterflies surrounding the embossed words ‘thinking of you’ in a pretty cursive font. Surprised, Clarke flips it open to read the message inside.

Dear Clarke,

Wishing you all the best over the coming months for a speedy recovery.

Lots of love, Lexa xx

It’s pretty much exactly the same as the twenty other cards she has at home from various relatives and friends of the family, empty words that don’t really detract from the potentially life-threatening illness that resides in her body, but it somehow means so much more coming from Lexa than from anybody else. Coming from Lexa, who could quite easily have done exactly the same as Finn and everybody else in this godforsaken school and blatantly avoided having to go anywhere near the girl with cancer.

“And this is everything that you missed while you were in hospital,” Lexa continues, opening the folder to display the thick wad of handwritten notes inside, neatly colour-coded and underlined and separated into subjects by labelled dividers.

“Lexa, what the…?”

“You missed two weeks of school and you must be really behind in all your classes so I wrote out my notes again so that you could have a copy,” Lexa explains hurriedly, a pink flush rising to sit on her sharp cheekbones. “If there’s anything you don’t understand when you read through it, I’d be more than happy to go over it with you.”

“Lexa,” Clarke sighs, feeling a rush of affection for her former best friend as she flicks through page after page of Lexa’s impeccable handwriting, laid out under clear capitalised titles and broken up with nearly drawn diagrams and tables. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It was good revision for me,” Lexa shrugs, as if the gesture is insignificant.

“Wait,” frowns Clarke, as she reaches one of the coloured dividers and enters a different subject, “do you even take Chemistry?”

“No, but I know Monty through the debate club so I borrowed his notes and copied them out,” Lexa answers. “They might not make much sense because I didn’t understand a lot of it but I’m sure that Monty would be able to explain it if you need help…”

“Lexa, this must have taken you hours…”

“Yeah, well you’ve got cancer, it’s the least I can do to help.”

The word hits Clarke like a fist in the gut. It’s been two weeks since the diagnosis, two weeks where Clarke’s mind has been consumed with nothing but that one singular word going around and around in her mind until she’s half crazy. But Clarke realises that maybe the problem is that the word has only been in her head since the diagnosis – nobody around her has been brave enough to say the word aloud since the doctor who gave her the bad news two weeks ago. Even her mother, a doctor herself, skirts around the word at home, as if saying it out loud makes the whole situation far too real to comprehend.

It’s just a word, it shouldn’t hurt so much.

Except that it’s not just a word anymore, it’s a way of life. It’s chemicals being pumped into her body, and being ignored by even those who used to flirt with her, and the inescapable unsettling worry that despite the assurances of the oncology nurse, maybe she isn’t going to make it to the other end of this ordeal with her life.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” Lexa’s voice pulls Clarke out of her thoughts with a lurch, and she shakes her head to focus herself back in the real world.

“No, it’s just…” Clarke tries to explain, her voice just a croak as she tries to push past the lump that forms in her throat. “It’s still quite new to me.” Trying to articulate aloud for the first time, Clarke continues, “It’s weird because it’s all I think about but it still takes me by surprise sometimes. I’m so used to everybody skating around it like they want to pretend that it’s not happening, so it surprised me how forward you were.”

“Sorry,” Lexa mumbles, bowing her head apologetically. “I shouldn’t have…”

Reaching out a hand to touch Lexa’s shoulder in reassurance, Clarke says, “Lexa, it’s fine, I…”

But she doesn’t get the chance to finish. The classroom door clatters open as the teacher enters to start the lesson, and within an instant Lexa is facing the front once more with wide, attentive eyes.

The teacher’s eyes scan the classroom as his voice fills the room to get their attention, but he stumbles mid-sentence when he spots Clarke in their midst. There’s a moment that feels like an eternity, a moment in which Clarke knows the teacher is trying to decide whether to acknowledge Clarke’s return to his class, a moment in which Clarke wants nothing more than to melt into the hard plastic chair as if she has never even been here at all, but then it passes, and the class continues as if nothing has happened.

As if Clarke doesn’t have cancer.

But she does.

“Lexa,” Clarke hisses, when the teacher turns his attention to the computer and pulls up a powerpoint presentation for the lesson. Lexa turns around to frown inquisitorially at Clarke, who forces the resentment out of her mind and the sadness from her eyes as she smiles gratefully at her former best friend. “Thanks for the notes.”

Lexa thinks about it a lot, probably way more than she should think about somebody who she so rarely speaks to these days, but it really plays on her mind. Why somebody so young, somebody with such a bright future, somebody with so much joy and happiness and vitality should get diagnosed with cancer when there are so many bad people in this world that it could happen to instead.

It sucks, and Lexa isn’t even the one with cancer.

She almost wishes that she was. And yes, she knows that’s a terrible thing to think and that she should be grateful for her own good health, but it’s the truth. If there was a medical procedure that could suck the illness from Clarke’s body and transfer it to her own, then that’s exactly what Lexa would do. Clarke has everything; a big friendship group full of nice people that nobody in their year group seems to dislike, good grades, good looks, and an aspiration to be a doctor. Lexa, meanwhile, feels as though she has nothing in comparison - only a few people that she would consider friends, two parents who somehow manage to straddle the line between loving her too much and not loving her enough, and an unhealthy dose of anxiety. It should be her that has the cancer, but instead there seems to be an unjust system of reverse karma in place, where bad things happen to good people.

There are bad people in the world, and there are good people. And then there is Clarke. Clarke, who is so good and pure that Lexa isn’t entirely convinced that she isn’t an actual angel reincarnated in human form. Clarke, who on the second day of kindergarten, helped a tearful and bruised Lexa back to her feet after being pushed to the ground by John Murphy, then declared them to be best friends for life, though only after kicking Murphy in the balls for hurting Lexa in the first place.

Nobody deserves to be diagnosed with cancer less than Clarke.

Lexa almost wonders if Clarke’s illness is karma punishing her. Perhaps fate is saying a massive fuck you to her, not to Clarke, by forcing her to stand by helplessly as the girl she loves suffers. Because there is absolutely no doubt that Lexa does love Clarke. She’s known it for about a year, though she’s probably loved her since the day that six year old Clarke offered out a hand to help Lexa get back to her feet.

But what hurts the most is knowing that there’s absolutely nothing she can do to help Clarke, nothing she can do but sit by and watch as Clarke’s health deteriorates and the side effects of chemotherapy kick in.

Lexa has never felt more helpless.

Lexa almost doesn’t recognise the girl who walks into class the following Thursday morning with bright pink hair. Nothing has changed other than the hair colour – she wears the same worn out jacket she’s owned since freshman year, the same slightly pitiful frown that’s been on her face since the diagnosis a couple of weeks ago – and yet the vibrant pink that frames Clarke’s face makes it seem like she’s an entirely different person from the girl with the beautiful golden tresses that Lexa has known for most of her life.

“Clarke!” Lexa gapes, as Clarke drops into the seat beside her, Lexa having moved back a row now that Finn Collins has taken up his new seat at the very back of the classroom. “I – wow!”

Though Lexa, quite deliberately so, does not ask for an explanation for Clarke’s sudden and drastic makeover, Clarke gives her one anyway, as if she feels like she has to justify her new fashion choice.

“I’ve always wanted to dye it,” she shrugs, reaching up with one hand to play with a single pink curl, “and I might not have hair for too much longer so it seemed like as good of a time as any to get it done.”

As Clarke glances away, a brief moment of sadness passing across her face as she does so, Lexa’s insides lurch unsettlingly at the thought of Clarke’s hair falling out against her will. She quickly remembers that Clarke will be taking the day off school tomorrow for the first of many chemotherapy treatments, which explains the unexpected change of hair colour mid-week, and just tries to imagine for a second how terrified Clarke must be at the prospect of going into hospital for such a daunting treatment.

Lexa flails silently for a moment, wondering what, if anything at all, she can say that might ease Clarke’s mind ahead of her hospital visit but nothing comes to mind that won’t do more harm than good. Lexa settles instead for saying something a little different.

“The pink really suits you.”

Eyes wide with surprise as she lifts her head to look up at Lexa, as if she hadn’t been expecting the compliment at all, Clarke softly mumbles, “Thanks,” before reverting back into a glum silence for the rest of class.

Clarke’s absence on Friday, despite her only sharing a couple of classes with Lexa, feels somewhat akin to Lexa having to spend the day without one of her arms. She’s a mess for pretty much the whole day, distracted with pondering thoughts of where Clarke is, of what the doctors will be doing to her, and of hoping that none of it is as bad as the scary word chemotherapy makes it all sound.

When she arrives home from school that afternoon, Lexa collapses on her bed with her phone in her hand, the screen unlocked and opened on a message conversation with Clarke, but she hesitates with her thumb hovering over the keyboard before she sends anything. Nothing that comes to mind quite seems right for the situation - casual well-wishes seem too impersonal and asking how the treatment went seems far too invasive and unsympathetic.

Lexa exits the conversation and locks the phone with a sigh, shaking her head in dissatisfaction. She wants to be there for Clarke, she really does, but there’s no class at school for how to be a good friend to somebody with cancer and it’s not really something that Lexa can do on intuition alone.

She decides, forty minutes later and after some assistance from her mom, on a simple Facebook post; an old photo of the two of them with their arms around each other and toothy grins on their faces at Clarke’s eighth birthday party, which she captions “Found this looking through some old stuff - partners in crime since kindergarten!” and then tags Clarke in it. Nothing fancy. It’s simple, it’s irrelevant, and it will hopefully let Clarke know that Lexa has been thinking about her all day.

She definitely doesn’t spend the next few minutes eagerly refreshing her new feed, waiting for a notification that lets her know that Clarke has seen the post.

It never comes.

She doesn’t know what she was expecting, if not a comment then perhaps at least a like, but each time the little red bubble pops up in Lexa’s notifications, it is with somebody else’s name and not Clarke’s. A selection of school friends like the post, both from their high school and old friends who knew the girls back around the time that the photo was taken. Some names are ones that Lexa doesn’t recognise, presumably friends of Clarke’s from elsewhere. Octavia Blake reacts to the post with a red heart that Lexa wishes came from Clarke instead.

The first comment is from Raven; “Double denim? Griffin, you were such a style icon!”

It hurts more than it should, two minutes later, when Lexa’s post remains unacknowledged but the little blue thumb icon appears underneath Raven’s comment with Clarke’s name next to it.

Clarke is back at school on Monday morning, almost as if she was never gone. There’s no indication that she missed a day of classes for the first of many life-saving medical treatments, no missing hair, no hospital gown or big sign around Clarke’s neck saying I had chemo. And Lexa curses herself for even thinking that things would be different.

(She decides that Clarke’s pale skin and tired eyes are just a figment of the imagination that is looking for something different in Clarke’s appearance.)

“Hey,” Lexa greets Clarke in their first class of the day. “How was the … uh, the treatment?”

Raising a single eyebrow at Lexa, Clarke replies, “You can call it chemo. That’s what it is.”

“Sorry,” apologises Lexa, feeling the mild burn along her cheekbones that is no doubt accompanied by a pinkening of the skin there. “I’m just new to all of this.”

She regrets the words the very second that they leave her mouth. The way that Clarke’s face falls, disappointment filling her blue eyes as her brow knits into a furrowed frown, is enough to inform Lexa that what she has just said was insensitive on every level.

“You’re new to this?” Clarke asks, her voice soft but laced with bitterness.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Lexa says dejectedly. “That was insensitive of me.”

Lexa is more disappointed in herself that she would care to admit. She’s spent more than a little bit of time this weekend on her laptop, googling questions like what to say to a friend with cancer and the overwhelming number one piece of advice she could find was to not make it about herself and how she feels about Clarke’s diagnosis. And yet, all that research is for nothing as she lets herself down within the first thirty seconds.

“It’s fine,” Clarke assures her, though Lexa can’t help but feel that this isn’t fine at all, nor will it ever be until Clarke’s treatment finishes and she gets the all clear in however many months’ time. “I get it, you want help but don’t know how. The best thing you can do is to just act normal.” Lexa nods along earnestly as Clarke reaches out a hand and rests it tenderly on Lexa’s forearm, before continuing. “And Lexa, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You’re treating me like a human, not like a time bomb. That’s more than I can say for most of the rest of the assholes in this school.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa attempts to apologise a final time, but the arrival of the teacher for the start of the lesson means that she isn’t given the chance to take her apology any further.

“By all means, come on in,” Clarke says to Raven, pushing open her bedroom door as she leads her best friend inside. “But fair warning, it looks and smells like a hospital.”

Clarke wrinkles her own nose as she steps into her bedroom, the nasty smell of cleaning product invading her nostrils. Her bedroom doesn’t really feel like home much at the moment, the various medications prescribed to her for combatting the side effects of chemo scattered haphazardly across all available surfaces in the room. The smell, despite her desperate pleas, comes from her mother’s insistence of giving the room a thorough disinfect almost every other day so that Clarke doesn’t catch anything while her immune system is reduced.

“Jesus Christ,” Raven blanches as she follows Clarke into the room, lifting her hand up to her face to cover her nose and mouth. “Do you not have any air freshener?”

“I’ve asked my mom to get me some,” Clarke answers. “She insists on keeping this place spotless. I’m already sick, a few germs isn’t going to do any harm.”

Raven’s hand reaches out to Clarke’s, her fingers clasping around Clarke’s wrist to get her full attention.

“Hey. No. Mama G is a medical professional, you listen to what she has to say, okay?”

“Jesus, Raven,” Clarke whines, dropping onto the bed with a plop that rumples the freshly washed sheets. “Are you my mom now?”

Raven launches herself belly first onto the mattress next to Clarke, propping her head up with one elbow as she sends a wicked smile in Clarke’s direction.

“Shut up,” says Raven, rolling over onto her back, where she steals half of the pillows and cushions that decorate Clarke’s double bed and sets them up against the headboard behind her. “Are we gonna watch a movie or what? It’s so awesome that you’ve finally got a TV in your room.”

Shrugging and reaching for the remote control that sits on top of a pile of untouched pamphlets from the hospital, Clarke points it at the brand new television that sits on top of the dresser against the opposite wall and says, “Cancer perks.”

The end of the school year and the start of the summer break between Clarke’s junior and senior years of high school comes around two weeks later, shortly after her second chemotherapy appointment, and Clarke has never been more grateful to have a couple of months off school.

She can already feel some of the changes in her body – most notable is just how lethargic she’s starting to feel. Clarke has always been the number one advocate for power naps but since starting the treatment, she’s found herself passing out pretty much everywhere, including in class, though two hours of calculus on a Monday morning is probably enough to send anybody to sleep.

The other thing is her hair. It hasn’t started to fall out yet, not properly, but Clarke has started to notice a bit of thinning. Each pull of her hairbrush through the newly-dyed pink hair tugs strands out from her scalp that get caught around the bristles of the brush and when she showers, there is slightly more hair than usual to pull out of the drain at the end. It isn’t noticeable in the mirror yet, but Clarke knows that the worst part – when actual clumps of her hair start falling out in uneven patches across her scalp – is almost imminent, and she’s grateful that she won’t have to go to school during this in-between stage.

Lexa is thankful for the arrival of the summer break. Junior year has been a lot of work and she knows that her final year at high school will be even more tiring. As much as she’s looking forward to throwing herself headfirst into another year of challenging schoolwork and college applications, the two months she has before that to mentally and physically rest is exactly what she needs right now.

And yet, three days after the last day of school, she finds herself already missing the crowded corridors and the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

Well, maybe not those, per se.

She finds herself missing Clarke.

Their friendship is by no means rekindled to the level that it was at before they started drifting apart in middle school, but Lexa likes to think that they’ve reached the point once more where they can text each other and make social plans without it being weird.

Clarke, on the other hand, seems to disagree.

Lexa Are you free today? We could catch a movie or get lunch if you like! Or something else, I’m open to suggestions.

Clarke I’m pretty tired actually. Think I’m just gonna stay at home.

Not yet disheartened, Lexa is already prepared with another suggestion that might suit Clarke a little better.

Lexa I could come over and we could watch something at yours?

Clarke I think I just want to sleep tbh

Lexa tries to think of something to say, anything to let Clarke know that she’s always going to be welcome to hang out with Lexa later, but everything she tries typing out just falls flat. She doesn’t want to seem needy, doesn’t want to force Clarke to exert herself any more than she’s physically capable of doing right now, doesn’t want to make Clarke feel guilty for the way that the side effects of the chemotherapy are inhibiting their social interactions.

She just wants Clarke to know that she isn’t alone.

Lexa No problem!

Clarke stands in front of the mirror and adjusts the beanie on her head for what is probably the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.

“You look good,” Raven says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Except that Clarke is worried. Because Octavia is throwing a party tonight and Clarke has been coerced (by Octavia, by Raven, even by her own mother) into attending and it’s the first time she’s left the house for anything other than a hospital visit in the three weeks since school finished. And the first time in almost as long that Clarke has worn anything except for pyjamas.

Not to mention the fact that it’s the debut of her new hairstyle. If you can even call a patchy buzzcut a hairstyle. Hence the beanie.

“Are you sure people aren’t going to notice?” asks Clarke, turning to look at Raven, who is sprawled across Clarke’s bed, playing on her phone as Clarke gets ready.

Pushing herself up into a seated position, Raven grins up at Clarke and answers, “The only thing people are going to notice is how hot you look. Because damn girl.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” Raven insists, shaking her head. “Everybody is going to wish they were you.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow, because she’s pretty certain that there is not a single person in the world who would want to be a kid with cancer.

