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heartofsnark · 4 years

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Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Nine): We’re Covered In Lies and That’s Okay

Notes: I’ve given up on maintaining proper consistent schedules for my fics, but I want to attempt to update at least once every other month for each of my series that are going on rn. I always wanna say thanks for some of the replies/comments on my last chapter that were really supportive and awesome about my disaster of a situation with grad school. I struggle to like respond and be a functional human being, but i read everything and love you all.I will be trying to like alternate posting chapters to each series, monthly. So like, April is Tsun, May will be Dahlia, but uhhhhhhhh every time i try to be consistent, it blows up in my face so that's cool.

Word Count: 7,152

Warnings: This one is pretty tame, cursing, some pettiness. I introduce a new OC cause i can’t fucking contain myself.

Missed the last chapter? Link Here!

“Hmmm, I don’t know…”

“Please,” Anais shakes her clenched fists in a begging motion, “please, please, please!”

The day has passed by easily enough, no snags or major confrontations from the idiots in the penthouse. A nice relaxed day of normal work with Anais clinging to her side, as they teach each other languages. It won’t be long before Tsuneko has to return her to her parent’s room for the evening, they’re walking that direction on the VIP floor. All it took was mentioning maybe giving the young girl a present for her to start begging excitedly. Of course, Tsuneko already has the small pompompurin coin purse in her pocket, something she won in a crane game, but doesn’t need.

“Hm, let’s see, maybe we can make it a reward. Do you remember how to sign, ‘hello, my name is Anais’?”

“Yeah, see,” Anais replies with a big grin and signs the greeting, perfectly.

“Here, you’ve more than earned it,” Tsuneko tells her, before handing over the little plush coin purse. Her blue eyes sparkle the second she sees it and she hugs it to her cheek.

“I love it!”

One of Anais’s hands wraps around Tsuneko’s, the other clutches around her gift, as they walk towards the room. The young girl is practically skipping as they near their destination.

“Tsuneko,” a familiar masculine voice calls out, Mr. Bucci.

“Hello, Mr. Bucci,” Tsuneko greets him, Anais hides behind her leg, shy around the strange older man, “Anais, this is Mr. Bucci, he’s a friend of my boss from Italy, why don’t you say hello?”

“Ciao,” Anais murmurs, still a little awkward, but Mr. Bucci gives her a kind smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, say, Tsuneko. I’m sorry to be a bother, but would you mind showing me around the hotel? I’d get lost in a paper bag I’m afraid.”

“Ah, I’m showing Anais back to her parent’s room at the moment, but if you could wait for just a moment, I can be with you shortly?” Tsuneko offers, even if the room isn’t far away, she wouldn’t feel comfortable just abandoning Anais on the VIP floor alone.

“I don’t mind at all, go ahead.”

Tsuneko excuses herself and Anais, leading the girl down the hall down to her parent’s room. She has a quick chat with Esme, about when the family is visiting Puroland, as well as the fact that Tsuneko may have days in the coming week where Ichinomiya will ask her to work outside of the hotel. It’s officially the second week of the bet and she’s expecting him to make a full force effort before the end of it, since he doesn’t seem keen on just giving up. She says her goodbyes to the family for the night and returns to Mr. Bucci in the hallway.

“Sorry for the wait, sir,” Tsuneko apologizes as they start to walk towards the elevator.

“It’s no problem at all,” he pauses for a moment, “I’m starting to understand more and more why Eisuke seems so enamored with you. Sweet, cute girl, great cook and good with children.”

“Mr. Bucci,” her stomach churns at the thought of Ichinomiya’s saccharine fake smile, “you’re far too kind, I’m sure Mr. Ichinomiya isn’t quite as fond of me as you think.”

“Nonsense, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Uh,” she stutters as they reach the elevator, wanting to escape this conversation, “so, do you think you know exactly what you’re looking to do? I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the casino, but there are also museums, theaters, pools, plenty of restaurants with food from all over. There’s actually an Italian restaurant, people say the food is really authentic, but I wouldn’t really know, personally.”

“Actually,” he cuts off her rambling, “I was hoping we could have a chat over dinner. I’m sure Eisuke won’t mind.”

