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on-maars · 3 years

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The Castle Operation

Alright I posted it on AO3 like one hour ago and I’m already overwhelmed by the comments you guys are crazy but I’m so grateful. I was feeling very insecure about my writing and all the comments made me smile like an idiot.

Find it on AO3.

Christopher sighs as he chews on his pencil.

This Math exercise is hard and he’s been working on it for more than half an hour. It’s a long time, and if he gets stuck any longer then he won’t have time to play video games.

Buck is usually the one to help him with his homework. Especially Math. His father is very bad at Math and Buck is not very good at it either but they usually manage to get through it together, as a team.

You and I make a great team – that’s what Buck told him a few weeks ago and Christopher doesn’t understand why he’s not around anymore. He used to be there all the time after his dad got hurt. He used to make breakfast and drive him to school and help him with his homework and read him stories just before nighttime. But that was before.

He’s alone again with his dad now. And Christopher loves his dad. In fact, if you’d ask him he’d say he’s the best dad in the world, for sure. But he thought that maybe this time Buck would have stayed. He thought that maybe his dad would want him to stay.

But his dad never asked.

Christopher presses his small hands over his face and rubs his eyes. He’s tired and he wants to sit on the couch and play video games and talk with his friends but he’s stuck on this chair because of this stupid Math exercise. He doesn’t even like Math.

“What’s going on in there?” Carla asks after a few seconds. She sits down next to him and Christopher drops his pencil on the table.

“I don’t like Math.” Christopher only answers, shrugging his shoulders. He raises his eyes and sighs when he realizes it’s only 5pm. He still has to wait two hours for his dad to come back and maybe then he can ask him if Buck can come too, for a movie night.

“Why do I feel like there’s something more than that?” Carla asks, raising her eyebrows. Christopher doesn’t like it when she does that. She always knows when something is bothering him and he can never lie to her. He tried before but it never worked.

“I miss Bucky.” Christopher says, slowly.

“Oh honey I miss him too.” Carla answers. “But you know he’s not far, right?”

“I know.” Christopher whispers. “But he used to be around all the time. He used to be around all the time and now he’s gone.” Christopher adds, taking the pen to scribble on his notebook. “I don’t understand why Dad didn’t ask him to stay.”

“Did you want him to stay?” Carla asks, smiling.

“Of course I did.” Christopher frowns. “I want him to stay forever.” He clarifies. Because he thinks it’s important, for people to know that Buck belongs here with them. Not in his own flat. Not with anyone else. Here . With him and his dad. “And I know dad wants that, too. He didn’t ask him to stay but I know he wanted to. I’m not stupid. He’s always happy when he’s around. He smiles all the time and sometimes he looks at him the same way he used to look at Mom.”

“Oh, Christopher.” Carla says, wrapping her arms around his back. Christopher sniffles and hides his face on her chest, closing his eyes. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“So you see it too, then?” Christopher moves away from Carla’s embrace and adjusts his glasses on his nose.

“I do.” Carla agrees. “Very much so.” She adds. “But maybe your dad hasn’t seen it yet.”

“But that’s not possible.” Christopher shakes his head. Surely, his dad has seen it, too. His dad notices everything. He always does.

“Maybe it’s easier for us to tell because we can see it from a distance.” Carla explains and Christopher frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“You remember the Lego castle you built with Buck?” Christopher nods and smiles. It was a very big castle and Buck and him had taken an entire afternoon to build it. It was very complicated and messy and his dad had even said they could take some snacks upstairs in his room so that they could be done before diner. But it was a long time ago and Christopher doesn’t understand what it has to do with anything.

“I do.” He says, looking down at his hands.

“And when you stand very close to it, you can’t really see everything all at once, can you?” She asks and Christopher nods again. It’s true – he thinks. He usually has to move his eyes a lot if he wants to see the whole thing. “Maybe you can see one of the windows very well, or even a tower or the drawbridge.” She continues. “But the only way to see it all, the only way to see the whole castle is if you stand a bit further.”

“But I don’t want Buck to go anywhere.” Christopher argues.

“And he’s not.” Carla reassures him, ruffling his hair. “He’s not going anywhere. He’s always gonna be there, Christopher. But maybe that’s why you can see it so clearly and your dad doesn’t.”

“Because I can see the whole castle.” Christopher smiles. “That’s okay, then.” He says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Dad can only see the drawbridge.” He says. “But I’m gonna help him see the whole castle, too.”

---

Christopher spends a lot of time thinking about it. Whether it be in his bed, on the couch, in the play-yard or even in his classroom. He knows he’s supposed to listen to what his teacher is saying but he just can’t help it.

It’s only for a few minutes though, and Buck told him the other day that sometimes it’s important to take small breaks in order to be more focused on the problem at hand afterwards. And that’s what he does, taking small breaks, thinking about something else than what the teacher is saying.

So really, he’d say it’s even a win-win situation. He gets to reflect on the Helping Dad to See the Whole Castle situation and he’s then more concentrated on his exercises.

It’s only two weeks after his conversation that he comes up with a plan. A very good plan – he thinks. He’s not exactly sure it’s going to work out but he owes it to his dad to at least try, right? His dad’s happiness is at stake so the least he can do is give him a little push in the right direction.

The plan comes to him one day when he’s seated at the table inside the fire station, drawing a picture for Buck. Hen and Chim are comfortably seated on the couch next to him and Uncle Bobby and Buck are in the kitchen, cooking mac and cheese for the whole team. Christopher can hear them talking but he’s much more focused on his dad.

Because his dad is leaning against the fridge and he’s looking at Buck again, with the same expression he used to look at his mom with. He’s smiling and his eyes are so bright Christopher honestly thinks the whole thing is ridiculous. Surely his dad must know he’s in love with Bucky.

And that’s when he hears them. Hen and Chim. They probably both think Christopher is too engrossed on his drawing to notice they’re talking but he can hear them loud and clear.

“When do you think he’ll finally realize?” Chim asks, his voice low, almost whispering.

“I have no idea.” Hen answers. “But it better be soon because you and I both know Buck’s never gonna make the first move.”

Christopher frowns. First move? But to do what? He thinks. From the way they’re talking in hushed voices, he knows it must be important and so he keeps on drawing and listens carefully to the rest of the conversation. They seem very serious. Which Christopher decides is weird. They’re usually always laughing and sharing jokes but this time he can feel it’s more important.

“You know for a while I really thought it was one-sided.” Chimney says.

“Well you know Eddie. He’s never been very vocal about these kind of things.”

“I mean does he need to?” Chim asks. “I mean, look at him!” He adds, louder this time.

Christopher turns his head until his eyes fall on his dad again. He’s still in the kitchen but this time he’s whispering something in Buck’s ear, his hand holding Buck’s arm. They’re both laughing, and that makes Christopher smile. No one makes his dad happier than Buck does. Except him, of course.

Then his dad taps Buck on the back of his neck with his hand and Buck only sticks his tongue out.

“Oh come on!” Hen exclaims and Christopher almost jumps in his seat. “I swear to god if they don’t come to their senses soon, I’m locking them in the closet downstairs.” She adds. “They’re literally acting like a married couple, Chim!”

And Christopher’s smile only gets a bit bigger at her words.

They see it too – he realizes.

They see the whole castle.

And maybe that’s what he needs to do. Maybe that’s what his dad needs.

And so he takes another piece of paper his dad brought with them and starts writing:

Castle operation:

Start telling people about it. But who?

My teacher.

The nice lady of the supermarket.

Uncle Bobby and Aunt Athena?

Abuela.

Find out if Bucky knows about the Castle.

Wait for dad to see it too.

---

The first people Christopher tells are Uncle Bobby and Aunt Athena. He’s standing up on a stool and he’s helping Bobby making soup from scratch. Chicken soup. His dad’s favorite because they’re celebrating him coming back to active duty tonight and Christopher wants everything to be perfect.

He stirs the soup with the big spatula Bobby gave him a few minutes ago and smiles at the scent. It smells just like when his Abuela does it. That’s why Christopher knows it’s gonna be good.

“Where’s Bucky?” Christopher eventually asks after a few seconds. He usually always helps in the kitchen and he can’t see him anywhere.

“He’s talking to your dad in the garden.” Bobby answers, pointing at the glass window. “Look, right there.” He adds, making Christopher look up.

And here he is. Buck. He’s standing next to his dad but Christopher can instantly see that something is wrong. He seems sad. His dad seems sad, too. He’s running his hands through his hair and Christopher knows his dad always does that when he’s nervous about something. It doesn’t happen often but he always notices it.

Christopher tries to keep his eyes on the soup but his curiosity eventually gets the best of him. He darts his eyes towards his dad again and that’s when he sees it. His dad takes a few steps backwards but Buck catches his wrist before he has the chance to walk away.

Christopher squints and even from the kitchen, he knows what Buck is saying must be very important because he looks at his dad in the eye and the next second he wraps his arms around his shoulders and gives him a hug. He even kisses him on the hair and Christopher thinks that’s obviously something he needs to write down on his Castle Operation journal tonight.

“My dad and Bucky are in love.” He only says and doesn’t miss the smile Uncle Bobby shares with Aunt Athena who just joined them in the kitchen.

“You think so?” Uncle Bobby asks, tasting the soup with a spoon.

“I don’t think, I know.” Christopher clarifies. “They just don’t see it yet.” He adds. “But that’s okay. I’ll make sure they do.”

“You do that, kid.” Athena says with a laugh, ruffling his hair.

---

Christopher is lost in the supermarket. It’s a big one and he can’t find Buck. They were doing groceries shopping in order to surprise his dad and cook him his favorite dessert and the next thing Christopher knew he was alone, looking for Buck.

It’s okay, though. Christopher is not scared. It’s not the first time he gets lost in here and it already happened a few times with his dad. He would usually roam around the shelves and look at his right, and then his left, until his eyes fall on Buck but this time, he decides to choose a more direct approach.

He thinks that’s a perfect opportunity to tell the nice lady about Buck. Him and his dad always go to her checkout because she’s always giving him a lollipop. He walks away from the refrigerated shelves and heads for the entrance of the store.

She’s here, at the checkout 6 as always and there’s no-one paying or placing their items on the conveyor belt.

“Christopher!” She exclaims with a smile. “You’re here with your dad again? Where is he?”

“I’m here with Bucky!” Christopher says excitedly. “He’s my second dad. We wanted to buy chocolate chips because we’re going to do a brownie for my dad. It’s his favorite dessert. But I lost Buck. I don’t know where he is.”

“Do you want me to call him with the loudspeaker?” She asks and Christopher nods vigorously. He thinks that’s en excellent idea. Like that, so many people will know that Buck is his dad. It doesn’t matter whether they know him or not. Christopher doesn’t care. In fact, he would happily scream it on the rooftops if it meant his dad would finally realize he’s in love with Buck.

“Christopher Diaz is waiting for his dad next to Checkout six.” She announces and Christopher smiles big at her words. “Alright Christopher, which one do you want today?” She asks, pointing at the bowl filled with lollipops.

“Cherry!”

“Cherry it is, then.” She says, handing it to him. He’s about to thank her when-

“Christopher!” Buck exclaims, rushing towards him, his eyes big, his face wrinkled in concern. “I looked everywhere for you, buddy.” He adds.

“That’s okay Bucky, I was right there.” Christopher says.

“Another lollipop?” He sighs, smiling at the nice lady. “God, you’ve already eaten at least six of these cookies this afternoon, your dad’s gonna kill me.”

“Well he doesn’t need to know… Does he?” Christopher asks cheekily and Buck laughs.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. Let’s keep it a secret, yeah?” He asks. “Now come on, let’s find these chocolate chips, alright? We don’t wanna be late to surprise your dad.”

---

“Goodnight, superman.” Buck whispers a few hours later, kissing him on his forehead.

It’s late and Christopher is tired but he knows his dad is in the shower and he’s pretty sure now is the best time to figure out if Buck is also seeing the Castle for what it really is. And so he just says it.

“Buck.” He calls him, waiting for him to sit back on his bed to continue. “Do you love my dad?” He asks and watches Buck as he opens his eyes wide, his mouth agape. He seems surprised. But Christopher doesn’t look away.

“Hum I- Of course I love him buddy, he’s my best-friend.” He says. “After you, of course.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Christopher insists, sitting up straight on his bed. He rubs his eyes with his hands and holds back a yawn. “I’m asking you if you’re in love with him.” He clarifies.

Buck doesn’t answer anything. He stays very quiet and for a few seconds Christopher thinks that maybe he didn’t hear him. He’s about to repeat the question but then Buck lets out a small laugh and looks down at his hands, like he’s scared.

“Would-would that be a problem?” Buck asks, meeting his gaze. “If I said that I was?” He asks. “In love with your dad, that is.” He adds. “Would that be okay?”

“Of course.” Christopher only answers, frowning. He doesn’t understand why Buck needs to ask him that question.

“Then I- yeah.” Buck admits. “I am. I’m in love with your dad.” He smiles. That makes Christopher smiles too and he nods as he wraps up warmly in his blanket.

“So you see the castle, too.” Christopher states, his eyes watching the lego set standing in the corner of his room.

“The castle?” Buck tilts his head with a confused smile on his face.

“You and dad.” Christopher explains, his voice tired. “You guys are the Castle.” He says. “Carla said I could see it because I was standing further away.” He adds. “She said my dad was too close and that’s why he couldn’t see it. But I don’t think she was right.”

“No?” Buck encourages him, running his hand through Christopher’s curls.

“No. I think he’s exactly in the right place.” He goes on. “He’s just too scared to see it.” His eyes are closed now. But he pushes through the fatigue and says the next few words anyway. He needs to stay awake. At least only for a few more minutes. Because this conversation is too important.

“And why do you think he’s scared to see it?” Buck asks, curious.

“Because he’s afraid it might break if he gets too close.” He says. “So he doesn’t look at it. He doesn’t touch it either. Maybe he pretends it isn’t there, too. Like that, he’s sure it can’t break.”

Christopher falls asleep. But he stills hears Buck’s answer.

“Or maybe he just thinks there’s no Castle to look at in the first place.”

There are two last thoughts crossing Christopher’s mind before he lets himself fall completely into Morpheus’ arms.

Buck definitely knows about the Castle. He’s just afraid his dad thinks it doesn’t exist.

Adults are too messy and complicated. Being a kid is easier.

---

Christopher is at his Abuela's with his dad. He’s sitting on the carpet in the living-room, his Lego bricks scattered around him. He’s trying to build the fire station but it turns out to be much more complicated than he expected it to be.

His Abuela and his dad are in the kitchen and Christopher isn’t planning on eavesdropping because he knows it’s a bad thing but his name suddenly comes up in the conversation and if what they’re saying concerns him then it must mean he has the right to listen, right? It only makes sense.

“So, is Christopher excited about his summer camp?” His Abuela says.

“Yeah I think so.” His dad answers and Christopher nods vigorously even though they can’t see him. His dad is right. He is very excited. All his friends are going to be there and he knows he’s gonna have the best of time. He’s just afraid not to have the time to make his dad see the Castle before he goes. Because school ends in a week and then it’s only two days before the summer camp starts. It’s not much time and Christopher already tried to make a lot of allusions about the Buck situation in front of his dad but he’s afraid his dad might need a lot more help than he initially thought.

“It’s gonna be good for him.” His abuela answers.

“Who gave you flowers?” His dad asks, pointing at the stargazer bouquet placed on the table.

“Your boy brought them to me this morning.” She says and Christopher frowns. Your boy? Is she maybe talking about B-

“He’s not my-" His dad starts but marks a pause. “Buck brought you flowers?” He asks and Christopher’s smile only gets a bit bigger.

“He did. I needed to change a bulb on my bedroom ceiling light but I didn’t trust myself to do it.” She says and Christopher thinks it’s very nice of Buck to have come help his Abuela, like he does with him every day and like he did with his dad after he got hurt. He’s always taking good care of his family and if you’d ask Christopher, he would say that’s probably the reason why he loves him so much.

“So you called Buck?” His dad asks incredulously. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come.”

“Oh I would you would have, Eddito.” She answers and pats his dad on the cheek a few times. “But you were already busy with Christopher’s medical appointment." She says. "Besides, Buck was already supposed to come so I could give him the tamales recipe.”

Chris opens his eyes wide and whirls his head around towards his Abuela, his Lego set long forgotten.

His Abuela was very secretive about her recipes. Especially the tamales one. Christopher knew her own dad taught her how to cook and she always refuses to share the recipes with anyone who wasn’t family. Even Miss Flores didn’t have the recipes privileges. This was very sacred. And if Buck could have them then it could only mean one thing: His Abuela definitely knows about the Castle too.

“You-” His dad says but stops mid-sentence. He seems very surprised, just as much as Christopher. “You shared that recipe with him?” He asks. “I thought- I thought it was only reserved f-”

“Only reserved for family?” His Abuela cuts in. “Eddie, are you really telling me this boy is not family? After everything he’s done for y-”

“No, no I know.” His dad says. “And he is.” He adds. “I just-”

“You just what?” His abuela asks. “You know, I never really understood why you wasted your time with that girl.” She continues. She’s talking about Miss Flores – Christopher thinks, sticking two Lego bricks together to pretend he’s still very engrossed in what he's doing – but really all his attention is focused on their discussion.

“Ana?” His dad asks, his eyebrows raised. “What about her? I thought you liked h-”

“I did.” His Abuela answers. Christopher did, too. She was very nice, and she was always helping him with his homework. But Buck was Buck. Nobody would ever measure up to him. Nobody could ever measure up to him “She was a very nice woman. But I knew it wouldn’t last. Not as long as Buck was there.”

“Abuela, I-”

“Edmundo, this boy is a ray of sunshine. Agradezco a Jesus que lo encontraste todos los dias.” She says. “Es perfecto para ti y sé que lo amas.”

“He’s too good for me, Abuela.” His dad admits and Christopher frowns.

“That’s not true.” He says in a whisper even if he knows his dad can’t hear him.

“You deserve nice things, Edmundo.” Abuela concludes, patting his dad on the cheek once again. “Don’t forget that.”

“I wish you could see the whole Castle.” Christopher tells him later when his dad tucks him in.

“The whole Castle?” His dad asks, his smile confused. “What do you mean, mijo?”

“I can’t tell you, yet.” Christopher says, closing his eyes. “You need to figure it out on your own."

---

It’s the last day of school and Christopher is running out of time. Buck hasn’t spent a single night with them this week and his dad seems sadder than usual. Or maybe not sad – Christopher thinks, but distracted. He always has this faraway look in his eyes, like he’s thinking of something very important but he can’t make a decision.

Christopher wishes he could help but he knows his dad doesn’t really like to talk about himself and how he feels. And so he observes him quietly from afar, trying to find ways to make him feel better. That’s why he convinced his dad to invite Buck for a movie night after school. Because there’s no one who can cheer him up quite like the way Bucky does.

He’s seated on his chair and he’s drawing a picture of himself with Buck and his dad. He’s been drawing a lot of pictures just like this one for a few weeks because he will be away in that summer camp for Buck’s birthday and so he decided to do a drawing for each day he spends without him to make up for it.

“That’s a nice drawing you did there, Chris.” His teacher says, squatting down next to his table.

“That’s for my second dad.” Christopher nods. “For his birthday.”

“Oh so that’s the famous Buck I keep hearing about.” She says, pointing at the person standing next to his dad.

“Yes, that’s him.” Christopher nods excitedly. “He’s the best.”

“I’m sure he is.” His teacher agrees and turns her head when someone knocks on the door. “Oh, looks like your dad’s here.” She says. Christopher whirls his head around and smiles wildly at his dad who starts conversing with his teacher.

“Are you and your husband going to join us for the end of year picnic tomorrow?” She asks and Christopher smiles cheekily while putting his stuff back in his schoolbag.

“My- my husband?” His dad asks. He sounds very confused.

“Your partner?” His teacher corrects herself. “I’m sorry, from the way Chris talks about his Bucky, I assumed you guys were married.”

“Uh no we’re not- we’re not married. He’s… He’s just my f-” His dad starts but marks a pause. “We’re not married.” He says again.

“My apologies. But you should bring him anyway.” Ms. Walker says. “We’d love to meet him.”

“Uh yeah I- I’m sure he’d like that.” His dad says with a smile.

Christopher follows him out of the classroom and to the car. He fastens his seat-belt and takes the book about space Buck bought for him a few weeks ago. He’s still not done reading it and he really wants to finish it before summer camp so he can discuss it with him.

“Christopher.” His dad calls him from the driver seat. “Why does your teacher think Buck and I are married?” He asks. Christopher was scared his dad would be upset but he only sounds curious. Confused, too.

“Because I told her he was my second dad.” Christopher answers matter-of-factly.

“Why… Why did you do that?”

“Because he is.” Christopher sighs, pressing his hands over his face.

Christopher thinks his dad is going to say something else but he stays very quiet instead. The whole drive is silent until he parks the car on the driveway where Buck is already waiting for them in his truck. He waves at Christopher excitedly and engulfs him into a hug as soon as he’s out of the car.

“Buck!” Christopher exclaims, his smile big. “You’re here early.”

“It’s never too early for my favorite Diaz boy.” He answers, ruffling his hair.

Once inside the house, Christopher lets go of his school bag, takes off his shoes and sits at the table. Buck serves him cereals with milk, accompanied by a glass of orange juice. His dad is seated at the table but he’s still very quiet and for a few seconds Christopher is afraid he might have done something stupid but then Buck slides a second bowl filled with cereals and milk in front of him and his dad smiles softly at him and rolls his eyes.

“What?” Buck defends himself. “I know you’re a sucker for cereals when you’re all cranky.”