Raven doesn’t miss the look that Clarke shoots her and she jumps up to her feet, crossing the room to stand beside Clarke as they both look at Clarke’s reflection in the mirror.

“You’re hot,” Raven tells Clarke again. “The colours really suit you, your tits look great in that shirt, and you’re totally rocking that beanie. Fuck the cancer, you’re awesome!”

And for just a moment, Clarke believes it.

Parties aren’t always Lexa’s thing. She not a huge drinker, nor does she like big crowds of people, not to mention the fact that she doesn’t fall into the right social circles to get invited to most of the parties thrown by the kids in her year at school.

But for some reason Octavia Blake, who has never taken the time to talk to Lexa much off the soccer pitch that they share during training for the women’s varsity team, personally insisted that Lexa just had to come along to the party that she’s throwing tonight.

It’s not Lexa’s scene at all. Music thumps from two loudspeakers positioned on either side of the living room, questionable drinks are being poured into cups from a large keg being manned by Octavia’s college-aged brother, and sweaty bodies are crammed into every corner of the Blakes’ small house. But Lexa doesn’t get invited to parties often and she’s determined to at least try to enjoy this one.

(Her attendance has absolutely nothing to do with the possibility that tonight might be the first time she sees Clarke since school finished for the summer. Nothing.)

There’s a big shout from the already quite tipsy Octavia when Raven arrives at the party, and Lexa’s eyes desperately squint towards the door for Clarke.

And there she is.

Oh boy.

Lexa doesn’t know if it’s the jungle juice catching up with her or if the sight of Clarke entering the room behind Raven is really that mesmerising, but her head starts to swim a little bit. Clarke looks a little thinner than before, a little more tired, but Lexa hardly notices that because Clarke is still just as beautiful as ever. There’s a dark gray beanie pulled over her head, hiding her hair (or lack of it, as Lexa quickly realises may be the case), but it just emphasises everything else. The sharp plane of Clarke’s jaw. The blue in Clarke’s haggard eyes. The dip of the neckline on Clarke’s rather revealing tank top.

Jesus Christ, when did Lexa become so fucking gay.

Lexa’s heart is racing, and the only thing that stops her from passing out, or from locking herself in a quiet and soundproof room for the duration of the party, is that Clarke has an expression on her face that matches the same startled-slash-terrified feeling that Lexa has too.

And so Lexa pushes her own anxiety aside and makes it her main aim to make Clarke feel as comfortable as possible in this scary new environment. Lexa takes a sip from her drink for courage, then plasters a smile on her face as she pushes through the crowd to cross the room and welcome Clarke.

“Clarke!” Lexa beams, her smile genuine as she throws her arms around Clarke’s neck in a greeting. “I didn’t know if you’d be here tonight.”

Lexa didn’t know, but she hoped.

“Yeah, Raven came to my house and basically dragged me out of bed,” Clarke shrugs. “Also, my mom threatened to cut off the wifi at home if I didn’t leave the house. She’s worried I’m becoming a recluse. I swear parents are supposed to worry about kids going to wild parties and getting involved in underage drinking and sex, but apparently when you get cancer they actively encourage it.”

“Then why are you complaining?” Lexa teases Clarke. She gestures towards the kitchen, then asks, “Do you want something to drink?”

Clarke squints at the plastic cup in Lexa’s hand, inspecting its contents with a wary gaze, before she answers, “Sure. Why not?”

Clarke’s hand seeks her own so that they don’t get separated as they slowly navigate their way through the mass of drunk teenagers, and Lexa tries to ignore the erratic pounding of her heart in her chest and the feeling of Clarke’s warm palm against her own. It’s stupid to get so worked up about such meaningless platonic intimacy, but this is Clarke, who gets Lexa’s pulse racing by just looking at her. Lexa knows that being with Clarke in that way is beyond her wildest dreams, but even an act as simple as having Clarke’s hand squeezing her own as she leads Lexa towards the kitchen, is more than Lexa thinks she deserves.

“Are you having another?” Clarke asks, when they make it to the keg where Bellamy is pouring his homemade concoction into plastic cups and distributing it to the teenagers that surround him.

Lexa glances down at the cup in her hand and takes a moment to think, before knocking bag the dregs at the bottom and nodding as she passes it across to Bellamy for a refill.

“So,” says Clarke, when they both have their drinks, leading the way out of the kitchen and through the glass doors into the back yard, where the music is quieter and the air much cooler than the warmth indoors that feels heavy with the scent of cheap alcohol and teenage sweat. “You seemed surprised to see me here tonight, but I’ve never seen you at a party before.”

“Yeah, parties aren’t usually my thing.”

They reach the far side of the yard, where a rusty swing set stands under the branches of a tall oak tree, and Clarke sits on the seat, looping one of her arms around the chain to keep herself steady, while Lexa stands nearby.

“What’s different about tonight?” asks Clarke.

“Octavia was very persuasive,” replies Lexa. She takes a quick swig of her drink for courage, and then continues, “And I was hoping you’d be here. I wanted to see you. To know that you’re doing okay.”

The cover of the darkness, lit only by the crescent moon ad a few twinkling stars in the sky, does a good job of hiding the blush that rises to Lexa’s cheeks when she confesses that seeing Clarke was a motivator for pushing herself beyond her usual comfort zone.

“I’ve been bad at replying to your messages,” says Clarke. “And I’m sorry for that. Sometimes I just don’t have any energy and then I forget and…”

“No!” Lexa protests quickly, holding up a hand to stop Clarke before she can apologise any further. “You don’t have to say sorry. I probably text you way too much.”

“I like that you message me,” Clarke says in a soft voice. “It’s nice that you think of me.”

“Of course I think about you,” says Lexa, laughing softly under her breath, because there is hardly a moment that goes by where Lexa isn’t thinking about Clarke, even subconsciously. “You’re … I mean, you’re you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Clarke asks, an inquisitive smile on her face.

Lexa’s cheeks burn in embarrassment and she’s grateful that it’s late enough that the shroud of darkness hides her red-tinged cheeks.

“You’ve always been special,” Lexa shrugs as she answers, avoiding eye contact with Clarke out of fear that she’ll fluster and stumble over her words. “You were my first friend in Kindergarten. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” replies Clarke, and when Lexa finally looks up, it is to find Clarke grinning fondly at the memory. “Murphy pushed you over and I kicked him in the balls.”

“My hero,” says Lexa, mockingly fluttering her lashes in Clarke’s direction.

“God, even back then you were an adorable nerd,” Clarke teases, taking a swig from the plastic cup in her hand.

“Wait, you think I’m adorable?”

“I don’t think I said that,” Clarke denies resolutely, though Lexa can see that she’s trying to fight a smile that gives away the truth.

“You definitely said that,” insists Lexa.

“I also called you a nerd,” Clarke reminds Lexa matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but that’s old news.”

They fall into silence, and as Clarke gently pushes herself back and forth on the swing with her feet against the lawn, all Lexa can see are flashes of memories from years past, of two small girls chasing each other around the nearby playground and seeing who can fly the highest on the swings before losing their nerve.

“I’ve missed this,” says Lexa, smiling to herself at the memory. “Missed us.”

“So have I,” agrees Clarke, scraping her feet against the grass to bring herself to a standstill. “We should do this more often. Hang out, I mean. If you’d like to.”

Lexa’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Yeah, I … I’d love to!”

Lexa can’t remember why she was ever so worried about coming to this party in the first place.

The thing about promises is that they are easy to make and even easier to break. So when Clarke and Lexa promise to spend more time together, to rekindle a friendship that has been not much more than a pile of ashes since middle school, it’s far too easy to just let things continue how they did before the party.

It’s not that Lexa doesn’t try. Because she does. She sends Clarke occasional messages, links to things she’s seen online that she’s found funny, photos of the mundane happenings in her day to day life, little anecdotes that she thinks Clarke might enjoy. And Clarke replies most of the time, but it’s very rarely more than a one word answer or a laughing face emoji. When it is something more, the conversation fades out within the two or three messages after that.

Lexa tries her best not to push Clarke, because as much as she wants Clarke’s friendship to be the same permanent fixture in her life that it used to be, she also knows that Clarke is having a difficult enough time right now without having to fend off the unwanted attention of a former best friend who has a massive fucking crush on her.

When three weeks have passed since the party, three weeks since they promised to spend a little bit of time together, three weeks in which virtually nothing has changed since before their conversation at the party, Lexa decides to attempt to initiate a face-to-face meeting.

Lexa Woods Do you want to hang out later? We could have a movie night? You wouldn’t even have to leave your bed!

She doesn’t have to wait long for Clarke’s reply.

Clarke Griffin Yeah, might be fun

Lexa Woods Cool! I’ll bring popcorn! What time do you want me to come over?

And that’s it. There isn’t a reply to that message. Lexa checks her phone over and over again, just in case she has accidentally missed the ping of her text tone, but there’s still nothing. She assumes that Clarke has fallen asleep, that her message goes unanswered for a completely legitimate reason, but Lexa soon starts to second guess herself and doubt begins to creep into her mind.

Maybe Clarke doesn’t want to hang out with her.

Maybe Lexa is being too pushy.

No, Lexa tells herself. Clarke likes you. Clarke wants to spend time with you. It’s not her that’s pushing you away, it’s the cancer.

With that in mind, Lexa slips into her shoes, grabs a jacket, and decides to head over to Clarke’s house.

When Lexa arrives at the Griffin house, she is nervous.

Nervous that Clarke won’t be in the mood for socialising and that she’ll be turned away at the door.

Nervous that she’s going to be invited inside and will have to somehow find a way to cope with spending two hours watching a movie with a girl that she’s basically in love with.

The fluttering of her heart is almost enough to make Lexa go home of her own accord before she can enter the house.

Lexa musters all of her courage and raises her hand, tapping on the front door sharply with her knuckles. While she waits for somebody to answer the door, Lexa’s heart pounds so hard that she can hear the blood rushing through her ears.

It feels like an eternity that Lexa is waiting on that doorstep, but the door finally swings open and Abby Griffin peers inquisitively at her.

“Hello, can I-?” Abby stops mid-question to peer closer, and recognition seeps across her face as she realises who is on her doorstep. “Lexa?”

“Mrs Griffin,” Lexa nods, smiling politely.

It’s been years since Lexa has been to the Griffin house, years since she’s seen Abby, and though things have changed – there are different cars on the drive, a new rug in the hallway just behind Abby, more gray in Abby’s hair and more crinkled lines around her eyes and mouth – Lexa feels like no time has passed, like she’s still a bright-eyed middle-schooler visiting for a slumber party with stolen candy and whispered secrets beneath the sheets long after the rest of the house has fallen silent.

“Please, call me Abby. And come in!” Abby steps aside, welcoming Lexa into her home and closing the front door behind her, before she continues, “It’s good to see you. It’s been far too long since we had you in this house.”

Lexa nods in agreement, and then asks, “Is Clarke around? We said we’d have a movie night.”

“I haven’t seen her for a while,” Abby answers with a frown, pausing to think before she speaks again. “She came down and made herself some toast just after two but it’s been quiet since then. She’s probably been sleeping.”

“Oh, okay,” says Lexa, trying to mask her disappointment.

“You can go up and see her if you like,” suggests Abby. Abby’s eyes widen as she has an idea, and she explains to Lexa, “I tell you what, I haven’t planned any dinner tonight so we could order pizza for your movie night. How does that sound? Why don’t you go and wake Clarke and ask her what she wants on her pizza? You remember where Clarke’s room is, don’t you?”

“That sounds great,” says Lexa, the anxiety from earlier starting to be replaced with comfort as Abby makes her feel welcome in the place that used to feel like a second home.

She can only hope that Clarke does the same.

Leaving Abby alone downstairs, Lexa ascends the staircase to the upper floor of the house and makes her way to the door that she knows leads to Clarke’s bedroom. And yet again, she hesitates outside the door as nerves begin to rise within her gut at what she might find inside.

After two deep breaths, Lexa knocks lightly on the door and then, when there is no response, she pushes it open and peers inside.

Clarke is asleep. That much is apparent straight away. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slightly agape, and she snores softly. One of her arms is flung casually above her head on the pillow, while Lexa can just see a few toes decorated with chipped red nail polish peeking out from beneath the covers at the foot of the bed.

The most glaringly obvious thing in the room, and Lexa tries her best not to stare at it for too long, is that Clarke has no hair.

Lexa always knew that Clarke was going to end up losing her hair at some point, but she immediately regrets not preparing herself for the sight. Clarke’s scalp is stubbly, like the hair has been shaven close to her scalp at some point in the last few weeks, but the little hair that remains is thin and wispy, like that of a newborn baby before their proper hair starts to grow in thick. It only adds to the childlike image that Lexa gets of Clarke, sprawled out on her bed like an infant taking a nap, and Lexa wants nothing more than to wrap Clarke up in bundles of blanket as she presses soft kisses to her forehead and whispers promises to keep her safe.

Grateful that Clarke is asleep and therefore unable to witness Lexa staring at her almost-hairless head, Lexa forcibly drags her eyes away from the sleeping girl and takes in the rest of the room. Though it’s still the same room that Lexa remembers from her childhood visits, it’s much different. The room feels smaller and less inviting, is Lexa’s first impression. It smells clinical in here, but that’s not it. Across the dresser, there are an assortment of medicines in bottles and boxes, labelled with names that are just as terrifying as they are long. Lexa had no idea that cancer treatment required so much medication.

A giant corkboard leans against Clarke’s closet door, upon which Lexa can see various information pamphlets from the hospital pinned up with brightly coloured pins. Most of the corkboard is dominated by a huge yearly wall planner, which Clarke has decorated with coloured stickers to denote which medicines she needs to take on which days, as well as written in all of her hospital appointments. At the bottom of the board, there’s a handwritten sign that says 12 days to next treatment, with a homemade flip chart to change the numbers as she counts down. Around the edge of the board, Clarke has pinned up a few inspirational quotes, and Lexa smiles to herself as she reads one in particular - scars are like tattoos but with cooler stories.

It’s all very strange to Lexa, seeing the evidence of Clarke’s cancer all over the same bedroom that she used to have playdates and slumber parties with Clarke in, but the reality of it sinks in a little more that it has before. Lexa feels a tinge of sadness at the realisation that this is what Clarke’s life has become now, but also a huge swell of admiration for how Clarke is refusing to let the cancer take her down without a fight.

When Lexa glances back at the girl still soundly asleep in the bed, she feels as though she’s looking at her in a different light.

“Clarke?” Lexa says in a hushed voice, crossing the room and sitting down gently on the edge of Clarke’s bed, trying not to cause the mattress to jolt suddenly under her weight as she takes a seat. Lexa is torn between wanting to wake Clarke up to spend time with her or leaving her to continue her peaceful slumber, but it is the selfish part of her brain that wins out in the end. “Clarke, it’s me. Lexa.”

Clarke stirs ever so slightly and Lexa reaches out with one hand to brush the back of her fingers against Clarke’s warm cheek, stroking the soft skin tenderly. Clarke leans into the touch, and her bleary eyes flicker open just a fraction.

“Your mom is going to order pizza for dinner,” explains Lexa. “Does that sound okay?”

Clarke lets out a little grunt that Lexa assumes is an affirmative, and so she continues her line of questioning.

“Great, what do you want on yours?”

“Cheese,” mumbles Clarke sleepily.

“Just cheese?” Lexa asks for clarification. “No other toppings?”

“No.”

Clarke rolls onto her side towards Lexa, tucking her legs up to her chest as she curls up and pulls the covers over her shoulder. Her eyes are closed once more, as if she never stirred at all.

“Do you want me to leave you to sleep?” asks Lexa, her voice just a whisper as she tries not to startle the sleepy girl beside her.

Clarke lets out a low hum that Lexa interprets as an affirmative, and Lexa slowly gets to her feet, careful not to disturb Clarke as she crosses the room and backs out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door with a soft click.

Once she is back downstairs, Lexa relays Clarke’s pizza order to Abby, as well as her own, then takes a seat on the couch in the Griffin’s living room.

“She’s fast asleep,” Lexa says, once Abby has phoned the pizza restaurant and placed their order. “It was almost like she was talking to me in her sleep.”

“She does that,” nods Abby. “Sometimes I can go into her room and have an entire conversation with her and she’ll have no recollection of it when we speak later in the day.”

“Wow,” gasps Lexa. “She must be really out of it. Does she spend a lot of time asleep, then?”

“You could say that,” Abby laughs softly under her breath. “Now, Clarke has always enjoyed her sleep. It’s difficult enough to get her out of bed in the morning at the best of times, but since she started the treatment, she spends most of the day in bed. She’ll surface a couple of times a day for a snack, but it’s rare to see her awake for more than a few hours at a time.”

“I…” Lexa starts, but then trails off, wondering if the way her thoughts are going aren’t appropriate for a conversation with the mother of a cancer patient. But Abby looks at her with warmth in her eyes and an encouraging smile on her face, and it makes Lexa feel a little like there isn’t a wrong thing that she can say, and so she continues, “This is probably going to sound really ignorant, but I’ve never known anybody with cancer before, and seeing somebody go through all of this is so different to how I imagined it to be. I don’t mean that to sound so…”

“No, Lexa, there’s no need to say sorry!” Abby is quick to shut Lexa down for she can start apologising. “I’m a doctor – I deal with people suffering from all sorts of things on a daily basis, and I even did a placement in an oncology ward when I was a student doctor – and there are things about Clarke’s treatment and the side effects that surprise me.”

