#hostility | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

r-ando-m-w-rite-r · 1 year

Text

When Crisis Hits, It Hits Hard

🛑-TWs: panic attack, minor assault, gore (like seriously, do not interact if blood or organs or vomit and stuff like that makes you squeamish)🛑

-Pls, if you can, give feedback because im not sure if this part is a little out there or not, but i tried to add backstory to the story itself

-If yall want a backstory breakdown and overall breakdown of what is currently happening in this series, just tell me and i will be glad to make it :)

-Word count: 5770

-From here the story should get a little less confusing, but i had to get my ideas out of my head and onto ‘paper’ before i drowned in them (TELL ME IF YOURE CONFUSED IN THE COMMENTS OR SOMETHING AND I WILL EITHER EXPLAIN OR REVISE THIS)

-Thx for all the support from you guys, its crazy i got like 40 likes on the first chapter so i was super excited thx thx thx xoxo have a good night guys

—---------------------------------------------------

You woke to the sound of beeping. Squinting, you opened your eyes, despite the bright light overhead. You were in a…hospital room? The bright white walls gave you a headache quick, combined with the damn light. And the beeping. Where the hell was that annoying shit coming from? Growling, you snapped your head around, locating the sound. It was a monitor, reading your now fast-paced heartbeat.

What happened? The last thing you remembered was Ash. And pain. And…and Revenant. Revenant picking you up. Revenant taking you away from the massacre. Revenant looking down at you. Revenant nuzzling you. You had felt it within your feverish sleep, felt his eyes, felt his affectionate gestures. Where was he now? What happened during the match?

You attempted to sit up, but pain sparked, darting quickly around your insides and echoing in your ribcage. Groaning, you fell back down, your head landing on the pillow with a thud. The hell? Wasn’t this stuff supposed to be taken care of already? Why didn’t the doctors do anything yet? Your side throbbed gently, and you realized your breathing was a little forced. You knew your ribcage was jacked up, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your diaphragm was okay.

You listened to the beeping of the monitor for what seemed like hours before there was movement in the corner of the room. A doctor pulled back the blue curtain that you hadn’t noticed initially, stepping in. They held a clipboard, looking up from it to make eye contact with your curious but annoyed gaze. “Ah, you’re awake.” they said, and you identified them as a he, as their voice was deep. He wore pale blue scrubs, a mask, and a scrub hat. A few brown pieces of hair could be seen poking out. His hazelnut eyes gazed at you curiously.

“Well, yeah.” you said impatiently. You sat up slowly, and the pain stayed to a minimum. This was getting annoying quick. Never in your years of playing in the Apex Games had you been in the hospital for so long after a match. It made you feel weak, and you didn't like it. “Why am I still here? Shouldn't I be good already?” You took a deep breath, and your lower stomach cried out in a shot of pain. You groaned, squinting slightly. He gave you an upset look, then seemed as if he was thinking for a moment before deciding to respond.

“Well, ma’am, uh…”

“Just spit it out.” you growled. Damn, you sounded like Revenant for a second there. Weird, you had barely known him well, only about two days, and it seemed as if you and him had known each other for a while now. Funny how things can be like that. But it also seemed like things were..different. Ever since you had met the murderbot, it had seemed like your normal life as a Legend had gotten more interesting. You turned up one corner of your mouth in a smirk and looked down at your hands, which were clinging desperately to your throbbing stomach. Well, if you wanted to call that interesting, you guessed.

You tuned back in long enough to hear the word ‘surgery’ come from the guy. A trigger went off in your head just at this word. Images briefly flashed through your mind. Screaming. Tools. Things being taken from you. “Wait, what?” you said, snapping back to attention, now alarmed. “What did you just say?” What was he talking about? There was a quick moment of realization about what he may have said, but you didn't want to think about that. You couldn't. Bile rose into the back of your throat, and you quickly swallowed it back down. You felt your hands begin to tremble, but you willed them to stop, just long enough for you to focus on the now-confused doctor.

He raised an eyebrow before repeating himself in a low and slow voice. “I said that you have to undergo surgery.” You gasped. Your assumptions had been correct. No. No. No. He doesn't realize you can’t do it, there's too much trauma, too much pain. As if the word sparked meaning to the present, your side and lower stomach both began to throw a tantrum, shots of pain flying everywhere. ‘It’s all a dream..’ you internally whispered to yourself. ‘Not this. Anything but this!’

Your vision blurred slightly when the doctor didn’t say anything more. You couldn't believe this would ever have to happen again. What if you didn't survive this time? You should've died last time. You felt dead then. You looked dead then. You should've just died on that abandoned lab table so you wouldn't have to go through it again. You felt your chest constrict, and your breathing suddenly became ten times harder, making your lungs hurt. Every time you inhaled, it felt like hundreds of tiny needles were puncturing your organs. Was this hyperventilating? You fell back softly into your bed, this time no pain occurring because everything was already hurting.

You heard the beeping speed up increasingly as you instinctively reached up to grasp your neck with both hands. Faintly in the background, you could hear the doctor yelling orders and demanding people. There was a shout, and then another, and then a roar. What the hell? Your pain, however, brought you back, and you whined out desperately. When would it subside? When would the past stopped haunting you? Tears streamed down your face as your vision was closing up, the edges of the room you were in shadowing over with black. “Sir, you cannot go in now, no visitors allowed-sir, SIR.” a voice said sternly at what you could make out was someone trying to visit you. But who-? Just then something, someone, burst into the room, the curtains snapping.

You were looking up at the ceiling, and since your vision was almost completely tunneled, you couldn’t see who it was. Metal scraped the ground in a hurry, and suddenly Revenant was in your face. He looked brand new, no scratches, no bullet-marks. Nothing. Just plain Revenant. Your crying stopped when you looked at him. You felt protected once more. But everything in your vision was fading fast. “Hey, (y/n), you still there?” he breathed out quickly. You wanted to respond so badly. But you just couldn’t. You were gasping for air, and it felt as if you were drowning. You were. You were drowning in the past. You watched as Revenant’s now-worried face began to disappear.

Your brain screamed out, ‘No! Don’t leave me!’ But your heart screamed louder. It thudded in your eardrums as it screamed out to the simulacrum, repeating one phrase. ‘Help me! Help ME! HELP ME!’ But it was no use. Your eyes shut. “No, no, don’t close your eyes. (Y/n), stay with me, dammit!” you heard him yell out, but it was no use. All the background noise, the beeping, the yelling, the pounding in your ears, it all went away. Peaceful, blissful quietness.