She’s sure he wouldn’t, so long as Tsuneko doesn’t out his bullshit. Her regular rooms are all cleaned for the day, the only thing left on the schedule is cleaning the penthouse. So, it’s not impacting anyone else in the hotel and she tells Ichinomiya she was buttering up Mr. Bucci, he won’t particularly care.

“Yeah, that should be fine.”

It’s an awkward elevator ride to the floor with the restaurants, Tsuneko’s arms are folded behind her back to feign some sort of confidence, despite how badly she wants to run. She can’t say for certain what Mr. Bucci wants with her, perhaps just mining her for information about Ichinomiya, but why would he need her for that. There’s a devilish part of her brain that reminds her this would be a chance to out him, to tell Mr. Bucci all about the little game Ichinomiya is playing.

But she can’t bring herself to do something like that. Ichinomiya is an asshole and all-around garbage excuse for a human being, but his success affects more than just him. If the success of the Tres Spades continues to grow and get more money, the employees continue to prosper and make more money. The Tres Spades isn’t some shitty corporation that pays them minimum wage and no benefits. Tsuneko’s situation is an extreme case, she knows that, despite his piss poor personality, Ichinomiya and the Tres Spades take care of their employees.

Not to mention, another hotel, means more job opportunities for people who may need them. People who were like her when she applied, desperate and needing a source of income, could have an opportunity to do more than survive.

Plus, if the hotel expands across the globe, it can help employees in other ways. She thinks of Chisato and Itsuki, the two are basically engaged, but can’t movee beyond that point if they want to because gay marriage isn’t legal in Japan. Chisato has been with the hotel for years and can’t just move to elsewhere without having a job at least as good lined up. If there were more locations, in places where it’s legal, she could have both. So, if the Tres Spades expands…

As much as she hates to sound like a capitalist, helping Ichinomiya really does have ripple effects that help more people. She has to find a balance of not fucking herself over, but not hurting anyone else in the grand scheme of things.

Tsuneko would message Ichinomiya, to at least let him know why she’ll be late cleaning the penthouse and so he doesn’t suspect she’s going out of her way to ruin things. But the only way she has of contacting him is the pager which is on a speaker and she’s not giving that man her phone number.

They arrive at the Italian restaurant the Tres Spades has and Tsuneko immediately feels out of place. It’s mostly guests here for a nice dinner, dressed to the nines, while she’s in her maid uniform. The mixture of cleaner products and sweat is still heavy on her skin.

They’re shown to a table and Tsuneko is trying not to anxiously bounce or move around in her seat. Mr. Bucci orders wine and she gets water, he seems to be beating around the bush, dragging her discomfort out. Tsuneko forgets what she ordered a moment after she orders it. Mr. Bucci is the dictionary definition of calm, as he takes a sip of his wine, Tsuneko is sick of this.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

He puts his glass down on the table and gives a small chuckle. Mr. Bucci has never struck her a mean or cruel man, but he’s a mob boss. There are so many dangerous places this conversation could go.

“Cutting right to the chase, are you?”

“My heart can’t handle doing anything else.”

“There’s no need to look so scared, relax, eat.”

She pops an appetizer into her mouth but can’t quite appreciate the taste through her nerves. The attempt seems to appease him to some degree, as he clears his throat to speak again.

“Carolina has become rather infatuated with Eisuke, despite him having feelings for you.”

“I don’t think he-”

“Please, humor me,” he puts his hand up to make her shush, “I know Carolina has been taking things out on you, which isn’t right, but she’s always felt her emotions very intensely. If your and Eisuke’s relationship were to go further, it would crush her, and she’d only get nastier with you.”

Is this entire dinner about warning her away from Ichinomiya for Carolina’s sake? Because that’s not an issue. Tsuneko wouldn’t waste her time fighting over a man she liked, let alone one she’s actively trying to avoid.

“I know it’s asking a lot, but it would be nice if you and Carolina could become friends.”

“Huh?”

“I was hoping from the way he acted last time they met, perhaps he had feelings for her as well, but it can’t be helped. If Carolina could see you as more of a friend, less of a rival, I think it would be good for both of you.”