Lexa smiles gratefully at Abby’s words, and then continues, “It’s just, media makes it seem like cancer is about your hair falling out and being connected to a machine by a tube.”

“And there is an element of that to it,” Abby interjects.

Nodding, Lexa adds, “But it seems like it’s so much more than that.”

“There is,” agrees Abby. “You also have to remember that not everybody experiences cancer in the same way, so the way that Clarke’s body responds to the chemicals fighting off the disease is not necessarily the same way that mine would, or yours.”

“Clarke is … I know it’s stupid for me to be saying this when it’s mostly my fault that we aren’t as close as we used to be.”

“Lexa,” says Abby, reaching across the space between them on the couch and resting a comforting hand on Lexa’s arm. “You and Clarke have been an important part of each other’s lives. It’s perfectly natural for you to be affected by what she’s going through.”

Lexa smiles gratefully, Abby’s words doing a little to quell the guilt that Lexa feels for finding it difficult to talk or even think about Clarke’s health.

“Clarke is special,” Lexa confesses to Abby. “Clarke has always been there for me. She’s been looking out for me since the day that we met, and it feels like it’s my turn to repay that favour, to look out for her.” Lexa pauses, before she admits, “And I’m worried about her. She doesn’t seem the same as she used to be.”

Lexa wonders for a moment if she has said the wrong thing, when Abby’s brows furrows and her eyes fill with sadness at the changes she’s seeing in her only daughter.

“She’s not,” agrees Abby. “And she may never be. But whatever she may seem like now, she’s going to be a much stronger person when it’s all over.”

Lexa is reminded of another one of the quotes she saw pinned to Clarke’s corkboard up in her bedroom - Cancer is always going to lose, because though it tries to make you weaker it only ends up making you stronger.

“To quote Kelly Clarkson; what doesn't kill you makes you stronger,” says Lexa, and Abby laughs softly at her words.

“Mom?”

They both startle at the sound of Clarke’s voice, having not heard her descend the stairs, and look up to find Clarke rubbing her tired eyes as she enters the room, wearing pyjama pants and an oversized hoodie.

“Who are you talking to? I thought Dad was away toni-” Clarke stops mid-sentence when she notices Lexa. “Lexa?”

Lexa gives a meek little wave. Clarke looks completely surprised to see Lexa in her living room, as if she doesn’t remember either inviting Lexa over or even the short conversation that they shared in her room earlier. Lexa remembers what Abby said about Clarke often having entire conversations that she’s too tired to remember later and realises that must be the case.

“Told you she wouldn’t remember,” Abby's says, quiet enough that only Lexa can hear her.

“I came up to your room earlier to ask you what you wanted on your pizza,” Lexa explains to Clarke, smiling kindly in an attempt to reassure Clarke that it’s completely fine if she doesn’t remember. “We had a conversation.”

“We did?”

“Pizza is on its way,” says Abby. “Probably about half an hour.”

“I don’t know if I’m hungry,” Clarke protest, her voice feeble. She drops into one of the armchairs and curls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to keep them close to her body as her head drops back against the cushion behind her.

“That’s fine,” Abby tells her. “But it’s there for you if you want it. Lexa says you two are having a movie night.”

“Oh shit, I totally forgot about that!” sighs Clarke, eyes widening as she remembers inviting Lexa over.

“Language, Clarke!” Abby scolds Clarke, though there isn’t actually any trace of anger in her voice.

“Sorry,” mumbles Clarke.

“I can go if you want me to,” says Lexa, trying to mask the disappointment as she makes to get up onto her feet.

“No!” says Clarke quickly, leaning forward in her seat slightly and letting her feet slide onto the floor as if preparing to chase Lexa if she tries to leave. “Stay! Please?”

Lexa drops back into her seat perhaps a little too eagerly, just pleased that she’s finally going to be able to make true of the promise they made at Octavia’s party and spend some time with Clarke. If her heart picks up its pace in her chest, then Lexa vehemently ignores it.

“Let’s use the den,” says Clarke. The Griffins have a room at the back of their house that they call the ‘den’, a small-ish room with a couch, a television, and several towering bookshelves along one wall, and Lexa remembers the room well from her childhood visits here, she remembers eating chips in front of cartoons, and making a fort to hide from the grown-ups. “My bedroom is too much like a prison.”

Lexa nods, her only concern being Clarke’s comfort at all times. If Clarke would rather host their movie night in the den, rather than the bedroom that has become almost like her own private hospital ward at home, then Lexa isn’t going to put forward any complaints.

“That sounds like a great idea,” says Abby. “Why don’t you girls go and set up in there? There’s some spare blankets and pillows up in the spare bedroom if you want to make it more comfy in there. I can bring the pizza to you when it arrives.”

“Thank you, Mrs Griffin,” says Lexa.

“It’s Abby,” replied Abby, a twinkle in her eyes, “and you know that, Lexa!”

They build what can only be described as a nest on the couch in the den, cocooning themselves in a warm bundle of blankets and cushions while they choose a movie from Netflix. When the pizza arrives, Abby brings it through to them and smiles at the sight of their heads peering out from under all the blankets.

The pizza box sits between them on the couch, resting on a small cushion, and they help themselves to cheesy slices while the movie plays in the background. Despite her earlier protests that she wouldn’t be hungry, Clarke’s stomach gives a traitorous growl when they lift the lid, and she manages almost two slices before she gives in and says that her appetite has gone.

Clarke falls asleep about halfway through the movie, and with her stomach full and the nest of blankets keeping her cosy, Lexa can feel her own eyes drooping with the onset of drowsiness not too long afterwards. She tries to fight it, to stay away and watch the movie, but her eyelids are heavy and she quickly succumbs.

When Clarke wakes up, she is uncomfortable.

Which is weird because she’s bundled up in blankets on the soft couch cushions in the den, with Lexa fast asleep against her side. She should be the epitome of comfort.

There’s an unsettled feeling in Clarke’s stomach, and it takes her a few sleepy moments to realise that she feels nauseous. The need to be sick is not an urgent one, but it is there, but as soon as she realises that she’s feeling queasy, it takes over her entire body and she can’t think of anything else.

Clarke tries to extract herself from the blankets without disturbing Lexa, but with the other girl asleep against her side, her head resting on Clarke’s shoulder, it’s a harder task that it seems. The blankets are tangled around their limbs and as she tries to remove herself from their warmth, Lexa stirs against her and her eyes blink open.

“Are you okay?” Lexa asks, her voice raspy in her newly awakened state.

“Just gonna go to the bathroom,” Clarke says, trying not to let her discomfort show. The last thing she wants is for Lexa to worry about her.

Lexa looks on in concern, but she nods silently and lets Clarke leave, helping to remove the blankets so that she can make her escape.

Clarke knows the drill by now. She reaches for a hair tie and pushes her hair back into a loose bun, then sits on the edge of the bathtub within reach of the toilet basin. She takes deep breaths, trying to stop the bile from rising in her throat, but by this point she knows it’s going to happen.

When she can’t fight it anymore, Clarke leans over the basin and retches, emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. When she doesn’t think she can be sick any longer, when there is nothing left to throw up, Clarke scrabbles with one hand for the flush, while the other reaches for a square of toilet paper to wipe the disgusting dribble from her chin and lips.

“Clarke?”

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Clarke glances up from where she is huddled on the bathroom floor to find Lexa leaning against the doorway with concern on her face. The very reason that Clarke rarely has friends over at her house is because she doesn’t want them to see her like this, but the illusion that she’s dealing with cancer with her dignity still in tact is lost the moment that Lexa lays eyes on the way that Clarke is clinging to the toilet seat with her own drool coating her lips.

“Go away, Lexa,”

“Can I do anything to help? Do you need anything? Water?”

Clarke is loathe to ask for help, but her throat burns and there’s an acidic taste in her mouth and water sounds like heaven.

“There’s a bottle of water that I left in the den,” Clarke reluctantly says to Lexa.

“I’ll go get it.”

Lexa hurries out of the bathroom obediently like a dog rushing to fetch a ball, and Clarke is only left alone for a moment because the commotion brings her mom along in Lexa’s absence. Abby enters the bathroom and takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Clarke’s back.

“Clarke, are you okay honey?” she asks.

Clarke glances up and puts on a forced smile, as she replies sarcastically, “Peachy.”

Lexa returns with the water bottle, filled with fresh water, and gives it to Clarke with a worried expression still on her face. Clarke accepts the bottle with a grateful nod of her head and takes a huge gulp, swilling the water around her mouth to wash away the taste of her own vomit, before she spits the water into the toilet basin and takes another sip to actually drink.

“Lexa, I don’t want you to see me like this,” says Clarke, now that her throat isn’t quite so dry and scratchy.

Though Lexa looks as though she wants to say something, she remains silent.

Pushing herself up into a standing position, it is Abby who comes up with a solution, leaving Clarke on the bathroom floor beside the toilet as she says to Lexa, “Lexa, how about I make up the spare room for you and you can sleep there tonight?”

Lexa keeps staring at Clarke with a frown on her face, eyes full of pity and something else, before she finally glances up at Abby and nods silently. Abby ushers Lexa out of the bathroom, leading her down the hallway, and it is only when Clarke has been left alone in the bathroom that she lets herself break down, tears cascading down her cheeks and her chest heaving with sobs as she collapses on the bathroom floor and just cries.

School starts up again at the end of the summer and so begins Lexa’s senior year.

Clarke doesn’t show up on the first day, nor on the second, and when she does finally show her face on the third day, she looks wearier than Lexa remembers, and her words are much more negative.

“I just don’t want to be here,” complains Clarke, when Lexa meets with her during morning break to give her a copy of Lexa’s notes from the two days she’s missed. “I don’t see the point.”

“Of course there’s a point!” Lexa tries to assure her. “This is senior year, your last year!”

“And what?” shrugs Clarke dejectedly, slumping against her locker. “I have to miss school for appointments but what about the days like yesterday where I physically couldn’t get out of bed? I’m tired all the fucking time!”

“I’m sure the teachers will be able to help you catch up on the work you’ve missed,” Lexa suggests.

“The teachers don’t give a shit,” replies Clarke. “I’m not in school enough for them to care. They’ve already written me off as a hopeless case. I’m just a kid they’ll talk about in a few years, like ‘remember when we taught that girl with cancer, such a sad story’. That’s all I am to them, a story.”

“Then I’ll help you!” promises Lexa. She hates seeing Clarke like this, hates how the cancer seems to have drained all of Clarke’s positivity. “I can come over to yours and help with the stuff that you miss and it’ll even help with my own revision.”

“I can’t ask you do so that.”

“I want to,” Lexa shrugs, her voice soft.

Clarke looks at Lexa in confusion, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown, like she’s trying to work out why Lexa hasn’t written her off in the same way that nearly every other person in the school has.

“But why? There’s no point. My life lost all its worth the moment they did the scan and found a tumour.”

Clarke chokes on her words towards the end, and Lexa catches her reaching up to rub at her eyes, as if wiping away tears. Within a few seconds, Clarke’s chest is heaving with sobs and her cheeks are damp.

“Come on,” says Lexa, putting an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and guiding her into the nearby girls’ bathroom.

There are two girls in there when they enter, standing at the mirrors touching up their eyeliner, but upon seeing Clarke in tears, they seem to sense the need for privacy and quickly gather their belongings, vacating the bathroom to leave Lexa and Clarke alone.

“It’s okay,” Lexa soothes Clarke. “Let it out.”

“Why me?” sobs Clarke. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing” says Lexa, as she pulls Clarke in for a hugs and wraps her arms around Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke’s own arms circle loosely around Lexa’s waist and her head falls on Lexa’s shoulder, her tears soaking the sleeve of Lexa’s t-shirt. “You did nothing. You don’t deserve any of this and it makes me so mad that it’s happening to you.”

“I had it all planned out,” says Clarke, another sob tearing through her body as she trembles in Lexa’s arms. “I was going to get a good GPA and go to med school and become a paediatrician but none of that is going to happen anymore.”

“It can still happen if you want it to,” Lexa tries to reassure Clarke.

Clarke pulls herself out of Lexa’s embrace and walks into one of the toilet stalls, emerging a few seconds later with some toilet paper scrunched up in her hand, which she uses to dab at her eyes and then blow her nose.

“That’s the other thing,” Clarke says to Lexa, tossing the used tissue in the nearby trash can. “I’m not sure I even want to be a doctor anymore. Why would I want to spend the rest of my life working in a place that reminds me of what I’m going through now?”

“Then that’s fine,” Lexa answers without hesitation. “There’s still so many other things you can so. You can still go to college without deciding what you want to major in yet, or you don’t have to go to college at all if you don’t want to.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow and she looks at Lexa with an expression on her face like she doesn’t understand why Lexa is so insistent that Clarke’s life isn’t as bad as she thinks it is.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” asks Lexa.

“Being so nice to me.”

Clarke still looks at Lexa with incredulity in her eyes, like the very idea of somebody showing her kindness is one that she can’t begin to fathom.

“Do you remember in Kindergarten when you helped me up after Murphy pushed me over and then kicked him in the balls?” asks Lexa, and Clarke’s glistening blue eyes soften with traces of amusement as she nods through her tears. “You’ve always had my back and now that things aren’t so great for you, I want to have yours.”

Lexa omits the part where she’s basically in love with Clarke and would do anything to ensure her happiness.

“I mean, Murphy hasn’t done anything but if you want to kick him in the balls anyway, it would really cheer me up.”

“Noted,” smiles Lexa.

Though her cheeks are blotchy and there are red rings around her eyes as evidence of her tears, Clarke is no longer crying and Lexa is grateful that she seems to have cheered up a little. She thinks that seeing Clarke like that, seeing the emotional impact that the cancer is having on her, is far worse than it is to see all of the physical changes on Clarke’s body. Even seeing Clarke hunched over a toilet bowl emptying her stomach that time Lexa went over for a movie night was more bearable than this, because at least Lexa knew that the nausea would pass. Seeing Clarke so upset and feeling like there is nothing she can do to help only leaves Lexa feeling completely helpless, and she wishes that there could be steps for her to take to ensure that Clarke doesn’t have to feel like her life isn’t worth anything now that she’s sick.

“Seriously, though,” Lexa tells Clarke, who has now turned to the sink and is splashing water over her face from the faucet. “I’m here for you. I know that things aren’t going your way at the moment, but I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone, because you’re not.”

Clarke’s eyes are still red and the skin around them puffy from her tears, but there’s something much deeper in them as she looks at Lexa, like maybe she might be finally starting to believe that what Lexa is saying is true.

Something changes in Clarke.

Lexa hardly notices it at first, because in many ways nothing changes at all. Clarke still misses a lot of school and when she does show up, she is still just as weary and down about her situation as she was at the start of the school year, keeping her head down on her desk for often entire lessons and secluding herself from most of her peers during break and lunchtimes.

But there’s definitely something different too. Something in the way that Clarke’s eyes seek out Lexa’s in the school canteen and her tense shoulders relax visibly as she comes to sit at Lexa’s table. Something in the way that Clarke will always choose to sit next to Lexa in the classes that they share, even if she ends up sleeping on her desk for the entire lesson. Something in the way that Clarke has started inviting Lexa over to hers after school every now and then so that Lexa can help her with the work she’s missed, even though their ‘study sessions’ usually end up with them binge-watching TV and reminiscing about memories from years past until their cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

Lexa likes it. Well, she doesn’t like that Clarke is still struggling, but she likes the way that even though Clarke is having a tough time, she’s giving Lexa the chance to try and make it a little less difficult.

Clarke has her last treatment in early-November and Lexa spends the entire day glued to her phone. Or at least as glued to her phone as she can be at school without the teachers noticing it and confiscating it from her. She checks it as often as she can, waiting for a message from Clarke to say that she’s out of the hospital so that she can congratulate Clarke on making it to the end of a gruelling six months of chemotherapy.

There isn’t a message, but when Lexa checks Facebook during her lunch break, there’s a post from Clarke at the top of her feed, dominated by a goofy selfie of Clarke at the hospital with a dumb filter that distorts her face and gives her a pair of animal ears.

Lexa taps the ‘like’ button instantly, then scrolls down to read the caption that Clarke has posted below.

Clarke Griffin 34 minutes ago Last ever chemo today! It’s been a difficult six months but I’m coming out the other side stronger and I couldn’t have done it without the most incredible support from the best friends and family I could ask for. Thank you to each and every one of you for sticking by my side during these tricky months. I love you all! All there’s left to do is to wait for the scan to confirm that the cancer is gone and then I can start growing my eyebrows back!

Lexa’s eyes prickle with tears and she wipes them away immediately, before anybody else can see her crying in the middle of the school canteen, but Lexa can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face with the growing pride that she feels for Clarke and the struggle that she has overcome as she types out a comment on Clarke’s post.

Lexa Woods So proud of you and the strength that you’ve shown! <3

It doesn’t come close to expressing what Lexa is really feeling, but when the notification pops up a few seconds later telling her that Clarke has replied with a heart emoji of her own, Lexa hopes that maybe it’s just about enough.

On the day that Clarke goes for her final scan and gets the all-clear from the doctors, who tell her that the chemotherapy has been successful and that she’s in complete remission, they go for milkshakes and donuts to celebrate.

“To you,” says Lexa, holding up her milkshake glass when the waitress brings them their drinks, and Clarke meets it with a soft clink of her own against Lexa’s, “for being the strongest and bravest person I know and kicking cancer’s butt.”