You opened your eyes. It was you. You were staring at yourself. You took a deep breath, finally being able to breathe without sharp needles stabbing at your insides. Looking around, it was nothing but darkness. You looked down. You were floating, little stars indicating you were in the sky or at least not anywhere remote. You looked back up, realizing that there was no throbbing pain anywhere in your body either. You let out a laugh, it felt great.

But after a moment, you looked yourself in the eyes. This wasn’t reality, was it? No, now you recalled it. Somewhere in the present, you were twitching and fidgeting in your sleep, which you fell into after a panic attack. Somewhere right now, the simulacrum you had come to adore over the last two days sat kneeling beside your bed, staring intently at you and rubbing your cheek, trying to get you to wake up. Somewhere in the present, you had a somewhat impending doom looming over you like a weight that you could not escape; a tragedy from your past that you had to experience once more. Somewhere, you were internally drowning in your thoughts. Somewhere, you were thinking of all the ways everything could go wrong. Somewhere you were-somewhere-somewhere-

You yelped in shock as you suddenly stopped floating, plummeting into nothingness. The specks of light flashed before you, disappearing after a moment, and you hit water like a rock. Upon impact, you felt nothing, but instead of bobbling on the surface and trying to swim, you began to sink under. Taking a deep, panicked breath, your head submerged. You flailed around, trying to get away, trying to get back to the surface, but you couldn’t. You looked down, and once you realized, you screamed, the air bubbles floating away in the current.

Someone was tugging you down by the ankle, someone you knew and would never forget by the look in their eyes. They had been crazy, they had been mad. They had even been labeled as insane. They had stolen from you, had tortured you, had maimed you. This person was none other than your father. You screamed again.

—---------------------------------------------------

Revenant kneeled next to the bedside, staring at your twitching body. There was a painstricken look on your face, and he couldn’t help but wonder what you were dreaming about that put you in such agony. He had been in the waiting room, wanting to check in on you, but when he heard your faint cries and saw doctors bustling around in a hurry, he got up to find you. It wasn't hard, you were making a lot of noise. But not good noises. And when the doctor tried to stop him, he just marched right past and into your room. And you. Your monitor going fifty miles an hour. You, lying in the bed and staring up at the ceiling, desperately waiting for anybody to help you as you gasped for air. He knew now that it had been a panic attack, and it would've probably been better to not yell in your face the way he had.

He continued to stroke your cheek in a circular motion, hoping that it would wake you up, but so far there had been no success. You twitched once in the face, making Revenant pull away for a second before continuing his stroking. What had triggered the attack? One thought led to another, and the match from earlier in the morning popped up. An enemy team had knocked him down shortly after leaving the building, causing him to drop you. He got pissed just thinking back to that.

—---------------------------------------------------

“Loba, leave her alone.” Revenant growled at the smirking girl. She held her hand to her mouth, feigning concern before taking three steps over to your crumpled body. Regret shot through him; he should’ve-he could’ve done more to protect you from this monster, but he had just been too slow.

“Oh, you mean this weak thing?” Loba said. When he didn’t respond, she kicked your back. You whined out, crumpling up further in your feverish state. He growled. Sure, he absolutely loved hearing your sounds, but not genuine, painful ones. Loba watched his face carefully, examining his reaction. “So, this one is close to you?” she said, internally seeming to process the newfound information. Revenant just growled once more from his crouched position on the ground.

“I’ll remember that, for sure.” Loba chuckled. Then, in one swift motion, she whipped out her pistol, shooting you directly in the head. Your body was immediately boxed up, and Revenant couldn’t help but whine softly, not loud enough for Loba to hear though. Even though he knew you would be healed up within a matter of hours after the game, it was still hard watching something he cared for be destroyed. He had witnessed it one too many times in his lifetime, and it seemed as if you had brought out his sensitive side once more.

“And as for you, demonio..” He cringed at the nickname. All he could think about was when Octane had said it earlier, and it made him red. “It’s time for you to make your grand exit!” She emphasized the word ‘grand’ just to piss him off. What a whore. “See you on the other side! Or not, I hope.” she said, snickering at her own comment before aiming her gun barrel straight at his head and pulling the trigger.

—---------------------------------------------------

The sound of feet behind Revenant snapped him out of his thoughts, and he whipped around angrily, ready to fight anyone willing to step between him and what was his. Instead of what he had expected, it was just a bunch of anxious-looking doctors. Growling, he reluctantly stood, his singular claw lingering on your cheek before finally sliding away and off. Upon withdrawing from your skin, you began to shiver slightly. Growling, he glared at the workers as they began to gather around you. Why did skinsuits always have to get in the way of everything?

The doctors looked over you, head to toe. They examined your state carefully, flinching away whenever you moved or made a sound before leaning back in and continuing. When it seemed as if everything had been checked, they nodded at one another before grabbing the sides of your bed and wheeling it forward. Shocked, Revenant gasped and growled at the same time, stepping forward and blocking their only way out. They shuttered to a stop, and it was quiet for a moment. One of your pain-filled moans broke the silence, however. “Sir, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out of-” one doctor began, but he interrupted.

“Where the hell are you taking her?” he growled in the most menacing voice he could muster. It worked, because at least two of the doctors flinched at his tone. Good.

“Sir, we are taking her in for surgery now since it has to be done soon or-”

“What?” he growled out, annoyed. “Nonsense, she doesn't need surgery. Plus look at her state!” A few eyes fell upon you as you whimpered again.

“Sir-”

“And what if the idea of surgery was the reason why she had the panic attack in the first place?” he said, waving a hand at your now-shivering body. The doctor paused, as did the others, and they looked at each other. “So, put the bed back-”

“Sir.” Revenant looked down at another doctor, who had now spoken. Who dares interrupt the most violent Legend there is in the Apex Ga- “When surgery was brought up, her hyperventilating did begin, thus causing the attack.” Revenant lightly growled, pleased to know he was right. “However, if she doesn’t get surgery, there’s a 76% rate that she will not survive, let alone ever play in the Games again.” Revenant stopped. He hadn’t really thought about how serious this was. Were you really hurt that badly? His LEDs longingly wandered to you, and after watching you tremble and cry out softly for a few seconds, he felt his character melt, even if just for a second, and he came to his conclusion.

“Fine.” he spat. “Do the surgery. But do it now, and get it done fast and efficiently. Or I’m slitting some necks.” A few doctors gulped as he stepped out of the way and slightly closer to their side. As they quickly rolled you out, he remembered something and shouted after them. “Oh yeah, and give her anything and everything that will numb her and keep her asleep!” One of them nodded, and he shut the curtains with a sigh.