“I’m not cranky!”

“Right.” Buck answers, raising his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Eat your cereals, Diaz.”

“Yeah dad.” Christopher repeats. “Eat your cereals.”

Christopher spends the next half hour telling them about his school day and then Buck tells him all about a documentary he saw a few nights ago about the Egyptian Pyramids. Christopher thinks it’s fascinating and after making both his dads promise they would take him in the Egyptian Museum in San Jose, he sits down on the sofa and goes on reading his book about Space.

“Bucky.” He still says after a while.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I have a drawing for you. Wait here.” Christopher answers. He stands up and opens his school bag, taking the drawing he did in class while he was waiting for his dad to pick him up. He wanted to give it to Buck just before leaving for his summer camp but he feels like maybe it needs to be given now. Maybe that’s the only way for his dad to see the Castle.

Because it is . A Castle. Chrstopher drew a big one at the center, with him, his dad and Buck standing next to it, all smiling.

Christopher gives it to him and he can instantly see a soft smile breaking in on Buck’s face. His dad is watching too over his shoulders, and when Buck looks up at him with a knowing look on his face, Christopher smiles too. He knew Buck would understand.

“It’s… It’s the Castle.” Buck says. Christopher can see that his eyes are filled with tears and so he wraps his small arms around Buck’s shoulders.

“You know about this?” His dad asks after a few seconds, his eyebrows raised in confusion. “You know about the Castle metaphors?” He add. “I mean he actually explained it to you?”

“Uh… Maybe?” Buck says, apologetically.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well I’m not sure you’re quite there yet.” Buck answers and Christopher nods sadly.

“What do you mean I’m not quite there yet?” His dad asks, exasperated. “Can you both stop talking in riddle and tell me what’s going on?”

Christopher signs and looks down at his hands. Maybe this has gone off long enough – he thinks. Maybe it’s time to tell him directly. Maybe that’s what his dad needs, for Christopher and Buck to tell him that’s it’s okay, that no Castle is too big for him. And so he takes the sheet of paper and turns it the other way, revealing what’s written on the back.

“Me and my two dads.”

“That’s the castle, dad.” Christopher finally says. “You’re the castle. You and Bucky.”

“And you too.” Buck adds with a smile and Christopher just nods.

“Hum I- I still don’t get it.” His dad admits and Buck lets out a small laugh. But Christopher can see he’s scared too. He knows it because he doesn’t look at his dad in the eye. He looks down at his hands instead.

“Of course you don’t.” Buck still says with a smile.

“It’s our family.” Christopher clarifies. “And Buck is a part of it.”

“Of course he’s a part of it Chris, but what does it have to do with anyt- Oh.”

“Buck’s been inside the Castle for a very long time, dad.” Christopher explains. “I thought you knew it too. But then you started dating Miss Flores and it wasn’t fair to Bucky.” He adds. “I- I’ve never been mad at you for dating again, dad. I was mad at you because I thought that Bucky was the only one with the key to our Castle but then she was there and he was gone. I felt like you were replacing him and I didn’t like that.”

“Christopher, I-” His dad starts but marks a pause, letting his eyes fall on Buck for a few seconds. Buck is still very quiet and his eyes are bright with tears and they’re still fixed on the few words written on the back of the drawing. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His dad asks.

“I tried.” Christopher says with a small voice. “And Miss Flores was nice.” He adds. “She was nice and I liked her very much but she was-”

“She was never Buck.” His dad finishes for him and Buck whirls his head around to look at his dad in the eye. “What? He’s a smart kid.” His dad says.

“The smartest.” Buck chokes up and tears are rolling down his face. But that’s okay because his dad places both of his hands on his cheeks and wipes them with his thumbs.

“Buck was scared you thought there was no Castle to see.” Christopher explains but frowns when that only makes Bucky cry harder.

“Of course there’s a Castl- Dios.” His dad says, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Buck.” He goes on. “Evan.” He adds, and Buck finally looks up at him. “Of course there’s a Castl- god, I’ve had enough with these Castle references.” He says, and Buck laughs through his tears. “Of course you’re a part of this family, Buck. You always have. Always will.”

“Always.” Christopher agrees, placing his small hand over Buck’s. “You should kiss him now, dad.”

“I should, right?” His dad says cheekily, cradling Buck’s chin with his right hand and pressing their lips together. Only for a few seconds, though. Otherwise that’s just too gross – Christopher thinks. His dad then whispers something along the line of Christopher was right and you do have the keys to my heart and Christopher doesn’t really understand what that means but Bucky throws his head backwards, laughing, so Christopher only guesses his dad must be doing something good.

“You didn’t just say that, Diaz.” Buck says. “That’s sappy as hell, even for you.” He adds and his dad taps him on the back of his neck again, still smiling.

Christopher eventually looks away though and focuses on his book about Space once again because his job here is done:

The Castle Operation is officially a success.

#buddie #buddie fic #buck x eddie #9-1-1 #911 #my writing #911 fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz

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cellard0ors · 3 years

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Fic: Movement (4/5)

Still working on this for @peachworthy. Should wrap up sometime this week or next and then the full thing'll get posted to AO3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 here for now!

They decide to do it on a Saturday night.

Link has the weekend off from work and no classes. Rhett’s schedule is also free. They discuss the matter in terse terms, both seeming nervous about the idea, but neither backing down.

As such, Saturday rolls around with little fanfare until late into the evening. An evening that finds Link sitting on the couch, one of his legs jiggling and bouncing about as he waits for Rhett.

Rhett comes out to the living room holding a pillow and he offers it to Link. Link looks at it with some confusion and his friend clears his throat, eyes darting away, “For your lap.”

“My-?” Link looks down and then to Rhett and then…oh. Link colors, realizing that the pillow is to be used in order to cover any potentially ‘arising’ situation on his part. Feel exposed yet stubborn, he remarks dryly, “Don’t think I’ll need that.”

Rhett lets out a loud laugh and pats him in the chest with it, “Trust me. If I’ve done my job right? You will.”

“…point taken,” Link says softly and he takes the pillow, settling it over his crotch. To be fair, he probably will pop wood. After all, he sometimes pops it when Rhett’s full clothed.

Nude?

Yeah.

Link presses down on the pillow harder, even the errant thought of a nude Rhett causing a stirring. Rhett walks to the television and fiddles with the remote.

An app that Link’s noticed before, but never bothered with, is clicked on. Erotes Plus. The screenshots for the videos that come up are…certainly something. Link looks away, almost overwhelmed by all the bare flesh before him. The titles of the videos are also a bit much. Rhett notices and Link can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Prude.”

Link scowls and glares back at him and the screen. He is nota prude. However, titles such as ‘Lonely Housewife Squirts for The First Time’ and ‘He Rides His Daddy Dry’ would take anybody aback. At least Link would like to think so – he supposes some people are more immune than others. After all, his own history with porn is on the small side.

During puberty he’d taken his healthy peeks at nude magazines and a few of his friends had snuck out adult VHS tapes to check out, but for the most part it hadn’t interested him. Granted, this was probably due to his eventual discovery that – while he appreciated the female form – it didn’t draw his interest quite like the male one did.

And finding gay porn? Where he grew up? Yeah, pretty much a completely impossibility. And then – when he’d finally managed to snag some – it had, once more, disappointed. It all just seemed so cold and callous. Like a business transaction with a boatload of grunting. Not at all to his tastes.

Rhett, scrolling through the videos, finally finds one titled simply ‘Movement’ and turns to Link with an apprehensive glance, “Still plenty of time to say ‘no’.”

Link’s throat is dry. Unlike some of the other screenshots, this one is vaguer. It’s two forms silhouetted in shadow. One of those forms is Rhett. Link feels numb as he speaks, “I’m good.”

Rhett clicks the video and it begins.

He moves over and sits near Link, lounging against the other side of the couch in an oh-so-casual way. As if an adult video starring him hasn’t just begun to play.

The film opens with a lithe redhead in a yoga outfit doing various poses. While this is being shown the title card appears followed by the starring and since Link highly doubts Rhett goes by ‘Jenessa Star’, he can’t help but chuckle at, “‘Donatello Velvet’?”

“What?” Rhett asks simply and Link gestures to the television, “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That’s the screen name you chose?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just don’t see you as a ‘Donatello’,” Link grins at him and Rhett laughs, rubbing one finger along his top lip thoughtfully, “What would you’d’ve gone with then?”

“If I was doing adult film?” Link asks and at Rhett’s nod, he crosses his arms and thinks, “I don’t know…Bevin, maybe?”

Rhett tosses his head back and laughs and Link feels a fissure of delight at that sound, just as he always does. He turns back and the redhead’s poses have become…much more complex. Almost painful looking as she contorts herself to degrees Link wouldn’t think possible and then she rises, stretching out and that’s when Rhett enters.

Or maybe it would be better to think of it as Donatello enters. Yes, it’s a little easier that way and Link does his best to cling to that, to try and stay nonchalant as he offers dryly, “Well, well – there’s a familiar lookin’ fella.”

Rhett just hums and they both watch as he walks up to the woman. He runs his hands along her shoulders and down her arms, whispering into her neck huskily, “Good form.”

Link can’t help but let out a snort. Rhett rolls his eyes, “Okay, okay – I know, I know. Dialogue’s a bit-?”

“Bad?”

“…it could use some improvement.”

“Uh huh,” Link just beams and hey, this isn’t so bad. Cheesy and kind of silly and maybe it will just stay like this. Light and fun. For all Link knows, they won’t even watch the whole thing. Maybe just some of it and then they can turn on something els-!

Rhett begins kissing Jenessa’s neck, white teeth visibly dragging along her skin and Link’s whole body tightens. A phantom sting starts along the same side of his neck that Rhett’s touching on Jenessa. Jenessa’s whole throat arches back, a pleasured moan leaving her and Rhett’s tongue is…very pink.

Link’s Adam’s apple bobs as he says (much huskier than he’d like) “N-Nice camera work…”

Rhett just hums, “Mac’s always had a good eye.”

“Mac?”

“Mackenzie, the director of this one.”

Link just lets out a sound of acknowledgement as he watches Rhett reach around Jenessa and tug at her tank top. Tug until her small, pointed breasts pop free. He cups them in his hands and he has…great hands.

They looks so tan against her skin, palms rough and big, and Jenessa lets out a full throttle moan. Rhett teases the pink tips, fingertips agile as they play along the sensitive flesh, as they circle around her areolas.

She whimpers and turns, kisses him fully, passionately, and it’s…messy. Wet. Link can feel his whole heart thump hard at the sight. Janessa’s hair is shorter than Rhett’s – cropped close to her scalp and Rhett’s hands have abandoned her chest to run through the short strands.

Link barely stops himself from reaching up and touching his own hair, instinctively wanting to mimic how that might feel. To imagine Rhett doing it to him.

He tries not to fidget and talking, talking will help, “Surprised this isn’t more, ah, instant.”

Rhett shrugs, “Foreplay’s a thing, man.”

“No, I know,” Link knows his voice pitches a little high at this, defensive, “Just…figured, mean...’s porn…”

“Some of the earlier videos on here are like that, but when EP got bought out, the new owners took the company in a different direction.”

“EP?”

“Erotes Plus. The platform these films are on,” Rhett explains and then he starts mentioning a few things about different production companies and distributors and the like, but Link is too distracted because Jenessa is now fully naked and Rhett is on his knees between her legs, feasting on her moist lower lips.

The silken tip of his tongue is parting her, dancing along the bundle of nerves that is her clit and her head is tossed back on a loud, wild whine.

Her pale body undulates and she’s gripping his long hair so hard. Link feels as if he’s having an out of body experience. This is his roommate. His friend. The man he’s secretly in love with.

And he’s pleasuring this woman with such…focus. With intensity and finesse and when he rises, his erection is clear, straining at the linen pants that are containing it. Link points to the screen weakly, “Hippie clothes.”

The comment is stupid and unhelpful, but Rhett just laughs, “Yeah – kinda the theme of this series. I’m like, a Yoga Instructor or something? Least that's the way it was explained to me, so – linen pants, cotton top – I mean, we’ve had better costumes, but for this shoot-!”

Rhett is talking some more but, again, Link is barely listening. His eyes are transfixed by what’s taking place on the screen. Janessa easily strips off Rhett’s shirt and then his pants and – No. Underwear.

Link is seeing Rhett’s dick. It’s there…thick, but not as big as his own, a visible vein running along one side. Dusky dark and with a blushing pink tip and gently curling hair hiding his full, taunt sack…

“Link? Buddy? You doin’ alright?”

“Fine.”

“Lookin’ like you seen a ghost," Rhett teases, but there’s a breathless quality to his words, “My body all that bad?”

Link just shakes his head and watches as Jenessa strokes Rhett, as his head falls back and he lets out a shuddering gasp that Link feels in his very bones.

Link is suddenly very, very thankful for the pillow that bobs some as it reacts to the situation taking place beneath it. That situation being Link’s own dick perking upwards, making his jeans tight and constrictive.

“You…?” Something Rhett said finally seems to click in Link’s head, “You said this is a series?”

“Yup,” Rhett murmurs and now the film shows him pressing Jenessa against one of the studio walls and she raises one leg high. Insanely high. It’s a very gymnastic level move and Rhett slots his cock up with her opening, sliding hard and deep into her body.

Jenessa lets out a wail of pleasure as he presses in and she holds that leg up – all strength and grace as he begins to move within her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips answer some, but it’s more about how…open she is. And how deep he’s getting. They’re eyes are locked as he picks up his pace, rocketing in and out of her, shaking her whole form with his thrusts, her tiny breasts jiggling with each movement and movement, they call this…

“Got an award for this one.”

Thank God. That one comment draws Link back to some semblance of sanity even as his body quickens with an unspeakable longing, a carnal hunger that aches, “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Rhett says with no small amount of pride, “Best Sex Scene.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I owe it to her to be honest,” he waves to the screen, “She’s the one turning herself into a pretzel throughout this thing. Same for the rest of ‘em. They kept finding co-stars for me to work with who had had extensive training in this sort of body contortion. It was just my job to, uh, well…”

Rhett waves again and the answer is obvious: to fuck them through it. Link is not at all limber. In fact, he’s kind of a klutz. Nothing to match up with someone like this.

For some reason, this realization leaves him hollow. Cold. His arousal dims some, “Where’d you get the award from?”

“XRCO.”

Link makes some sound that would imply he understands, but he doesn’t. Rhett sighs, “Got nominated for Most Popular Male Performer on Pornhub but lost to Johnny Rockwell. Guy deserved it though. Performance he did that year was nuts.”

Link’s lost in the vocal cacophony that is erupting from the television speakers. Moans, gasps, grunts, cries of sheer ecstasy as Rhett and Janessa really ramp it up.

They’re in a different position now, Jenessa’s body once more arched at a crazy angle and Rhett's just...really getting in there. His hips are pumping double time, like a jackhammer, and she is loving it.

Her blue eyes are flashing with adoration, her lips curled in that moue that speaks to an almost pleasurable pain and Link can’t help but ask, “Are the others with her?”

Rhett takes a moment to process the question and when he realizes Link is asking about the other films in the series, he shakes his head, “Nah, man. You don’t usually have repeating partners. Like I said, they found other people who could bend in weird ways. The sequel to this sees me with Julian St. Croix. Great guy. Really smart. He’s actually working on another doctorate. Plans on working in the tech field when he retires, which – money he’s making, should be pretty damned soon. You want me to dial that up?”

Link just shakes his head. The idea of watching Rhett doing something like this with yet another person and with a man no less…

He feels crappy for, well, feeling crappy. This is Rhett’s job. He shouldn’t take this personally.

Besides, it’s not like Rhett knows how Link feels about him. To him, they’re just friends and he should play the part of friend – be a friend, a good friend, “I can see why you won the award, Rhett. You’re doing a…a great job. Real good acting.”

The sound of the shocked (yet oddly sharp) laughter that leaves Rhett at that actually causes Link to finally look at him.

Rhett’s face is a ruddy red, like he’s embarrassed or something, and he’s looking at Link with a bit of a wildfire in his eyes, “‘Good acting? Are you serious?”

Link finally shifts about on the couch (which feels fantastic considering his body has been fighting off a plethora of sensations for a while now) as he fully turns to him, pillow still firmly in place, “Of course! I mean, it-it seems like you’re really into this girl,” he gestures to the screen, “when you’re doing this and I imagine that’d take some acting chops.”

He chews on his bottom lip and lowers his gaze, hands ghosting over the pillow as he talks to it more than Rhett, “Un-unless you really are into her.”

“Into her?” Rhett pokes one finger over to the television, “Into Janessa?”

“Yeah, I mean…if-if you two are a couple or-or were one or-?”

“Me and Janessa?” Rhett asks incredulously and some of the heat seems to leave him. Link gets the impression that Rhett had, for a moment, been mad or affronted by Link’s well intentioned compliment, but now is completely changing track. Now Rhett seems charmingly baffled, “You think I’m into Janessa?”

“I-I was just saying if you’re not into her in this,” Link waves to the screen where (seeing as the volume is dying down) it would seem the film is reaching its conclusion, “Then the acting is good and if you are-!”

“I’m not,” Rhett confirms firmly, “I am very much not, nor was I ever, into Janessa. We’re friendly, but we’d never work as a couple, man. She likes cats.”

Rhett says the last as if it’s a blasphemy and Link can’t help but giggle, suddenly feeling bright and light even though he knows better than to do so, “Problem?”

“Not a big fan of lil demons…”

“Noted, “Link sighs and he feels much, much better. The film is finally over, he’s seen some of Rhett’s work, and he can now say the following with sheer confidence, “I’m proud of you.”

And with that, Rhett freezes. He freezes solid, back going ram rod straight, and his eyes – they’re as round as dinner plates.

Big and green and looking at Link like’s a wild anomaly and Link worries that maybe he, somehow, inadvertently offended him with the remark so he’s quick to explain, “I-I mean it, bo. I’m proud of you. Going out there and-and doing something like this. Being so…so exposed and vulnerable and for anyone to see and yeah, sure, I mean, I guess it’s just for people to-to beat off to or whatever, but when you think about it, it’s something that brings people pleasure, which is a lot better than bringing something bad into people's lives and I know some would argue that porn is like, some gateway into violent dark tendencies or whatever, but for the average person it’s a good thing to explore and the fact you can so freely provide that to them and not be ashamed-!”

Link is blathering.

He’s a blathering idiot.

But he feels like if he stops talking, Rhett might snap at him. Or be mad. Or-!

But instead Rhett just shakes his head and whispers, “You’re unbelievable.”

Link’s diatribe cuts off. His blood stops in his veins. He feels completely seized.

“I’ve been trying so hard…fighting with everything in me,” Rhett breathes and he just…eases forward, eases closer. He’s in Link’s personal space and Link wonders if he should back up or something.

He can feel the heat coming off Rhett’s skin. His breath is bathing Link’s face as he rasps, “But I can’t anymore. You’ll have to forgive me, but…”

Rhett kisses him.

Rhett. Kisses. Him.

Rhett kisses Link.

Their lips meet in the smallest, quickest, sweetest little peck. The sound of it, the quick wet click of their lips…it’s earth shattering, sound-barrier breaking.

And Link feels his whole nervous system lurch at it. And Rhett is still looking at him, searching his eyes wildly. Link blinks and licks his lips and tries to speak, but there’s nothing to say.

Rhett just grins softly, “Bad for business…that’s what you are…”

Link’s gaze dips to Rhett’s mouth. To his lips. Lips that were on his seconds ago. His eyes feel heavy lidded as he gulps and Rhett just huffs as he kisses him again. Again.

Another kiss and this one is more than just a peck. This one? This one is the one Link’s been dreaming of, the one he’s been wishing for.

This kiss is perfect.

#rhink #randl #my writing #peachworthy

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wastelandlovingscenarios · 4 years

Note

Hello! Can I request the companions reacting to a cute, sleepy female sole who suddenly becomes affectionate (through words or actions)? Pls make them have a huge crush on the ss ^.^

so cute! i love all your requests! (i’m not proud of this(?)) ❤️

“how much farther is diamond city?” sole whined loudly. she didn’t mean to complain, really, but the fact that she’s been on her feet nonstop for 3 days and getting only 4 hours of sleep every night had been killing her. of course, he noticed this and wanted her to catch more z’s but they were definitely vulnerable and short on time, so they had no choice but to keep pushing. he shot her a glance and noticed how exhausted she looked, sole looked like she could barely even hold a gun properly. “we can always stop by a shack or something.” hearing this, soles head shot up, a relieved sigh escaping her mouth. “well, what are we waiting for then?” he yelped as sole grabbed his hand, running to the nearest building they could find, “h-hey! slow down!”

soon enough, they had both settled down in a small house they had found not even a mile away and dusted off the beds that had been laying there for god knows how long. sole stretched tiredly as she made her way to her companion, who gazed out the window for any nearby enemies. he felt his bed sink as she sat next to him, letting out a yawn. “you should really be getting some sleep,” he muttered, “ill keep watch for tonight.” he was expecting her to head back to her own bed but little did he know, it was the quite opposite of what she was told to do.

Danse:

danse felt his body stiffen as sole rested her head on his shoulder, a choked sound escaping his mouth. “hey, w-what are you doing?! this is inappropriate..!” flustered was an understatement this man was feeling. his heart was thumping inhumanely loud, and he felt like he was gonna pass out any minute. “sorry,” sole sleepily murmured, “i just like having you ‘round me..” he wanted to chide her so bad, but something in him wanted to push her to say more, “i-i, um,-“ he cleared his throat, embarrassed, “am i able to know w-why?”