“To you,” adds Clarke, keeping her glass raised even after Lexa lowers her own, “for sticking by my side when so many others turned their backs.”

Lexa wraps her lips around the straw and sucks up some of her milkshake, sighing at how refreshing the drink is, before she puts the glass down on the table.

“Of course I stuck by you,” Lexa shrugs. “I just didn’t want you to feel alone.”

“I appreciate it,” smiles Clarke. “As long as we’re still going to be friends now that I’m healthy again?”

Clarke has genuine concern in her eyes, like she actually thinks that Lexa might stop being her friend now that she no longer has the excuse of wanting to help Clarke through her difficult times.

“Of course we are,” Lexa promises Clarke. “I’ll always be your friend, even when you have hair again!”

Clarke’s face cracks open into a grin and Lexa flushes with delight at having made Clarke smile, a sight that has been so rare over the last few months. It’s nice to see Clarke relaxed for once, instead of exhausted and void of hope, and Lexa can’t tell if Clarke is actually more radiant than before or if it’s just Lexa imagining things. Either way, Clarke looks beautiful as she sips on her milkshake, even more so when she smiles, and Lexa is reminded of all the un-friendlike feelings she has for Clarke as her heart stirs in her chest and makes its presence known by thumping rhythmically against her ribcage.

To distract herself from her racing heart, and to stop herself from doing anything stupid like telling Clarke that she looks beautiful and accidentally confessing her love, Lexa gestures to the box of donuts on the table between them and asks, “Powdered sugar or chocolate sprinkles?”

“Like you even have to ask,” grins Clarke, reaching for the donut decorated with chocolate icing and multi-coloured sprinkles.

The cancer might have gone, but Clarke’s social anxiety definitely has not, and the nerves that she feels upon entering the party that Octavia is throwing at her house for half their year is almost overwhelming. Her hair, barely starting to grow back and still a closely shaven fuzz on her head, is hidden beneath a comfortable gray beanie, and even though it has been months since she had long hair, Clarke still feels self-conscious about her current look.

The other partygoers greet her as if nothing has changed, as if she hasn’t spent months going in and out of hospital appointments and barely showing up to school. There’s the people who have always been her friends, even through it all - Raven wraps Clarke in a tipsy hug when she first sees her, Jasper greets Clarke with a fist bump and offers to pour her a drink from a suspicious-looking homemade concoction stored in an old plastic water bottle, Octavia drags Clarke straight into the middle of a makeshift dance floor in the living room and starts grinding up against her instead of Lincoln - but there’s others, people who have barely acknowledged Clarke during the last six months, who greet her and smile as she passes as if she has never had cancer at all.

It’s weird and Clarke doesn’t like it.

When Clarke has finally managed to escape from Octavia’s inappropriate dancing, using an excuse of needing to go somewhere a little cooler, Clarke makes her way to the slightly quieter kitchen and pours herself a drink.

“So the cancer is gone, huh?”

Clarke glances up, bottle of soda in one hand and a red plastic cup in the other, to find Finn smirking across at her. Finn, who was definitely flirting with her before the diagnosis, but who hasn’t even looked her way since, let alone spoken to her.

“Well,” says Clarke, trying not to let her disinterest in conversing with Finn creep into her voice. “I’m in complete remission, so…”

“So you’re basically cured.”

Clarke knows that she used to be attracted to Finn, though in this moment she can’t possibly remember why. Perhaps the chemotherapy has killed all traces of the former attraction along with the cancer.

“Finn, it…”

“When is your hair going to grow back?” asks Finn.

He must think that he’s flirting, because he wears a smirk on his face and leans closer to Clarke. Clarke decides that they must be living in alternate universes, because Finn clearly thinks that his advances are wanted, while Clarke is struggling to think of anywhere she would rather be less than here with Finn.

Except for perhaps the oncology ward with a tube pumping chemicals into the port on her chest, but it’s an incredibly close call.

“What if I like it short?” Clarke replies haughtily, folding her arms indignantly across her chest.

Still undeterred, Finn says, “I think you look really pretty with long hair. You know, how it was before.”

“Well, if you like it short then I guess I have to grow back.”

Finn completely misses the sarcasm in her voice because instead of getting the idea that Clarke doesn’t care about what he has to say and backing off, he instead leans yet closer and says, “How about we go and talk somewhere a little more private?”

It takes all of Clarke’s self-restraint to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“And by ‘talk’, you mean hook-up?” she asks him, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Well, I guess. If you like.”

Clarke loses it.

“No, Finn,” she snaps, spitting his name out like it’s a nasty taste on her tongue that she can’t wait to be rid of, “I don’t like. I don’t like the way that you think you can ignore me for six months and then as soon as I finish my treatment, you decide that it’s okay to start flirting with me again because you no longer have to deal with a girl who has cancer.”

“Clarke,” whines Finn, “I only meant that…”

“Well, guess what, Finn?” continues Clarke, barely allowing herself time to take a breath before she launches off again, not giving Finn the chance to try to wriggle his way out of this one. “I’m always going to be the girl who had cancer! You don’t go through something like this and just forget about it. This experience has changed me and I’m not the same girl who had a crush on you last summer. And if you didn’t want to be around for that change then that’s on you.”

“Clarke…” protests Finn.

“Finn, I don’t care,” Clarke tells him bluntly. “If you didn’t want to be my friend when I had cancer, then you don’t get to be my friend now that I don’t.”

Clarke is pretty proud of herself for that one, but she becomes aware that her rant at Finn has drawn a little bit of attention from the handful of other people in the kitchen. They watch her with mild fear on their faces, as if worried that she’s going to turn on them next and give them the same kind of treatment that she’s given Finn.

But Clarke is done ranting, and from the way that Finn is finally silent, Clarke thinks that maybe she might have got through to him.

Clarke decides that she has to make a quick exit to escape the judgement of the other people in the kitchen, but when she looks up at the door out of the kitchen, she notices that Lexa is standing there watching her, and Clarke realises that she must have seen the entire exchange with Finn.

With her conversation with Finn fresh in her mind, Clarke realises that Lexa is the only person outside of her tight-knit friendship group who has even looked Clarke’s way during the last few months, let alone tried to support her through the biggest challenge of her entire life, and the realisation has everything clicking into place.

Clarke pushes past Finn and walks towards Lexa, grabbing Lexa’s hand with her own on her way out of the kitchen and pulling Lexa with her.

“Come on, Lexa. We need to talk.”

We need to talk.

Put together in that order, they are probably four of the most ominous-sounding words in the English language, but Lexa has no time to process what they might mean or what Clarke wants to talk about. Clarke’s hand grips her own and Lexa is being dragged down the hallway of Octavia’s house, past a few other kids in their year, until Clarke opens up the front door and leads Lexa outside into the chilly December air.

“Clarke, what…?”

Clarke kisses her. Like actually kisses her, lips gently moving against Lexa’s while one of her hands comes up to tangle itself in Lexa’s hair.

It’s not at all what Lexa imagined their first kiss to be like - and Lexa has probably imagined and re-imagined a thousand different scenarios in which she and Clarke share a first kiss. Lexa has pictured it being tentative and clumsy, she’s pictured it being fiery and fuelled by lust, she’s pictured it taking place right after Lexa has delivered a smooth line to knock Clarke off her feet, and she’s pictured it happening in the darkness of her own bedroom late at night during a slumber party. In fact, had you asked Lexa just thirty seconds ago, she probably would have said that there is not a single version of their first kiss that she hasn’t already imagined.

But she never once imagined it to be like this, never thought that it would happen on Octavia Blake’s front step while a party rages on behind the closed front door, never expected that Clarke’s lips would be so soft or that her hand would caress Lexa’s scalp in the way that it does, never once predicted that Clarke kissing her would make Lexa’s heart beat in her chest like it’s having its very own high school house party in her chest.

Lexa tries to be as present as she can be, a task which is a lot harder than it seems when her entire body feels like it’s floating off the ground and soaring into space. She tries to kiss Clarke back, and she lifts her own hand to cup Clarke’s jaw, where her fingertips dip just beneath the soft material of the beanie that Clarke wears and her thumb traces patterns along the bone of Clarke’s gaunt cheek.

The kiss is a bit of a surprise - as far as Lexa is aware, her feelings for Clarke have been entirely one-sided until now - and Lexa can’t help but wonder what has changed in Clarke’s mind to bring them to this point. When Clarke draws back from the kiss to change the angle, Lexa pulls back from the kiss, though she keeps her hands on Clarke to hold her close, trying to let Clarke know that this is just a temporary pause, not a permanent halt on their kissing.

“Clarke, what…?

“Finn was hitting on me and it made me realise that there’s only one person I want to be doing that,” explains Clarke. When Lexa stares at her dumbfoundedly for a few seconds, not quite believing what she’s hearing, Clarke elaborates by saying, “You.”

Lexa’s jaw drops open like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing, even though she already has the physical evidence that Clarke wants her from the way that her lips are still tingling from the recent pressure of Clarke’s mouth sliding against her own.

“Listen, this isn’t going to be easy,” says Clarke, dropping the hand that is buried in Lexa’s hair so that it’s draped around her neck and bringing the other one up to match it. “I still have to go to the hospital for tests every few months and there’s always a chance that the cancer could come back. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but mentally I’m a bit of a fuck up right now.”

“Clarke…” protests Lexa, shaking her head.

“What?” shrugs Clarke. “It’s true! I’ve still got a difficult journey ahead of me but I want to make that journey with you. I want you to still be by my side, because I can deal with the cancer - not very well, I admit - but I can deal with it. I don’t think I could handle not having you in my life.”

There’s a question in Clarke’s eyes, as if she’s waiting for Lexa to promise that she’s never going to leave. Lexa can’t find the words to do justice to the way that she’s feeling, so she decides to do it with actions instead. Her hands tighten on Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer as she leans down for a second kiss that feels like Lexa is arriving home.

“Just to be clear,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s lips, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Clarke lets out a little noise, something that Lexa decides must be the audible version of an eye roll, before she answers, “Yes, idiot. Be my girlfriend?”

Lexa doesn’t know how she manages to keep kissing Clarke when her mouth is threatening to crack into a huge grin, but she manages it, only pulling back for long enough to say, “Yes.”

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #fanfiction

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love-reinette · 4 years

Text

One Year Later

august 1946. nagasaki, japan.

Ft, Payne Zile Queen

How am I supposed to live without you?

A lone figure stood in black, a bouquet of black roses in her arms. The wind brushed her hair in a gentle caress as she stood with her eyes closed. One year ago...her life had forever changed. She had never forgotten the solemn look on the two soldiers’ faces as they stood on her doorstep giving her the news. She had been cleaning the house, getting it ready for his arrival home. Clarisse was more than ready for the future. She and Payne had plans. They were going to go away together, that was for one thing. They each had healing to do. She was just beginning to feel better. As long as she didn’t go near the nursery door, which he had padlocked shut. It was something they were aiming to clean together. He also hadn’t wanted her to go in alone. That was her love. Payne Queen had loved her since she was 21 and she had loved him too. He was considerate of her in every way. Instead, his trunk sat in their living room. It was all she would get back. Letters filled with condolences, medals, all the things befitting his rank. Everything except him. She couldn’t even bury him. There was nothing left of him. Instead, there was a memorial plaque in the garden of her French chateau. It read his name and a quote from Beethoven, whom they both had admired. ‘Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.’ Pushing the thoughts from her still fragile mind, the vampire sighed deeply, walking through the barren landscape. Fog surrounded her, a gift, she supposed, along with the overcast sky. Perfect conditions for her to walk in the daylight hours. She raised her hand to the necklace she wore, a locket with his picture and a lock of his dark hair, and gave it a gentle caress. It had been with her all through her imprisonment during the war. She had managed to keep it and now, it was especially precious to her. Had it been a year already? A year prior, the United States had dropped two atomic bombs on Japan; one in Nagasaki and one in Hiroshima. The impact was still felt even now. People bore the scars both physically and emotionally. The war had ended shortly after, with the Japanese surrendering. No one dared to continue a war where such weapons could be used again. That they existed was horrifying to accept. No sort of weapon that could cause that much damage should be in the hands of humans. Still. Peace reigned. For now. Yet, for Clarisse, who had been working through her own traumas, this latest blow--the loss of her lover, it was nearly too much. She had spent a few months in a hospital, trying to make sense of things. But the stress, the trauma, the grief, all of it--it was too much. She had gone months without feeding, considering death an all too welcome choice. What was life if all she was going to feel was pain? She hadn’t a taste for it. Her friends had seemingly abandoned her--not a single one came to see her. None sympathized, nor expressed condolences. Whether they’d abandoned her or had too much in their own lives going on, Clarisse could not say, but it made her bitter. She who would have dropped everything if they needed her, was very much alone. It was this bitterness that had taken hold of her heart and her mind, and she had left the hospital as abruptly as she had arrived. Death came in the form of a mourning vampiress, one who did not care how many people she had to kill, but if it quelled her agony, she would do it. She had returned to Germany and weeded out the SS and Nazis, ripping them apart and leaving grotesque displays for all to see. The more they had begged her to stop, the more vicious she became. No one had stopped when she asked them to. Had they stopped when they'd tormented those in their camps? Yet one afternoon, she had heard his voice. “Risse...this isn’t you…” She had tried to dismiss it as her mind playing tricks, but she could feel his presence. He was surrounding her. If she closed her eyes, she would have sworn that she could smell his cologne and feel his hands resting on her hips. Clarisse kept her eyes closed. If they were closed, he was here. It was the first moment of peace she'd felt in months. “Payne…my love...” she uttered softly, tears rolling down her cheeks as she felt his lips press to her forehead and felt his sadness wash over her. She was disappointing him. That was more than she could bear. What good did this savagery do? It had brought her nothing but more pain. It had caused others pain, and it made her as bad as those she hated. And from that moment, she had resigned herself to honoring Payne’s memory. That was what had brought her here to this sacred place. And it was, indeed, sacred. So many thousands had died here. Lost their lives. Clarisse dearly hoped that someday, they would mark this place, as they planned to in Hiroshima, as a memorial. Though his name would not ever be listed amongst them, she wanted this to be somewhere she could visit and mourn with others. They too had the right to stand here and try to make peace with everything. However, the vampire was not inclined as to how to convinced the government to build a memorial. As she stood there, where the bomb had fallen one year prior, Clarisse let the energy fill her. It was, unsurprisingly, sad. Kneeling, she set the bouquet on the dirt and rested her hands on the ground, as if that would implore the earth to give up her lover. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the gravel. “My love, can you hear me?” she whispered. Her hands grasped at the earth, nails dug into it, and she wept, her entire body quivering as she openly sobbed, watering the ground with her tears. “I”m here. I came here for you. I came to bear witness.” She had wanted to come in the days just after the bombings but had been told it was far too dangerous for her to do so. The radiation and the fires--not to mention, she likely wouldn’t have been welcomed. The Japanese would view her as an outsider and it was better that she wait. Clarisse had finally given in and agreed to wait. Now, she was here. The silence was deafening. It was strange to be in a place where she didn’t need to block the thoughts and voices of others. It was simply that barren of life here. Her chest hurt as she took a deep breath. Had he been scared? Did he know it was coming? Had he sensed that there was something massive coming? Selfishly, she wondered if he'd thought of her before the bomb had landed, and cleared everything out for miles around. At least here, it hadn’t been as built up as Hiroshima, but still...equally as devastating. She had listened to accounts of it on the radio, read about it in papers, and magazines. She’d listened to people speaking of it. People were vaporized. Here one moment, gone the next. She hated to imagine that was what had happened to Payne, but as there was nothing left...she choked back another sob as the visual came to her mind and she clutched at the ground anew. “I miss you. I don’t know how to go through this without you. You’ve been a presence in my life since I was young. You’ve guided me. Loved me. Taught me. Protected me. What is my life now? I’m a broken thing, Payne, I swear sometimes you're here...I can hear you. I can feel you. But when I wake, it's simply darkness there,” she uttered. “Now I have to try and figure it all out. I don’t know who I am without you. I don’t know where I belong anymore. I called upon your mother and your father, I begged them to hear me...to give you back, but there was nothing. No one. I called to God and I pleaded with Him, and there was nothing. I have asked for help. I’ve begged for mercy. I have done everything I could possibly do...I call out to you and there’s silence. My biggest fear was to be alone...and here I am,” she whispered. “Alone.” Standing up slowly, she began to scatter the flowers, watching as the wind blew some away. “I am sorry to all who died here,” she apologised as if she had anything to do with the bombings. “I never would have wanted such a violent end, even for those who are my enemy. How many of you were just trying to live your everyday lives? How many of you were just here to help others? Every life here had meaning; had a purpose. And in the blink of an eye...” She shuddered, remembering images of the mushroom clouds. How many of those who had died were elderly? Young? Newly married? How many children died? There were so many questions and not enough answers. She shivered as cold air encircled her and she wrapped her arms around her frame. Once more, she felt his presence and as she closed her eyes again, she reached a hand out. Perhaps he could pull her through to wherever he was. Bring her from this place and into the next life--if there was one. She didn't know what to make of it all. Was it madness that had brought her here? Was she crazy, thinking he could take her from this place? She knew her mind was playing tricks and as she opened her eyes, she could make out a figure in the fog. She gasped softly, feeling a gentle sensation through her arm as if someone were brushing their finger along the length. She made a promise there, that every year, she would return. She would mourn the dead and mourn her husband. Though not legally married, they may as well have been. They called her his widow, why shouldn't she allow herself to accept the position--as unwanted as it was. The ambient surroundings seemingly came alive as bells began to ring in the distance and there was some singing. She didn't understand it but knew that they too were mourning the dead. It was time for her to go. The damp air was making her shiver and she was dirty. Not to mention, it wasn't bringing him back to her. Not that she really thought it would. Once she made her way back to her car, the driver drove her back to her hotel in silence. There was nothing that really needed to be said. Clarisse sighed softly as she stepped back into the plush building. Pausing as she passed by the grand ballroom. Within, someone was at the piano and they were playing 'Moonlight Sonata.' It took all of her will to make it to her room before sinking down onto her bed, weeping anew. Of all the songs....it could only validate that perhaps, even though he wasn't physically here, Payne was still with her. Reminding her, gently, to live. That she would endure, he would always be present in some way. And yet...it only hurt her more because she missed him so terribly. Demons were not all evil. Her beloved was not--and wherever he was, he had her heart and she had his. She knew that. He'd told her so countless times and if she hadn't, she doubted that he'd have come searching for her in the middle of enemy territory during a world war. Payne Zile Queen had left far too soon. But perhaps...he would live on. Through her.