He dropped to the floor, slumping over slightly. The room was so empty without you. The heart monitor recording your heartbeats didn’t beep. He couldn’t hear you breathe. He even would’ve given anything in that moment to hear you whimper. Not that he liked it in this context, but he just wanted something of you. Despite it only being two days since he truly met you, he had quickly become obsessed. He just wanted you to get better already and come back to him.

—---------------------------------------------------

You were still drowning. All your warmth was gone at this point, and the water enveloping you was chilling you to the core. You had lost your voice ages ago. And your father was still dragging you under, further and further, the same crazed look in his eyes. You weren’t sure how much longer you could go on, both physically and mentally.

You thought he was dead. He was, you had watched him die. You kept on trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t real, but your reality was becoming harder and harder to distinguish from make believe as the seconds, minutes, hours went by. The only thing that you were sure you could anchor to was Revenant. He was real, and that was the reality, not this. Still, it was hard, and you couldn’t sense him anymore. All you could sense was overwhelming doom.

Your ankle flexed, and you could feel your father’s cold hand gripping you. The past hit even harder than before. The table. Your naked body on that table. Blood pouring from your naked body onto that table. Your father leaning over the bloody mess pouring from your naked body onto that table. You threw up, the vomit floating past you and up towards the surface. It had seemed like days before the police finally had come, subduing your father and rushing you to the hospital.

You shouldn’t have survived. It was horrible. You had stitches all along your belly, under your stomach, running along your chest. You had tried to ignore it and continue on with life, but every now and then they itched and you would have recurring flashbacks for the remainder of the day. Now they writhed and burned like snakes being set on fire along your body. You tried to reach for them, but it was no use. The water held you captive, as if it was trying to assist your father.

Suddenly, there was a jolt that ran through the water around you two, and all the liquid began to drain away. You fell down, your father still holding onto your ankle with deathly white knuckles. All your senses lagged for a second, and you began to think you had either died or you were back to reality, which both seemed great in that moment. However, there was light, and you thudded down onto an iron table, now naked and bound to the smooth but cold surface. You realized you were vulnerable, stuck, and unable to escape, and all at once your brain went into flight mode. Screaming as loud as you could for already having lost your voice, you pounded your fists in anger, grief, and fear, causing the table to rattle slightly underneath you. Someone had to hear you, someone at the very least.

Your father was in the corner of the room grabbing at things hastily. He now had a lab coat on, and when he turned around, a mask covered most of his face. He quickly approached you, leaning over you like you were a fine specimen. He then began touching you-probing you with his utensils. You wanted to move, but couldn’t. You had fallen silent at this point, watching in sheer fear as he did this to you. If no one had come to your rescue now, then no one was coming. You watched in horror as he took a blade, cutting into your lower stomach and completely pulling away your skin.

—---------------------------------------------------

Revenant was still crunched up against the wall of your room, staring at the floor, when he heard you scream. His head snapped up, and in one swift motion he was off the ground, making his way down the hallway towards where he had heard the sound. He turned a corner and saw signs pointing towards the surgery section of the hospital. He continued on, despite doctors noticing him and trying to stop him. But he wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t. He knew something was wrong. You were in trouble. He knew something like this would happen. He shouldn’t have left you with them. He could’ve-he should’ve-nonsense. He needed to find you.

He turned another corner, protesting doctors following in his wake. There. Through the glass, he could see you, just barely, as surgeons were surrounding you. Your face wasn’t moving, but there was a horrified look plastered to your unconscious face. What were they doing? He growled, trying the door, but to no avail. The surgeons inside began to bustle around a little when your heart monitor began to spike. You still weren’t moving, though. “Dammit (y/n), wake up!” Revenant shouted.

A few surgeons looked back at the window, jumping when they saw him looming over their room’s entrance. His two beady eyes reflected off the glass, probably making him look like the Grim Reaper or some shit. He was right, because when he tried for the door a second time, a few of them yelped and ran towards the back of the room. Security must’ve been called, because people…no, MRVNs, came from behind, grabbing his arms with surprising strength and yanking him away.

“No!” he shouted out, trying to muster up any amount of strength in his body to pull away from the robots’ grips. However, they must have been designed for this backlash, because they barely even wobbled at his desperate flailing. In defeat, his feet dragged along the ground as you disappeared from his sight once more. He felt weak for not being able to be there for you. It disappointed him, but also made him suddenly malicious.

They turned the corner from before. He hadn’t even been able to find out what was going on, let alone get a good look at you. “Let go of me, you idiots!” he shouted at the bots, causing a few curious heads to poke out from side doors along the hallway before withdrawing quickly. “I’m not the problem here, I’m here to protect her!”

“Sir,” one said in a monotone voice. “We have been called to take you away from this section of the Apex Legends Facility and return you to the Legends’ section of the building due to disturbance.” Revenant growled. No, that couldn’t happen, not when you were in trouble. He could sense it from you since he had first seen you in the hospital bed. He flailed in their grip once more as they neared the entrance, his feet still dragging and causing scratches along the marble floor. What a pathetic way to get kicked out.

The doors swung open around him, and the two bots literally threw him out. With a dull thud, he landed on the carpeted floor, sprawled limbs and all. Sitting up, he saw the MRVNs stare at him for a moment from the doorway, as if thinking, or pitying him, before one of them rolled back inside. The other one turned to follow, but Revenant yelled at it. “Wait.” The bot hesitated before rolling back around. He sighed deeply, already annoyed at where he had currently gotten himself. The fact that he was about to lower himself to a MRVN like that stupid Pathfinder’s level made him fume. But if it was what it took to get back to you, then he would do it.

“Listen,” he growled out. “Do me a favor. Come and get me once that girl in the room you guys took me away from is out of surgery, at the very least.” He felt his voice grow slightly more weak towards the end of the sentence, and he internally cursed at himself for it. What a meek, pathetic thing he was becoming, all for you.

The MRVN cocked his head to the side. “I see.” he said, a more curious tone laced with his original monotone one. “So this person is special to you?” Revenant growled but didn’t say anything more. Partially because if he did, he would be a sputtering mess, and he wasn’t ready to make a complete fool out of himself any more than he already had. The MRVN just laughed in his ‘robotic voice’ before saying, “I will. But only if you don’t disturb half of the hospital again.”

“I don’t make promises.” Revenant said in a low voice. The MRVN’s screen on its chest broadcasted a suspicious face.