“i dunno,” god, her voice was so soft when she was sleepy, “i feel safe around you.” he felt his face flush 50 different shades of red as he stuttered, “i-i’m glad i make you feel that way..” he allowed his shoulders to relax as she began to drift off to sleep, her voice getting quieter by the second,

“you make me feel more than that, yknow..?” danse felt his body grow rigid as her words repeated in his head, “what do you mea-“ before he could finish his sentence, sole had fallen asleep against him within no time. as bad as he wanted to wake her up to find out the real meaning behind that message, he decided it was a conversation for another day. for now, her words imprinted on his mind, keeping him wide awake for the rest of the night.

Deacon:

he observed how sole laid on his bed and moved into a somewhat fetal position, her eyes not budging from a certain spot in front of her. out of curiosity, he followed her line of vision and realized that she had been staring at his hands, which were currently fiddling with the gun. with a confused look on his face, he joked, “what? are you into hands or something, charmer?” sole let out a soft chuckle as she used an elbow to prop herself up and punched deacon playfully on the arm. “you’re so stupid deacon,” she bantered, a soft smile playing on her face, “but i can’t lie, you do have nice hands.” deacon let out a dramatic gasp as his free hand covered his mouth, “and what about the rest of me? i’m hurt.” rolling her eyes, sole lightly brushed her fingers against his knuckles and soon rubbed his fingers with her thumb. “well, i never said anything bad about the rest of you.”

“heh, guess you can’t get enough of me.” he was beyond nervous, and was more than grateful that his sunglasses hid it. he hadn’t felt this kind of feeling since barbara, and knew there was no escape to his attraction for her, no matter how hard he tried.

“yeah, i guess i can’t.” she said as she continued to draw figures on his hand, her eyes growing heavy. he noticed how sole kept waking up, trying to keep her hand on his as she (unsuccessfully) fought her sleep. with a small smile, deacon laced his fingers with hers as she slowly fell into a deep slumber. his eyes fixated on their intertwined hands, wanting to take in the sensation just a little longer. oh man, he was so ready to tease sole about this the next morning.

Hancock:

he felt arms wrap around his torso from behind and was nearly shocked at the sudden affection. “sunshine?” he felt her grip tighter onto him, “is there something wrong?” sole shook her head and only spoke softly, “nothings wrong, i just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” she nervously tapped her fingers against his abdomen, “i know i’m not the easiest person to travel with, let alone, help every single day.” hancock smiled softly and let out a chuckle, putting his hand on top of hers. “you’re the best person i’ve ever met, and i’d do anything for you. besides, there’s nobody else i’d rather have as my partner.”

“i hope you know i’d do the same for you.” he took in the silence that followed right after, only staring down at her arms that were enveloping him. he enjoyed the feeling of her body against his, and how her arms fit so perfectly around him. after what seemed like forever, sole broke the stillness of the atmosphere. “can we stay like this for a little? i just-“

“no need to explain yourself sunshine, take as long as you please, i don’t mind.” sole only muttered a small, ‘thank you’ as hancock hummed a little tune of approval. he felt soles breath slow down, and he carefully turned around to face her, taking sole into his arms. hancock let out a grin as he moved a piece of her hair out of her face, he never really had the chance to see sole up close, but was glad he was blessed to have that opportunity. hancock placed her onto the bed nearby and sat by her side, her touch still lingering on his torso.

Maccready:

he felt his heart race as he noticed sole staring right at him, a inquisitive look on her face. “uh, what’s up, boss?” maccready began to feel anxious as sole continued to eye him, “um, earth to sole, are you still with me?” sole tilted her head cutely, making maccreadys cheeks turn red. “sorry, it’s not everyday i get to look at you up close,” her eyes fluttered tiredly, “actually, i never had the chance, we never really have time.” she was right, they never really got to see each other eye to eye and this was the very first, and hopefully not the last, time that he’ll get to experience it. he took in her features, and knew that the commonwealth barely had anyone as attractive as sole. sole was really beautiful, almost too beautiful to be existent in the commonwealth.

his train of thought was cut off by soles soft voice, “you’re really attractive,” maccready felt his ears heat up in embarrassment as sole took in the view, “i wonder how you’re still single. i’m surprised i haven’t caught a girl checking you out yet.”

normally, maccready would make some snarky remark or say something like ‘quit it’, but his undeniable and obvious crush for sole told him otherwise. he felt his confidence skyrocket thanks to sole, it really wasn’t everyday maccready received a compliment, especially from the girl he admired. “thanks boss.. it really means a lot coming from you.” he rubbed his neck sheepishly as sole stretched, getting up on her feet to head to bed. oh how maccready wished he could grow the balls to say the same to her. “of course mac, i wouldn’t be lying to my favorite partner!” he watched as she laid on her bed, giving maccready one final stare before closing her eyes. “goodnight, mac.” “night boss.” he felt his heart jump in happiness as he realized how lucky he was to have someone like sole by his side.

Nick Valentine:

of course, nick being the sweetheart he is, had set the bed for her as she changed her clothes in the other room. the bed was in the living room where he was sitting peacefully at, so it wasn’t hard to hear some turning and tossing against the hard mattress. he took a peek at sole who was staring at the ceiling wearily. “having trouble to sleep, doll?” sole nodded as she saw nick stride over to her in no time. he sat beside her bed and opened a book next to the counter, but before he let a single word out, sole had slowly shut the book.

“nick, i wanna talk to you and get to know you as a person. all this time i’ve been your partner, i haven’t really asked about your personal life.” nick sent her a surprised look, “and why would you want that?”

“well to be fair, i have told you a lot about my life so far,” she spoke shyly as she fiddled with her fingers, “and you’re an interesting guy, nick. you’re just so nice and caring towards others. i really do look up to you. no one in the commonwealth has a reputation like you do.” sole was way too nervous to even stare up at him as she continued talking, “well to me, at least.” if nick had a heart, it’d be melting at the words that shot out of soles mouth. he knew damn well that she meant every word of it and no one could tell him otherwise. nick let out a content grin as he spoke with a hint of joy in his voice, “well i guess great minds think alike, don’t you think? i suppose i can do that for you.” he felt so at home with her and he couldn’t place a finger as to why, but he decided to wave it off. nick rambled on about his life as sole felt a sense of tranquility, her eyes slowly closing at the sound of nicks soothing voice.

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cuthian · 3 years

Text

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure Chapter Four

Hi everyone!

I think there'll only be one more chapter after this one, but no promises on when that'll be out. Uni research work is calling my name and I've neglecting it far too much already 😅

The first scene in this chapter is rated a very tentative M, so practice caution ☺️

Thanks for the massive response and love!

Love, Annaelle

FOUR

“Maybe it's like Mac says. Ever man winds up with the horse that suits him.” —Cormac McCarthy

REGGIE

Reggie let Luke push him back into the studio, watching in amusement as he kicked the door shut before pushing Reggie down onto the couch, Reggie’s hands slipping up his thighs and around Luke’s waist when the other boy straddled him smoothly, pressing him back into the cushioned seat.

“Hi,” he breathed faintly, looking up at Luke breathlessly. “You know we only have like ten minutes to change and then pop to the restaurant, right?”

“Plenty of time,” Luke grinned, leaning down so his lips were just barely brushing over Reggie’s. “We haven’t had a second to ourselves all week.” Reggie’s heart squeezed a little in his chest in an odd mixture of fondness and exasperation before he nodded shakily, barely managing to smile before Luke’s lips were on his, his hands soft but insistent on Reggie’s cheeks.

Reggie kissed him back, slipping his fingers up into Luke’s messy hair for purchase, gasping against his lips when he deepened the kiss, tugging Reggie’s shirt up until they had to break the kiss to tug it over his head. “I know we’re supposed to change, but I don’t think this is the most efficient way to go about it,” Reggie remarked, grinning at the breathless look of desire and exasperation Luke gave him before he reeled Reggie back in for a much messier kiss this time, with clacking teeth and too much tongue, and Reggie loved every second of it.

Luke’s hold on his hair was just on the right edge of painful as he dragged Reggie’s head back, mouthing his way down his throat with hot, open-mouthed kisses. “Luke,” Reggie moaned, heart pounding wildly, fingers clenching in Luke’s loose shirt.

“What,” Luke grinned, lips curving into a smile against Reggie’s neck. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” Reggie squeaked, tightening his fingers in Luke’s shirt.

“Good,” Luke smirked, that great, devastating smirk that made Reggie’s knees wobble, and then the world tilted alarmingly for a moment as Luke maneuvered them sideways onto the couch, pressing Reggie flat on his back, his lips once again occupying Reggie’s in a downright filthy kiss as they writhed to get comfortable on the cramped surface.

They grappled for control for a while, Reggie impatiently tugging at Luke’s top and Luke feverishly attempting to unbutton Reggie’s trousers without breaking the kiss. Reggie groaned, eyes rolling back in his head and blunt fingernails digging into Luke’s shoulders when he bit down on the skin just above Reggie’s collarbone before soothing over the mark with his tongue.

“Luke,” he whined, slipping his hands down his back to his bottom, pulling Luke’s hips down to grind on his and holy fucking shit—

“We really don’t have time for this,” Reggie panted as Luke’s teeth scraped against his earlobe.

“Then tell me to stop,” Luke told him, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide as he leaned in for a slower, deeper kiss than before. Reggie found it very hard to concentrate in general with Luke pressed against him like this, hard and warm and insistent, and he didn’t think he was strong enough to tell Luke to stop—nor did he want him to.

Luke grinded down against him again and Reggie couldn’t contain the whimper that fell from his lips, and he could feel Luke smile against his lips.

“Someone’s excited,” he muttered, and Reggie kind of wanted to smack—or kiss—that mischievous grin from Luke’s lips. He did, pulling Luke down to kiss him again, slower and sweeter this time, slipping his hand down into the back pockets of Luke’s jeans to pull him closer.

“I thought that was the point,” Reggie gasped a little unsteadily, finally succeeding in ridding Luke of his stupid shirt and getting both their jeans unbuttoned once they’d broken the kiss again. He rocked his hips up against Luke, eagerly leaning into another kiss, and he couldn’t suppress the whine that fell from his lips at the feel of Luke’s heated skin on his—it was incredible.

He felt like he was burning from the inside out, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think and he couldn’t stop—not that he really wanted to in the first place.

plop.

“Hey guys, are you ready, Julie and Flynn are alre—woah!”

Reggie jerked away from Luke, who jerked away too, rolling right off the couch and onto the floor with a muted thud, staring wide-eyed at Alex, who’d covered his eyes with his hands, and had turned his back to them, cheeks flamed bright red. “I thought you were just changing clothes,” he said accusingly.

“I mean,” Luke said, having recovered from the shock and gotten back to his feet, looking remarkably unruffled, Reggie noted resentfully. “We would’ve gotten there eventually.”

Luke raised his eyebrows at Alex as Reggie struggled to his feet, any and all arousal squashed into oblivion by the mortification of being walked in on, buttoning his jeans back up regretfully. “Why are you—” Luke chuckled at Alex, stepping around the little end table to grab Alex’s hands and draw them down. “There’s literally nothing you haven’t seen from either of us.”

“That was different,” Alex squeaked, jerking his arm from Luke’s grasp, still blushing furiously—Reggie got it. “And get dressed. We have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke chuckled, popping up to the loft to do exactly that.

Reggie’s hands shook a little as he retrieved his shirt from the floor, avoiding looking directly at Alex, because he was sure they’d both just burst into laughter—or tears—if they made eye contact.

“Well then,” Luke said cheerfully, popping back down when he’d put on a shirt and tossing an arm around each of their shoulders. “Let’s go.” Reggie exhaled shakily and managed to shoot an embarrassed grin towards Alex, who looked equal parts mortified and delighted.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s.”

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

JULIE

Julie was fidgeting, tapping her foot under the table as she and Flynn waited for the manager to show up. “Hey,” Flynn said softly, putting her hand on Julie’s thigh to still the constant movement. “Everything is going to be fine. This is just a first meeting.” She smiled lightly and knocked her shoulder against Julie’s. “The boys’ll be here, you’ll wow this agent, and we’ll see from there, okay?”

Julie laughed despite the nerves that were making her stomach clench, leaning into her girlfriend’s side gratefully.

“Okay,” she chuckled. “You’re right.”

She inhaled deeply and smiled at Flynn, blushing a little when the other girl pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Flynn took Julie’s hand and tangled their fingers together, resting their joined hands on her lap.

“Did I tell you,” Julie said, in a bid to distract herself and Flynn from the impending meeting. “That Reggie and Luke finally got their heads out of their asses?” Flynn laughed and shook her head, and Julie continued, “They’re almost more annoying now. They can barely keep their hands to themselves.” She smiled lightly and added, “It is a little cute though.”

“Can they even,” Flynn frowned, tilting her head thoughtfully, “You know… Do that anymore? They’re ghosts. They’re made of air.”

“Ew,” Julie exclaimed, shoving at Flynn’s shoulder with her free hand. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna know! They’re my friends, I don’t wanna think about them… doing that.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head again.

“Lies,” Flynn cackled. “You had a massive crush on Luke, don’t deny it.”

“I didn’t—” Julie sputtered, cheeks flaming with a blush. “It wasn’t—I wasn’t as bad as Reggie. And besides… I have you.” It was a lame comeback and she knew it.

“Duh,” Flynn rolled her eyes. “Reggie’s crush on Luke can be seen from space, even now. They have even more chemistry than you and Luke do sharing a mike.”

Before Julie could reply, the boys popped into existence right in front of their table, Luke grinning wide and unrepentant while both Reggie and Alex looked flushed and embarrassed. Luke’s hair was so messy it almost looked like he’d stuck his fingers in a light socket, and Reggie was wearing exactly the same thing he had been earlier—at least Luke had changed his shirt.

“Really?” She said, raising an eyebrow at them, trying to look stern, even though the corner of her lips tilted up in a smile anyway. “Again? Can you not keep your hands to yourself for ten minutes?”

“Nope,” Luke replied cheerfully, just as Flynn said, “The boys are here?”

Julie nodded, and Alex, who’d been looking around, said, “And I think your manager is here too.”

Julie turned to look over her shoulder with a smile that immediately froze on her face. Reggie inhaled sharply too. “That’s—” he choked, “that’s not—that’s Maggie, Alex.”

“Maggie?” Luke squinted. “What’s Maggie doing here?”

But the pieces of the puzzle were snapping together in Julie’s mind. Maggie’s wife had mentioned that Maggie worked with artists, and the woman she’d spoken to on the phone earlier this week had never mentioned the name of the person she was supposed to meet here, and—potentially worst of all—she’d given Maggie her full name.

“Shit,” she cursed quietly. When Flynn looked at her, wide-eyed, she hissed, “That’s Reggie’s little sister. If she saw our video—”

Before anyone could say anything, Maggie had reached the table, glaring down at Julie with an impassive, unimpressed expression. “Don’t stand up,” she said coolly, and she didn’t sound anything like the kind, sweet woman Julie had met just a week earlier. “Here’s how this is going to go. I’m gonna sit, and you’re going to tell me exactly how many of my brothers’ band’s songs you stole from those notebooks before you gave them back, and exactly how you managed to get enough footage of them to fake a performance. If you’re lucky I might not sue you and blackball you in the entire industry.”

Julie stared at her, openmouthed, as did Reggie and the others.

Maggie sat down across from Julie and Flynn, barely sparing a glance towards Flynn before she refocused her attention on Julie. “I’m sure you’re not a bad kid,” she continued. “You wouldn’t have returned this,” she tapped the bracelet on her wrist lightly, “if you were. But,” she leaned forward and Julie noticed, for the first time, that Maggie was barely keeping it together, that her eyes were shiny with unshed, furious tears, “you have no right using their music. I sure as hell didn’t give you permission and I know for a fact that Luke’s parents wouldn’t have either. So.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I—,” Julie stuttered. “It’s not—it’s not like that.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Then, pray tell, what is it like?”

Julie opened her mouth, changed her mind and closed it again, looking helplessly at Flynn and the boys.

“Tell her,” Reggie said. “Just tell her everything.”

“Reg,” Luke started, and Julie wasn’t even sure what he was going to say, but she already knew he was thinking the same thing she was—they couldn’t tell Maggie. She would never believe them—she’d probably be even more likely to blackball her.

And to have her committed to an asylum.

“It’s complicated,” she finally said, looking away from the boys. “I don’t think—you wouldn’t believe me if I told you—”

“Try me,” Maggie said dryly. “I’m not letting this happen again, Julie. If you wanted to use their songs, their music, you should’ve gone about it differently.”

“I—” Julie stopped. Blinked. “You know about Trevor?”

This threw Maggie. “Of course I know,” she said. “How the hell do you know?”

“Damn it,” Reggie cursed, “tell her. Tell her everything. Or,” he started forward, holding out his hand to Julie. “Make me corporeal, let me tell her. Please, just tell her.”

“Reggie, man, we can’t tell her,” Luke jumped in, pulling Reggie back. “She’ll never believe us. Or she’ll think she’s gone crazy. You don’t wanna do that to her, do you?” Reggie opened his mouth to protest, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back a little and shaking his head.

“It’s—they’re not—” Julie stuttered, “They’re lookalikes.” She could tell Flynn was trying to nod along with whatever she was trying to say, but Maggie clearly wasn’t buying it, but it was the only thing she had, she had no idea what else she could say. “They’re not from around here,” she added. “They live in Sweden, which is why it’s a… a hologram band.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Maggie deadpanned.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Reggie cursed, lunging forward. Julie tried to twist away from him, to stop him from what he was trying to do, but she was too late, and his fingers closed on her forearm.

With a sudden plop he became visible.

“What the fuck,” Maggie exclaimed, shoving her chair back and nearly tripping over it as she jumped to her feet. Her eyes were wide and stunned, Luke and Alex looked horrified and Reggie was looking at Maggie with a pleading expression. “It’s me,” he said, approaching her slowly, hands raised in supplication. “Mags, it’s me, I promise, I can—we’re ghosts, somehow, but when we make music, people can hear us, and see us and—” he gestured to Julie helplessly, “She’s singing with us, she’s helping us.”

Maggie looked from Reggie to Julie and back, mouth hanging slightly open in abject shock.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” She demanded hoarsely. “My brother’s been dead for twenty-five years.” She looked at Reggie, although it did look like it physically hurt her to do so, and said, “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it’s not funny.”

“Mags, it’s me,” Reggie repeated, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. “I swear.”

“Don’t call me that,” Maggie spat, snatching her purse from the back of her chair and shaking her head. “I don’t know who you are, but leave me and my family the hell alone.”

She turned to Julie. “If I ever find you using their songs again, I will make sure you will never have a career in music, no matter how good you are.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed outside, slamming the door so hard behind her that the everyone who wasn’t already looking at them turned to stare. Reggie looked like he’d been slapped in the face, and Julie felt terrible for him, but also wanted to slap him up the head again, because there was no way that could’ve gone well.

“Reggie,” Luke whispered, coming up behind Reggie, trailing his hand down Reggie’s arm lightly. “Reggie, come on.”

“No,” Reggie said, “No, I’m going after her.”

“No, hey,” Alex intervened, stepping up in front of Reggie and pressing a hand to his chest. “Let me, okay? I’ll go. It might be easier if it’s not you.” He looked at Julie when Reggie nodded reluctantly and held out his hand. “Come on,” he said. “We can walk outside, you make me visible, and I’ll go find her, try to explain everything.”

“Yeah,” Julie nodded shakily, “Okay.” She stood and followed Alex outside in a daze.

How did everything go south this fast?

------

LUKE

It wasn’t hard to find Maggie when he put his mind to it.

She was walking fast, but she was also clearly still very shaken by what had happened in the restaurant.

Not that Alex could blame her, of course.

Reggie really should’ve thought that through more, although Alex had to admit he’d been at a loss too. There really wasn’t a reasonable explanation of why Julie was performing with three guys who looked and sounded just like a 90s rock band that had died of eating bad hotdogs.

He took a deep breath and popped around the corner, turning and waiting for Maggie.

Alex could see the exact moment she saw him. She froze in the middle of the sidewalk, wide eyes staring at him in disbelief and fear and confusion, and Alex felt horrible for her.

“Hey,” he said softly, approaching her slowly. “That went pretty badly.”

“You’re not real,” Maggie said hoarsely, shaking her head desperately. “You’re dead. I saw your bodies—you’re dead. We buried you.”

Alex was momentarily taken aback—why the hell had she seen their bodies, she’d been nine—before he said, “I am. I’m also here. It’s—you know, we don’t really know how it happened either. But we’re here. When we perform with Julie, other people can see us, can hear us—and now, whenever we touch her, we become—” he tapped his own chest and said, “corporeal. Just for a little while, but…”

“This is insane,” Maggie pleaded, a tear running down her cheek.

Alex chanced another step closer, and though she tensed up, she didn’t run from him. “I know,” he said. “I know, okay. But it’s real. And none of this is Julie’s fault, I promise. She had our permission to use the songs, she wrote half of them with us. And I know, I know this is a lot to take in, Mags. No one expects that you just accept this right away. Just…”

He held out his hand.

“Please let me give you Julie’s address and phone number so you can reach us.”

She looked at him for a long time, and he let her look, because he understood that this had to be overwhelming and weird and downright insane. “Okay,” she finally whispered, hoarsely. “Okay.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and unlocked it before she handed it to him, and Alex was so glad he’d had time to mess around with Julie’s phone, because at least now he knew what to do.