#[ my writing ]#[ drabbles ]#[ duqueen ]

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givemeakisspookie-blog · 6 years

Text

Miss Atomic Bomb. (Aaron Tveit Fanfiction)

Chapter Five.

Eleven pm and Marie Anne was already at home. That was definitely not the idea for that night.

Dinner was amazing. It was perfect. Aaron was the most charming man she ever met and not even mentioning how handsome he was. A true gentleman that took her to a beautiful restaurant in Manhattan. They were getting along perfectly and Marie Anne couldn’t be happier. After dinner they decided to take a little walk to get to a wine bar that was a couple blocks away. It was just a silly excuse to keep talking because they were having fun. It was all perfect until her phone ringed.

She couldn’t believe she was that unfortunate. Actually, she did. The girl never had the chance to have end a date without any struggle. She didn’t have so many dates, actually, but the ones she had, were always threw down the drain. She wasn’t a very lucky girl in the love subject.

This time it was her brothers’ fault. They left to go to Adam’s, their neighbor who was the same age as them and with who they used to play video games. The problem was that when they left their apartment, the two boys screw it activating in the wrong way, the alarm of their place.

That’s why Marie Anne -and the cops- had to run to her place after the emergency call. She could imagine all the things that could have happened to her brothers, her mother, her stuff. She was scared to death when she arrived. Her fear turned into anger when she found out what really happened.

It was a miracle that she didn’t killed Allan and Parker, and another one was that they didn’t call her mother, who still was at their grandma’s house. Marie Anne was practically the responsible of the house so they called her. Then she had to leave Aaron, who offered go with her to check everything was fine. She thanked him for the offer but said she was going to be fine alone. The one thing she asked Aaron was if she could call him the next day. She was terrified that he’ll say no because he didn’t wanted to see her again after leaving him, but with a smile on his face he told her to text him the second the girl knew everything was fine with her family and home.

So she did. She arrived, and after yelling at her brothers and make herself a big cup of coffee, she texted him.

“Hey, there… Everything is fine, my silly brothers configured bad the alarm and was all a big mistake. We’re all good. Thanks for understanding, and I’m so sorry again.”

Marie Anne went to her bedroom and changed her clothes for a more comfortable outfit. Her brothers didn’t even wanted to show up after the huge mistake they made. She was mad at herself and mad at the whole world. For the first time in years she was having a really good date with an amazing man and it jgot ruined for a stupid thing. Of course it had to happen to her. She laid down on her bed and closed her eyes, waiting for a text from him to say he wasn’t mad for what happened. She got the message she’d been waiting a few minutes after that.

“Hey! I’m glad you’re okay, I got scared! And you don’t have to worry, is not your fault. I would’ve like the date ended different tho.”

“You’ll pay me back for not picking me up and I’ll pay you for going home so early?”

“We have a deal. By the way, I had a great time with you tonight.”

“Me too. Never thought an actor could be so funny, you know?”

“Thanks, I guess. I never thought a coder could be as funny as you are, either.”

“Nobody gets our jokes but we are funny, I promise. By the way, thanks for not getting mad about tonight. I thought you weren’t going to answer my text and I was about to kill my brothers.”

“They didn’t mean to do it. Was an accident, it’s okay. Don’t be so hard with them.”

“Too late…”

“Did you kill them already? Do I have to take care of two young male bodies? Just tell me ‘cause I have enough place for one in my fridge, but that’s all I can offer you.”

“No, I just yelled at them. Enough to scare them. They didn’t even knock at my door yet. But thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know if I need it after all.”

“Good. Anyways, they’re just kids, Woody. We’ve all been after all.”

“You called me Woody??”

“Oops?”

“It’s because my last name is Woods??”

“Maybe?”

“I love it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You can call me Woody if you want.”

“Well, I like to call you Woody, so now you are Woody.”

Marie Anne smile couldn’t be bigger in that moment. She almost forgot why she was mad at her brothers. In that exact moment someone knocked at the door.

“Mar?” Allan’s voice was heard softly from the other side of the door.

“Mh?” Marie Anne asked absolutely distracted and she practically couldn’t even listen what her brother was saying because her mind was already in other place.

“Sis? We are sorry. It wasn’t our intention. We didn’t wanted to ruin things between you and Aaron.” Allan spoke again a little louder so she could really hear.

Marie Anne got up from bed and opened the door. When she saw the boys they really looked worried. “Things are okay with Aaron. You didn’t ruin it, don’t worry.”

“Can you forgive us?” Parker asked, looking at the floor and as worried as his twin. “And I don’t want you to get mad, okay? But… We’re going to watch Grease Live… And… Al…?” Parker touched his brother with his shoulder to make him talk because he wasn’t that good with the apologize issue as Allan.

“You’d like to come with us?” Allan said that really quickly and internally prayed for her sister not to set them on fire.

“Give me a sec and we’ll talk in the living room, okay?” she asked in the best possible tone so they wouldn’t think she was going to yell at them again.

“Sure…” Parker shortly answered and the boys went to the living room. Marie went back to grab her phone from the bed. She almost ignored his last text and wrote a new one.

“My brothers want me to watch Grease with them.”

“Well, Travolta is awesome.”

“I’m not talking about that Grease…”

“Oh man. Well, is such a great show, y'know? Might wanna check it out. Just ignore the shorts, please.”

“You won’t get mad if I watch it?”

“Why would I? Is my job, and I’m proud of it. And Grease was a great show so I’d like you to check it.”

“Okay, I’m watching it. Should I make you some comments meanwhile??”

“If you want. Would be a little bit embarrassing tho, but sure.”

“I won’t do it unless it’s extremely necessary, I promise you. How is Miles, btw?”

Meanwhile, Marie Anne got up from her bed with the phone in her hand and walked to the living room where her brothers were waiting for her.

“And?” Allan asked expecting a positive answered from her sister.

“I asked and he’s okay.” she affirmed, sitting on the couch in the middle of them.

“And he said yes, as I can see…” Parker smiled, turning on the TV. He had a plate with cookies in the coffee table, with three coffees, obviously trying to make her forgive them.

“That coffee is for me, uh??” she asked smiling a little bit.

“We thought you’d like to…” Allan took the cup and gave it to her.

“After tonight I need it.” she grabbed the cup and took a sip. “We didn’t get to kiss. I had to run over here.”

“Oh my God no…” Parker covered his face with his hand and Allan covered his mouth.

“Goddamned, Mar. We’re so so sorry! Shit.” Allan cursed and took a sip of his coffee.

“It’s okay. He’s not mad and keeps talking to me, so it’s not the end of it. I don’t know when we are going to see each other again but… It’s okay.” she added as she grabbed a cookie and ate the whole thing at once. Then she got another text.

“Miles is fine. He says hi and that he wants to meet you some day.”

“I will love to! When he’s not in the doggy daycare we can go out and have a play date.”

“He says he already likes you and that he’s looking forward to see you. Oh no wait, that’s me!”

“You are making me blush in front of my brothers and it’s weird when I’m seeing you in my TV. Nice hair, by the way.”

Marie Anne couldn’t help but laugh alone, making her brothers look at her.

“What did he said?” Parker pocked her in the ribs while looking at the TV and eating a cookie.

“We are talking about Miles and he said he wants to see me again.” she casually said with a big smile on her face.

“Miles’ his second name?” Parker giggled.

“How many liters of hairspray did they use to that?” Allan was looking at the TV, with his eyes opened.

“Miles is his dog. He has chocolate labradoodle. Aaron showed me some pics and he’s the most adorable thing ever. And I can ask him how many liters they use.”

“Can you?” Allan asked all happy for being able to ask all the stupid things he wanted. Marie Anne nodded. She couldn’t stop watching the TV and how handsome he looked.

“Thanks, I guess. It was too big. And also it was a little hard to unmake such a mess.”

“I can imagine. Allan wants to know how much hairspray or whatever it was they used to do your hair. Because of you now my brothers are fanboys.”

“Well, quite a lot! I can’t remember well, but about four cans.”

“Can I say your hair it’s pretty amazing?”

“Thank you so much! It has its personality”

“So now I’m talking with you or with your hair’s personality?”

“With me, Woody.”

“You need to be more specific…”

“I am talking with you, me with my whole body.”

“I was going to make such a bad joke watching this thing…”

“Which joke? Shoot, I can handle it.”

“No. Not happening. Maybe next week but not now. I met you not even a week ago, Aaron. It’s bad. Bad bad. Forget it.”

“And? Is just a joke, isn’t it?”

“I was going to say if I could talk with your arms instead than with your hair.”

“Next time we see each other I promise you can talk with the part of my body you choose.”

“You are seriously making me blush in front of the kids. What should I say if they ask what are we talking about?”

“About the next date…?”

“You mean my play date with Miles on the park or another one?”

“No, that’s a date you have with him. I’m saying the next one with me.”

“Oh, we have one? When?”

“When do you have time?”

“I should ask that to you. You are the one with the crazy life, not me.”

“Tuesday night. My place, I cook.”

“You know how to cook?”

“Oh yeah, and I like to do it. Actually, I’m allergic to some stuff and so I gotta cook myself.”

“That Tuesday night I’ll need a list of things you are allergic so I don’t use them. Next time I cook.”

“We’ve got a deal. What do you want for dinner?”

“Surprise me?”

“Sure thing, sweetie.”

“I wasn’t planning to say anything, but now I get why you said that about the shorts, sweetie.”

“Really?? Is pretty bad, isn’t it??”

“Bad as Greased Lightning. Awful. You can’t dance even if your life was depending on it. And I won’t talk about your voice. God help us. Disgusting.”

“Oh, I knew it! Those shorts ruined my life!”

“I think you are the only one who ever said that about those shorts. Ten bucks that every single girl who saw this doesn’t think the same. Also, Parker is really thinking about quieting journalism to do what you do if with that he gets to dance with pretty girls.”

“Really? He likes acting?”

“He does it all the time. ALL the time. But actually he just wants to use it to get a girlfriend.”. Before he could text her an answer, Marie Anne was writing again. “Holy shit.”

“What?!”

“Hold on a sec.”

“Okay…”

“Aaron, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing after 3pm. Why?”

“Because I need to kiss you.”

“Wanna meet now?”

“Where?”

“Starbucks? There’s one near from your place?”

“Not at this hour. Besides you said you don’t like Starbucks. There’s a coffee shop open till 4 if you want. I’ll say a bar but I’m really not in the mood for bars.”

“Text me the address”

“90 S.40th street. There in twenty?”

“Give me ten.”

“Maybe it’ll take me fifteen. Wait for me, yes?”

Meanwhile she left the couch and run into her bedroom. Marie Anne didn’t even think in the clothes she was grabbing but she changed her pajamas, leaving her brothers asking where she was going and what she was doing.

“Of course, I’ll be there.”

After that she left home. Told the twins don’t stay up waiting for her, make up some lie to their mom, and especially don’t fuck up. Then she went to grab a taxi. Marie Ann was so excited to see him that she could arrive there running. She was moving her leg inside the car, looking through the window, and hoping to arrive there the next second.

Twelve minutes later she was there. She paid to the driver and got out of the car, doing everything as fast as she could.

She looked for the coffee shop with her eyes while was almost running through the street. She was trying to see Aaron and when finally she got inside she saw him, sitting in a table by the window. He was already with two coffees in front of him in the table. The dress pant, shoes and shirt where replaced with a hoodie, a jean and some sneakers and he was handsome anyway. Marie Anne knew he was going to like him no matter what he had.

“Hey…” he smiled and got up to receive her. She didn’t answer.

She’d been waiting for that moment since the day by the river, so she didn’t have time to answer or to lose when she stepped forward, being now in front of him, just a few inches from his face. Aaron stayed silent the second it took her to grab his neck, getting closer and kissing him. She stayed a few seconds with her lips touching his, petting slowly his neck, when he hugged her tight to him. Marie Anne got her lips apart from him and stayed with her eyes closed right in her spot, so did he.

After that first kiss, Aaron got encouraged and kissed her back. Their lips played with each other and she grabbed his neck, making him got closer to her. She couldn’t believe what was happening in that moment, and every moment they were kissing, she wanted to do it more. They got apart a little bit just to take a breath, and both of them found themselves smiling, and even laughing a little bit. That little thing made Marie Anne turn mad for him, and came back to his lips, slipping her fingers in his hair, and letting her hands take what it wanted. Aaron was petting her back and let himself go with the woman he had in front of him.

When he saw her getting into the shop, he just thought she’d sit down, take the coffee, talk a little bit, and then find an excuse to kiss him. Maybe he’d to find an excuse to kiss her. She definitely surprised him and he was completely happy about it.

Aaron kissed her with all his strengths and his mind blew up when her tongue started to play with his. He grabbed her by her neck, and petted her softly while Marie Anne was holding him tight. She was an atomic bomb. They stood like that for some short minutes. There were a few people in the place, but they couldn’t care less about the whole world. When they got apart again Marie Anne was the first talking.

“You said I could talk with the part of your body I wanted. I’m changing your arms for your lips…” she murmured against his mouth and gave him a small and soft but long peak.

“Deal” he smiled, staring at her and not moving for a while. He looked like if he was seeing the most beautiful thing in the whole world.

“I… I saw you dancing and smiling and… I don’t know. I wanted to kiss you so bad yesterday and tonight, and then I saw you there…” she tried to explain but everything about him was distracting her. His eyes, his arms holding her body against his, his lips almost touching hers, the way he smelt, the way he was looking at her. It was everything too good and distracting.

“I was dying to kiss you, so it was very helpful.” Aaron confessed and couldn’t contain a smile, and kissed her again for a few seconds without letting her go, and staying the closest he could from her.

“Hi again, by the way.” the girl smiled. When she realized what happened her cheeks started to turn red. She was kissing that beautiful man in the middle of coffee shop past midnight. Life couldn’t be crazier and she couldn’t be luckier.

“Hi, Woody.” he smiled back and kissed her cheek. “Wanna sit? The coffee might be cold by now…” he got apart from her and went to sit to the place he was before. “Come here” he grabbed her hand and made her sit beside him, in the padded seat beside the window, where he was waiting for her with a shining smile on his face.

Once they occupied the seat Marie Anne didn’t let his hand go. It was comfortable to be there with Aaron, even if the situation was a little weird. She liked him so much that she felt like it was afternoon instead of midnight. Marie Anne was just happy to be there. “Sorry I don’t look as nice as on our dinner…”

“You look beautiful. You don’t need to put on an amazing dress like you did tonight to make me like you.” he looked at her eyes and stayed close to her. Her butterflies came back to her stomach and they were more and stronger.

“In that case I’ll say you don’t need dress pants and shirts to make me like you. You look wonderful with it, but I like the way you look like this.” she kissed slowly the corner of his mouth and his scruffy cheeks.

“And I like the way you look like this.” he whispered and kissed her softly.

They looked like two teenagers in love who couldn’t stop kissing and holding hands for one second. Marie Anne was really having the time of her life, and felt happy as she never did before with a guy.

She knew then, she was getting into something special. In fact, it was almost two in the morning, they were in a coffee shop that looked more like a drive-in, drinking cold coffee, dressing like if it was Sunday afternoon and they were laying in an old couch, and were going to watch a 90’s movie, that was about a serial killer who used to kill blonde ladies because a blonde girl bumped him when he was thirteen years old. Somebody might say that’s pretty much how happiness looked like. And for Marie Anne the picture of that exact moment was it.

“Even with my silly sneakers?” Marie Anne smiled and she felt a little pathetic with her Little Mermaid shoes. It was the first she found on the floor when she ran to change. It was a gift from Parker and Allan because it was her favorite Disney movie, but not something she’ll use to go out with Aaron.

He took a second to look down and check her shoes and back at her smiling. “I love your snickers.” he affirmed, not being able to stop the smile on his face. He just couldn’t stop and neither did her.

“If you tell me you like Disney I might die a little bit here.” she blushed and looked into his blue eyes. Marie Anne knew she could spend hours just looking at him.

“Guilty” he raised his hand. Aaron completely forgot about the coffee until that very moment. “Hang on…” he called the waitress and asked for another couple of coffees. A minute later the girl came back to two new cups and took away the cold ones. “Now let’s drink them.”

“After today I need like six of these…” she breathed deep and then took a sip of coffee. “So, this counts as date three or its more like date two 2.0??”