“Fine then, if you don’t want me to tell you-”

“Alright, alright, I’ll make sure not to cause a disturbance again.” Revenant said in a temper, hissing the word ‘disturbance’ and adding emphasis on every vowel. Nodding approvingly, the MRVN rolled back inside the hospital, the swinging door shutting with a calm but seemingly final thud. Revenant couldn’t help but sigh as he stood up from his graveling position on the floor. How pathetic he must’ve looked. “Stupid MRVNs.” he muttered, walking up to and leaning against a sidewall right outside the hospital doors. He would wait there until you were out of the surgery and safe. Well, as safe as you could be without him.

Then a difficult thought hit him. What if you didn’t make it out? What if something went wrong, and you found yourself dead? As much as Revenant wouldn’t like to admit it, he would be devastated. Looking into his emotions, he was still surprised at how he had become so close to you so quickly. It was like he had known you for ages, despite it only being two days.

However, something drew him to you, some connection that couldn’t be explained by him. He felt the need to protect you, it seemed like that was his only purpose, his only motivation at this point. All he knew was that if something happened to you, it wouldn’t be the same as past ones who had left Revenant’s life. You were special; knowing you were gone would be more difficult than anything the bot had ever faced.

—---------------------------------------------------

You woke up again, vision blurry, and watched as your father continued pulling things out of you. It was too much. Sweat ran down your face, vomit was matted into your hair and crusted around your mouth, and there was blood. Too much blood. You felt yourself gag, but nothing came out. You were empty. Literally.

You had been passing in and out of consciousness, and it seemed impossible to do so while unconscious in reality. But evidently anything was possible in dreams, especially reliving the past. You warily looked around, but there were no police, no people, no other lifeforms in the room other than for your dying body and your father. “Ah, ah, ah, more organs!” he cried out excitedly, and you felt yourself shudder. Eyes gleaming, he plunged his hands into you, and you winced at the squelching sounds that emerged from your open body. How were you not dead yet? Would your dream keep you alive until you woke up? Would you have to endure this torture for days?

His hands grasped onto something, and he pulled. You yelped out as a shock ran through your whole body, stinging you internally. He pulled again, and something snapped. You howled in pain. It felt as if you had been electrocuted and set on fire at the same time. You writhed on the table, but the burning sensation continued all over. You felt blood running down your sides, and you felt yourself fading fast. No, you couldn’t die, not now. You had to live, you had a life. The games. Your friends. Revenant. Revenant.

Enough! You roared out, thrashing until your hands began slipping out of their constraints, mixtures of sweat and blood helping slide them free. You would get out of here, whether with your own sheer will or uncanny luck. Your father clutched whatever he took from you in fear as you began to sit up. Your remaining insides that weren’t already on the floor sloshed out of the gaping hole in your stomach, but you didn’t feel. You were too numb and either way, you knew it wasn’t reality. You would be traumatized, but you would still be alive in the end.

Using your hands, you wedged your fingers into the cuffs fastening your feet to the table, and with inhuman strength, the iron snapped in half, freeing you completely. Your father was currently backed up against the wall, watching in horror as you slid off the slick table and began to stand on two wobbly legs. You were almost completely empty now, and your vision was throbbing with your pulse as your eyes locked on this man. You would kill him.

You stumbled forward but regained balance as you took one, two, three steps towards him. He was shrinking, and it was either your mind playing tricks on you, or you were growing. Grabbing the sharp blade laying on a tray on the counter, covered in your blood, you stumbled another step forward before lifting up the blade. “No, wait-!” your father, no, this stranger pleaded at you. He covered himself poorly with his arms, but you didn’t stop.

Stabbing down the blade, it planted itself square into the top of his head, and he immediately slumped over. Good, you hit somewhere vital. You shoved it deeper, and blood emerged, pouring down the dead man’s body and onto the floor. His blood mixed with yours, leaving bright red pools of blood tainted with his ruby red liquids. As it seeped through his hair, over his face, down his lab coat, the image gave you a bittersweet feeling.

After a moment your senses regained, and all your pain came back along with regret. You fell to the floor, tears bubbling up as you leveled yourself with this man’s face. It was silly, this wasn’t reality; he was already dead. To you. To the world. But the more you understood the severity of what you had done, the more the tears emerged. He was once someone you knew, someone you loved. And look what he had become. Sure, he had deserved it, but why did it have to be like this?

His hands unclenched, and you looked down as something fell to the ground with a squishing noise. Your breath hitched as you realized what it was. The thing still beat, throbbing every few seconds. Veins pulsed gently along the piece of meat, slowly discoloring and making you come back to. That was your heart. Clutching your bare chest, you let out a soft cry as everything hit, the pain, the loss of blood and organs, all of it rushing over you. You fell to the ground, suddenly unable to breathe. You gasped, but to no avail. This was it, this was where you would die. And all you could think about was how you would never get to live your life. And Revenant. Poor Revenant, it’s a shame you have to leave him…

Everything went black. Was this death? Was this how you went? It seemed like everything had been normal until the last two days. What went wrong? Was it meeting Revenant? You felt your consciousness drop a level, and your thoughts became more sluggish. Were you losing control? You felt like you weren’t even aware of yourself anymore, just a presence floating around somewhere. It was a weird feeling, but a different one. Maybe this was all just a lucid dream? You had originally thought that, but you weren’t sure anymore.

Your thoughts began to slow, and the little voices in your head seemingly shut off. It was…quiet. Like never before. So this was it. This was death coming for you. It was a comforting finality. You let yourself relax, despite lacking a body altogether, and you let yourself drift away. Yes, nice and calm…

. . .

Your peacefulness was broken by distant shouts. Pleading shouts. Bustling voices. Crying. What in the world-? Before you could even comprehend, there was a small buzz, and then a shout. “Clear!” Your whole consciousness was shocked, and it felt as if you had been ripped forward from the darkness. Opening your nonexistent eyes, you watched as the distant light slowly got closer and closer and closer until it was almost too bright…

Jolting awake on the metal table, you squinted, looking around at your surroundings. You were met with frantic gazes from what looked like your surgeons. Some stopped what they were doing and let out a pent-up sigh, others just looked overly concerned. One was holding a defibrillator, which made you frown ever so slightly.

“Ah, (y/n), you’re awake.” the doctor holding the reviving equipment said in a rush, putting it down in its container. “We thought we just about lost you there.” You wanted to speak so badly, to tell them they did technically lose you, even if just for a few meer seconds. You wanted to tell them about your brush with death, how you almost died because of things seemingly impossible to die from. But you held yourself back. “We had to replace a few things and set some bones back in order, but otherwise-”

“Where’s Rev?” you muttered out weakly.