When he’d typed in the address and phone number, he saved the contact and handed the phone back, his fingers brushing past hers accidentally.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, pulling back and taking a step back, but Maggie shook her head, grasping at his wrist to pull him back.

“You’re real,” she whispered, staring at where her fingers were wrapped around his wrist, “I can—I can feel you.” She turned his wrist over and pressed her fingertips to his pulse point, and Alex let her, because it was one of the first things they’d done when they realized they became corporeal when Julie touched them too.

“But no pulse,” he said quietly, putting his hand on top of hers lightly.

Maggie looked up at him. “But no pulse,” she echoed. “You’re still dead.”

“Yeah,” Alex nodded.

Maggie stared at their hands for another long few minutes before she dropped her hand and stepped back. “If—tell Reggie I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t know if I—if this—” she looked up and swallowed thickly. “Just tell him I’m sorry.”

Alex nodded. “I will.”

Maggie nodded tightly, shot him one last, long look before she exhaled shakily and pushed past him, resuming her way home at a brisk pace.

Alex sighed. “That could’ve gone worse.”

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

MAGGIE

She sat on the floor in the walk-in closet, her laptop beside her with one of Julie and the Phantoms’ videos paused and the contents of three separate boxes with photos strew out on the floor around her.

She didn’t have a lot of photos from when she and Reggie had been little, because her father had been a drunk and a homophobic piece of crap who’d tried to get rid of everything that Reggie had ever touched when he’d realized Reggie liked boys. She’d been able to save a few things and pictures—her mother, in a rare fit of clarity, had helped her hide the boxes with pictures until she moved out at seventeen—and hadn’t really dared look at most of them since Reggie had died.

She didn’t know what to make of—of anything that had happened today.

It seemed so impossible, but the feel of Alex’s skin under her fingers had been real, the contact information he’d put into her phone was real, was a real house in a nice neighborhood that looked exactly like the house in the first video she’d watched.

“Sweetheart?”

“In here,” Maggie replied quietly, barely looking up when T’Nia walked in.

She was staring at a photo of her ten-year-old brother holding her as a baby, tears running down her cheeks silently. “Hey,” T’Nia said quietly, kneeling beside her, wiping at her tears gently. “Hey, what’s wrong, darling?”

“Nothing,” Maggie choked. Then, “Everything. I don’t know.” She looked up at her wife and asked, quietly, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

T’Nia leaned back on her heels, frowning a little in confusion. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “You know I believe that there’s much more to the world than we know, than we experience, but… I don’t know if that means ghosts, or God or something else entirely.” She ran her fingers gently through the loose strand of hair that had fallen across Maggie’s forehead and tucked it behind her ear.

“Why the question?”

Maggie looked down at the picture again and then gestured to the laptop. “See for yourself.”

T’Nia eyed her speculatively, and then, warily, drew the laptop closer and pressed ‘play’.

--------

Start from the beginning:

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure:

(1) (2) (3)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#jatp #jatp ruke #julie and the himbos #Julie and the phantoms #ruke #luke/reggie #alex #reggie #Luke patterson #Julie molina #BaMBaT

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temilyrights · 4 years

Text

the case of us (chapter three)

Jack Sloane x Reader

Word Count: 4168

A/N: Hi guys! Hope you enjoy the chapter! You finally get the Jack x reader content you all deserve <3 Feedback is of course always welcome :)

Read on AO3

Chapter Two, Chapter Four

You stand in the middle of the room, oblivious to the people rushing past you. You can’t move, eyes glued to the door that Sam was just wheeled through. You don’t know how long you’d been standing there and are only jolted into movement when you hear Robert call your name. You turn around and Felicity releases a strangled sob the second she sees you, her eyes focused on your clothes. You look down and are reminded of the blood covering you.

“Is-is that Sams?” Robert asks wobbly and you nod robotically as Felicity continues to cry. A nurse rushes over to you talking about cleaning you up as you were scaring the other patients. You follow her blindly. She directs you to a bathroom and supplies you with clothes to change into before vanishing again. When you enter you’re immediately met with a mirror. You look almost ghostly, all colour drained from your face. You’ve still got your bulletproof vest on, which was covered with the most blood. You peel it off, shoving it into the plastic bag that you’d been provided with. Next was your shirt and trousers, blood had seeped through onto them so they landed in the bag as well. You quickly wash your hands and arms, before splashing water on your face to help bring you back to reality, and put on the light blue scrubs you’d been given.

Felicity and Robert are sitting down in the waiting room when you enter. Felicity’s sobs have subsided and she’s sitting with her head resting against Robert’s shoulder. You go and sit down in the chair opposite them, giving you a perfect view of the door the doctor would eventually emerge from.

“Is he dead?” Robert asks. You nod. “Good.”

Nothing else is said, everyone sitting in their own thoughts. Your leg is shaking as you think over the last hour. Sam had coded twice in the ambulance journey over and the image of her limp body was going to be ingrained in your mind forever. You’re only brought out of your thoughts when a hand taps your arm, looking up you’re surprised to see Sloane standing in front of you, she hands you a cup of coffee, giving Felicity and Robert one too before coming to sit down next to you.

“Gibbs and the others are collecting all the evidence at the scene. They wanted to be here too.” Sloane offers. You don’t say anything, just nod and take a sip from your cup, it’s just how you like it.

The blonde sits silently next to you, and you’re grateful for her presence as it helps you to keep calm. Anytime you begin to get restless, she offers a distraction or just places a comforting hand on your arm to still you and remind you to breathe.

Felicity had fallen asleep, still resting on Robert’s shoulder but you could see the man himself was beginning to get agitated. Sloane must notice too as she announces she’s going to find someone and see if she can get an update. You get up and move to sit next to Robert, who reaches out and grips your hand tightly in his. Your eyes immediately begin to water and you blow out air in an attempt to calm yourself. You sit like that for a while.

“Are you the family of Samantha Walden?” A doctor asks, coming to stop in front of the three of you. Felicity jolts awake, quickly standing up and you and Robert do the same.

“Felicity Walden, Sam’s wife. Is she ok?” Felicity asks, extending a hand to the doctor.

“When Samantha arrived at the hospital, she had a stab wound to the neck, a head contusion and was badly bruised. Because the knife was still in her neck it slowed the bleeding and luckily only nicked both the artery and trachea meaning we were able to repair both. However, after a CT scan, we discovered Samantha had an epidural hematoma, her brain swelled and caused her to seize before we could return to surgery. I’m really sorry to inform you that Samantha has died.”

NO. NO. This isn't happening. NO.

You’re distantly aware of Felicity’s screams but you’re focused on holding back your own tears as you take shaky breaths. You might be sick. This couldn’t be happening. Any moment now the doctor was going to inform you that Sam was fine, that this was just some fucked up joke. Right?

Robert was sitting down again, his head in his hands as tears rolled down his face. The doctor had excused himself and Felicity was walking round in circles manically. You let your tears fall, making no effort to wipe them from your face.

“This is your fault.” Felicity spits. You jerk backwards, surprised her venom was directed at you. “You were supposed to save her Y/N and you didn’t.” Felicity continues to advance towards you, her voice shaking. “You didn’t and now she’s dead-”

“I did everyth-”

Felicity slaps you. Hard. The noise rings out loudly in the room and you’re aware that people are starting to stare. Your hand flies to your face as you hold your flaming cheek.

And then suddenly Sloane appears, stepping between you and Felicity. “That’s enough.” Her voice is strong and dangerous and from the way Felicity steps back you know she’s got that dangerous glint in her eye. Robert moves as well, grabbing hold of Felicity and pulling her away. Sloane spins around to face you. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You shrug, your voice thick with emotion. “Anyway, she’s kind of right. I was meant to save her.”

Before Sloane can say anything Robert’s speaking, having sent Felicity off to get some air. “It’s not your fault. You got her out of there. You found her.” Sloane steps out of the way, allowing Robert to pull you into a tight hug. Your tears fall and you shake gripping onto Robert with everything you had.

“It’s going to be ok.” He soothes, his hand running over your head and you can tell he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince you. “It’s going to be ok.”

When you get off the elevator the next morning a silence immediately rushes over the team. Torres is the first to stand and make his way over to you. He ducks his head, stopping in front of you. You’d never seen him like this.

“I’m really sorry. I should have waited to take the shot, I didn’t realise the knife was so close to-”

You cut him off, gripping his hand tightly as you offer a small smile. “That wasn’t why she died.”

“But-”

“Her brain swelled too much. They were able to repair the damage from the knife.” Torres releases a breath before pulling you into a tight hug and apologising again.

“You shouldn’t be here Y/N. Go home.” Gibbs says, barely sparing you a glance as he enters the room and makes his way to his desk. You pull back from Torres’ hug and walk over to him.

“I’m fine Gibbs, I can work-” Gibbs sighs.

“Go home Y/N. Grieve and start again next week.” That’s exactly what you didn’t want to do. You try to tell Gibbs you have paperwork to do but he dismisses that and tells you McGee was handling it all. You sigh, out of protests but instead of going home you head down to autopsy.

Jimmy’s sitting at his desk working on his own work when you enter. “Is his body here?” Jimmy doesn’t need to ask who’s and just leads you over to the draw Humphrey was tucked away in, the autopsy already complete. Jimmy excuses himself, leaving the room to give you time.

You stare at the cold dead body in front of you. The gunshot wound on his head stood out against his pale body. Part of you was happy the man was dead, but another part of you wishes he was alive so you could watch him rot in prison for his crimes. The darker part of you just wanted him to be alive just so you could shoot him yourself, or maybe just beat the living shit out of him. Make him feel the pain he’d inflicted on Sam.

You’re only pulled from your thoughts when you hear the door open, Sloane enters, walking over to you and you huff a tired laugh. “Jimmy?” You ask, unsurprised when she nods her head.

“And Ellie. The whole team is worried about you.” Sloane stops opposite you, the body of Humphrey between you both.

“It doesn’t seem real. I hadn’t spoken to her in four years and as sad as I am, I also feel disconnected from it all, I could just fall into an illusion that she’s alive and well and still the girl that betrayed me.”

Sloane offers you a sad smile and you look up to the ceiling, blinking away frustrated tears. “It’s not fair. She didn’t deserve this. You know after I first learnt about the affair I wished death on them. Is this some sick karma?” You laugh, wiping at your eyes.

“It’s never fair but this isn’t your fault, you know that right? It’s Stephen Humphrey’s fault.” Sloane signals to the body in between you. You sigh, leaning against the wall of units and Sloane pushes Humphrey back into the unit, shutting the door firmly before coming to stand in front of you. “It’s not your fault.”

Tears are silently falling down your cheeks now and you huff out a breath of air. “I just feel so guilty. I should have been able to save her.” Your voice cracks and Sloane pulls you into a hug. Your head rests on her shoulder as you cry silently and Sloane whispers calming words.

You knock on the door, holding a warm plate. After getting back home it didn’t take long for you to be consumed by your thoughts, so you decide to make your favourite comfort food to distract yourself - mac and cheese. You make three large dishes, one for yourself, one for Felicity and another for Robert, you knew neither of them would be focused on eating and wanted to do something to help. Robert hadn’t answered when you visited so you head to Felicity's.

“What are you doing here Y/N?” Felicity’s hair is a mess, dark circles shine brightly on her face and the evidence of her crying clear.

“I um, made some mac and cheese. Just preheat it in the oven whenever and If you need anything, I’m just a phone-”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“I know you don’t like people helping you-”

“No. You’re not listening. I don’t want anything from you.”

You take a step backwards, averting your gaze. Right, you hadn’t expected that. “Ok. Well here take the mac and cheese.” Felicity hesitates but takes the outstretched bowl of food. “And I’ll see you at the funeral.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I can’t have you there. Please. You didn’t…” Felicity trails off looking away but you understand. You didn’t save her.

“Right okay.” You swallow roughly, backing away from the house and to your car. You’ve barely shut the door before you’re breaking down into sobs. Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you struggle to control your breathing. You didn’t save her. You should have saved her runs through your head over and over. You hold a hand over your mouth to muffle your loud sobs. Nothing about this would ever be ok.

You stare at the boxes that now surround you, unsure which one to start with. After you’d calmed yourself down enough to drive home you’d spent the next hour grabbing all your old boxes from your attic and carrying them down to your living room in search of memories with Sam. You hadn’t touched any of them since you’d moved in a few years before and you’re just grateful you hadn’t destroyed everything in rage.

You grab the closest box to you and open it up, dust immediately bursts out and you break into a coughing fit. “Oh god,” You choke, waving your hand in front of your face to dispel the dust in the air.

You spend the next few hours reliving memories. Your days at college, holidays you’d taken together, memories from your first apartment together all them years ago. You find loads of photo albums, old trinkets and souvenirs and even a few t-shirts from college.

You're pulled from your thoughts by your phone ringing from next to you. You quickly wipe away your tears, sniffing and clear your throat before you answer the phone. It’s Sloane. “Hey” Your voice is still rough and you wince.

“Hi, just calling to check-in, I wanted to make sure you were okay after our conversation earlier.”

“Yeah, I'm alright, just been going through old boxes for memory’s of Sam.” You look up at the clock on your wall and surprised to see it’s already 6 pm. “Have you finished for the day?”

“Yep. No cases for your team today and the profiles I did for Warrick I finished, so I’ve got a whole evening free!” Sloane laughs and you join in, aware of the rarity of that.

“Any plans for it?”

“Well, I’m going to assume you haven’t eaten yet?” She doesn’t wait for a response and continues talking. “We can talk about Sam? Not talk about her. I don’t mind, I just thought you could use a friend.”

You contemplate turning down the offer but the thought of not being alone the whole evening felt nice and a distraction would be good. The silence must stretch for too long as Sloane quickly begins talking again “If you’d rather be alone I understand, I just wanted to offer which I guess in hindsight might be weird it’s not like we meet up outside of work just the two of us, well actually, ever.” She releases a small self-deprecating laugh and continues to talk.

You’d never met up just the two of you? That can’t be, right? You think back over the last year of working together and are surprised (And somewhat ashamed) that she’s actually correct. You’d met up plenty of time with the team and even with just her and Ellie but never just the two of you...

“Sure the company would be nice.” You cut off her ramble, withholding the chuckle you want to release.

Sloane breathes a sigh of relief. “Good because I’m outside and I’ve got Pizza.” She hangs up and your jaw drops in shock before you start laughing, you’re still laughing when you get up and open your door.

The smell of pizza wafts into your face and your stomach immediately rumbles. You hadn’t noticed just how hungry you were. “Do you usually call someone from outside their house?” You laugh, ushering the woman into your apartment and back towards your living room. “Excuse the mess.” You push a couple of boxes to the side of the room and pull your coffee table closer to the couch so you can both sit and eat.

Sloane places the box on the table, before taking a seat and you sit down next to her, tucking your feet underneath you. “Done it to Gibbs a couple of times and also Ellie once.” Sloane laughs and you roll your eyes.

“Now what Pizza did you get?” You open the box, surprised to see it’s your favourite. Your expression must reflect as much as Sloane releases a cheer, dancing slightly in her seat. “Impressive” you laugh. You pick up a slice and lean back comfortably on the couch, Sloane does the same.

“I’m glad I’m right because this is my favourite too.” Sloane smiles, taking a bite from the greasy pizza. Her gaze wanders to the boxes littered around the room. “Do you mind?” She asks, signalling to the picture frames you had sitting to the side.

“Not at all.” Sloane places the pizza back in the box, reaching for one of the napkins you had on the table to wipe the grease from her fingers before picking up one of the photo frames. It’s one of you and Sam at graduation, the same one that you’d seen hanging in her house.

“Are you looking for photos for her funeral?” Sloane asks, and when you hesitate looking away from her, her face instantly clouds with concerned confusion.

“Umm...” You laugh uneasily. “I’m not going to the funeral anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“Felicity doesn’t want me there.” You shrug.

“And what about Robert?”

“I haven’t spoken to him. But Felicity is- was Sam’s wife, I’ve got to honour that.”

“Alright.” Sloane sighs, but you can tell she doesn’t really agree. “You need to do something though. A memorial of your own. A way to say goodbye, to forgive yourself.” Sloane places her hand on your arm, squeezing slightly and you offer a small smile.

“I’ll think about it.” She nods her head, letting the discussion drop.

You talk for a while and it’s not long until Sloane has kicked off her heels, moving to the floor with her legs outstretched and ankles crossed, going through one of your boxes. You watch from your seat on the couch. Sloane breaks out into laughter when she picks up one of the photo frames. She can’t say anything as she’s busy laughing but turns the frame around for you to see and your face immediately heats up. “What?” You say defensively.

The photo was from a college party you went to where the theme was ‘food’. You and your friends had decided to go as different fruits, only you didn’t get the memo that everyone meant cute and sexy (which in hindsight should have been obvious - it was a college party!) and you dressed up in one of them oversized strawberry costumes, paired with hideous green tights and a stalk hat.

Sloane begins to calm down, but when she looks at you again she starts all over again.

A small smile spreads across your face as you roll your eyes. “Oh if the team ever got their hands on this…”

“Don’t you dare!” You jump up in your seat, reaching for the photo frame which Sloane holds out of your grasp. Chuckling, she passes back the frame at your panicked expression.

It’s 10 o’clock before you realise it, Sloane seems surprised herself. “I should be going.” She gets up from the floor, slipping her heels back on. You walk her to your door.

“Thank you for this evening, Jack.” A wide smile spreads across her face. “I still can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met outside of work, just the two of us, we should do it more often.” Your own smile appears.

“I’d like that.” Her smile dips and she reaches out to grab your arm. “Seriously do consider doing a memorial thing for Sam. I think it’ll really help and if you want people there to support you the whole team would be there in an instant.”

You offer a weak smile. “I’ll think about it.” She squeezes your arm slightly before stepping back, Jack offers one last goodbye and then she’s walking down the pathway of your house and to her car. You lock the door and head back to your living room. You grab your phone, clear away the pizza box and head to your room, feeling much more relaxed, sadness now a dull ache, it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You drop off the mac & cheese for Robert, you don’t stay, only chatting enough to let him know if he needs anything to contact you. You spend the rest of your time rifling through the boxes, collecting your favourites together to place in a small memory box to keep in your living room. You also hang the photo up of you two from the vacation you went on to LA before returning all the boxes to your attic.

Everyone in the team sends you multiple messages to check-in and Jimmy even drops by to drop off a bowl of soup that Ducky had made you. Bishop invites you out for lunch on the weekend and McGee and Torres tag along as well.

It feels odd going back to work. Just picking up a new case and continuing on, everything felt so different and yet the same. You fall back into a routine quickly though and enjoy having something to keep your mind occupied. You end up working that weekend, due to catching a case Friday afternoon. You’re just about to interrogate a suspect when your phone rings...It’s Robert. You gulp and Gibbs notices. He sends you off and you flash him a grateful smile before heading off to an unused office to take the call.

“Hey, Robert.” You answer, chewing on your lip anxiously. You wander around the room unable to keep still.

“Hi Y/N.” He clears his throat. “Sammy’s funeral is going to be next Saturday.” He starts rattling off details about location and time but you cut him off.

“Does Felicity know I’ve been invited?”

“What? I haven’t spoken to her about it, but I’m sure she-”

“She’s asked me not to come and I don’t want to make a scene…” You sigh trailing off.

“But you were her best friend-”

“It’s ok. Really, I’ll still come to visit Sam and then you don’t have to be worried-”

“No! Sammy would want you there…”

“Just speak to Felicity and then just let me know what you both agree on.” Your eyes water and you quickly blink the tears away before they can escape. You clear your throat. “I’m at work so I should be going.” You both wish each other goodbye, Robert promising to sort everything out but you aren’t holding your breath.

He phones back that evening. Felicity is adamant that you can’t be there. Robert sounds lost and helpless and you ensure him it’s fine. You only fight the tears long enough to end the call.

You think over what Jack said, about doing your own memorial for Sam and it doesn’t take long for you to finally decide what to do. You pack a bag and jump in your car. It takes about an hour to get there and the minute you step out of the car you shiver forgetting how cold the air was around here.

You grab a jumper from the back of your car, slipping it on and putting on your backpack you look out at the trees surrounding you. You can hear the distant crashes of water and feel yourself relax as all the memory’s swarm back.

You and Sam had visited Great Falls National Park for the first time in your second year of college after a stressful day of exams. It didn’t take long for it to become a frequent hangout when everything got too much in life. You went there with Sam on the anniversary of her mum’s death. She spoke about her for hours, telling you how beautiful and amazing she was and you held her when she cried. You came on good days too, went hiking, had picnics and just relaxed. There was a bridge you’d both sit on, listening to the water rush beneath you and the trees whistling.

You smile, tears rolling down your face, as you walk the familiar path through the trees. You stop once you reach the bridge. Taking a deep breath and breathing in the air. The sun was just beginning to set, the oranges and pinks highlighting the sky. You open your bag, carefully pulling out the balloon you’d already pumped with helium. You grab your marker pen and begin to write.

“Sam. I’ll always love you. Rest well with your mum. Love your sister, Y/N.” You draw a heart after your name and stare at your message as your tears continue to stream down your face.

You eventually let go of the balloon, watching it float away and it isn’t until the sun finally disappears that you rise from the floor. You shiver as you walk back to your car, it was cold enough that you could see your breath dancing in the air. You whack up the heating the second you get into your car to warm yourself up. Your teeth are chattering when you look at your phone. You hadn’t checked it since you’d arrived.

Your phone lights up with text notifications from both Bishop and Gibbs. The whole team was meeting at Gibbs’ for a poker evening. Your face widens in joy and a warmth settles into your heart. You shot them both a quick text promising you’d be there within the hour and put your car into drive. Already getting excited at the prospect of an evening with your family.