“We can call it 'The date’.” he took a sip of his coffee and she couldn’t believe his cheeks turned a little bit red too.

“The date?” she asked again and her heart almost melts when she saw him blushing for that.

“Yes. Like THE date. I kissed you today.” he took another sip and took her out of his sight. He might be thirty-three years old, but he still got embarrassed with those kinds of things.

Marie Anne left her cup in the table, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. It was one long and sweet kiss, and she couldn’t help it. She knew just a couple things about his life and they have met three days before, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to cup his face really carefully and kiss him like they were on a couch at home and not in the coffee shop.

After that kiss, he wasn’t able to hold a second one. He was so soft and caring with her, and without thinking held her hand meanwhile. She thought he’d never got apart. Actually, she didn’t wanted to get apart. When he finally did, he just looked at her with those big clear blue eyes. She thought she was already dead, because she stopped breathing for a few seconds.

“You are seriously killing me with those blue eyes, handsome.” she whispered against his lips and gave him another kiss like the previous. While she was doing it she realized it was the first time she told him handsome out loud. She was already not thinking straight. She didn’t care; after all it was exactly what she thought of him.

“You are so so beautiful.” he said almost out of breath and kissed her again. He was losing his mind and couldn’t stop.

“Are we sure they don’t have here a secret room they rent with a couch, a TV and a blanket?” she giggled for her silly comment and let him go for a second so she could drink her coffee.

“I guess no… But… Uhm…” he started but stop himself of talking.

“But..?

"I do have a couch, a TV and a blanket.” he looked at her eyes.

“I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep if I sit on a couch.” she affirmed with a little smile on her face.

“Is okay…” he said and smiled. He looked at every single place in that coffee shop but her. He was clearly ashamed.

“I will love to invite you to my place but I kinda can’t…” she started. She realized he was feeling bad for his comment, so she thought about something to make her also look stupid. “You’ll probably think it’s pathetic, but I live with my mom and my brothers. I wanna move alone but things got… Complicated. And now I don’t know why I didn’t told you that in the dinner...”

“Hey that’s not pathetic.” he immediately said, turning his face back enough to look at her again. “I won’t judge. Everyone has its problems. You live with your mom, I do unfortunate comments...” he laughed a little trying to get out of that quicksand he got himself into.

“Your comments are not a problem!” she laughed with him to make him feel better. “And I feel very pathetic about it. I want my own place but when I was about to rent something my folks got divorced and I stayed for Allan and Parker. Now I just wanna get out of there to not listen to my mom’s craziness.” she explained quickly. She still felt pathetic, she couldn’t handle it.

“Well, you’re not pathetic.” he stroked her cheek. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked her kindly.

“About which part of all the craziness I just throw at you?” she said looking at him. There was something about his blue eyes that make her felt completely comfortable and safe.

“About the divorce…”

“It’s not like it affected me, y'know? I’m twenty seven, it won’t change my existence. But it’s a mess cause they are still fighting every day and putting us in the middle of their war. That’s why I stayed with the boys…” she explained talking softly.

“How are they handling it?”

“They are good. If mom and dad bother them they just send them to hell.” she smiled little bit, remembering those amazing boys.

“That’s a great move. They are smart.” he affirmed, finishing his coffee. “I will order something to eat. You want anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” she smiled sweetly at him.

Aaron ordered a sandwich and stayed quiet for a while. Marie Anne took the chance to keep looking at him, even if the restaurant’s lights weren’t really good. He glanced at her but he was still uncomfortable for the comment he made.

“Can I kiss you?” she murmured looking at him and placing a kiss in his hand. She didn’t like how suddenly everything became weird.

“Sure you can.” he smiled at her.

Her heart did a little jump with the answer. She placed one hand on his nape and with the other one she kept holding his right hand. Then Marie Anne kissed him again, this time a little more intense than when she arrived. She didn’t pay attention to the waitress when she came back to bring his sandwich or neither to the people around there.

Aaron closed his eyes and placed his free hand on her waist. Suddenly it all around them turned dark and they were the only ones that mattered. Marie Anne heard the waitress when she put his sandwich on the table and left, but she didn’t stop.

She didn’t knew if she needed to show him how much she liked him or that he shouldn’t be uncomfortable. In her head she had at least ten reasons for why she was kissing him, but the first one was simple: Because she needed to. She wanted to learn how to kiss him in the way he liked, even if that started in a coffee shop and for short minutes.

“I’m sorry for the invitation.” he started, moving away. “I mean, I’d like you to come over but it was just so rude. I’m really sorry.” he said slowly, trying to find the right words. She looked at him.

“What if we stay here just talking, and kissing, and you eat your sandwich, and when they kick us cause the place is closing we see what we do?” she offered with a sweet smile.

“You’re so sweet, baby…” Aaron affirmed, and he looked shocked after that. “I’m sorry again. Fuck!” he cursed himself and started to eat his sandwich to keep his mouth in a way that he couldn’t keep screwing it up.

“Don’t worry about it, babe…” she copied him, giving Aaron a kiss on the cheek while he was eating. She couldn’t tell if she liked more when he called her Woody or baby, but she was over her head with both.

“I’m being so rude. I invite you home, call you baby… I mean…” he started his speech, with still sandwich in his mouth. Marie Anne understood just the essential. “I like you and… I really like kissing you. And I don’t-” he coughed right in that moment. When your mother says that you must NOT talk with your mouth full of food, well, there’s a reason. She asked for a glass of water and he drank the half of it, then he kept eating. “Like I tried to say before I had my first suicide attempt with this sandwich… I don’t wanna rush you or scare you or any of that. I truly wanna keep you near.” he stopped and looked at his legs.

“What can I do to stop that head of yours for five minutes and convince you that I’m not mad or anything and that I don’t think you are rude?” she asked with the sweetest voice, placing her fingers in his chin and looking at him in the eyes. She was having the best night in years and she couldn’t handle seen him worried like that.

“Just kiss me.” he affirmed and couldn’t say anything else but that. And so she did. Marie Anne just kissed him in the sweetest way she could as she locked her fingers in his hair.

They kept kissing the whole night. Marie Anne couldn’t find in her life story any night that was any similar to that one. She had comedy, passion, mystery -for the alarm thing-, adventure, and love. Everything that a good movie must have. She even had very good looking guy who also was extremely sweet and kind, the regular girl, and a so unexpected story. She couldn’t believe it. It felt like a dream. But, as every dream it came to its end when the waitress “woke them up” and told them they had to leave because they were going to close the shop. Marie Anne insisted in paying after he paid dinner, but there was no way to convince Aaron to let her do such a thing. He was too gentleman and Marie Anne knew she wasn’t going to be able to fight that even for five minutes.

After that they walked out of the coffee shop and stayed in the sidewalk. It was 4 am and she didn’t want to get away from him. “So you came here in your car?” she asked casually

“Yes. Want me to take you home?”

“Wanna go for a ride? Unless you’re tired. I mean, maybe you are. In that case, it’s fine. I’ll take a taxi.” she said nervous thinking that maybe now he regretted what was happening there.

“No, I’m not tired. I’d love to. Come on…” he started to walk to his car and she followed him.

She walked by his side but didn’t know what to say. It was like if for just a moment her head convince her it was over. Even when she knew it wasn’t true she had a knot in her stomach and she hated it. He stopped beside his car and took her by her waist. “Hey… I’m sorry for how I acted before…” he blushed and looked at the floor.

For some reason all she could do was hug him. Not even kiss him, just placed her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder and chest. It was the first time she was really hugging him besides the make out session some hours before. Marie Anne just needed to be there and the rest could disappear at least for some minutes.

He hugged her back and kissed her head. “You okay?” he asked.

“Just hold me for a while…” she said nodding to let him know she was fine. She just needed that. A simple warm hug from someone who wasn’t one of her brothers. It was something different in every single way. He hugged her tight and kept placing little kisses in her head and forehead. After what felt like hours but were probably five minutes, Marie Anne let him go and looked at him. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that. Thanks.” she whispered looking at the floor because now she felt embarrassed.

He just placed a finger on her chin and lifted her face enough to kiss her. It was just a short peak, but it felt a little bit more than that. “You don’t have to thank me, but I think I’ll need more of those sooner than I expected.” he whispered.

Just like that she gave him another kiss, just like the one he gave her. He kissed her back again, and held her by her waist. “Where should we go??” she asked still placing small kisses on his lips.

“Wherever you want…” he just stayed there, kissing her back and smiling a little bit.

“The beach? Disneyland? Your place? The river? I don’t know.” she smiled back at him. “Nothing fancy cause I look like hell…”

“You look pretty.” he said just before kissing her again. “And, of all the options you just said… Just choose. As long as I can keep kissing you I’m okay.”

“I say we let Disney for next week…” she joked and let him kiss her every time he wanted. “And what about the other three options? Too crazy?”

“Considering that is four in the morning, and I want us alive and with all our belongings…” he smiled and kept kissing her, not so lightly this time.

“I know a place when we can watch the ocean and we don’t have to get out of the car…”

“I follow your lead…” said him, hugging her tight and kissing her cheek.

“Then you need to drive us to Coney Island Beach…” she laughed softly. She knew it was stupid to drive all the way there at that hour, but she couldn’t care less about it. She was too happy.

“Okay…” he got closer to her so slowly until he reached her lips. They were living it like a fairytale, and Marie Anne couldn’t be happier.

“Let’s get in, we have like half hour travel…” she murmured against his lips and placed both hands on his neck, totally ignoring what she said about get in the car. “Before we go can I do something I have been dying to do since yesterday?”

“What…?” he murmured a bit curious about it. She smiled with an evil smirk because it was probably a bad idea, but at that point she had to risk it. Without saying anything she gave him a small kiss on the right side of his neck. It wasn’t big deal, but she couldn’t stop thinking about that for hours since the park date. “That was really nice…” he was holding her by her waist and seemed pretty surprised. But like good surprised.

“Now we can go.” she smiled against his cheek and gave him a kiss there.

“Hey, promise me there will be more of that…” he kissed her cheek too and then moved slowly his nose up and down, slipping it on her face.

“Should we forget about the river and the beach for tonight and leave it as an excuse for another two dates??” she asked and waited for his answer. Part of her regret it, thinking that he maybe will take it bad, but the other part was wishing he would give the answer she was wishing.

“You mean my place as the only option left for tonight?” he smiled at her. Marie Anne smiled back at him and nodded and that simple action made Aaron kiss her again. She was living the dream. Marie Anne placed both her hands on his chest and smiled as they kiss. “I’m in.”

“I’ll make breakfast. No discussion.” she told him with a serious face so he would see she wasn’t joking.

“Let’s get in before I do something I don’t wanna do in public.” he whispered in her ear and placed a kiss there. He moved away and opened the copilot door for her. “Let’s go, my lady”

“Thanks, my good sir.” she said smiling as she got in the car. The butterflies in her stomach were now making their own party. Aaron got in the car and she couldn’t stop smiling as she looked at him. She was wondering how she could be so lucky to be in his car and about to go to his place, but there was no answer. She was just extra lucky. “Ready to take me to Queens?”

“Yes, but before that…” he grabbed her head and gave her a long sexy kiss. She placed a hand on his chest and grabbed a little bit his sweater. “Now we can go.”

She couldn’t stop looking at him. New York at night is such a beauty, but she found something prettier to look at. He was kind, loving, funny, smart and so perfect for her eyes. He made her feel like a teenager every time they met, and that was something hard to do, considering that she’d always been more mature for her age. That night she didn’t care if she wasn’t a teenager kissing the boy she liked in the middle of the street. To be honest she didn’t care what the world could say and the reason was very simple. That night all she cared about was him. ← Previous Chapter. Next Chapter. →

#aaron tveit #aaron tveit imagine #aaron tveit fanfic #aaron tveit fanfiction

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sassysweetstories · 7 years

Text

An Eye For An Eye

Request: “Pls can u do a savitar!barry x reader where u r the only one who didnt push him away despite being a time remnant. U care for him greatly. Both start to have feelings. But savitar!barry know that u r in love with original!barry n become insecure. For a while u both r happy but something bad happen that led him being savitar n kill iris to punish his original self. Pls do this if u would pls.🙏🙏”

Ship: savitar!Barry x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, blood, fighting, etc.

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. Okay because I’m a musical nerd, I noticed half-way through that this had reminded me of ‘Dead Girl Walking’ like, Savitar is kinda like JD in the sense that he hates the world and is insecure and alone but Veronica, the reader, loves him despite his flaws??? And then after-ward, when Veronica died, he lost it, kinda like ‘Meant To Be Yours or I Am Damaged’???

Third P.O.V

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t afraid of him. She was, a little bit. Maybe it was because he looked exactly like the man she once loved. He held himself in the same manor he did, if not stronger. This alternative Barry stood up straighter, a sense of confidence other Barry never had. Which she found to be rather attractive. Savitar tried to push (Y/n) away like he did for everyone else. Except, she wasn’t them. She was so much stronger than he had anticipated. That’s one of the many reasons as to why he fell for her.

Though everything in her body was telling her to leave and get out of the situation, she ignored her head and listened to her heart instead. The wind whipped around, moving faster and harder than ever. “SAVITAR!” She yelled over the tsunami like winds. “LISTEN TO ME! I’M NOT LEAVING YOU! YOU CAN PUSH EVERYONE ELSE AWAY BUT I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” Barry yelled at her through her intercom, not as desperate as he would have been if it were Iris in this situation. “(Y/n), get out of there! There’s no use!”

Shaking her head, she unplugged the com before taking a step forward. “BARRY! I’M NOT GIVING UP ON YOU! PLEASE! STOP THIS WIND AND LET US TALK!” She dared to walk forward, taking one step at a time before she was a mere few inches from the boy. (Y/n) brought her hand up to cup his cheek, hesitating slightly before resting on his burn mark. Savitar seemed to relax at her cold touch as he found himself resting his calloused hand on top of hers. As they looked deep into each others eyes, the wind seemed to disperse and vanish.

Everything had grown extremely still. She dared to rest her other hand on the opposite side of his face which seemed to relax him. “You’re not alone, Barry. I know what it’s like to be pushed away and broken down.. All you want to do is be alone. You want to hurt everyone around you and push people away but I will not leave you. I want to help you.. You’re not alone, Barry. I wanna be there for you..” Savitar listened to her words which seemed to resonate with him because he found himself drawing closer to her. He was so mesmerized by her eyes, he found himself getting lost in them. No, this was not apart of the plan. He thought madly to himself.

Savitar wasn’t suppose to get attached, especially now, when he intended on doing so much damage. But as he looked down at the girl who intended to give up so much for him, his mentality seemed to shift. Nobody had ever believe in him, or attempted to help him before. Not like this. She was different. He placed his hand over hers, not strong enough to hold her gaze. “I want to help you, Barry. I want to be there for you. I’m here to listen and fight for you.” When he looked up at her, it was as if all the air in his lungs got knocked out of him. Her eyes were steady, sure of the decision she’s made. “Remnant or not, I will fight for you.”

He wanted to stay in this moment, held close just with her palms. He felt more whole than ever before. But reality kicked in. Original Barry screamed from behind them. “HEY! GET AWAY FROM HER!” Savitar reluctantly removed her cold hands, kissing the knuckle of them before whispering. “I will remember your kindness, (Y/n).” Before she could say or do anything, he was gone. (Y/n) knew she’d get a lot of shit from the team about how reckless that that was but she didn’t care. She intended on helping him, understanding him. Remnant or not, because of original Barry, none of this would have happened if hadn’t stopped fucking around with the time line.

She had every right to blame him, and she did. Didn’t matter that she once loved him, he’d always have eyes for Iris and always hurt people without intending it. And poor Savitar was the cause of his recklessness. It had been a few days since the incident. (Y/n) received the exact amount of shit she had predicted but that didn’t bother her. What did though, was the lack of communication she had with Savitar. It wasn’t just him not talking to her, it was everything. Nobody had heard a lick from him in a week. No deaths, no break-ins, nothing. It was like he vanished from thin air. But hearing nothing from him scared the living daylights out of the team.

Everyone except (Y/n). She knew her words had resonated with him. They had to. She thought to herself as she leaned against the railing of her balcony. A glass of pink moscato in one hand while her elbow rested on the concrete railing. (Y/n) had spent most of her nights watching the stars, secretly waiting for Savitar to show up. And, as if her wish had come true, she felt a heavy breeze flash past her. Smirking, (Y/n) muttered. “Thought you’d never show up. Moscato?” Turning over her shoulder to see him smirking down at her. He took the glass from her, smiling kindly.

The smile seemed to stretch up to his scars which were beautiful to her. (Y/n) always found scars and birthmarks to be the most enchanting thing about a person. They always had a story to them. “So, what are you doing out here in the cold? All alone.” He asks innocently. She takes a good look at him, taking in all of his features. All of which she really enjoyed. And not because he looked almost exactly like Barry. The Barry she once had. He looked more sure, wearing his scars like a badge of honor. Savitar was broken, they both knew it. And though he was broken, he was strong. And because of that, she couldn’t help but love the way he held himself.

Done with the world but ready to take what’s rightful his. That kind of confidence was something people worked their whole lives to get. And he seemed to emulate that notion with complete ease. Not at all forced. Savitar took another sip of his drink, taking another step forward towards (Y/n). She hadn’t noticed until now of the proximity between him and her. He was inches away from her face, his heavy breath reeking of the wine they had both happily consumed. “I was waiting for you. You haven’t caused any trouble. I didn’t think you would but where did you go?” He turned his head to look at the ground, his scar almost shining under the moonlight. “I was thinking.” She asks, curiously. “About?”