The doctor paused, giving you a confused look. “I’m sorry, who now?”

You were exhausted, and in between listening and talking, you had felt yourself begin to drift off. You weren’t letting yourself fall asleep until you knew where he was, though. “I said, where’s Revenant?” The doctor paused, thinking for a moment before seeming to understand.

“Oh, him.” he said, frowning a little. “He seemed close to you, we just weren’t sure. He was escorted away from here, however.” You frowned deeply, frustrated. You just wanted to see the murderbot, feel his touch. He was your comfort. The doctor must’ve seen, because he waved his hands quickly. “Don’t worry, though, I’m sure he’ll be back.”

You weren’t exactly listening, as you had laid your head back down completely, letting yourself slowly drift back to sleep. You were safe now, safe from surgery, safe from your father, safe from harm. There was still a dull ache in your body, but other than that, you felt pretty brand new for what you had felt like. However, it still felt like something was missing, and you knew exactly what it was. Better yet, who it was. You wanted Revenant, and he would be the only thing that would truly heal you. It was crazy how you had gotten so attached to him in such a short period of time, but right now, you needed him.

#revenant x reader #chapter 4 #revenant apex legends #apexlegends #fanfiction #love #surgery #trauma #tw gore #tw panic attack #tw assault #TWsss #hostility #brush with death #thx for reading

27 notes · View notes

ollieofthebeholder · 6 months

Text

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My website

Chapter 62: April 2017

Sasha hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect, but she had to admit, she was curious about how the dynamics in the Archives would change with Jon’s return and the addition of Basira. Even before they left Elias’ office, she found herself formulating hypotheses and running scenarios in her head. Martin and Basira seemed to get on well enough, but that didn’t mean they’d be good coworkers. Same with Jon and Melanie, especially when the boss dynamic was factored in, even if that line got blurred in the Archives. Tim clearly didn’t think anyone should be working there at all, and Basira was hard to read. Then there was the matter of the statements. Would Jon want to go back to recording all of them, or at least all the real ones? And if he did, with what had been happening to Martin, how would that affect their relationship, working or otherwise?

As it turned out, she was completely off base on all counts.

Basira didn’t end up entering into the equation at all; since as far as she was concerned, her only role at the Institute was that of hostage, she passed her time sitting in a corner with a stack of books. Tim and Martin ignored her completely; Melanie occasionally asked a question, and occasionally got a halfhearted answer, but not much beyond that. Since Melanie had already been helping Jon, all his return meant was that she didn’t have to pretend to sneak around, and Jon slid back into the routine as though he’d never been away. He told Tim, Sasha, and Melanie that they weren’t required to keep recording any statements, much less the real ones, if they didn’t feel like they needed to; he and Martin had clearly had a separate discussion about them, though, because the possibility of him stopping was never broached, and on Wednesday he collected his stack of files to record as usual without comment.

And when it came to Jon and Martin’s relationship…well. For the most part, it was the same as always—out where everyone could see, anyway—but Sasha noticed Jon’s office door was propped open more often than not, so he had a clear view of the assistants grouped around their table, and that he frequently came out to talk with them about their research or findings. Inevitably, when he came out to do that, he perched on the corner of Martin’s desk, even if he was ostensibly talking to one of the others. And on Wednesday afternoon, she had poked her head in to check on Martin’s recording and found him and Jon sitting facing one another on the cot, Jon gently cradling Martin’s hand in his and a look of tender concentration on his face as he changed the dressing on his burn, Martin staring at Jon’s face with such a vulnerable expression that Sasha had to turn away.

Yeah, their relationship was doing just fine.

They were able to be a bit more open with what they were working on, now that Elias had “told” them about the Unknowing, but Sasha was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to know for sure about the other rituals. So by the time Friday afternoon rolled around, she assumed they were going to head to Cinnamon Rose Books in twos and threes and debrief. Whether they invited Basira or not was up in the air, but Sasha was betting on not. She didn’t seem particularly interested in all of the supernatural stuff, and Martin in particular had seemed really unhappy at the idea of her even working for the Institute. Sasha was looking forward to asking him about that.

About quarter to four, Melanie’s phone buzzed. Sasha assumed it was probably Gerry, since everyone else who might have tried to contact her was already in the Archives, but when Melanie looked at it, a funny look crossed her face. She hesitated, then tapped out a response before looking up at Sasha with a grin that was somewhere between cheesy and feral. “Hey, have you ever met Georgie Barker? From What the Ghost?”

Sasha blinked, a bit taken aback. “I talked to her on the phone once, when we were looking into your statement last year, but I’ve never met her. Why?”

“Want to? She’s suggested meeting up for drinks after work today. We could go and relax, make a girls’ night of it.” Melanie twisted around in her chair and leaned over the back to where Basira sat, immersed in Introduction to Alchemy. “How ‘bout you, Basira? Want to come out for drinks with us?”

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Basira said, quite simply but decidedly, “No.”

Melanie waited a minute, but that seemed to be it. She turned back to Sasha. “So! You and me and Georgie makes three?”

Sasha tried not to laugh. She could tell Melanie was in earnest—and she did enjoy spending time with her. They’d had fun at the movies the previous week, and then sitting at a pub until the wee small hours of the morning discussing the film, the book, and everything in between. And if Melanie considered Georgie a friend, and wanted Sasha to meet her, Sasha was all for it. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”

All six of them left at the same time, for once. Basira peeled off on her own, heading south with her head down and her hands jammed in her pockets. Sasha was a bit surprised that the boys came to the Underground station along with her and Melanie, but they were heading for a different train. Sasha and Melanie’s arrived first. As they stepped on, Martin waved and whistled a jaunty tune; Melanie half-hung out of the train, waved back, and whistled an entirely different tune in reply before hastily withdrawing as the doors closed on them.

“What was that all about?” Sasha asked, slightly amused, as Melanie took the seat next to her.

“Huh? Oh.” Melanie shrugged, but she looked slightly sheepish. “Whistle codes. Sometimes there are things we can’t talk about in public, and places are crowded and voices might not carry clearly, but a tune’s a tune, you know? Martin was whistling ‘You and Me and the Devil Makes Three,’ which means ‘let’s meet back up with Gerry later’, and I whistled back with ‘Strike the Bell’, which means we’ll meet up at eight bells.”

“Meaning eight o’clock?” Sasha lifted an eyebrow.