(And maybe also at getting the chance to trash their arses.)

#jack sloane x reader #jack sloane #ncis #jacqueline sloane #the case of us #multi chapter #slow burn #chapter three #maria bello #reader insert

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citrinekay · 4 years

Note

bill compliments holden and he’s lost for words. please and thank you 🙏🥺

Lucy, you are lucky I love you. This is quite possibility the sappiest thing I have ever written

With the amount of driving that they do on the job, Bill would have thought that spending their free time on the weekend together in a car would have been unremarkable, if not excessive; but there’s something about driving the winding back roads of Fredericksburg with Holden in the passenger’s seat beside him that feels safe. It’s something familiar, a space that he understands and is comfortable in, even while the rest of their relationship is shifting into deeper, more serious waters.

They started out this afternoon leaving the house to go to dinner, but once they left the restaurant, Holden hadn’t wanted to go home. He wanted to drive out to see the Rappahannock River. Bill has seen the river plenty of times as it cradles the city that he’s lived in for most of his life, and it’s a good half hour drive out of their way; but, it’s what Holden wants so Bill complies without complaint.

The drive is quiet except for the mellow strains of Fleetwood Mac bleeding from the radio. Holden’s hand creeps across the gearshift while the sun begins to set in front of them, painting the dusky blue of the sky with pink and purple. Bill takes his hand off the wheel to find Holden’s hand against his thigh. Their fingers touch, slowly at first, nudging up against one another in a tentative question of boundaries.

Bill cuts a glance across the car, but Holden’s gaze is fixed on the dazzling sunset deepening across the sky in front of them. The color is so low against the asphalt that it looks like they could dive into the blush of pink at any moment. The wash of light spills across Holden’s profile, illuminating the soft swell of his cheeks plumping in a smile, his lips squirming against the giddy expression.

Their fingers intertwine, and Bill draws in a steadying breath.

Holden chuckles softly.

“What?” Bill asks, trying not to sound defensive.

“You’re holding my hand.” Holden says, peeking across the car at him.

“I can see that.”

Holden keeps smiling, biting his lower lip. Bill sighs, but lets him have the moment. Lets himself have it, if he’s being honest. He can’t remember the last time he and Nancy held hands before everything went to shit. It’s one of those little things he didn’t realize he’d missed about being in a happy relationship.

When they reach the river, Bill finds a parking spot that’s secluded from the rest of the vehicles. Most people are headed for the walking trail along the side of the water, but Holden is content to stay in the car where the panoramic view of the sunset over the water lapses out in front of them.

Bill disentangles their fingers to slide his arm across the back of the seat, and around Holden’s shoulders.

“Well, here we are.” He says, “Happy?”

“Yes.” Holden murmurs, tucking himself under Bill’s shoulder, and snuggling down with a contented sigh. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mm.” Bill mutters, his gaze more focused on Holden’s blissful expression rather than the view.

He curls his fingers around Holden’s shoulder, and gradually moves his hand inward until his touch is brushing up against Holden’s neck, just below his ear.

Holden suppresses a quiet sound as the stroking intensifies, rubbing up along his hairline, and tracing the shell of his ear. He purses his lips, keeping his gaze stubbornly focused on the sunset.

Bill drops a soft kiss against his forehead.

He’s seen a hundred sunsets. He’s seen the river. He’s seen the sky from behind the wheel, when the road was before him, and the passenger’s seat was empty. He’s put his arm around someone else, and ached for it to feel this good. But it’s never felt this way. Not even close.

Slipping his fingers under Holden’s chin, he tilts his head back to press a slow kiss to Holden’s mouth.

Holden whimpers a quiet sound of surprise, but quickly melts into the caress. He slides his lips open, expelling a sweet, breathy moan into the wet pressure of Bill’s mouth coming down in gradual, yearning strokes. Clutching at the collar of Bill’s shirt, he kisses back for a moment before tearing his mouth away.

“You’re missing it.” He whispers, nodding at the final stages of the sunset turning the deepest pink.

“I’m not missing anything.” Bill says, stroking Holden’s chin so that it can’t turn away from him.

Holden pauses, his eyes blinking rapidly. Whatever levity had existed up until this moment saps away into silence, into the bob of his throat as he swallows back the flutter of anxiety making its way to his eyes.

He begins to blush, and Bill kisses him again like he can’t stop himself, like there’s some strong magnet hidden under the lush swell of Holden’s tongue. When he draws back, shuddering, his eyes slip open to glimpse the blue of Holden’s eyes, the pink pucker of his lips.

“Fuck.” Bill whispers, clutching Holden’s cheek. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Surprise registers in Holden’s eyes before they quickly dart away. He shifts uncomfortably in Bill’s embrace as the blush on his cheeks blossoms into deeper red.

“What?” He says, giving a strangled little laugh.

He swallows hard. Maybe they’re both surprised he said it. He hesitates a moment before realizing he meant it. “I said you’re beautiful.”

Holden’s brow furrows. His mouth moves wordlessly for a moment before he manages to stammer, “I-I don’t know about that-”

“You expect me to believe nobody has ever told you that before? Look at you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look like someone who should know what kind of effect they have on people.”

“I have an effect on people?” Holden echoes, his frown deepening in disbelief.

“Well, I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but …”

“I’ve never thought of myself that way.” Holden murmurs, sounding bewildered. “I have an effect on you?”

“It’s a little late for that realization, don’t you think?” Bill asks, motioning to the scant space between them.

Holden laughs, softly. He tugs Bill down by the collar for another kiss, melding a whisper into the touch, “Yes it is.”

They don’t talk again for awhile while the kiss stretches on, a gradual, simmering stroke of lips and tongue that’s restrained only by the fact that the little bit of privacy they have is too fragile for anything else. Bill sinks into the hungry ache, feeling like a teenager again making out in his car, longing for the real thing. He can have anything he wants now, but he feels like he should savor this indeterminable feeling floating warmly in his chest.

When the light of the sunset bleeds away into darkness, Bill extricates his mouth from Holden’s. His mouth is humming with Holden’s taste, an aperitif before the rest of the night.

“Ready to go home?” He murmurs.

Holden nods. “Yes. Take me home.”

#citruslucy #mindhunter #bill x holden #my writing #where's that anon who wanted domestic fluff #this is the closest you're getting

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luthorao3 · 4 years

Text

Roisa Secret Santa | Mac & Cheese

Prompt: Mac & Cheese, side of angst Rating: T (teen) Word count: 2009 words

merry christmas, @only-freakin-sunflowers!!!

it’s been so much fun writing this little piece and dropping into your inbox to spread that festive cheer this winter. (im dreadful at keeping secrets when im excited about something - the amount of times i panicked that i’d sent an ask without anonymous being ticked, my god...) i really wanted to add an over the top cutesy ending to this, but when i tried to write it, it just didn’t fit with the foundations that i’d already set down, so i’m sorry if you’re expecting that! i hope this story does your prompt justice, and thank you for all the lovely replies to my asks these past few weeks!

i hope that the next few days bring you so much joy (and some freakin good food, man), and that the new year is kind to you. <3

Luisa’s gaze lingers on the view from their balcony window.

They’ve been in France for three nights, already, tucked into a snowy city with a Swiss border, and mountains that threaten the stars sitting peacefully in their back yard. Luisa feels the biting chill even in spite of her many layers, but does not make to enter the wooden chalet that Rose had secured them for the week. The glass doors behind her reveal a lamp-lit bedroom and the suitcase that they never bothered to unpack, given that they might, at any point, need to make a speedy escape.

Luisa cranes her neck to see the row of wooden buildings that line the mountain road, instead, some small and quaint, others triple-storey and magnificent, all of them like a scene from a real festive movie – the kind with snow piled up to the windows, and hot cocoa with marshmallows floating on top, and innocent mishaps that threaten to ruin Christmas for good, but never actually succeed.

It’s not Luisa’s first white Christmas, and yet the novelty has never really worn off.

Behind her, the sound of a sliding door opening and closing signals Rose’s return from the shower.

Warm arms wrap tightly around her from behind, struggling around her middle and the three separate jackets that Luisa has smuggled herself into. Rose snorts a delicate laugh when she barely manages to rest her chin on Luisa’s shoulder, the faux fur around her hood tickling her cheek. She smells like hotel shampoo and warmth, and Luisa sinks back against her with a sigh.

“Are you still brooding?” Rose asks by her ear.

Luisa considers the question before answering with a quiet, “A little.”

“What can I do to make it better?” Her gaze flicks to one side. “We can turn on the hot tub.”

“I’m not really in the mood for that. Besides, it’s freezing.”

Rose’s voice lilts, suggestive, when she offers, “I can keep you warm.”

Luisa straightens, relieving Rose of her weight, and turns around. She balks when she realises Rose is wearing nothing but a thick white bath robe and a pair of complimentary slippers, damp red hair hanging limp over one shoulder, inviting a frost. “Are you serious? Get inside right now!” Luisa’s concern for her far outweighs the lingering uneasiness that had led her out onto the balcony, where she’d hoped the frigid air would cool her temper. “You’re going to catch your death.”

Rose stops Luisa from man-handling her inside with gentle but firm hands on her biceps.

“Wait. Talk to me before we go back in there. I know you’re upset, and I don’t want to bring this to dinner with us. Tell me how you’re feeling? Let me help.”

Luisa’s mouth gapes like a fish forced to the surface. She clicks it shut with more force than she means. “I’m feeling cold just looking at you. Please can we just—” She attempts to usher Rose back toward the balcony door, but Rose is firm and unrelenting. Her gaze pierces Luisa like a spear, rooting her in place, until Luisa drops her arms with a sigh. “I don’t want to do this right now. Can we go sit down inside, where you’re less likely to contract hypothermia?”

“No,” Rose answers plainly, crossing her arms. She looks less affected by the weather. If not for the gooseflesh crawling up her exposed throat, Luisa might assume she couldn’t even feel the cold. “I’m sick of pretending that nothing’s wrong, or biting my tongue and hoping that whatever’s upsetting you will eventually just go away. It isn’t, and it’s—” her acerbic tone gentles, the words whispering out of her in visible puffs of white breath, “it’s not fair for you to pretend that you’re okay just to keep me from worrying. I know you, Luisa, I know when something is bothering you.”

Luisa blinks a sheen of moisture from her eyes and lowers them to the knot in Rose’s bathrobe. She tugs on it with gloved fingers and then re-ties it tighter than it had been, all the while with Rose waiting patiently for her to speak. Casting a look over her shoulder, Luisa eyes the distance to the ground from their balcony perch, and considers how badly she might hurt herself if she were to jump.

She’d survive the fall. Probably, the landing could do little damage…

The thought brings a soft tut from beneath her tongue, and she releases the robe with a cloudy sigh.

“It’s Christmas,” she whispers, unable to meet Rose’s gaze. Instead, it lingers in the fine silver stitching details on the robe’s lapels – spun silken snowflakes caught in a wintry gale. Just looking at them makes her feel colder. “It’s Christmas Day and I can’t call anyone to wish them a Merry Christmas. I can’t even write. I have no idea what they’re doing, if they’re together, if they’re okay— they have no idea about me, either.” Her expression draws in, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “I bet they’re not even thinking of me. I bet, if they are, it won’t be anything good.”

It comes out on a breath of laughter that holds no mirth, and Luisa swallows against the lump in her throat.

“I chose to do this,” she says, and Rose wonders which one of them she’s addressing. “I wanted this, us, I chose you. I don’t regret that.” She looks up, finally, her big brown eyes soft and warm and a little watery, sheening against the light coming from the balcony doors. “I don’t regret that,” louder, steadier, her hands coming to rest in the crooks of Rose’s elbows. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. I’m just… struggling, I guess.”

Rose presses closer, her slippers dragging against the balcony decking.

She presses a cold, soft hand to Luisa’s cheek – holds it there, until the warmth of Luisa’s skin inspires feeling back into her fingers.

“No one’s faulting you for that,” she murmurs, her voice a low hum. “I know it hasn’t been easy, loving me.”

Luisa’s brow wrinkles. “Don’t think that.”

“I don’t blame you for anything, you know? If not for me, you’d be with them, now.”

“Would I?” Luisa bites the inside of her cheek until it dimples. “We never had Christmases like normal families, not like what you’d see on TV. The best Christmas I ever had was when I decided to stay in college over winter break. It was just me and the foreign exchange students; they did potluck in their dorm, and we ate out in the hall on beanbags and pillows, and then we played hide and seek in the library.” Her brow crinkles again, this time fondly. “I made out with a girl from Greece who was built like a professional football player. I can’t even remember her name.”

Rose snorts delicately, warm breath puffing from her nostrils.

The sight draws a tender smile to Luisa’s mouth.

“You’re not, you know?” she says, stepping forward, lassoing her arms around Rose’s waist and pulling her closer. “You’re not hard for me to love at all. My life would probably be much simpler if you were.”

Rose hangs her arms around Luisa’s shoulders, relaxing against her front.

“It’d be boring,” she agrees, and Luisa snickers. “Sometimes boring is good, when the alternative is going on the run from the law and never seeing your family again.”

“Thanks, I was just getting over that.”

Rose brings both hands to Luisa’s face, this time, squashing her sarcasm between them.

“You’ll never be over that,” she says, and the matter-of-factness of the statement makes Luisa’s breath hitch, but then she never has managed to get over how delicately Rose delivers her killing blows. Rose knows exactly how to turn the world inside out, and she can do it with the same precision it takes for a needle to pop a balloon. The bang makes you jump even when you’re expecting it.

Rose studies her face like she’s looking for a reaction, like she’s waiting for something to happen. Luisa wonders if she’s supposed to protest, but can’t. Won’t. Finally, Rose’s gaze softens. “Next year,” she says, picking her words with care, and with the future so far in the distance Luisa cannot blame her, “I’ll give you a proper Christmas. Dinner, presents, a tree. Anything you want.”

“Anything I want?” Luisa repeats, smiling, but Rose’s expression keeps its almost-solemn quality.

“Anything you want,” she agrees. “I’ll take you to Lapland, I’ll buy you your own goddamn reindeer, if that’s what you ask for.”

“I mean, I don’t know the first thing about their diet,” Luisa scoffs, and then her brows draw in tight with thought, “but Google has never failed me before…” Rose shivers, drawing Luisa’s attention quickly back to her. “What’s this about dinner, though? It’s not too late to find somewhere, right? I know it’s not the same as cooking your own, but I think we’re just gonna have to forgive ourselves for that, given the circumstances.”

“Actually,” Rose begins, coy, caressing Luisa’s cheek with the fat of her thumb, “I thought we’d eat in, still. I don’t want to tempt fate, today of all days. It won’t be a Christmas Dinner, or anything even remotely close to it, but I want to do this for you. I want you all to myself tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

“Wait, you want to cook for me?” At Rose’s nod, Luisa’s lips press closed. “Babe, I love you, but you really don’t need to do that.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Luisa clears her throat. “I mean…”

“Wow,” Rose puffs, unable to hide her smile, even if the offence is real. She drops her hands from Luisa’s face, draping her arms back around her shoulders. Their bodies sway together as Rose suppresses a laugh. “Fine then. I won’t cook.”

Luisa squeezes her tighter around the middle. “You can’t cook, sweetie, it’s not a matter of won’t.”

Rose scoffs but does not disagree, until—

“I can manage mac ‘n’ cheese,” she says, lips pursed. “I can make a really good packet mac ‘n’ cheese.”

Luisa’s eyes her, dubious. “You want mac ‘n’ cheese?”

“I do.”

“You want to make us mac ‘n’ cheese out of a box for Christmas Dinner?”

“That’s right.”

“Huh.”

Rose wets her lips and instantly regrets it. Her ears are beginning to ring from the cold.

“Will you eat it, if I do?”

Luisa snorts and nods her head.

“At this point, I’d take peanut butter on toast. Come on, though, let’s get inside before you freeze to death. Popsicle isn’t on the menu tonight.”

As she says it, she untangles Rose’s arms from around her shoulders and ushers her toward the balcony door.

Shivering, Rose shakes her head, taking Luisa’s hands in hers and halting any further movement. At her girlfriend’s confusion, she presses a kiss to each gloved palm, and then her face. Luisa shivers at the feeling of her mouth, cold and wet, against her own. When she draws back, there’s a light in Rose’s eye – a twinkle in the corner, like a star that’s emerged from behind a slow-drifting cloud – that gives her pause.

“I love you,” Rose tells her, all hot, visible breath and a smile so tender that Luisa bites back the urgency to get them both inside, if just to bask in the warmth that is Rose’s unwavering adoration. “I love you so much. If I could change things—” She sighs. She can’t, and so she discards the thought, with effort. “I’m sorry it isn’t everything you deserve. I’m going to do better, Lu, I mean it.”

Luisa bites the inside of her lip, blinking back the glaze of moisture in her eyes – it only attracts the cold.

“We both are,” she promises, sniffing. “Please, can we go inside now?”

Rose laughs and nods her head.

When Luisa next tries to save her from the cold, she gives no protest, and they step hand-in-hand back into the warmth.

#only-freakin-sunflowers #roisa secret santa #luisa alver #rose solano #fanfiction #fic #i feel like im posting this early but you're mostly probably all just on some funky american time zone lmao #merry christmas to everyone participating in this lil gift exchange i hope you all have a gay old time

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chasholidays · 5 years

Note

For the 2018 Holiday ficfest please: a Bellarke version of Enchanted. And if you need a wiki reference, let me know because the askbox won’t let me leave a link for you

Clarke has a headache even before Madi jumps out of their taxi at eight o'clock at night, but that really is the last straw, the thing that takes her from “long day at the office” to “how drunk can I get before social services decides it’s a problem.”

That’s assuming, of course, that social services lets her keep her foster daughter, instead of deciding that a truly responsible guardian would have made sure that Madi never jumped out of the taxi in the first place, which is already a big ask. Not that Clarke thinks she should have predicted it, but still. She could have been paying more attention to Madi’s excited chattering, and realized that she was really worried about the prince she saw.

Oh god, Madi is going to chase after a homeless guy she thinks is a prince. Clarke can’t catch her soon enough.

Madi is small and her legs are short, so Clarke gets to her before she actually starts talking to the unknown stranger, but still close enough that she can get a better look at him. He is a real person, not part of the display like Clarke thought, dressed like the richest guy at the renaissance fair, like someone in a movie.

He also looks completely despondent.

“I told you he was real,” Madi says, petulant, and Clarke hugs her around the shoulders. Her head still aches, but parents don’t get time off.

“You did,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should have listened to you.” Her eyes flick back up to the guy. It’s hard to make out his features in the dark, but she can see his dark eyes watching her, too. “You okay?” she asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Any reason you’re on a billboard?”

He huffs. “You know how things look small when they’re far away?”

“I’ve noticed, yeah.”

“I thought this was a castle that was far away.”

“And you didn’t notice it was still too small?”

“Clarke,” says Madi. “He’s a prince.”

“Not a prince,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s complicated. But once I figured out this wasn’t a castle I still didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Great,” says Clarke. Madi is still watching the guy with big, concerned eyes, and their taxi is still idling at the side of the street, probably getting impatient. “Can we give you a ride somewhere? The Y?”

“Arcadia Castle.”

“Which is in–”

“Arcadia.”

She sighs. “Just come down, okay?”

“Thank you,” he says, to her surprise, and climbs down from the billboard. It was raining earlier and he’s still damp, black curls pasted to his forehead, overly fancy clothing hanging heavy on his frame. “I appreciate your help. You’re the first friendly people I’ve met since I arrived here.”

“From a castle,” says Clarke, just so she has whatever is happening straight.

“Arcadia,” Madi insists, and the guy smiles at her.

“Arcadia Castle,” he agrees. “I was supposed to be getting married.”

“Of course you were.” She sighs. “Sit in the front seat, okay?” she tells the guy. “You don’t have an address we can send you to? A phone number?”

He seems to be thinking, finally settles on, “No, I don’t have either of those.”

She sighs. “Okay, fine. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Just keep going,” she tells the driver, and he nods.

Clarke listens with half an ear as Madi starts grilling the guy. His name is Bellamy, he’s not a prince, but he is marrying a prince, which is at least a pretty progressive delusion, and he fell into a wishing well and ended up coming out in what sounds like Times Square.

Even if the whole thing is somehow completely true, Clarke can’t have him hanging out in her apartment with her daughter. There’s a line, and she has to draw it, and that line is “strange man she found on the street in the same apartment as her eight-year-old child.”

But there’s another consideration to be made, a deeper one, the one that has had Clarke feeding stray cats and trapping hurt squirrels in the park to bring them to the vet. Clarke has only had Madi for six months, and Madi still isn’t sure that Clarke really wants to keep her, or that she really wants to stay. And if Clarke decides they can just abandon this guy, it will mean something, something about Clarke and about Madi and what kind of person she is.

So she texts Miller.

Me: Can we sleep over at your place tonight?

Miller: 48 hours notice for babysitting, I keep telling youWhat if I’m doing something?

Me: Sounds like you’re notAnd it’s not babysitting, I’ll be there too

MillerMe: Madi found this homeless guy who thinks he’s a prince trying to get into a castle on a billboardHe’s not giving me a last name or an address or anywhere I can take him

Miller: So you want to take him to me?

Me: You know how Madi getsIf I send him away she’s just going to think I’m giving up on him

Miller: So how do I factor into this?

Me: I don’t want me and my daughter alone in my apartment with a guy I found on a billboardI don’t really want him to know where we live at all, but we need to grab stuff

Miller: So if he’s going to murder someone, it’ll be me

Me: Please?I know it’s a big ask, but I’m exhausted and I need to deal with this in the morning

Miller: Yeah, of courseYou need me to get anything set up?