When he looks back at her, she nearly faints. His eyes, which are usually dark and soulless look almost tired and broken, yet there’s a tint of hope that seems to linger. “I was thinking about why I came here. How much pain I had planned on causing because of Barry Allen. He tore me apart more than anyone can understand.. But I was broken.. Completely lost and angry. I felt like a rat scurrying for food, living under trash. But then I met you.. You believed in me.. That was something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. No matter how torn up I obviously am, you said you’d never give up on me. And when I looked in to your eyes expecting to see another liar, another facade, I saw anything but that. I saw something who genuinely cared for me. And I can’t thank you enough for that. You brought hope back into my life.”

Turning over his shoulder to walk out, she quickly grabs his wrist, genuinely baffled by such a profound statement. “Wait so- where does that leave us?” She ponders, somewhat hopefully. Though they’ve only met for a short amount of time, there were sparks that seemed to flourish between the two. Savitar wasn’t ready to go. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and feel her. Because for the first time in forever, he finally felt something other than hate. So, in a spur of pure need, he grabbed her waist roughly and pressed his moist lips onto hers. He needed her, desperately. Savitar held onto her hips as if she’d slip away from him at any second. When she kissed back, his heart leaped within his chest.

Taking her long fingers, she ran them through his hair, pulling him deeper into the already intense kiss. Dragging his long calloused hands up and down her waist, she couldn’t help but moan in pleasure. Smirking into the kiss, he took a few steps forward, forcing her to move back. Her back hitting the concrete wall, but because of the pleasure emulating between the two, she barely noticed it. Placing rough kisses down her neck, she let out another holy moan. “S-Savitar-” At the mention of his name, he recoiled like an animal would at any sight of threat, looking down at his beloved. “W-What? What’s wrong? Was it something I said?” She asked hastily. Of course not. He thought to himself. “No, no. It’s not you. I just-”

Savitar glanced down at his foot, finding a new fascination to them before saying. “The name Savitar is a name that promotes fear and destruction.. W-When I’m with you.. I don’t feel like that name is me.. It doesn’t belong.. I feel like Barry again..” (Y/n) grinned up at him again, pecking his lips softly. “Barry it is.” When he left, she couldn’t help but think about the decision she was making. Falling for him would be like playing catch with an atomic bomb. But apart of her didn’t care, in fact, she felt elated; excited for such a new discovery. (Y/n) knew what she was getting herself into. If things didn’t go the right way, if this was all a trick, a rouge, than she would be dead. But life threatening situations became a daily basis at this point.

From that night forth, the two had spent there evenings together. Because of (Y/n), crime had gone down progressively. Savitar!Barry was able to have somewhat of a purpose because of his wonderful girlfriend. She treated him with so much love, love that he was sure he didn’t deserve. But as time drew on, he became self-conscious of their earth Barry. He was everything he wasn’t. Kind, smart, handsome, dorky, perfect, etc. The list was never ending. Barry had everything Savitar didn’t. Savitar was Barry’s every bad flaw put into a human being. He glared down at the team as they said goodbye to his beloved girlfriend. And though he wore that glare like a crown, it was in truth a mask to hide his pain, his insecurities.

He felt her presence behind in no time. Usually it would warm him but in that moment it made him feel rigid, cold. “Barry, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” (Y/n)’s voice was so soft and soothing he cursed himself for ever falling for her. He hated that he fell so hard and so fast for her but not once did he regret it. After-all, he was filled with insecurities. He knew she loves Barry. It was obvious. And that broke him. “Baby? Talk to me..” And like a rushing tide, the words spewed out, unable to be filtered. “Why are you with me? Why are you with me when you could be with him? I know you love him? I’m not him, (Y/n), no matter how much I want to be.. I will never be as kind or as handsome or as compassionate as him.. You’re only with me because I look like him-”

Before he could continue, he felt a harsh grip on his wrists. One so strong, he couldn’t believe it was (Y/n)’s. Her eyes showed a different set of emotions, one he never thought he’d see. The tears glistened under the pale moonlight as she gripped tightly onto his wrists. When she spoke, her voice was stronger than ever. (Y/n)’s voice sounded sure of the words, confidence flowing from her eyes. “No. None of that is true and I will tell you a thousand times until you get it through your head. I did love Barry, as in past tense. I’m not dating you because you look like him because in actuality, you look nothing like him. Sure, you are his doppelganger, but you don’t even realize how different you are? You are so much more bright and handsome and loving than he could ever be. You are confident and driven and a drug that I am so hooked on. Why would I be with him when I could have someone as perfect as you?”

He hadn’t realized he was crying until she wiped away a single tear-drop that escaped his ducts. “I love you, Savitar, Barry. All of you, flaws and all.” All of Savitar’s life, he’d never experienced love like this before, infinitely sloppy, happy love. Her smile, everything about her was contagious. The way (Y/n) looked at him made his heart swoon. “I love you so much, (Y/n).” As confirmation of his statement, he crashed his lips onto hers. Not kissing like he would prior. Before, they were hot and sweaty and sloppy kisses. But this one was full of passion, almost soft as if she’d break under his heavy weight. When they were together before, they would rip each others clothes off, quick and right to the point. But in that moment, the two knew they wanted to take their time. Enjoy every bit of the person they loved.

Savitar wanted to make complete and utter love to her. He wanted to hold her close to his chest and never let go. Kissing down her collarbone, he whispered. “God, you are so radiant, baby-girl.” She giggled as his hot breathing heavily against her skin. “I love you so much, (Y/n).” For a moment, everything around them seemed completely and utterly perfect. That night, he held (Y/n) in his arms, perfectly content with the woman he adored. But because life is life, things didn’t last. The next morning, Savitar woke up to find (Y/n) missing from his arms. A small note resting gently on the table.

Hey, baby! I left your favorite in the fridge! I’m sorry I had to leave! I’d rather be wrapped in your arms but the team needed me for a mission. I will be home before six!!

I love you, (Y/n)

Sighing contently, he couldn’t help but grin even though his smile etched into his scar that he no longer cared about. (Y/n) brought something out of him no one was ever able to do. When they were together, he felt his heart skip ten times faster. That morning he stayed in the bed, happy to just be. Resting his head on her pillow, he smiled at the sweet lingeringly smell. But as time ticked on, he felt something off within his body. Something was wrong. (Y/n). Flashing over to Star Labs, he felt his heart thump wildly in his chest. His girl was in danger. Savitar wasn’t sure where this feeling was coming but he knew it in his heart that she needed him.

The minute he entered the building, everyone stood back. Baffled by his terrifying presence. Cisco pulled out his gun, trying to terrify the racer god but instead he used it really to protect himself. Iris stood behind Barry, genuinely petrified of the alternate Allen. Savitar however, didn’t pay any attention to them. Not to Joe, or Iris, Barry, Caitlyn, Cisco, Wally or even Julian. No, his eyes were focused on the love of his life. Walking right past the team, he looked down at his beloved with such soft eyes, the group seemed genuinely baffled. Resting his butt on the edge of the chair before gently wrapping his hands around her fingers, afraid she would crack or crumble at the contact. (Y/n) was battered and bruised beyond recognition. Wires and cords were spread over her body like a spider on a web.

Gripping his heart with his free hand, he cried openly onto her chest. Savitar’s heart hurt, ached with pain. The love of his life laid before him, bloody and bruised so badly he almost didn’t recognize her. The woman that changed him forever had almost died. But that wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for..Barry. Looking up from his hands, he had a new-found fire. She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it weren’t for him.. It was always his fault.. Barry has caused so much pain.. It was time for him to suffer. “How did this happen?” Though he looked completely calm, the team knew to fear for their lives. For there was a fire burning behind his pupils. Cailtyn shakily explained. “W-We were trying to catch a-a meta and she got c-caught in the c-crossfire.” Uncertain if she should continue or not, she pushes on.

“Because of the damage, the best case scenario is that she is in a coma for a few weeks..” Barry can’t bare to look at (Y/n)’s lifeless body. Savitar on the other hand, glares daggers at the boy. “You did this.. You destroy everything around you, Barry Allen! I thought that with (Y/n) by my side meant anything to you, you would know that she changed me for the better! But without her, I am lost! You can’t ever be happy, can you?! You just LOVE to take things from people and destroy their happiness?! Once again, you’ve put people in harms way for your petty choices! You are not what people make you out to be, Barry Allen!! And because of you, I will destroy every bit of happiness, if it is the last thing I do!!” Glancing back at Iris, he merely smirked before flashing over to her, tossing her from one part of the room to the neck.

Barry chased after Savitar, begging for mercy only for them to hopelessly fall on deaf ears. Returning Iris back to the center of the room, she looked just as bad, if not worse than (Y/n). Bruises sprinkled her face, so much so, that she was almost an entirely different person. Taking out a knife from his back pocket, he plunged it straight into her already dying body. Specifically the heart. Savitar grinned at the sight of Barry being broken down, just as he had been. “Now you know what pain really is.” Savitar says with as much hate as he could muster. But before Barry could make any attempt against him, Savitar took (Y/n) and all of the necessary hospital equipment out of the room. Leaving behind a broken Barry Allen.

(I hope you liked it!!)

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iammarylastar · 7 years

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3. Anna.

Jack parks the pickup in the underground parking lot of the CIA headquarters. The whole drive back to Los Angeles had been quite silent, the two men obviously had nothing much to share.

He gets rid of the fishing vest he’s wearing and slams the driver door shut. He walks towards the lift, barely paying attention whether or not John follows.

Pushing the button for the 7th floor, he shifts to the side to make room for his father.

“Back to CIA agent mode, son?” John breaks the heavy silence.

Jack doesn’t bother to answer, and when the doors open in a recognizable ding, walks straight to Chief McKay’s office. He stops at the door, nods at Kathleen, the secretary and warns his father. “Stay quiet. Don’t mess it up for once.”

Knocking only once, he doesn’t wait for an answer and enters the room.

McKay lifts his head up from the files he’s studying and greets his agent.

“McLane. ” he just utters.

“Chief McKay. ” Jack greets back.

Noticing the bald former detective, McKay sighs.

“McLanes. ” he corrects.

“Chief McKay, nice to see your mug again. You’re getting old though.”

“At least my hair hasn’t defect my scalp. Take a seat gentlemen.” He offers.

Flopping down a seat, John lets his eyes wandering through the office. “What’s up? Got promoted? You got a better view than the one you had before.”

“Three floors higher. That’s what you could expect when you behave like a real cop.” McKay mocks.

“Sorry to interrupt your reunion, why am I here?” Jack impatiently asks.

“A special mission. Witsec. A mother and her 5 years old daughter. You’re in charge with their relocation and safety until the trial starts. 3 weeks at a safe house. You and me are the only ones to know.” Glaring at John, he shakes his head and adds: “I guess the three of us will be in the secret. John will join you, am I right?”

Jack just sinks deeper in his seat, rolling his eyes to avoid the upset look McKay throws at him.

“I’m great with children. Pretty good skilled in telling stories and play hide and seek. ”

Both Jack and McKay chuckle, he couldn’t say anything more stupid. John is to kids what pimples are to teen’s faces. A long, endless pain in the ass.

“The woman is a former agent. She has been working undercover as Tony Varela’s personal nurse and gathered enough clues to throw him in jail for 200 years. Unfortunately, her cover has been blown two days ago and Varela is likely to attempt to take her life or her daughter’s.”

Jack clears his throat. He couldn’t stand when kids were involved. Nobody would threaten children. He would happily terminate anyone who went after an innocent little thing.

“She personally insisted to have you as a guardian. She said you were the best and would trust only in you.”

Jack stiffens and sits up, who the fuck could ask after him? He knew no former female agent with a child. He knew nobody with children actually.

McKay presses on his desktop phone and orders his secretary: “Kathleen. Let them in please. ”

The door cracks open in Jack’s back and the voice, that voice he has tried to forget for years hits his ear.

“McLane.”

“Jack, John, let me introduce you to your clients: Shade and Anna Johnson.”

Jack jumps from his chair and lands on his feet, facing the woman who is holding her daughter close to her.

“Shade!” Jack stumbles backwards and grabs the desk to keep him from falling upside down.

She’s there, only a few steps ahead, standing straight in all her glory, her brown hair shorter than he remembers it, bright with blonde highlights. Thin and beautiful, the tattoo he loved kissing in the crook of her neck, his heart being stabbed by her mere glare behind deep green eyes

“That promised to be funny.” John smirks as the tension in the air grows, so much you could cut it with a knife.

“Shade, Anna, Jack and John McLane are officially in charge with your safety until Varela and his henchmen are confined behind bars. ”

“I asked only for one McLane, which will be hard enough to handle." She coldly utters.

"Nice to meet you too, I’m John. Jack, is this the woman you were crazy in love with? I pictured someone… less bitchy. If I may, Ma'am”

John extends his hand to Shade who totally ignores his gesture. She keeps her murderousstare at Jack, clenching her teeth to prevent herself to spit her poison in his face.

Jack is still in shock, unable to move the slightest thing nor utter the slightest word. The woman who blew up his life, in both good and bad ways, is standing straight before him, cold as the first time they met, an adorable blond doll at her side. Both mother and daughter are staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

He puts two and two in his head. She had left him for someone else, got married, pregnant and troubles.

How dare she ask for him specially? Knowing her, he’d bet his boots her only purpose was to piss him off and stab him in the back. Which works perfectly.

That bitch ran away the second he left for Berlin and opened her thighs for the first asshole she met, while he was risking his neck, staying alive just at the memory of her beautiful face.

Bitch, bitch, BITCH. He brought her back a huge teddy bear, which wore a knitted pullover with a heart and a tiny pocket in the front where he planned to put the rings.

Despite her obvious exhaustion, the little angel looks so sweet and gives him a warm smile. Which did remind him of someone but he couldn’t nail it. Shade fucking a friend of his, that beats everything!

Tired of waiting for that beautiful bastard to say something, Shade grabs her little girl’s hand and mumbles to Jack:

“You were more talkative last time we were here. It seems you lost your tongue in Berlin. Still stuck between some Berliner’s thighs?”

A last glance at McKay, a last glare at Jack, a last nothing at John and Shade turns on her heels and walks out of the office, dragging Anna behind her.

“Phew!” John whistles between his teeth. “She’s the hottest ice cube I’ve ever met. Son, you’ve reeled a shark in!”

“Shut up John.” Jack cuts him off, before jogging behind his lost love.

“For God’s Sake, Shade, talk to me!” Jack begs, following Shade out of the lift.

Anna asleep in her arms, she rushes through the parking lot, knowing which car they would take.

“Shade, tell me why… When I came back, you were gone and…” He sighs, giving up. “Come on Boo… ” Jack begs.

“What? Wait, wait… Her pet name when you were lovers was Boo? ” John laughs heartily. “Your secret code as CIA agents was Boo ? Your cry for help when you were in danger was… BOO ?” John can’t stop laughing at his son, who’s ready to rip his skin off. He could tear his hair if he had any left.

“Drop it, John.” Jack starts jogging to grab Shade’s wrist.

“Don’t touch me, McLane! ” she cries, yanking at his touch.

“Boo! ” John laughs out of loud, exhilarated. “What was yours Jack,… Cupcake?”

Two sets of angry eyes land on him, he really has to stop talking, he ’s more impressed by Shade’s killer glare than his son’s.

“Shut up John!” They bark at him simultaneously.

“Seriously? Cupcake!? ”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP JOHN!” They yell together.

“Okay, okay. ” he mumbles to himself.

Jack opens the backdoor for Shade to sit in, and lets his gaze run back and forth from Shade to Anna. They look quite similar; both wear delicate features and full lips.

Those lips he kissed and licked with so much passion.

Shade's mid long hair is straight while Anna wears wild blond curls. And he noticed she has clear blue eyes before she fell asleep.

Shade fastens her seatbelt and settles the little girl next to her, curled up, her head resting on her mother’s lap.

“Do you want me to spread a blanket over her so she ’s not cold?” Jack nicely offers.

FUCK! Why does he have to be always that cute?

She coldly shrugs, staring down at her daughter. Of course she wants Anna to be warm and comfortable. Of course she knew Jack would think about a blanket. She knows him by heart.

Jack steps back and asks his father to dig the blanket out of his duffle bag. Crouching back next to Shade, he spreads the white woolen blanket on the little sleeping form and dares to brush the little girl’s cheek.

“She’s gorgeous. Just like you.” He just whispers, glancing at a blushing Shade before closing the door and taking the driver’s seat.

Shade is so close to exploding. How dare he? How dare he be so gentle and attentive when she works so hard to hate him? How dare he wear that cute pout on his lips, the one he plastered on his stupid mug when he wanted to bend her to his will, for sex most of the time? How dare he be so sweet with Anna, when he’s so angry as he figures out she’s someone else’s daughter?

Shade runs her fingers through Anna’s curls, forcing her thoughts on one task. Hate him, hate him, it’s easier.

As Jack starts the car and drives towards the exit, John twists his head to face Shade and bluntly asks:

“Tell me Shade, does this little girl have a father somewhere? ”

Both Jack and Shade stiffen, his son speaks first.

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you didn’t waste time to find another guy to conceive with. It seems you were not as in love with me as you told me. Bitch! ” Jack spits out, a coppery taste in his mouth, his stomach ready to throw out with jealousy and wrath.