“In this case, yeah. Eight bells means the end of the watch period on sailing ships,” Melanie explained. “Watches are in four-hour chunks, except for the dog watches from four to six and six to eight, but the bell strikes every half-hour. So whatever time it is when we whistle ‘Strike the Bell’, we’ll meet up at the next end of 'watch’.”

“Huh.” Sasha studied Melanie thoughtfully. “You lot really have thought of everything.”

“We ought to have, after twenty years,” Melanie said, but she looked pleased with Sasha’s praise.

They reached their stop, and Sasha followed Melanie to a pub that looked substantially newer than the one Melanie usually preferred. It was also significantly more crowded. Melanie scanned the crowd, then nudged Sasha and led her over to a table where a very pretty woman with a denim jacket open over a What the Ghost t-shirt sat, tapping her finger idly on the tabletop. She looked up with a smile as they slid in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Melanie smiled. It looked a little strained to Sasha’s eye. “Georgie, this is Sasha James, one of my coworkers. Sash, this is Georgie Barker, host of What the Ghost?”

“I think we talked last year,” Sasha offered, holding out her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

“Oh, right, I remember you.” Georgie smiled and shook. “Good to meet you, too.”

A server came over and took their orders. Once they were alone, Georgie turned to Melanie. “Did your…family emergency sort itself out?”

Melanie nodded. “Yeah, lucky thing Martin wasn’t hurt too bad. Only a second-degree burn.”

Georgie’s eyes widened briefly. “How’d he manage that?”

“Hot candle wax. It’s just his hand. He’s healing up well enough.” Melanie waved a hand casually. “How’d your latest episode go?”

“Well enough. The actual meat of the episode came out fine. I…don’t think I really hit the right tone with the ad read, though,” Georgie confessed. “I’m going to lose this sponsor, I can feel it, but honestly…” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing at something over Sasha’s shoulder.

Sasha twisted her head and was a bit surprised to see Gerry talking to the server, after which he lifted three glasses off the tray and made his way towards them. Turning back around, she nudged Melanie. “Look who’s here.”

Melanie looked up and did a double-take as Gerry reached them. “Picking up part-time work, are we?”

“Shut up,” Gerry said amiably, setting down the glasses. “I was closer to here than Wapping when I got Martin’s text and figured I’d drop in.”

“And just who the hell are you?” Georgie demanded, her eyes cold.

Sasha was a bit taken aback by the intensity of Georgie’s reaction. She was even more surprised when Gerry’s face darkened as he looked at Georgie and took a half-step back. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“Ger, this is Georgina Barker, she’s a friend of mine,” Melanie intervened, frowning slightly. “Georgie, this is Gerard Keay, he’s—an old friend.”

Sasha caught the hesitation in Melanie’s voice, and she almost called her out for not referring to Gerry as my brother, but she bit her tongue. If Melanie didn’t want Georgie to know how close she was to Gerry, Sasha wasn’t going to be the one to spill those beans. Besides…she was curious about how this interaction would play out.

Georgie folded her arms over her chest. She didn’t look impressed. “Really. An old friend. How long have you known Melanie?”

“Twenty years, give or take. And you?” Gerry mimicked Georgie’s pose.

Georgie didn’t answer his question. “It’s just that she’s never mentioned you before.”

“Right, because you’re such good friends she tells you everything,” Gerry shot back. “I can tell. At least I’ve heard of you. You’re the one that put her in Sarah Baldwin’s way.”

“Guys, I’m sitting right here,” Melanie said, sounding irritated. Both of them ignored her.

“I’m sorry, have you never introduced her to someone dangerous? Because you remind me of someone dangerous yourself.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Guys,” Melanie repeated, a little more emphatically. Sasha touched her hand lightly, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I think you should leave. Now.” Georgie’s scowl deepened.

“I think you should take a good, hard look at yourself and see how deep this thing goes, and if you’re really one to be making judgments,” Gerry said coldly. “But sure, I’m leaving. See you later, Melanie…assuming your friend here lets you.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the pub.

Melanie thumped the table with the heel of her hand. “What the fuck was that all about?”

Georgie relaxed slightly, sat back in her seat, and downed about half of the Tom Collins Gerry had set in front of her. “Sorry, but you really don’t need friends like that.”

“Fucking hell, Georgie, I’ve known him since I was eight.” Melanie sounded extremely frustrated. “What the hell about him upset you so much?”

“Like I said…he reminds me of someone.” Georgie stared into her drink.

“Apparently you remind him of someone too.” Melanie snorted. “Can’t imagine who. I’ve met most of the same people he has.”

Sasha picked up her brandy Alexander, but didn’t take a sip yet. Casually, she asked, “How long have you been in London, Georgie?”

“Four years, give or take. Since the podcast really took off, enough that I could quit my day job, anyway.” Georgie still sounded a bit annoyed, but at least a bit less tense than before. “Why?”

Well, that ruled out Sasha’s first theory—that Georgie had recognized Gerry from news articles about his mother’s murder and the subsequent trial. It hadn’t exactly been a national item; there’d been a number of major world news stories happening around that time, and from what Sasha had dug up when they were doing that first investigation, there hadn’t been many articles outside of London and the more sensational tabloids. It also didn’t explain why Gerry seemed to think Georgie was dangerous, too.

She was gearing up to ask another question when it suddenly struck her that for all Georgie seemed to think Gerry was dangerous, she wasn’t showing any signs of fear. Anger, irritation, maybe a bit of protectiveness, sure, but she didn’t seem in the least bit afraid of Gerry, what he could do to her—or Melanie, or Sasha, or anyone else—or what might happen. Which could mean she was using dangerous in a different sense, but…

Several pieces fell into place, and Sasha set down her glass. “You’ve met something like him before,” she blurted.

Georgie looked up at Sasha with a slight frown. “Didn’t I just say that?”

“No, you said someone. I said something.” Sasha turned to Melanie and raised an eyebrow. “You get what I mean, right?”

“I—oh. Oh.” Melanie’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck.” She turned to Georgie. “You’ve met monsters before.”

Georgie blinked. “Yeah?” she said, drawing out the word a bit, like she wasn’t sure why that was such a big deal.

Melanie cursed under her breath. Sasha leaned in eagerly. “What? When?”

“Not here,” Melanie said swiftly. “Not in public. We—shit, my place is ten minutes by Tube—”

“I live right down the block,” Georgie said, frowning. “If you want to…talk more privately. I can make better drinks at home. Or tea or something.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Melanie downed her drink quickly—probably too quickly. “C’mon, let’s close out the tab and go.”