Me: Your couch, I guessMadi and I can share the guest bedSeriously, thank you so muchI owe you a six pack

Miller: He better at least be cute

Clarke glances up to look at Bellamy without even realizing it. The street lights blinking by illuminate his profile in waves, the strong features and slight smile, the small, unexpected scar on his lip. His hair is drying off, curling more, and cute feels inadequate. Official title or no, he has the whole handsome prince thing down.

Me: You know I’d never bring an unattractive weirdo to youSee you soon

Clarke brings Madi up to their apartment to grab an overnight bag, leaving Bellamy waiting in the cab. He’ll still know which building is theirs, but he doesn’t know her last name, and she’s hoping the darkness and the general confusion of the city means he won’t be able to figure out exactly where they are, even if he tries. It’s not ideal, but it’s about the best she can do with the situation.

“Why are we staying with Uncle Nate?” Madi asks, as Clarke checks to make sure she’s got everything.

“Because I want to believe Bellamy is a nice guy who needs our help, but he might not be, and if he’s not, I don’t want him to be able to do anything bad to us.”

“But he can do something bad to Uncle Nate?”

“He could, but men are a lot more likely to hurt women than other men,” she says. “So Uncle Nate said we could stay with him. Don’t forget to bring stuff for school tomorrow.”

“I know. I don’t think he’s going to hurt us,” she adds.

“I don’t either, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful.”

“But you’re going to help him, right?”

“I’m going to try.”

They head back down to find Bellamy chatting with the cab driver, asking about his family and life, the driver showing off pictures of his kids with a wide smile on his face. Clarke’s never been good at being friendly with strangers, doesn’t know how to just start talking to people, and it’s weird to see a guy who doesn’t even know where he is fitting in better than she does. Not that she necessarily wants to start up random conversations with her cab drivers, but she definitely wouldn’t know where to start if she did.

“So, we’re going to my friend’s place to sleep,” she explains to Bellamy, once she’s given the driver the address. “He’s got a little more room, as long as you don’t mind couch-surfing.”

“I’ve never done it, but I don’t mind. I always like to try new things.” He pauses. “What is it?”

“Sleeping on a couch,” says Madi.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Depends on the couch,” says Clarke. “But Miller’s is nice.”

Bellamy glances over his shoulder, giving Clarke a warm smile. “I can’t thank you enough for all your help. You’re the first person who’s showed me any kindness.”

The gratitude is genuine, but it just makes Clarke’s stomach churn. She is showing him kindness, but under duress. And this isn’t normal for her. She doesn’t do much for people she finds on the street, and if Madi wasn’t here, she’d be dropping him off at a homeless shelter.

The more she talks to him, the more she doesn’t think that’s where he belongs, but still. If not for Madi, she wouldn’t have even stopped. She never would have known he needed help.

“You’re welcome,” says Clarke. “I’ll find you somewhere better in the morning.”

It takes only ten minutes to get to Miller’s building, and Clarke makes sure to give the driver a hefty tip on their way out. He was getting paid for the whole thing, but having to drive around bunch of people having a weird crisis probably sucks anyway. Nothing wrong with showing a little extra consideration.

Clarke met Nathan Miller when she was in college, although the two of them didn’t become friends right away. They moved in the same circles and liked each other well enough, but it wasn’t until they were both moving to New York after graduation and decided to room together that they really bonded, and now he’s one of her best friends and most dependable babysitters. When most people were telling her that she had no business taking on a foster child, he got it and supported her.

This is still above and beyond.

“Hey,” she calls, unlocking his door with her spare key and pushing her head inside. “We’re here.”

“Hey,” Miller calls back from somewhere in the kitchen. “I figured you guys were hungry so I went and grabbed some mac and cheese. It’s nothing special, but it’s almost done.”

“You’re the best! Madi, we’re going to share the guest room, will you go put our stuff in there?”

Madi takes off and Clarke turns her attention back to Bellamy. It’s her first time seeing him in full light, and she has the chance to study him as he’s distracted taking in Miller’s apartment. He’s got this awestruck expression that’s really selling the idea that all of this is new to him, like he didn’t even know places like this existed, and he could be going through some serious mental shit, but there’s a part of Clarke that wants to believe–

Believe what? That he fell into a wishing well and ended up in an alternate reality? That he really doesn’t have a clue where he is or how he got here?

He turns his attention to her and smiles, the full force of it hitting her like a wave. She can see all the details of him now, under Miller’s energy-saving light bulbs, the brown eyes and the freckles and the increased curl of his now-dry hair.

When he catches her eye, his mouth twitches up in a sheepish smile. “This place is unbelievable.”

“If you think this is impressive, you’re going to overload when you see the rest of the city.”

He goes over to the window, looking out at the array of lights. Miller does have an amazing view.

“It’s huge. I’ve never been around so many people. It was always just me and my sister.”

“What about the guy you’re marrying? The prince?”

“What about him?”

“How did the two of you meet?”

“He went through the kingdom looking for someone to marry. When he came to us, it was–magic.”

There’s a catch in his voice that Clarke finds a little troubling. They’re strangers, and he doesn’t owe her his life story, but in spite of all the outlandish things he’s said, this is the first time she’s thought he was being dishonest.

“He’s a good prince,” he adds, brightening. “And I met a fairy godmother who told me I was destined to marry royalty, so this is it. My one true love.”

“Sounds like you had everything you wanted.”

“I did.”

“Then what were you wishing for?”

“What?”

“You said you fell into a wishing well. You must have had a wish.”

“Dinner’s up!” Miller calls, and Bellamy jerks his attention away from the question immediately.

He clears his throat, awkward. “We should eat.”

“Yeah,” she says, and lets it go.

He and Miller get along easily, to Clarke’s surprise–she’s starting to think she’s the only one who doesn’t just immediately get along with him. Not that they don’t get along, exactly, but she feels like everyone else has a better idea of what to do with him than she does. Then again, he’s a little different with Miller too, falling into easy banter, talking shit even if Clarke’s pretty sure the word “shit” would freak him out. But with Madi around, everyone keeps their language G-rated anyway, so it’s just a nice, shockingly normal meal, all things considered.

Clarke gets Madi put to bed while Miller gets Bellamy some pajamas to borrow, and then it’s just the three adults awake, their most awkward configuration yet.

“So, Arcadia, right?” Miller finally asks.

“Yeah.” Bellamy rubs his face. “You’ve never heard of it, have you?”

“There are definitely places called Arcadia in the world,” says Clarke. “But none of them sound like the one you’re talking about.”

“No.” He sighs. “I have no idea how to get back. I don’t even know where I came out of there. I ended up on this–metal thing underground?”

Clarke boggles. “The subway? How did you get on the subway? You have to pay for it!”

“I don’t know! There were a lot of people and they were all pushing me and I just went with it.”

“And you ended up on a billboard with a castle on it.”

“Apparently.”

“So, what next?” Miller asks, the million-dollar question. “What’s the plan?”

Bellamy looks to Clarke, surprising her and warming her all at the same time. “Unless you have any better ideas, I’m waiting for Prince Roan to come rescue me.”

“Prince Roan?” asks Miller, looking Bellamy over again, the familiar hey-you’re-queer double-take.

“His fiance,” says Clarke.

“He’ll be looking for me,” Bellamy says. “And his mother was a sorceress, so he might actually have some background to draw on. But I’ll still need somewhere to stay until–whatever happens. So if you have suggestions–”

“We’ll figure it out in the morning,” Clarke says. “Miller, can you help me get the rest of the stuff for the couch?”

Miller already got basically everything, but he’s also smart enough to know what she’s really asking, and they step into his bedroom for a quick conference. “You believe him?” he asks.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I think I might.”

“Me too. Am I a terrible parent?”

“No. Not sure social services would be great with this, but–he can stay with me, don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “Chip in for food and I don’t mind giving him my guest room until I find a roommate. And I can pass his information along to my dad, see if there are any missing persons or anything. Maybe it’s just an acute psychotic break or something, I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” says Clarke, absent, and he shoots her a sharp look. “I don’t want it to be.”

“I get that. Who doesn’t want to think there’s some magic in the world? And a queer Disney prince, on top of that.”

Clarke smiles. “Pretty much. Thanks for backing me up in believing in the weird hot guy.”

“Any time.”

“So, tell me about your prince.”

It’s Friday and Clarke’s done with her meetings, so she took the afternoon off to show Bellamy the city. She called her mom and asked some vague, “hypothetical” questions about amnesia, and while she doesn’t think Abby bought that she was just curious, she didn’t figure out the real reason, so it’s fine. She can show Bellamy around the more famous parts of the city, hoping to jog his memory, maybe find out more about him. If he’s not legitimately a universe-hopping future prince, that story might be based in whatever the actual truth of his life is. Maybe he does have a significant other named Roan, maybe he’s nervous about getting married, hit his head on something and invented this whole new life for himself as a stress reaction.

Which is why they’re going to Central Park. If there’s a real-world equivalent to a wishing well in New York City, Clarke’s pretty sure it’s here. And it’s a nice day for a walk. Part of her wishes she’d taken Madi out of school to join them, but that’s definitely the kind of thing that social services would frown on.

“There’s not much to tell. He was looking for a spouse, he found me, our eyes met, he started to sing, I joined–”

“Wait, stop. Sing?”

“Yeah.”

“You sang a song and now you’re getting married?”

“How do you do it?”

“Get to know someone and decide if you’re compatible? Just a thought.”

“That’s fine for ordinary people,” he says, with a shrug. “That’s how my parents met. But with royalty, there’s usually destiny involved. You want to be sure.”

“And it works?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He sang a few bars, you harmonized, and that’s it? You’re meant to be together?”

“You make it sound easy. It’s work, relationships are always work. Does yours work? What happened to Madi’s father?”

“Her parents died in an accident,” says Clarke. “I took her in last year.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s okay. You’re right, none of my relationships have ended in happily ever after, but I don’t think it’s because we didn’t sing together.”

“So what did happen?”

“Let’s see, first serious relationship was Finn, in college. I found out he was still dating his high-school girlfriend when he was home for breaks, and we both dumped him.”

Bellamy winces. “Yeah, okay.”

“Then my other serious relationship was Lexa. We went out for a couple years, but it didn’t work out.”

“I need more information. You can’t just say you didn’t get along. What happened?”

“We wanted different things, I guess. And every time it came up I just thought, well, that’s not a big deal, we can compromise. And then I thought about all the things we were compromising on. Some of it really didn’t bother me, like food preferences, but some of it was big.”

“Like Madi?”

“That was the last straw, yeah. When we met, neither of us wanted kids, and then Lexa decided she did. And I didn’t. Fostering was the compromise I came up with–I didn’t want to be pregnant, I didn’t want to have a baby, but taking in an older kid who needed a family really appealed to me. Lexa wanted biological kids, and I still don’t. So we broke up and I started fostering.”

“Maybe if you’d sung a song about kids, you would have known sooner,” he says, but his smile is warm and his eyes are teasing. “I’m sorry,” he adds, just to drive it home.

“It’s been two years, I’m not still heartbroken.”

“But you’re not in love.”

“No. You’re not either,” she points out, shooting him a glare. “Don’t pretend you are.”

“I’m going to be.” When she doesn’t respond, he sighs. “I wanted it to be my sister. I figured she could marry the prince, I’d meet some relative of his and marry them, the prophesy would be fulfilled and O would be set.”

“O’s your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“How old is she?” She frowns. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-eight, my sister’s twenty. You?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“And Madi?”

“Eight.”

“And you’ve had her for two years?”

“One. There’s a pretty long wait between applying to be a foster parent and getting a kid.”

“Is it competitive?”

Her face twists into something she knows is technically a smile. “It shouldn’t be. There are lots of kids who need someone. But there are a lot of hoops to jump through.”

“Like what?”

They talk about the logistics of adopting and raising children in their worlds as they walk through the park, and while Bellamy sees nothing to jog his memory at any point, Clarke learns more about him and where he comes from, and he somehow leads an entire crowd of park-goers in a rousing song about non-traditional families that everyone but Clarke somehow knows, which makes her a lot more confident he’s on the up and up.

Not a bad day, all things considered.

Prince Roan shows up on Sunday morning.

They’ve moved Bellamy from Miller’s place to hers, which still feels risky, but there isn’t really a good way to deal with this whole thing, and Miller’s been busy with work, so Bellamy hasn’t spent a lot of time with him. He knows Clarke a lot better, and Madi likes him, and it’s really not Miller’s responsibility to put up this random guy.

And Clarke kind of likes having him around. He’s smart and interesting and good with Madi, and she does trust him, as stupid as it feels. Even if what he believes to be the truth somehow isn’t, he’s got a good heart and he isn’t going to hurt them.

Roan, she feels less sure about, given he shows up in her hallway bellowing, “Bellamy!”

Bellamy looks about as spooked as she feels. “Roan?”

Clarke’s hand hovers on the doorknob, but she doesn’t open it until Bellamy nods, and she barely has any time to look at the prince before he’s got a sword out and pointed at her throat.

Which is not really the best first impression.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding him,” says Roan, low and dangerous.

“I wasn’t hiding anyone, he’s sleeping on my couch,” Clarke protests. “Bellamy, can you–”

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” he tells Roan. “She helped me.”

Clarke and Roan stare at each other for a minute. Bellamy’s been wearing clothes he made out of bed sheets for the last couple days, definitely not trendy, but not as anachronistic as his original outfit. He doesn’t look like a normal guy, exactly, but this is New York. He can pass as a hipster.

On the other hand, Roan looks like a pirate who accidentally gained control of a country and is still trying to fuse his personal style with his royal title. He’s got long hair and an earring and an outfit that makes him look like Jack Sparrow’s richer nemesis. It’s a lot to take in, but the first thought that crosses her mind is actually that he looks all wrong for Bellamy.

Roan recovers first, moves his sword from her neck. “Then I thank you,” he says, sweeping into a fluid bow. “For caring for my fiance. You will be handsomely rewarded, once we’re home and wed.”

“You can come back?” she blurts out. Roan raises his eyebrows, and she clarifies, “To reward me. The portal doesn’t–close, or whatever?”

“We’re still determining how the portal opened,” says Roan. “But even if it closes, I’m sure we’ll be able to show our appreciation somehow.”

“You should at least stay for dinner,” Clarke says, too quick. “Madi’s not even here to say goodbye.”

Roan raises his eyebrows at Bellamy, and he clarifies, “Clarke’s daughter. I’d like to see her again before we leave.”

“Of course. It must have been very difficult, being stuck in this–barbaric city. I’m glad you had some allies.”

“It’s not all bad,” Bellamy says. “I’ve had a lot of fun, honestly. I’ve seen some good stuff too.”

“Perhaps you could show me.”

He glances back at Clarke, but the last thing she wants to do is third wheel on a date with Bellamy and his pirate prince. “Go ahead,” she says, with a smile. “I need to pick Madi up anyway. Be back at six-thirty and I’ll feed you.”

“Sure,” he says. “See you in a couple hours.”

Once they’re gone, Clarke flops onto her back on the couch, unintentionally getting a nose full of Bellamy’s scent from the sheets he left neatly folded. It feels stupid, to be already missing him, to be missing him at all. She had herself convinced that he was telling the truth, but that conviction hadn’t taken the next step to thinking his prince would ever show up to bring him home. She doesn’t know what she thought would happen, but she thought she’d have time to figure it out.

Me: Bellamy’s prince showed up

Miller: Seriously?HuhIs he hot?

Me: He looks like he’s cosplaying a fancy pirateBut he’s making it workMostly

Miller: So is he leaving?

Me: After dinnerHe’s showing Roan the town

Miller: Madi’s at karate?

Me: Yeah

Miller: You want me to come over?

Me: If you’re not busy

Miller: Yeah, I’ll see you in like half an hour

He gives her a hug as soon as he shows up, adds, “I knew this was going to happen.”

“What?” she asks his shoulder.

“You got a crush on the hot queer boy who thinks singing equals true love.”

“Oh, yeah. That happened.” She swallows hard. “I don’t think he really thinks that. I don’t think he’s in love. I think he got here because he comes from a–fucking magical kingdom, and he made a wish to get out of getting married, and the magic sent him to New York and–”

“And you want him to stay.”

“I do. It’s so stupid.”

“It’s not. You like him, you want to spend more time with him. It was pretty obvious.” He gives her a squeeze and then lets her go, smirking. “Why do you think I wasn’t flirting with him?”

“He’s engaged.”

“Not married. And it’s just flirting. If he was just engaged, I would definitely have been hitting on him.”

Clarke sighs, loud and long. “I keep thinking he’s only known Roan for like a day, he can’t marry him. But he’s only known me for a couple days too, and I want him to leave his whole life behind and stay with me? That’s a lot more of a commitment than getting married.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Of course not.”

“This is the very definition of nothing to lose. Apparently he’s going back to another dimension tonight, so if he says no, that’s it. And if he says yes–”

Her mouth twitches. “Yeah, what happens if he says yes? I’ve got a guy from another dimension living with me, maybe my boyfriend, with no social security, no birth certificate, and if he doesn’t like it here–”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you’d figure it out. Look, he’s an adult, he knows what’s up. Just because he’s from kind of a weird place doesn’t mean he doesn’t get it. He can make up his own mind.”

“He can. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“I want to see the prince, so yeah, I want to stay for dinner. I’ll even distract him so you can talk to Bellamy.”

“You’re the best,” she says, and he smiles.

“Go get him.”

Dinner is awkward. Madi has a billion questions for Roan, and Miller has fewer, but all of his are very pointedly about how long Roan has known Bellamy and why they’re getting married, and Roan definitely notices what’s going on. It culminates in Roan starting to sing their song–I’ve been searching my whole life for a partner to stand by my side, catchy, but nothing to write home about–and Bellamy, distractedly listening to Madi explain the book she’s reading, misses his cue.

“And after so long, I’ve finally found,” Roan sings again, pointedly, and Bellamy blinks.

“What?”

“Did you lose your voice?”

“No, sorry, I was just–” He clears his throat. “People don’t really do that here.”

“I had no idea. Maybe they should.”

“I got them going the other day, but apparently it was a first. At least Clarke has a very nice voice,” he says, apparently without thinking, and Roan shoots her a glare that suggests he wishes he’d stabbed her when he had the chance.

Madi lights up, though. “Clarke sang?”

That revelation carries them through the rest of the meal, but Roan’s expression gets darker and darker, and as soon as they’re done, he says, “Time to go?”

Bellamy hesitates. “We should help with the dishes.”

“I’ll show the prince how those work,” says Miller, clapping Roan on the shoulder. “Come on, kiddo, you can dry.”

Roan doesn’t protest, but the silence when they’ve all gone to the kitchen feels huge and heavy, a physical presence in the room. Something that could crush her.

“I’m going to miss you,” she finally offers.

“I know I was a headache,” he says, with a smile. “I appreciate all your help.”

“You figured it out pretty quickly. You’re pretty good at New York, honestly. You even yelled at someone on the subway.”

“His legs were spread so wide he was taking up three seats,” he grumbles. “It was inconsiderate.”

“It was.” She wets her lips. “You still never told me what you were wishing for. When you got here.”

“To fall in love,” he admits. “To be happy.”

“Did it work?”

“Not how I planned.” He pauses, eyes flicking over her. “It was supposed to be with Roan.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him either.” But that’s not enough; she makes herself go on. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”

“I don’t?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

He worries his lip. “I have to go back,” he says. “Talk to my sister. Make sure everything’s good, put everything in order. But–I could come back?”

Clarke’s smile feels like it might split her face. “That would be nice.”

He doesn’t kiss her goodbye, but it’s only been a couple days; she can live with that.

Besides, he kisses her hello, and that’s even better.

Three weeks later, he’s her plus one for a party, and Murphy asks, “So, what did you do to win the princess of New York City?”

“The what?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “It’s just a stupid nickname. Don’t be a dick, Murphy.”

“If I can’t be a dick, I won’t have anything to do. That’s my whole thing. Seriously, how did you guys meet? I feel like you came out of nowhere.”

“Internet,” says Clarke, following their script, but Bellamy is weirdly quiet, lost in his thoughts, apparently not even listening as Murphy teases her.

“You okay?” she asks, tugging him aside once Murphy has gone off to bother someone else.

“Princess of New York City, huh?”

“Yeah, because of my parents. We don’t have a royal family anymore, but we’re rich and Murphy and I grew up together, so–” She shrugs. “Just him being a dick. Does it bother you?”

He leans down and kisses her. “No, it’s awesome. My fairy godmother told me I was going to marry into royalty, remember?”

She laughs. “Are we getting married now?”

“Not now. But someday, right?”

She squeezes his hand, leans against his shoulder. It’s definitely been weird, tough logistically, and nothing like what she expected. But it’s good, too. So much better than she could have imagined.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We’ll get there.”

#sophoslight

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alexsunmners · 7 years

Note

Angus MacGyver + making out to music(2 on the OTP thing) please I love your eggsy imagine. It was so cute 😄

Angus MacGyver + this prompt list

A/N: karley and clara don’t @ me for writing this you know what kind of hoe i am, also why is it always raining in my fics? the world may never know. anyway listen to heart by sleeping at last while you read this for the Full Experience also @paperclipmac @scooterspring this is my first official contribution to the Mac club

There’s a long, long list of things you’re supposed to be doing right now. Cleaning the house, doing some work, cooking dinner, catching up on some sleep, really the list goes on and on. You’re not doing any of those things. Not even close. Today is a rainy day, and there’s music playing on low in the background, making the world outside seems slow and unimportant for once, a welcome change to the breakneck speed and high pressure of the days you have to spend at work. You sigh softly in contentment as Mac’s hand strokes up and down your back, his other arm tightening slightly around your waist, pulling you a little closer against him as he shifts on the couch. Your arm is hooked around his neck and your fingertips rub idly over his bicep as he kisses you slowly, deeply.