“Jack, watch your mouth!” John scolds his son, feeling the trouble he’s getting into.

Shade has two options. Burst into tears or bite. She chooses to bite.

“Dammit Jack, are you stupid? Help him to redo his math grand pa! ” she barks before clamming up, waiting for her atomic bomb to blew up and kill every soul in that car.

Jack furrows his eyebrows, and his eyes widen in shock when he finally gets it. Glancing at the rear-view mirror, he could only see Shade’s eyes wet with unshed tears, forcing her stare through the window. She couldn’t stand the way Jack would look at her.

“Wh.. what? What do you mean? FUCK Shade! What do you fucking mean?” Jack clenched his teeth, keeping himself from throwing up the bile that was consuming his stomach.

“Jack…” John carefully opens his mouth. “Anna looks exactly like you at her age…”

“This is not your concern John, mind your own beeswax.” He growls. He keeps blaming his father, not to accuse Shade more than she deserves.

“And how the fuck could you know how I looked at 5? You were always gone. I’m still surprised you remember my name!” What could he do to keep those tears at bay?

“Jack! I know you think I’m the worst father on Earth and maybe I am. But I was there, not as much as I wanted or as you needed but I cared! And I still care, son!”

Jack glances at his father, gripping the steeringwheel so hard his knuckles and nails turned white. That ’s not the moment to hear his dad’s confessions. DAMMIT he is a dad! He’s been Anna’s father for 5 fucking years and he didn’t know anything about it!

“She has your eyes Jack. Anybody could see this. And the same curls I tried to comb before I brought you to school. And I’m sorry but since Anna is your daughter, I am her grand pa. She is my business.”

Jack swallows back the hot bile his stomach sent him. He was a dad. First news. He was a dad and he had ignored it for years. He was a dad, still crazy in love with Shade. Hard news.

The love of his life was back, for better or for worse.

He bets for worse.

Thanks to my beautiful bêta @tigpooh67😙

@frecklefaceb @beautifulramblingbrains @pathybo @captstefanbrandt @societalfailure @jaihardy @beltz2016 @badassbaker @red-diary @jaicourtneyseyes @kenzieam @singingpeople @bookwarm85 @writingismyhappytime @pernilleals @oddsnendsfanfics @angelswannawearmyredshooz

#jai courtney #live and die hard #Jack and Shade #3 #anna

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martymulders · 7 years

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BLACK ON WHITE ON FIRE by jacktrippers.

Rating: R. Graphic descriptions of police brutality and racial slurs. You’ve been warned, if I get an anon calling me a racist, my fist will magically come through their computer screen and punch them in the face. Special Notes: Today (August 6th) America dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, 71 years ago. Then three days later, we dropped another on Nagasaki. The result is Japan’s unconditional surrender in WWII and the death of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. It’s a devastating time in the history of Japan and a shameful one for America. I did not write this story in honor of the event, it’s simply a coincidence I’ve written it on the same day we dropped the first bomb. Appreciations: Dedicated to @settle-down-frohike, for giving me a reason to finally write an Aquarius fic. And @frangipanidownunder for being a great editor. Summary: In 1947, a rookie Sam Hodiak has his first day on the beat in a black neighborhood in Los Angeles. The events will shape him as an officer forever.

Summer, 1947.

His clothes are neatly pressed. Sharp and clean. Each button is even and every patch is perfect. As he slips his hat onto his head, he feels good. He's let his hair grow out since returning from the war but with his new blues, he's wondering if he should go back to the buzz. He wonders if it will make him feel more powerful then he already feels.

He brushes his shoulder, straightens his collar once more and turns from the mirror. He closes his lock and reads this name on the makeshift label: S. HODIAK.

His fingers touch it briefly. It feels right. He's found a place he belongs. After the Pacific, he didn't think he'd ever find a place again—it turns out, despite what people told him before he was shipped out, you never really can go home again. A foxhole was the only home he'd thought he'd ever know. Maybe, he thinks, he was wrong.

"Hodiak! Where's Hodiak!?"

He's out of the locker room and into the bullpen in a blink. There's movement around him but it's not frantic. The cops here, they take their time even in a big city like L.A. They're in no rush even when the phone calls come in. A secretary moves past him and smiles—she's not a cop, she just brings the coffee. She's hoping he's single, he knows, and she's hoping she'll find a husband among the men in blue. Opal has wanted to marry him for a long time, but he's not sure he can. She wanted to marry him before he left for Japan but he'd convinced her against it: he might not be back. She shouldn't be a widow so young, no woman should and too many were already.

The man calling him is an older cop, standing by the chief's door. He's not the chief, though. Sam hurries over and when he gets to him, he's proud of himself for not saluting, for simply standing squared and ready.

"You Hodiak?" He's got to be near fifty, grizzled with time and wear.

"Yes, sir," Sam replies.

"Chief says you're comin' with me. First day on the beat?"

"Yes, sir," Sam says again.

"Don't call me 'sir', son. Call me Talbert," he says this as he taps the name sewn into his shirt. Officer R. Talbert.

"Right, si—Talbert."

"And you'll call me 'chief'," Chief Ewell O'Neill comes out of his office and addresses only Talbert. Sam hasn't earned his place yet. "Talbert, you're taking Hodiak down Southend today. Been getting a lot of calls, just go keep the peace."

"They're acting up again?" Talbert asks, "Niggers always have a problem with something. We're not here to flatfoot around on their bull."

"Just go make your presence known, that'll keep them quiet," Chief O'Neill says. The chief glances at Sam, "Keep your head on your shoulders out there, Hodiak."

On their way to a neighborhood the guys in the precinct call "Negroville", Talbert hasn't stopped talking. It's not that bad, Sam decides. It gives him time to study the streets as they drive.

"You serve in the war, son?" Talbert asks him. The way Talbert eyes him, glancing between him and the road, tells Sam there is a certain answer he wants and if he doesn't get it, he'll be upset.

"I did, sir. I was in the Army, in—"

"Good for you, son, good for you. You're a hero, kid, don't you forget it. I was too old to go myself but let me tell you, there was nothing I wanted more than to be over there. Kill another Kraut—killed my fair share the first time we went to tumble with those bastards. Was proud to do so, would do it again. You fight the Germans or the Japs?"

"I was stationed in Japan."

"Good for you, good for you,. Ya' know, say what you want about the Germans but they're not bad people all-in-all. Workers, they are. The gooks, well…" Talbert started to laugh as he turned the car down a narrow street, "Let's just say, ain't nobody hurt by one less gook in the world. We showed them, huh? Fat Man and Little Boy did a fine job of that."

Sam forces himself to smile. Hundreds of thousands of people. Gone in an instant. Vaporized. Like dust. The ones who lingered, the ones who held on… they were the unlucky ones. In the silence, Sam winces as he remembers the bayonet that tore through him. He remembers the pain, feeling his insides ripped out—he was sure, lying on the swampy land, that he would look down and see his innards hanging out. As he remembers, his fingers tighten on the knee of his pants, gripping the fabric in a small clutch. His mouth is dry and he wets his lips. Then he remembers the feeling of victory when he got that Jap back. He lets those memories wash over him and replace the phantom pains. His fingers loosen and the tension of his back eases. Victory. That's what fills him now. It gives him enough courage to respond,

"Nips."

"What?" Talbert asks.

"The Japs aren't gooks," Sam clarifies, "They're nips. The Southeast Asians are the gooks. The Chinese, they're the chinks and the Japanese—"

"Are the nips," Talbert catches on, laughing. He fixes his had with one hand, "That's good, Hodiak. That's real good. I like that. We got plenty of 'em here in California. Japs, I mean. Not too many in L.A. They're all in San Fran, it seems. Good riddance. Here in LA, we gotta' 'nother type of beast to wrangle."

Sam relaxes against the seat of the squad car, feeling accomplished. He removes his cap and rests it in his lap, running his fingers through his hair. Before long, Talbert's ribbing him about the length and Sam's joking back. He's wondering how serious Talbert is, though and if he really should cut it like he considered earlier.

Sam sees similar scenes on the streets they drive. There is a lovely white woman walking with her child along the sidewalk. She smiles at people she passes. They're headed to the corner market, no doubt, to pick up the groceries she needs for dinner. Further down the road, there's a young man working on his car. An equally young girl is watching him and she claps every time he accomplishes something else on the automobile. When they pass the market, the grocer is sweeping the steps and he waves to the officers as they drive by. They wave back.

They turn a corner and Sam notices there's not much to see. The street acts like a barrier and the next time they see a person, it's a black man who ducks into an alley as they draw near. Sam watches the way Talbert eyes the man but keeps driving. The sidewalks are cracked here and damaged beyond repair in places so the people walk along the street instead. A black boy and girl are playing, kicking an empty soup can between them. They're so young and Sam's wondering why they're alone. The boy kicks the can so hard it rolls away from the girl and into a gutter, which is so clogged with trash that it's easy for them to get. No one on the street will make eye contact with the officers.

Sam senses they aren't here to protect these people, just to remind them to behave.

Talbert's fingers drum the steering wheel. He's itching for something to go down. They're quiet as they drive.

"Stop! Stop!"

There's a middle aged black woman coming at them now. She's run out of a grubby apartment building on the corner. She's dressed in a nightgown that covers her arms and there's slippers on her feet. Her frizzy hair is covered in a bandana and she's screaming, "He's gonna' kill her! Stop! Please, stop!"

"What now? Always something…" Talbert grinds his teeth. He doesn't even slow down the car until the woman throws herself in front of it, banging on the hood. There's a boy behind her, about 14 or 15, who's followed her out of the building.

"Goddammit!" Talbert yells and stops the car, pulling the key out with a yank of frustration. Talbert gets out and Sam follows. The woman is frantic.

"Get your hands off the car!" Talbert's shouting over her.

"He's gonna' kill her! He's upstairs, he's upstairs!"

"Enough! Enough!" Tablert commands. Sam can see he's put his hand on his nightstick and, taking his cue, Sam does the same, "You get a hold of yourself right now, you hear me?" "You have to go upstairs! He's gonna' kill her!"

Sam can see she's terrified. There's panic on her features but it doesn't seem to make Talbert sympathetic. Talbert's fingers are twsiting around the handle of his baton and his jaw is tensing as the woman carries on.

"Stop shouting at me," he growls.

"YOU HAVE TO GO! GO UPSTAIRS! THERE AIN'T TIME!"

The woman bangs her hands on the hood of the car one more time.

Talbert grabs the woman's wrist and in an easy move, she's face down, yelping. Sam's still as it happens but the sudden movement startles him and he winces as Talbert forces her against the car harder.

"Get offa' my ma!" the young boy says, stepping foward with his thin chest out. It's pure instinct that makes Sam step foward too.

"You keep your mouth shut," Talbert says to him, and then to the woman, "Now, are you going to behave yourself? Are you going to stop?"

"Get off her!" the boy raises his voice as his mother flails. She's still talking about upstairs, upstairs, upstairs—and she wants them to go. He's upstairs. It's like only Sam can hear her. Talbert isn't listening and Sam is caught between instinct and duty. He's just a rookie, after all. With a swift move, Talbert manages to get his stick out of his belt with one hand, the other still holding down the woman.

Sam does the same but he feels uneasy it about it. His palms are sweaty. Talbert points the stick at the boy as he manhandles the mother.

"Are you going to start somethin'?" Talbert's asking the boy, "Are you going to start somethin'? Keep your goddamn mouth shut!"

"Why you fightin' us!? We didn't do nothin'! There'sa' girl upstairs gettin' beat! Go help her! Go help her!" the boy is getting just as upset watching his mother's treatment and Sam rolls the stick in his hands, chewing his bottom lip.

Talbert's ignoring the boy and he's shouting in the mother's ear, "Are you going to behave!?"

She calms, angry tears on her cheeks, and Talbert lifts her and throws her away from the car where she stumbles and falls into the street. There's a small crowd building and they're just as angry but they know better, they know better than to say anything. The boy goes to his mother.

"Now when you niggers learn to talk like civilized folk," Talbert's voice booms out, "Then maybe you'll get a little help with your problems."

Some of the people watching come forward to help the boy's mother. The boy lingers behind and Sam can see he's filled with such rage. He can see he wants to fight, he wants to defend his mother's humiliation.

"You dirty, white thug," the boy says quietly but he spits at Talbert. In a moment, Talbert's at the kid and his baton is coming down on his left arm with a punishing crack. The crowd begins to stir. The boy's screaming and his mother is screaming, trying to get at him. A few people hold her back. They know she'll just get the baton too.

It's not the first hit that makes Sam's stomach turn, it's the second one. The boy's already on the ground but Talbert takes another swing for good measure.

"Not so tough," he says to the boy, who's crying in agony now. Sam swallows hard. This is just a kid. Talbert's over him, baton braced ready to swing again, "You learn your lesson or do you need another?"

"No," the boy whispers, cradling his broken arm.

"I can't hear you. Do you need another lesson?"

"No, sir, don't," the boy lifts his good arm, as if trying to block an invisible blow.

"I didn't fight in France just to have some little nigger boy spit in my face," he puts one foot down on the kid's chest. Talbert points his baton at Sam, "You see him? That's an American hero. That man fought for this country, killin' Japs just for you, you ungrateful little shit. You show some respect or you'll get it again. Where were you while he was in the mud and the shit? Where were you, you little bastard?"

Sam knows where this kid was. He was kicking cans on a street corner. Just a little boy.

The way he looks at Sam, the tears running down his face… there's just as much hate there as there is for Talbert. Sam understands. The color of his skin, the color of his uniform, it makes him nothing but another Talbert.

"Now, you be a good boy and you apologize for the foul thing you said," Talbert demands. The boy hesitates so Talbert presses down harder with his boot. The boy's mother is still screaming at them and sobbing and the crowd is buzzing.

Through the pain and his gritted teeth, the boy says, "I'm… sorry…"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"That's good," Talbert steps off him and casually slips the nightstick back into his belt.

When Talbert steps away, the folks holding the boy's mother release her and she runs to her son and cradles him, crying. Talbert, still on a high, addresses the crowd, "Now, you all go on. Go on, there's nothin' for you all to be starin' at."

He walks over to Sam and pats him on the shoulder, "Remember somethin', son, can't let these people push you around, 'cause believe me, they will. They'll try to get one up on you. You always gotta' be in control of the situation."

Sam nods. It's all he can think to do.

Talbert's heading back to the car when Sam finally speaks, "Should we check upstairs? For the girl?"

Talbert clicks his tongue, scratches his chin and fixes his hat before he speaks, "I suppose so. Alright, Hodiak, let's go check it out."

When they're up there, a woman points out which door they're supposed to go through. It's wide open and the small apartment inside has been completely destroyed in the signs of a fight.

The girl, the young woman, is already dead. She's been beaten beyond recognition. One of the neighbors says it was her husband. It's not the first time he's done this but it will certainly be her last. They also say that the woman stopped calling the cops a long time ago—they never come. Talbert tells the neighbor to get lost.

Sam stares down at the body. She's in a floral print dress that's been torn from her shoulders, revealing the plain fabric of her bra. Sam has the urge to reach down and cover her up, to brush the bloody matt her hair away from her swollen face, but just stands there.

Talbert glances at her, "Well, damn. Guess I'll have to all it in. Get someone to come pick her up."

"Do you want me to patrol the area?" Sam asks, relieved to not have to look at the girl on the floor anymore, "The fella couldn't have gotten far and we're bound to notice him. His knuckles must be in pretty bad shape, might even be covered in her blood."

"Nah," Talbert replies, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, "You know how fast a negro can run? Just like that one, uh, what was his name? George Owens?"

"Jesse Owens," Sam says and the air rushes out of him. He looks down at the girl again. He thinks, just maybe, if they hadn't been outside, if they'd come up earlier, just maybe…

"Jesse Owen, that's it. Yeah, those SOBs run fast. I ain't gonna' waste time lookin' for him. He's gone. I'll call it in. I think I left the radio in the car."

Sam thinks, maybe, they could have saved her.

"Come on, son," Talbert says and he's already headed out the door, "We got work to do. Someone's gotta' keep the peace, right?"

On the way down the stairs, Talbert's talking about sports teams and upcoming games. When they're on the streets, the boy and his other are gone. Talbert remarks that he's glad no one was dumb enough to try to mess with their car. He calls them "hoodlums".

"You married, Hodiak?"

"Uh, no," Sam shakes his head as he gets into the passenger's seat and buckles himself in, "I got a girl but we're not married."

"Better do it quick, son. Good for a man to get a wife, good for a cop to have a family, if you know what I mean."

Sam did know what he meant. Married cops moved up faster. They had a family to support, didn't they? Maybe he'd marry Opal. Soon.

Talbert's calling in the dead girl on a big clunky radio that reminds Sam of his time in Japan. They wait int the car until the coroner comes. When she's bagged up and gone, they drive the streets of Southend some more.

He's realizing now that a war is coming. Another war. Maybe not today or tomorrow but one day, the spark will hit the slowly building powder keg and then there will be Hell. Black on white on fire. And who will the white folks have to blame then?

Sam can never be their friend, they'll never trust him. He's a white man and that's all he'll ever be. But he'll come back to this neighborhood, he'll come back to these people and he'll protect them like an officer should. Not because they are black but because that's his job. There is a truth to what Talbert told him. He always has to remain in control.

Sam sucks in a deep breath. They'd won the last war with two atomic bombs…. what will it take to win this one?

#i also stole this title from QL but idc it's a good one #Aquarius #Sam Hodiak #my stories

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