Sasha paid for their drinks, on the theory that if this led to a statement she could probably expense it back to the Institute, and hurried after Georgie and Melanie. The wind had died down a little since they’d entered the pub, but it was still overcast and cool, not that Sasha could tell from the speed they were walking. She almost had to run to keep up with them.

Georgie turned out to live in a basement flat in a surprisingly well-kept building, consisting of a kitchen, a sitting room, a bath, and three bedrooms, one of which had been transformed into a studio. The walls were painted light blue, the carpet was an inoffensive beige, and the sofa was a dark green that had seen better days. A low bookshelf bristled with soppy romance novels mingled with books on hauntings and the paranormal, most of which Sasha had read. There were a couple art prints hanging on the wall and a framed photograph of an older couple sitting on top of the bookshelf. There was also a radiator, and curled up on top of said radiator was an extremely fat grey cat. As Georgie shut the door, the cat stirred, yawned, and stretched, revealing that its front paws were both white and had thumbs.

“Who’s this?” Sasha asked, bending down to let the cat sniff her hand. It butted its head against her fingers, obviously wanting to be scratched. Sasha obliged, secretly delighted—she loved cats, and most of the other ones she interacted with on a regular basis were largely indifferent to her or would rather play than cuddle.

“That’s the Admiral. He’s a lazy old man.” Georgie carried on to the kitchen. “What’s your pleasure?”

“Anything with gin,” Melanie said, sounding a bit distracted. Sasha looked up to see her rummaging through her pockets. “Damn…Georgie, do you have a tape recorder we could borrow?”

“A tape recorder?” Georgie repeated, looking over her shoulder with a puzzled frown. “Why?”

“Look, whatever you’re about to tell us—whatever you encountered or ran into or whatever—that’s the sort of thing we deal with at the Institute. It’s what we do, take people’s statements and, and research them or whatever.” Melanie pulled out a cassette tape and frowned at it, turning it over several times. “This one’s probably blank…anyway, we need to record it so we can add it to the Archives.”

Georgie’s frown deepened. “You know, there’s this nifty app on phones these days that records stuff. Or, you know, I have an entire studio of podcast equipment. Recording audio is kind of what I do.”

“For some reason, none of the…real statements will go on digital recordings,” Sasha said, straightening up. The Admiral mewed his displeasure and pawed at her leg. “Claws away, cat. We have to use the tape recorders. If we try to digitally record your statement, it’ll just come out as gibberish.”

“I’ve never had a problem with that.”

“You’ve never recorded a podcast about anything like this,” Melanie said positively. “So. Tape recorder?”

Georgie stood motionless for about five seconds. Finally, she said, “I’ve got one in the studio.”

“Should we set up a ward?” Sasha asked Melanie quietly, as Georgie went to fetch the recorder.

Melanie shook her head. “No need. The statements don’t really draw the Fears they’re about. Probably. Technically. Most likely.”

“Yeah, but they do draw the Eye.”

“You’re…not wrong. However, unless you’re developing Archivist-level powers, we’re probably going to need a little help from the Eye to get a coherent statement.”

Sasha shrugged. “I’ve never tried.”

Georgie came back in and handed Melanie a clunky greenish-grey shoebox recorder. Melanie popped the tape she’d found in her pocket into it and pressed PLAY. Satisfied it was truly blank, she turned to Georgie. “Okay. Where do you want to do this?”

“Are you going to explain to me what ‘this’ is, exactly?” Georgie asked. “Because I have no clue.”

To her credit, Melanie looked embarrassed. “Oh. Right.”

Sasha didn’t want to interfere, but she thought it might help if she made a practical suggestion. “Why don’t we sit down? This might take a while.”

They ended up around the kitchen table, each of them with a gin and tonic with a lime twist—gin wasn’t Sasha’s favorite drink in the world, but she figured it couldn’t hurt. Melanie took a deep breath and pushed the tape recorder to the center of the table. She didn’t touch the RECORD button, though. “Right. What do you want to know? Other than…generally, what.”

Georgie looked from Melanie to Sasha and back. “You said the Magnus Institute…I know generally what it does, look into spooky things and whatnot. And I know they were asking about what you saw at Cambridge Military Hospital. And last week, you said that knowing anything about Information Sciences doesn’t matter all that much in the Archives.”

“I said it matters less than you think. I never said it didn’t matter.” Melanie huffed at her.

“Sorry. So…we’re talking about spooky bullshit, then.”

“More or less.” Melanie took a deep breath. “Okay. Simplest explanation. You said you’d met…monsters before.”

“Yeah?”

“Well…we kind of work for one.”

Georgie blinked. “Oh. That’s…not good.” She paused. “Wait, didn’t you say Jon was your boss? Is he the monster?”

“Kind of,” Sasha said, at the same time as Melanie emphatically and angrily said, “No!”

Georgie looked between the two of them again. “One of you is lying.”

Sasha raised her hand. She wasn’t exactly lying—Jon was certainly beginning to turn into something less than human—but Martin was a hell of a lot further along on that path than Jon was, and she was smart enough to realize that there was a very hard line not to cross. Insinuating that Melanie’s brother—that either of Melanie’s brothers—was a monster was firmly on the other side of that line. “Not really lying, just…misspoke. Jon’s not the monster we work for. He’s closer to it than we are…technically…and it’s affecting him, but he’s not a monster.”

“So his boss is the monster.”

“The answer to that is closer to yes, but still technically no.” Melanie took a deep breath. “There are…there are things beyond the world. Not exactly gods, but powers or…something. We call them the Fears. They live outside our universe, but they’re trying to push in. Sometimes they come in the form of monsters. Other times they choose people to be their…we call them avatars. But they end up getting all these powers, and they start to lose some of their self. Sometimes all of it. It all depends on how hard they fight it.”

Georgie stared at Melanie. “And that’s what Jon is. And that…friend of yours that turned up at the pub?”

“I—yes.” Melanie sighed. “Different powers, though. The one that the Institute serves…so we all kind of serve it, really, Jon’s just the one getting spooky powers from it…we call it the Eye, or the Beholding, or the Ceaseless Watcher, or It Knows You, or…you get the idea. It’s knowledge, or the fear of being watched, of, of being observed. Jon, as the Archivist, can…make people tell him things. When he asks questions, people have to answer him. And the statements—people want to tell him about these things. All he has to do is say ‘tell me’ and they spill their guts. And he gets energy, kind of, from reading the statements, the real ones. I mean, it feeds off of him, too, but…it’s a whole…thing.”