Things have been hectic enough lately that it’s been hard to find time for just the two of you, but as you press a little closer to him, revelling in his warmth, none of the stress or tension from work matters for now. As you reach up to card a hand slowly through his hair, you can feel him smile slightly against your lips and everything about this moment feels utterly perfect. There’s nothing to worry about, nothing to preoccupy either of you, nothing at all to draw your attention away from the other. His fingers skim along the hem of your t-shirt, brushing over your skin and leaving a trail of sparks skittering along your spine as they go. You pull back a little, leaning your forehead against his as a small smile tugs at your lips, your hand sliding out of his hair to cradle his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone as he smiles back at you.

“Missed you this week, darlin’” Mac murmurs and you suppress a laugh as you tuck your head against the crook of his neck, wrapping yourself around him.

“Baby we work together,” you remind him gently, audibly amused, and he chuckles as he tilts his head to kiss your temple, shifting you carefully in his lap so you’re settled more comfortably against him.

“Working together isn’t the same as actually spending time together,” he replies mildly. “This isn’t the same as work, and we haven’t had time for this in a while.”

You smile, leaning back against his shoulder and lacing your fingers with his. “No. This isn’t the same as work. This is definitely better.”

#angus macgyver #angus macgyver x reader #angus macgyver imagine #macgyver #macgyver x reader #macgyver imagine #my writing #anon #answered

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years

Text

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 4

Next chapter is live!

Thanks so much to @minky-for-short @childofdustandashes @purearcticfire Also, huge huge huge thanks to @brainypaperbullets @hollywoodx4 @arya-durin-77 for their amazing art, fantastically kind reviews and much needed support.

Feedback and comments would really mean the world, hope you enjoy!

Eliza had never been so happy to be exhausted.

She always looked forward to the walk from the tiny little bungalow that served the town’s elementary schoolers to her home. It gave her a chance to relax her mind after a busy day, wave hello and exchange pleasantries with the people she passed, remind herself just how beautiful this place was.

The dusk was gathering tonight as she strode along and she found herself immeasurably glad she’d remembered her scarf and gloves. As nice as summer had been, late November was proving to be a different kettle of fish entirely; one of these mornings, Eliza was certain she’d wake up to frost on the ground. Her azaleas weren’t going to like that at all.

She pulled her collar up a little higher as the walk to her isolated little cottage exposed her to the open sea which was kicking out a ferocious, heavy, wet bluster that seemed to reach under every protective layer of clothing she had to raise goose bumps on her skin. If she got sick, she was going to be so miffed; she had so much fun stuff planned for her class for the holidays and really didn’t fancy dressing up like Rudolph on the last day of school or organising a times table themed chocolate coin treasure hunt with a stuffed-up nose and headache. She was already feeling much more worn out than usual, although that probably had more to do with having her first nine to five, Monday to Friday job ever.

But it was a tiredness she could be proud of and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. If this was the cost of having the tiny class of tiny third graders look at her with such trust and devotion, having all twelve of them (it was a small town, there weren’t that many children to speak of) hanging off her skirt at playtime, bringing her little sprigs of the rough lavender that grew along the edges of the yard which she dutifully tucked into her ponytail, coming to her when a particularly hard piece of homework had them feeling down on themselves for hugs and reassurance. It was a price she was more than willing to pay, she’d never felt so driven or invigorated about anything, she’d never been so sure that she was doing exactly what she’d been built for.

The instant embrace of warmth and a familiar cosy scent as soon as she pushed back the front door (it always jammed a little, you had to shove it hard with one shoulder) only strengthened her good mood.

“Babe?” she called, stripping off her sodden coat and wilting knitwear, speckled with raindrops that would hopefully dissipate in the heat, “I’m back.”

The fact that Alex wasn’t immediately hurrying out from wherever he’d tucked himself away, hugging her and demanding details about her day and covering her face in kisses and wrapping himself around her like a koala in an attempt to warm her back up, that was her first clue that something was up. Her second clue was the realisation that the fire wasn’t on, the smell of burning and the slight sooty haze in the air were actually coming from the kitchen. Her third clue was the smoke alarm suddenly flaring to life with a panicked, skittish beeping.

That was all the incentive she needed.

“Alex?” Eliza’s voice was significantly more panicked as she dashed into their poky kitchen to see her husband coughing and spluttering in a plume of black smoke that had apparently just poured from the opened oven.

“Oh, hey Betsey,” he croaked back, hacking into the back of his hand but still attempting a light, casual tone, “Did you have a good day at work?”

Eliza gaped at him, going to throw open the windows and grabbing a dishcloth to wave the smoke away, “Uh, fine? Thanks? What on earth are you trying to burn down our house for?”

“I…um…” he looked sheepish, his hands wringing behind his back as he took a step back to shamefacedly watch Eliza swoop in and quickly retrieve the source of the trouble; a baking dish that held something that looked more volcanic than edible.

“I…I was trying to make you dinner?” he confessed in a small voice, both of them looking in bewilderment at the blackened sludge in the dish.

“You…” Eliza processed this slowly, “And what exactly were you trying to make?”

Alex paused for a long time, looking at his feet, “Mac and cheese?”

There was another, heavy pause before Eliza couldn’t hold back any longer and burst out laughing, having to drop the culinary disaster and clutch the counter for support as tears that had nothing to do with the smoke in the air streamed down her face.

After a while, Alex couldn’t help but join in. There was something pretty hilarious about the situation, even he could see that.

Eliza was still chuckling even after the dish had been abandoned to the trash can outside and the open windows had taken care of most of the smog. The little glass window in the oven was probably always going to be stained black from now on but they could live with that.

“I really am sorry,” Alex said for the fiftieth time, though he was smiling. He was pulling out ingredients for his second attempt, this time with supervision, “I have no idea how I messed up that badly.”

“It’s okay,” Eliza insisted fondly, rubbing his arm as she passed by to get another mixing bowl, “it was so sweet of you to want to cook for me. You could have just waited though, I’d love to teach you how to cook?”

Alex shifted a little, looking coy, “But that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

Eliza turned, giving him a careful glance, “Not how what’s supposed to work, exactly?”

Alex rubbed the back of his neck, getting some flour in his long, dark hair, “Well…I’m your mate, right? I’m supposed to provide for you, I’m supposed to get you food and shelter and all that. I thought, seeing as I can’t just go out and snag a fish in my jaws, this was the next best thing? Except I ruined it…”

Eliza tilted her head, a fond smile growing on her face. She wandered over to him, caught a little flour on one forefinger and dabbed it on the tip of his nose playfully, chasing away his forlorn expression.

“It’s a little different up here, Alex,” she smiled, “We’re a team, okay? We work together. Although…” she rose up on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth, “It is incredibly sweet of you.”

Alex was blushing now, grinning goofily in that way she knew and loved, “Even though I nearly burned our house down?”

“Ah, what’s a little light arson in a marriage?” Eliza shrugged nonchalantly, grinning, “I’m sure most first time homeowners have to deal with a mild nuclear meltdown occurring in their oven?”

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Alex, he was losing his explicitly literal nature, “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Absolutely not,” Eliza kissed him again, already thinking of how she was going to retell this little escapade in the most exciting way in her next email to her sisters.

Alex kissed her back, winding his arms around her waist lovingly, anchoring her against him, drawing out every second of contact until they had to break apart for air.

“Come on,” now it was Eliza’s turn to blush and squirm under Alex’s intensely loving gaze, wriggling away to turn back to the scales, “You’ve got me hungry for mac and cheese now, show me what you can do.”

Eliza quickly saw where Alex had been going wrong, with the amount of times she had to stop him from just tipping an avalanche of salt into the sauce or remind him that water needed heat under it to boil. He apparently forgot after two seconds that there was a recipe he was supposed to be following and the instincts he followed instead were a little…misguided?

They had a lot of fun though, ending up with bright smiles and flour handprints scattered across their clothing (not to mention two matching ones on the seat of Alex’s jeans that Eliza crossed her heart and swore weren’t her doing), eating pasta from the dish set between the two of them on the table.

“This is really really good Alex!” Eliza made sure to shower him with compliments to soothe his bruised ego, “Honestly, it’s amazing.”

Alex gave her a rueful smile, suspecting what she was doing but not particularly minding, “I’ll get better. But this is an okay start.”

“Better than okay,” Eliza shook her head, spearing some more on her fork, she really was ravenous after working all day, “Perfect.”

He pulled a face at her, earning one right back until they both dissolved into giggles. They kept eating, chatting companionably.

“So…seeing as being a world-famous chef might be just a little bit out of your reach?” Eliza smiled teasingly, “Did you have any more thoughts about sending off your manuscript?”

Alex shifted, his cheeks reddening a little. It had taken weeks and weeks of persuasion and promises not to laugh for him to give over the pages he’d been scribbling on for a while now, whenever his wife was at work or on the frequent nights he couldn’t sleep. When Eliza had finally been allowed to read it, she’d been stunned.

It was like long form narrative poetry, something Joyce-esque with a shifting, mesmerising plot that could never really be nailed down, only in the most teasingly imperceptible way of a voyage and a struggle and a searching. He wrote the way he ran, the way he swam and sang to himself in the shower and made love to her. Like someone from another reality. It was so beautiful, there’d been tears in Eliza’s eyes by the time she’d finished.

Her father had a lot of friends in publishing, it made sense for a politician to have an in with the people who dispensed knowledge. The offer to send it to one of them, to see if they’d want to actually print it, was one of the first things that sprang to her mind. Alex had reacted with pleased embarrassment, books were things of real magic and power to him and the idea that he could produce one himself was absurd flattery. But Eliza had been perfectly serious, she was still perfectly serious, the stuff Alex wrote in just a month or so was the stuff people studied and students poured over for years. He’d eventually sighed and groaned and rolled his eyes but promised to think it over.

Now, he huffed in resignation, he’d been anticipating her bringing this up again, “I just don’t think that one’s good enough, maybe if I had time to write something different I could put more effort in…”

But Eliza had been anticipating this too, she knew her Alex well. He’d insist that it wasn’t ready, that he just needed more time, he just needed to tweak it, until they ended up never taking any steps forward. She opened her mouth, a firm but gentle argument ready and perched on her tongue but her stomach gave a sudden and violent lurch, turning it all into just a soft, anxious squeak.

“Eliza?” Alex said cautiously, not at all liking the way her expression suddenly fell and her skin took on this green tinge.

“God damn it,” Eliza groaned softly, a cold sweat breaking over her forehead as she dropped her fork and leapt to her feet, just about making it to the bathroom, heaving and retching into the toilet.

Alex’s heart dropped and he went after her, cursing himself. First, he’d created a miniature volcano, then he’d gone and poisoned his wife, he couldn’t fucking do anything right…

He was never much good with illness, it was hardly the biggest problem out there in the ocean, humans were much more fragile, but he did what he could, gently rubbing between Eliza’s shoulder blades and keeping the long trailing ends of her braids safe from harm. He murmured soft, sorrowful apologies as he helped her move gingerly until she was slumped against the wall, groaning.

“It’s not your fault,” she breathed, her voice trembling and weak, “I knew this damn weather would make me sick, I always get flu when it’s cold…”

Alex gave a mirthless laugh as he passed her a hastily poured glass of water, “And I bet you always get food poisoning when you eat food made by a complete moron.”

She gave him a look over the rim of the glass, warning him off. She never let him get away with any self-deprecating comment.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing wrong with your food…the second time,” she made the amendment quietly and quickly, “You watch, next it’ll be a blocked nose then a headache, I’ll feel sorry for myself for a few days and then I’ll be totally fine.”

Alex still looked fretful, still holding her braid, toying with it anxiously. Eliza caught his hand in her own, squeezing reassuringly.

“Totally fine. I promise,” she gave him a rough, tired smile.

“Totally fine,” Alex echoed, nodding and trying to relax.

As it happened, they were both wrong.

“Wait I’m…what?”

The doctor on the other end of the phone was still talking but Eliza wasn’t hearing any of it. She’d thought they were calling to tell her that her tests came back completely fine, that it was just a nasty flu and she could just take some pills or whatever and clear it right up. That’s what she’d told Alex, at least, when he’d begun to seriously panic after about a week of her throwing up and not being able to get out of bed until midday and getting dizzy at odd moments. He’d been insufferable to the point that she’d gone to her appointment with the doctor’s, a generous handful of miles away from their isolated little fishing village, alone.

She could see him out of the corner of her eye, shifting anxiously on the sofa and watching her, studying her face. She realised her expression right now must be terrifying him but she just couldn’t change it.

The doctor kept saying that word in a gentle, understanding, congratulatory voice but every time she said it, it made less and less sense to Eliza. She just wanted her to stop talking really, go away and let her process this, the buzz of information was turning her neutral confusion into out and out panic. Finally, mercifully, she went, Eliza finding herself promising to come in the day after tomorrow for a follow up, nodding along at mentions of weights and measuring and plans and procedures, until she was left with a dial tone.

“What did they say?” the words were out of Alex’s mouth the second the phone slipped from Eliza’s ear to hang limply at her side.

“Um…” Eliza blinked, feeling very far away from her surroundings, the shock playing tricks with her perspective as it has a way of doing.

“Is it flu?” his voice was stained with panic that he was making no effort to hide, “Or iron deficiency? Stomach ulcers?”

Eliza sighed softly, coming over to sit by him, finding it easier to deal with his fright than her own shock, “Baby, I told you not to read those old medical journals, they’re a little grisly…”

Alex didn’t seem to notice the gentle rebuke, his hand scrambled like an injured bird to catch hold of hers, “Eliza, I’m scared, what did the doctor say?”

Eliza ran her thumb over his knuckles, trying to bring him back down. If he fell apart, she’d go right with him and then there’d be no hope.

“Alex, I’m not dying, I haven’t got a disease.” That much was true, anyway.

“Then what is it?” Alex let go of a little of his worry, just a little, he could still see the distress in her eyes as clear as day.

Eliza wasn’t quite sure how to phrase this, her mind was stalling and stuttering like the thought was too hot to pick up and she flinched away from it every time she touched it.

“You told me that there were…stories? Of people like us, Selkies and humans that bonded?” she spoke carefully, not letting go of his hand.

Alex blinked in confusion, sitting back on his heels. He rationalised that if Eliza was asking him about folktales and songs, then there couldn’t exactly be a disaster on the horizon.

“Yeah, there are some songs,” Alex nodded, shifting closer to her to rest his head on her shoulder, “I don’t know how true they are but that’s the only way my people pass on any kind of history.”

Some part of Eliza’s brain that hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of her wondered if that was why her husband had such a talent for writing, for constructing these amazing, epic poems that seemed almost tangible. It was what he was used to. Did Selkies trade around such beautiful lyrical verses like casual conversation? Eliza couldn’t even imagine it.

She swallowed, tucking her legs up so she was closer to him, “And…did they have happy endings? Those songs and the people in them?”

Alex frowned, “Not a lot of our stories do, sweetheart.”

That was the truth, a life spent avoiding predators and constantly facing starvation or destruction, a life of being hunted didn’t tend to produce happy fairy tales.

“Oh…” That wasn’t the answer she wanted and Alex could tell.

“Eliza?” he breathed, begging now, begging quietly for reassurance that she was okay because he was starting to seriously doubt that she was.

Eliza closed her eyes tight, shrinking down into herself a little, “Alex, were there…did they…”

He clung to her hand, sensing her slipping away.

“Were there children in those stories?”

The words jumped out of her once they were found, making her recoil a little, like they had physical force behind them.

Alex tilted his head, “Yes. In some of them…” Realisation sank in and his eyes widened, his jaw dropping a little.

Eliza faced down his gaze, her lower lip starting to tremble as the truth as yet unspoken struck both of them.

“You’re pregnant?” Alex, always the bravest with emotion despite the consequences, was the one who finally said it. It had a question mark at the end but it wasn’t a question. There was no doubt.

“Yes,” Eliza nodded, her mouth now downturned and shaking, tears creeping up on her with an unstoppable approach. She didn’t want to be crying. She didn’t want Alex to think this wasn’t what she wanted, it was, in some very real way it was. But at the same time, she was scared. God, damn it, she was terrified. She was twenty one and so far from home and everything she’d known up until this point, being faced with the idea that she could do something as raw and significant as have a child, that she had a whole other soul and life to take care of. She’d never been so scared in all her life and now what would Alex think when he saw her on the verge of sobbing at the discovery that they’d made a life together?

As it happened, what he did was he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against him so she felt nothing but his warmth and his strength and the pounding of his heart.

“Eliza, I love you,” he whispered, his words holding as much truth and power and beauty as she found in his writing, like he was pouring out his soul to her. Even more intense for the fact that it was held in four words rather than fourteen pages, like it obeyed the physical laws of force dissipated over a larger surface area.

And then she was crying, sobbing against his chest, dissolving and surrendering to her emotion but knowing now that it was okay. Alex was holding her, he’d bring her back once it was over. She was safe with him.

His long, careful fingers stroked her hair and his arms rocked her and his gentle voice murmured words in her ear as she cried her eyes out, asking nothing of her, just giving her space and security to deal with this. And when she was through to the other side, he just held her face and kissed the burning salt from her cheeks and rested his forehead against her own.

And Eliza felt like a different person. She felt like someone strong enough to do this. As long as there would always be those arms to hold her and that voice in her ear. As long as she had her mate, her Alex.

Eliza’s shaky hands left his shoulders and settled on her own belly. Of course, there was nothing there yet, nothing physical. But she felt the spark all the same, she felt the presence of someone reaching back.

“Betsey?” Alex murmured softly, daring to hope.

A slow smile spread across Eliza’s face, crinkling her red, bloodshot eyes and lifting her flushed, blotchy cheeks. And, as far as her husband was concerned, she’d never looked more beautiful.

“We’re going to be parents,” she laughed, a delighted and bewildered sound, “I’m going to have a baby, we’re going to be parents!”

Alex started to laugh too, his thumbs running along her cheekbones, “Yeah. Yeah, we are, you beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, amazing woman…”

Eliza blushed under his praise and the messy, hurried kisses that followed, their lips crashing together with no finesse or care, their feelings too raw to bother about such things. Eliza tipped backwards, pulling Alex with her. She laughed, her voice rasping, as she stroked his hair while his kisses travelled down her body until his head rested over her stomach, resting his forehead against her skin like he’d done with her just moments ago. Saying his first hello to whoever was in there.

Alex smiled and closed his eyes, certain, despite all medical science, that he could hear a tiny second heartbeat under the more familiar thud of Eliza’s. A thought occurred to him in that moment, a thought he’d share with Eliza later as she braced herself to call her parents, as his fingers soothingly massaged her shoulders.

Selkie stories didn’t have happy endings.

But theirs would.

Eliza stood on the threshold of their cottage, stood on her tiptoes and waved, the wind whipping her dress and hair into a storm around her, but still she stayed until the car had crested the hill and dipped out of sight. Even then she lingered a little, until it got too cold and she couldn’t ignore the goose bumps rising on her skin, until she heard Alex’s voice calling her back. She gave a small, fond smile; he’d been agonising over her nearly constantly in an endearing, protective way.

Over them both, she thought to herself, her smile widening. Her hand gently skirted over the swell in her woollen dress.

Eliza came back inside and sat down heavily on the sofa with a bone deep sigh of relief, her head lolling back and her eyes closing. As glad as she was that the rift she’d opened in her family was completely healed, as happy as she was to have the chance to show them her new life that she’d build for herself and how comfortable she was now, she still was so, so glad they were gone.

That was family, she supposed.

Time, distance, Angelica and Peggy’s mediating and the fact that they had their first grandchild on the way, the combined weight of all these factors was enough to bring her parents down here for a visit. It had been a little stiff, a little awkward, some pointed questions had needed dodging but Eliza thought that only added to the success of it. Enough to satisfy them that she’d made the right decision but enough to make them keep their distance, to not feel the need to micromanage her life the way they did with Angelica (despite the fact that she didn’t need it) and Peggy (despite the fact that she didn’t listen). Her two sisters had come down too, made themselves invaluable as ever, acted as a buffer to soothe their parents’ fears and Eliza’s exasperation. But of course, what had really made the reconciliation an inevitability had been the sight of Eliza cradling her small but noticeable, fourth month old bump. Her parents melted instantly.

“You little miracle worker,” she murmured softly, not opening her eyes. She always felt that they could hear her better when she was focusing on nothing but the sensation of them under her fingers. Whenever Eliza talked to them- which was very, very often- she did it with closed eyes and a small, enigmatic smile.

She heard Alex’s footsteps coming down the rickety stairs, the sound of bare soles on uneven wood, his airy voice singing to himself under his breath. Music was another human concept he’d latched onto almost obsessively, though he claimed it was a little lacking compared to the kind of lyrics he’d heard before he walked on two legs. All the same, he treasured the vinyl record player she’d brought with them from Albany, he’d play a record over and over until he was sickened on it. For the last few days it was Edith Piaf who’d stolen his heart in particular. Eliza didn’t mind, she’d owned that box of records since she was fifteen, she loved every song in that box with a deep, nostalgic adoration. And she was finding the melancholy, the memories of lying on her bed as a teenager and finding solace in these songs, extremely comforting in her pregnancy.

Just yesterday, when the blues she couldn’t quite pinpoint or tangle her way out of had caught hold of her, the lowness and discomfort her doctor just shook her head and explained away as a normal symptom, Alex had known exactly what to do. He’d taken hold of her hands and pulled her into the kitchen, taking her around the floor in a kind of slow, careful waddling waltz that was all she could manage right now but it had brought Eliza back into the light in moments. They’d ended up making slow, gentle love against the wall with that gorgeous, lilting music still accompanying their movements and Eliza had ended up crying from the beauty of it, how happy she was.

And it left Alex always singing. That she loved more than anything. His voice lent itself well to song, it was raspy and it snapped in places and some notes wandered away but it was real and it had so much more feeling to it than she’d ever heard. She could listen to her Alex sing all day long.

She opened her eyes to watch him, laughing in amusement but not surprise when she saw he’d stripped right down to his boxers. He never was going to get the hang of clothes.

Eliza could almost actually see the stress and anxiety trail out of him, like ribbons of steam leaving a burning hot surface, she was so relieved. She knew having her whole family come to visit had been the most she’d ever asked of him. The weight of fabricating a whole life, a childhood spent in this town, running into Eliza at college, falling in love, a whirlwind proposal, having to keep all the little tics and habits that made him himself in check, hold himself awkwardly, like he was balancing a book on his head for the entire day, it had almost been too much. They’d had to pull away for an hour or so in the middle of the day, under the pretence of Eliza needing a nap, for her to just sit with his head in her lap, stroking his hair and rocking him, loving on him every way she knew how. She knew it made him feel like an outsider, to have to play this part. Talking art with her mother and listening to her father’s political rants he’d happily dispense to anyone who showed a passing interest, hiding so much of himself and who he was, it all just reminded him with a painful sharpness that he didn’t fit.

But he’d done it for her. And he’d done so well, her parents had gone from eyeing him distrustfully to shaking his hand and smiling warmly in the space of six hours, that in itself was no mean feat.

Eliza poured every scrap of love she could find into the gaze she gave him as her weary husband came and knelt in the space between her legs, resting his head against her stomach and breathing in a sigh so deep it must have made his ribs ache.

“My brave, beautiful man,” Eliza cooed softly, bending over him, “My hero.”

Alex gave a small laugh, her voice tired, “That went well.”

“It went better than well, Alex, they loved you!” she praised him generously, knowing it would be like a balm on his raw anxiety, “They probably like you more than me! You had them laughing and you answered all their questions perfectly and…and, baby, I’m so proud of you…”

“I’m just glad it’s done,” he mumbled, catching her hand and pressing his lips to her palm, “If I’m allowed to say that.”

“Honey, I am right there with you,” Eliza reassured him with a gentle laugh, “That’s satisfied my desire to see my family for…the next twelve years, I’d say.”

Alex snickered along with her, the giggling, bubbling laughter of relief at the end of a long journey, as social batteries recharged and familiarity returned. He took his kisses over to her stomach, that had been the focus of his attentions recently, like it was the centre of his universe.

“Your daddy did pretty good, huh?” he grinned, his voice gentle, “Didn’t do a half bad job passing as human?”

Eliza laughed, Alex was as talkative with their unborn baby as he was with anyone. She loved it, actually, held onto the thought that their child would be born knowing their father’s voice like a precious coin. Like a lighthouse’s glare.

“You did amazingly, Alex, I can’t thank you enough,” Eliza answered for their little one.

He gave her a sleepy smile, looking proud of himself. And that was all Eliza could ever have asked for. That was part of loving someone so completely, she’d realised, having them love themselves being as necessary your own oxygen. Needing them to see and know everything amazing that made you love them.

“I have an idea,” she said quietly, grinning.

Alex tilted his head, quizzically, “Yeah?”

The only answer she gave him was to gingerly get to her feet, waving at him to stay put.

“Eliza?” he narrowed his eyes, “Baby, you shouldn’t be on your feet, c’mon, just tell me and I’ll do it…”

Eliza shot him a warning look, “Sweetheart, if you don’t calm down you’re going to have a heart attack before the baby even gets here. I can walk up stairs, okay? Now shush and stay put.”

Alex dropped back down onto his ass, scowling and folding his arms. A combination of the two things he hated the most, having his pregnant wife moving around when he could be fetching and carrying for her. And not knowing what was going on.

He sulked half-heartedly until he heard her soft voice coming from upstairs. He was up and moving in a heartbeat, only skidding to a halt when he pushed back their bedroom door and saw what she’d made for him.

This time he didn’t need prompting. He took her hand and pulled her into the blanket fort that was taking up most of the floor space, curling up with her gladly, back in the soft, warm glow of the place they’d both first discovered exactly what it was they had. This was one thing that hadn’t gotten away from them, however far they’d come in such a short space of time.

“Thank you, Eliza,” he sighed for the millionth time, his face happily buried in her hair.

“I thought you could use some space,” she replied with a satisfied smile, her eyes closed and her head pillowed on the lower part of his stomach so he could koala himself around her in the way he liked to do.

“I kind of did, yeah,” he laughed at the understatement, shaking his head a little at her canny.

Eliza’s smile turned a little wicked as she made up her mind that they’d been lying here cuddling for long enough, “I think I have something else you could use.”

Alex blinked in confusion, making a soft noise of perplexity, until he felt her hands pulling his boxers down his legs.

“Betsey…” he breathed, heat pooling in the base of his stomach as her warm breath touched the most intimate part of him.

The unpredictability of her hormones had given them both a lot of sleepless nights recently but Alex had rarely found himself on the receiving end. Not that he minded at all, he enjoyed giving as much as anything and felt so relieved to have a problem he knew and enjoyed fixing.

Eliza felt his hesitation as her hands rested on his hips. She looked up at him, her eyes catching the low light, “Alex? Sweetheart, we don’t have to, I just want to bring you back to yourself a little? I just want to make you feel good…”

What she really wanted was to show him how loved he was, human or not, how none of that mattered to her and what they’d been through today didn’t mean that fitting in with her family was a condition of her wanting to be with him. If her mother and father had taken one look at him and spat on the ground in disgust, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. It was nothing more than convenience; her love was tied to something much deeper and unshakable.

But that was a little too complicated to say. She just hoped it came across in the way she ran her fingers across his skin.

Alex answered with his hands tangling in her hair, a silent gesture of permission. By the time, Eliza was finished with him, after she’d broken him with her mouth, turned him around and put him back together, again with her mouth, they were exhausted. Sleep came easily, all worries and anxieties forgotten, replaced with closeness and warmth.

Alex and Eliza were finding that sometimes they didn’t need words.

Summer couldn’t come back around sooner for Eliza.

As much as she’d loved the months that had gone by, as fun as it had been introducing Alex to the concept of Christmas, celebrating the new year with the knowledge that one of the top publishers in New York city, a close personal friend of Senator Schuyler, had accepted Alex’s submission and already asked for more. Something about the concept of a reclusive, postmodern poet scribbling away his tomes in some salt burned corner of Oregon had a rustic magic to it that the intellectuals of the city couldn’t get enough of, positive reviews were flooding in. Alex didn’t have a clue what half of the words people used to describe his work meant but the advance cheque would easily cover the cost of a crib and paint for the nursery so, frankly, he couldn’t care less. And Eliza was proud of him.

As much as she loved spring, seeing her new flowers coming through and getting to feel the sun on her skin again and some blue return to the sky rather than near constant grey so monotonous that the clouds and the sea seemed to run into one, unending canvas. Seeing the buds studding their careful, delicate trails across the open palms of the tree branches had broken her out of a day’s long slump and made her laugh for no reason other than flowers were beautiful and she was happy.

But Eliza found herself more than ready for summer. Not just for being free of work, of standing on her swollen ankles and fighting her instincts to do nothing all day but curl up and nap, but for the freedom of having nothing in the world to do but wait. She was unlike Alex in that way. While he was in a constant state of restless, impatient shifting, ticking the days off on the calendar, she was more than happy to enjoy the waiting. She’d always had the personal philosophy that there was nothing she could do to make time go faster, so it was much better just to watch it flow past at its own pace. There was comfort in the inevitability, the certain future. So, she was the one who chuckled affectionately and ruffled Alex’s hair and kissed the back of his neck, reminding him that the baby would come when they were ready and not before. He was the one who huffed and sighed exaggeratedly, more in performance than anything, whining about the infuriatingly long gestation periods for humans and groaning that he was going to explode if he had to wait another second. It was a fun, familiar little routine they had, resolving nothing between them.

Both of them were relieved when Eliza’s first day of vacation arrived, when they went to bed safe in the knowledge that they could stay there as long as they liked and not a damn thing could make them move. Despite their shared sleepiness, they stayed up late, making love in an almost defiant, celebratory way.

Eliza had discovered a deep, ravenous delight in watching Alex pleasure himself. She could lose herself in moments, in how his tight, lithe body rolled and rocked as if to music, how his hands moved like they had minds of their own, brushing lightly and teasing and palming before suddenly gripping and striking with enough force to make him shriek, seemingly without any command from Alex himself. He took such uncomplicated joy in performing for her, emphasising every single movement so she didn’t miss anything, making loud, exaggerated noises and throwing himself into it until his hair came loose and clung to his damp face, riding as many fingers as she instructed him while stroking himself off, moving with such wanton need but still denying himself if she asked it, only finishing on her express command. That night she worked him hard, repeatedly, until he was a mess and her own body was screaming for some attention, practically pouncing on him when she finally let herself go, gripping his shoulders and dragging him between her legs.

If Alex and Eliza hadn’t finally fallen asleep so exhausted and satisfied and happy, the storm would have woken them for sure; Alex wasn’t fond of storms and Eliza was a light sleeper these days. But, as it happened, they managed to sleep on for a few hours as the rain began beating its rapid tattoo against the windows and the wind started up its angry, robust howl and their little cottage swayed under the furious pacing of the storm around the bay.

What eventually woke Eliza was the sudden, sharp pressure against her skin, flinging her back into consciousness with a sensation not unlike she’d fallen from a great height and struck the ground with sickening force. She moaned groggily, shifting out of Alex’s arms, jolting him awake too, just in time to scream hoarsely as lightning turned their room into a negative of itself.

Eliza forgot her own discomfort in an instant, taking hold of Alex’s arms and snapping his gaze to her, “No, no, sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s only the storm…my love, it’s okay, you’re safe…”

Alex’s breathing was ragged and his eyes were fixed on the window, awash with so many raindrops they blurred into one solid sheet like melted glass. There was a rumble of thunder, partner to the lightning and he moaned, trembling.

“I don’t like storms, I don’t like storms, I don’t like storms,” the rapid, garbled chanting replaced his breathing, his fingers turned to white jointed claws in his tangle of hair.

Another burst from outside and the harsh, excruciating light fell across his angular face. And for the briefest of seconds his teeth looked longer and tapered to points, his eyes became solid black, there were shadows across his cheekbones that weren’t there before, sharp and predatory and…fearsome. Eliza actually withdrew, before her brain could pull her back, her hands flying from his shoulders to wrap around her swollen belly protectively. It was just how her body reacted.

The moment that drew out between them was sickening. Alex watching his wife flinch away from him in fear. Eliza seeing his fear and panic turning him into something neither of them recognised, her body betraying her. Eyes wide, hearts stopping, bile rising in throats. And a thought shared between the two of them; please god no, take it back, take it back…

Then Eliza doubled over, a sudden pinching sensation forcing another groan from her, sweat beading along her hairline and between her shoulder blades.

“Eliza?” Alex’s stomach went into freefall, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

And the moment was forgotten, it was gone, like it never happened. They both somehow knew it needed to be that way, letting it disintegrate with no protest. It wasn’t like either of them wanted to hang on to it.

“I’m fine,” she took deep, rapid breaths of air, running her hands over her skin, “They’re just kicking.”

“Are you sure?” Alex’s anxiety had taken a backseat, a little happy for something else to focus on even as his fretful father to be instincts went into overdrive, “What if it’s, y’know, it?”

“We still have about a month, baby,” Eliza tried not to sound like she was convincing him, stroking his bare arm and hoping the darkness hid how ashy her skin had turned, “They don’t have a whole lot of room in there and they mustn’t feel like sleeping- “

She was interrupted by another loud shout from the sky that seemed to shake the ground underneath their little home. And a beat later by another hard kick from the baby, a little too rough and sudden to let her hold back the pained yelp.

“Ow…” she whimpered, her eyes tightly closed.

Alex gave a small, worried croon, shuffling forward on his knees and placing shaky palms against her stomach, frowning a little at how hot and thin it felt, even more compared to his own cool skin.

“I…I don’t think they like the storm…” he murmured thoughtfully, vaguely, like the mechanics of his brain were still clicking even as he spoke, “I think they’re scared…”

Eliza’s bottom lip trembled, ache and exhaustion and tenderness bringing tears to her eyes. Her hands rested over Alex’s, the teardrops gradually dripping from her chin to dampen the outward curve of her nightdress, “Scared? Oh no, honey, it’s okay, please don’t be scared.”

All she got in response was another forceful kick that rattled her ribs; Alex had to catch her and gently ease her down onto her back, she couldn’t move herself until the crest of it had passed.

“I feel like this is my fault,” Alex’s eyes were wide and unhappy. His own reaction to the storm had been abandoned, all he cared about now was his child’s.

“Oh, Alex,” Eliza sighed softly, her voice trembling just a little.

“No, I mean it,” he looked so forlorn, like he’d reached an uncomfortable conclusion, as he carefully settled himself next to her with the tension of someone standing guard rather than going to sleep, “The…strength and the storm and everything…this is me, this is my half, they’re like this because of me…”

Eliza couldn’t hear any more, couldn’t see that expression on his face any more. She shushed him gently and reached out to take his face between her hands, like before, but less of a frantic snatch away from the edge and more of a gentle pull towards the warmth.

“Hey,” she whispered, her fingers resting over his lips, soft and split from the cold and the temperature of a pebble pulled from the shoreline.

“Hey,” he answered, recognising her little signal to ease his grip on what was bothering him, give her the chance to take it from him.

“You know what else our baby is going to get from you?” she tilted her head, eyes sparkling in the shifting light. The moonlight split into scattered handfuls of shards, held within her iris.

Alex shook his head, easing himself closer so Eliza could drag the duvet back over them from where his thrashing had sent it to the floor.

“Well,” she rested her head on his chest, “Personally? I hope they have your lovely thick eyelashes. I hope they get your wonderful tawny skin. Your smile that uses your whole face and makes the bridge of your nose wrinkle up. And your kind heart and your curiosity and your reckless capacity for love.”

Alex was the one crying now, his eyelids fluttering as tears beaded on his lashes, as his thin shoulders shook with a mix of giggles and snuffles. But Eliza knew, as she smiled tenderly and covered his face in kisses, he was okay again.

There was more thunder and more lightning, the seconds between them climbing as the storm’s anger dissipated but with each one there was a powerful lurch inside Eliza that left her trembling and breathing hard so she didn’t scare Alex even more. She had it under control now, it wasn’t the discomfort, it was the idea that her precious little cargo was frightened and there was nothing she could do about it.

“It’ll pass, the storms leaving sweetie, it’s going,” Eliza whispered, curling into Alex, trying to keep the hard roundness of their baby tucked safe between the warmth of its parents.

“I have an idea,” Alex had been unusually silent for a while, just holding her, kneading her lower back to try and help with the pressure, “Might not work but…if my weird ass genes caused the problem, I can maybe fix it.”

Eliza opened her mouth to shoot down his choice of words but he was gone, ducking under the quilt. She turned over a little, gingerly, shifting her significant weight, trying to figure out what his plan was exactly. He’d been caressing her stomach for the past ten minutes without it having it’s usual impact, what on earth was he doing?

Eliza froze as soon as she heard his voice, his gentle, quiet singing, muffled a little with the blankets and the racket outside but still sounding so clear as if it originated from inside her own chest. This was nothing from her old records, it wasn’t listed on the back of any dust jacket in that case, this was nothing from her world at all. The language he sang in was constructed for another set of vocal cords, another medium and another time. It was unmistakably a lullaby, it had the right texture and lilt, dropping to almost a whisper at the end of each verse and easing through the cadence, rocking and swelling in an expressive mimicry of the movement of a mother’s arms. Or the roll of the waves. Eliza didn’t understand the words but as she listened, images were painted upon her mind that hadn’t come from her, light refracted through green water and seaweed tracing a thoughtful dance in the current and a slight tipping of perspective, looking at the world through a different angle. Within the confines of Alex’s song, up was down, down was up, gravity was nothing more than a slight compression against a gentle floating sensation, sight was useless but the nose, ears, fingertips were alive.

It was haunting.

But the baby growing inside her settled within a few lines, the pinching and the pressure eased into a soft pattering as they searched for their father’s voice, finding his hands and placing their tiny palms against his own. Even as more thunder and more lightning rocked the cottage, their nameless little one was still, soothed into sleep. Before much longer the storm broke and the weather let go of whatever grudge had riled it, leaving nothing more than a slightly sullen rainfall. Alex let go of the song, it seemed to have no natural end but just left his throat to continue on somewhere else, out of their reach.

He kissed Eliza’s belly, murmuring, “You be nice to your mama, okay, try not to hurt her for me? You both need some sleep now. I love you.”

He resurfaced, expecting a kiss or at least a grateful smile, his own a little bashful. What he found, to the breaking of his heart, was Eliza’s face twisted in grief and pain, tears flowing down her heart shaped face, following the exact shadows that the rain and the moonlight were tracing on her skin.

“Eliza?” he breathed, reaching out for her.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, twisting her eyes shut as if to hide from him what he’d already seen, “It’s not…I mean…”

Alex sat up, gently easing her over to him so her head was cradled against his chest, “You can tell me? Please?” He couldn’t help if he didn’t know.

So many times, in the past eight months he’d been forced to accept a truth that sat bitterly with him, that some problems Eliza had he just couldn’t take away. All he could do was nod and hold her while she cried over the unfairness of throwing up every single morning and having to pull six hour shifts with no coffee or being unable to doze on her stomach like she loved to do on lazy Saturday mornings while Alex read the paper and fed her bits of toast. Little things that didn’t seem to hold that much importance at first glance but still she wept and the fact that she was weeping over such apparently trivial things made her weep even harder. And Alex couldn’t do a damn thing to change it. And that stung him.

But this was something deeper.

“I’m n-not crying b-b-because they’re like you,” Eliza sobbed, her voice dripping with misery, “I swear I’m n-not. It’s just…”

Alex stiffened, letting her cling to his arm as her stomach kept her from throwing her arms around his middle.

“Then what, sweetheart?” He was getting the sense he wouldn’t like the answer.

“What if they…if they w-want to go?” Eliza wrenched the words out, dissolving into freshly agonised sobs at having spoken the words out loud.

Alex felt a chill as he realised what she meant. What if their baby was so much like him that they felt the same pull in their hearts that he felt every time the smell of salt caught in his nose or on his tongue or he heard the waves breaking on the shore, knowing just by sound alone which held the right currents to take him back. Back where was a question too vast to answer. Anywhere.

For Alex, the temptation was only ever brief, the old stale hunger for a drug he’d kicked long ago. The scent of Eliza’s hair or the brush of her fingertips on the back of his neck or the impossibly soft skin under the curve of her breasts chased it back down. Even when she was at work and he had the sea song caught in his head and there came that sly reminder from some part of his brain he didn’t fully control- his skin was just upstairs, the chest at the foot of their bed, it was right there- all he needed to do was find the diamond patterned sweater she’d been wearing all day yesterday and bury his nose in it, inhaling the smell of petrichor and garden soil and dew and flour, the scent of his mate. How could he want to be anywhere but here, by his beloved’s side?

There was no guarantee his child would feel the same.

What if they wanted to go? They baby Eliza had carried and formed with so much love, that Alex already adored with every scrap of himself without even seeing their face, what if they wanted the sea more than their parents?

“C-could they? I m-mean, they’d be half human, they won’t have a pelt, they couldn’t, could they? Alexander?” Eliza dug her nails into his arm in her desperation for comfort, silently imploring him to tell her she had nothing to worry about, their child would belong to the land.

“I…if they wanted it enough…” Alex’s throat felt half paralysed as he forced it to work, pushed away the desire to lie to his wife to preserve her feelings, “They’d get their sealskin from me.”

Eliza lifted her head to blink at him, her eyes confused, “What?”

Alex swallowed hard, “There’s a way. I’d cut them one. From my own.”

It would hurt, he knew that much. He’d never fully recover. But god, it would cost him more than just blood to do it.

“If they came and asked me, my love, I…I don’t know if I could say no,” he fought against tears of his own, “It would kill me, Betsey, of course it would but I couldn’t deny them it.”

“I understand,” Eliza rasped, miserably. She couldn’t resent him for that, she knew she couldn’t. At least, she tried so hard not to.

“I guess…Betsey, all we can do is just love them as much as we can and trust that they’ll make the right decision for them,” Alex sighed deeply, clutching her hand, “Look at the home we’ve made for them, the life we can give them…who could refuse this? Sure worked for me.”

The gentle attempt at humour earned him a watery smile. Eliza felt her weariness come flooding back, a wall of emotion that made her want to close her eyes and hide in the comfort of sleep. Alex was more than willing to provide, hugging her from behind, burying his face between her shoulder blades so she could rest in the safety of his arms. And it worked, in minutes her heavy eyelids closed to the world and she found peace.

But Eliza knew she’d discovered a fear that would live in some corner of her heart for the rest of her life.

#hamliza #alexander x eliza #selkie au #the seal lullaby #ficlet

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