Georgie snorted. “If that’s what the job is about, that explains why he got the job. He was always the one who pushed too far and asked smart-arse, awkward questions. I was always surprised he never got punched.”

Melanie’s eyes flashed, but all she said was, “I think that particular bit of luck’s run out.”

Sasha suppressed a smirk. The fact that Melanie had gone from clearly wanting to knock Jon’s teeth out to being one of his staunchest allies and defenders besides Martin would never cease to amuse her. She also noticed that Melanie hadn’t brought up the fact that Martin also had several of those abilities, and then some—Jon couldn’t see the Marks, as far as Sasha knew, and she’d never heard him suddenly drop into a trance and spill out information he almost certainly shouldn’t have known in that much detail. But she kept quiet about that. She was more interested in seeing how Melanie handled this.

“So, he discovered his boss was evil, making him kind of evil, and…what, just decided to take some time off?” Georgie drummed her fingers on the table for a moment.

“Well, no. There were a couple murders that got blamed on him. Officially, anyway. Nobody in the Archives thought he’d done it—nobody outside the police thought he’d done it—but still, he was suspect number one.”

“Huh. I assume that’s why I had the police asking after him, then.”

Melanie jerked back. “What?”

“It’s fine, I hadn’t heard from him since the breakup,” Georgie said, a piece of information that startled Sasha way more than the casual comment about the police. “Anyway, that makes sense, but you said your…friend was something different?”

“Okay, first of all, Gerry’s not just a friend, he’s practically my brother,” Melanie said, an edge to her voice. “He’s the one who taught me all this stuff, did his best to protect me from it. He’s fought for me—and for Martin—to keep us safe. What happened to him isn’t his fault.”

“Wait. Isn’t that the brother you told me died just before you did the Cambridge Military Hospital job?”

“Same one. He got brought back…well, technically his soul or, or echo or whatever, got bound into a gigantic book of skin, and then the book got burnt and he was accidentally set free and…he sort of made a deal with one of the powers without meaning to. Terminus. The End. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Death?”

“Yeah.”

Georgie sighed, sounding exasperated. “Great. I’ve been talking to another corpse.”

At that point, as much as she wanted to see it play out, Sasha decided to intervene. Melanie was about to absolutely explode, and Sasha had noticed that Georgie still didn’t seem afraid by any of this. She could have been hiding it well, but Sasha really wanted to dig at it and see what was going on, what the limits of that were. “I think that’s a good place to start your statement, actually.”

“Right.” Georgie took a swig of her drink.

“Do you mind if we record this?”

“I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Sasha reached for the recorder, then noticed the button was already depressed. She didn’t call attention to that, though. “Okay. Want us to start you off?”

Georgie shrugged. “Sure. Go for it.”

“Great. Statement of Georgina Barker, regarding a conversation with a corpse. Statement recorded direct from subject, twenty-first April, 2017.” Sasha nodded. “Go ahead. Where did it start?”

“Balliol. It was my first year of university—I was still studying English back then.”

It took a fair bit of prompting on Sasha’s part—Melanie sat with her arms crossed over her chest and a mulish expression on her face—but she eventually managed to draw the sum and substance of the story out of Georgie. She recited the facts of the tale in a calm, emotionless voice that had Sasha completely fascinated. It explained a lot when she described the numbness she’d drifted through the next year in, but not everything.

“But you got your emotions back,” she noted. “Obviously.”

“All but one,” Georgie said slowly. “It’s weird, but—ever since then, I’ve never been able to feel afraid. I mean, I can still tell when a situation is dangerous—like today—and I understand the likelihood of harm, so I don’t take stupid risks. But actual fear?” She shook her head. “Simply not something I experience anymore. And I’ve never been able to tell if it was cauterized…or stolen.”

“Neither,” Melanie said shortly. “From what you described, it was meant to bring everyone to a state of existential dread. ‘The moment you die will feel exactly the same as this one’—you weren’t supposed to let that motivate you. It was supposed to render you paralytic, catatonic with despair. Shit, I bet that was someone’s go at a Terminus ritual—draw a big enough group of people waiting for death, Death’s going to come in, and maybe get enough power to break through and take over. I bet you disrupted it by surviving. And the only way you survived was by leaving your fear behind, like a rat’s tail caught in a trap. It’s gone, and it probably won’t grow back, but they didn’t want it. You left it.”

Sasha picked at the logic. It made as much sense as anything. “Well. That certainly explains a lot.”

“Thanks,” Georgie said dryly. “What do you mean by a Terminus ritual?”

Melanie glanced at her watch. “We should probably get going if we’re going to make it to the shop by eight.”

“Just a minute.” Sasha didn’t know why Melanie was so keen to keep knowledge from Georgie, why she was hiding so much, but it only felt fair to answer that question. “Most of the servants of these powers have plans for rituals to try and bring the powers into the world. Right now we’re trying to stop the Stranger from doing theirs, but we know there are others. We thought the End didn’t have one, but after what you just said, we’re not so sure anymore.”

“Hmm.” Georgie pursed her lips. “Okay. Sorry, I know you two have an appointment, and I don’t want your friend to think I’m keeping you against your will. Go ahead, we can catch up some other time. It was nice to meet you, Sasha.”

“You, too.” Sasha got to her feet and held out her hand; Georgie shook it. “C’mon, Melanie, let’s get a move on.”

“Sure.” Melanie stood, but she avoided Georgie’s eyes as she swiped up the recorder and popped out the tape. “Nice to see you again.”

Sasha gave the Admiral one last chin scritch, and then they were out the door.

Not until they were on the train did Sasha turn to Melanie and ask, “So what was that all about?”

“She’s an aphobe,” Melanie confessed. “She and Jon dated, that’s how they knew each other, and she said some things last week when we met up that basically made me realize the reason they broke up was because Jon’s asexual and she was trying to make him not be. Turns out I’m still mad about that.”

“That’s…probably fair. I didn’t know you liked him that much.”

“We’re too much alike. We would end up either best friends or at each other’s throats. And he’s dating my brother, so that’d be a dick move.” Melanie sighed and studied the tape. “When did you turn it on?”

“It was already on. I have no clue what’s on there.”

Melanie stared vacantly at the opposite wall of the train. “I guess we’ll find out in a bit.”

Sasha nodded. “I guess so.”

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #sasha james #melanie king #georgie barker #arguments #hostility #mention of death #alcohol cw #mention of aphobia

4 notes · View notes