“Uh,” that’s not what she expected, “if this is all about getting me to make nice with your daughter, I’m not sure there’s much I can do. I’m not exactly the one making it, uh, contentious. And even if I did, I’m not sure if it would make her feel any better about Mr. Ichinomiya.”

“I know my Carolina can be difficult, but I do think it would help for her to have a friend here.”

“I’m not confident that I’m the best choice for that.”

“It would mean a lot to me if you tried, maybe a girl’s day for the two of you could be arranged?”

Tsuneko chews her lip and pokes at her meal, unsure of what to say or do. Her leg bounces beneath the table. Mr. Bucci strikes her as sincere, he genuinely wants the best for his daughter. And Tsuneko can see his point, Carolina doesn't strike her as the type who probably has a lot of female friends. The kind of mentality where Women are competition and men are some sort of prize. Which is exhausting. Both for those around her and surely for her as well.

"If you can get her to agree, I'll be more than happy to spend a day with her."

"Wonderful. I'll let you know when a date is arranged." Mr. Bucci smiles at her and Tsuneko prays Carolina refuses. The meal concludes with Tsuneko trying to hurriedly eat her entree, as to not waste the previously untouched food, and Mr. Bucci insisting on paying.

Her mind wanders as she makes her way to the penthouse, she thinks of what he said, about believing Ichinomiya might have had feelings for Carolina. Everything he does, especially for business, is intentional. Even the smallest gesture calculated. He doesn’t give soft smiles or too long touches by accident.

And while Carolina might be the type to misinterpret signals, her father doesn’t seem as apt to do so. Which, makes her wonder, did he lead Carolina on for the deal? Not that she thinks much of him to begin with, but that’s another layer of gross.

She arrives at the penthouse, seeing a mish mash of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Baba and Kisaki are the only two of the auction managers there, but there’s four women gathered around them. Three she doesn’t know and one, she’s sadly familiar with, the girl who insulted her weight at the event Ichinomiya dragged her to. The women are undoubtedly beautiful, dressed in short seductive dresses. They’re guests, or at least she has to assume so, which sadly means Tsuneko needs to be well behaved. It’s one thing to mouth off to the assholes who bought her, but actual guests of the hotel she has to behave around.

“Hey, princess,” Baba greets her, a woman with long red hair on his left and another with raven black hair on his right. The girl from the event is next to the red head, while another blonde is practically sitting in Kisaki’s lap.

The three unfamiliar women give Tsuneko a quick once over but seem to ultimately decide they don’t care about her presence. While the one she’s met before, maintains a sharp cruel gaze. Unlike the other three, she doesn’t even seem to be fawning over the men, almost bored with this.

“I’m here to clean,” Tsuneko announces with a customer service smile, “would anyone like anything to eat or drink before I start?”

Kisaki and Baba shoots her confused looks, no doubt taken aback by her kind attitude. However, she can’t risk being inappropriate around actual guests.

“Make yourself useful and get us some wine,” the familiar woman pipes in, showing off her empty glass like Tsuneko is too stupid to understand otherwise.

“Of course.”

She gathers the empty glasses and makes her way to the penthouse kitchen area. There’s a bottle of fancy red wine on the counter, from whenever they first served it, so she tops off each glass and brings it out to them.

“So, you let maids up here?” The redhead asks, twirling a crimson lock around her finger.

“Koro’s special,” Kisaki taunts, despite his sugary sweet smile, and she bites her tongue, only sending him a quick pointed glare.

“I’m the penthouse maid, Tomori Tsuneko.”

“I think the dog name suits you more,” the event girl tells her, her eyes sharp. She’s a pretty girl, a shaggy pale blonde bob hair and burnished orange eyes.

“You’re so mean, Kaede,” the blonde on the arm of Kisaki’s chair gushes out, like it’s cute.

“If that’s all, I’ll begin cleaning now.” She at least has a name to attach to the mean girl, though she’s not sure how much that will actually help her.

Tsuneko busies herself with cleaning the lounge, letting the residents become background noise. She manages to catch that Baba is reading the girl’s fortunes with cards. All of them but Kaede, oohing and aweing over it.

“Hey, pretty lady, come over here,” Baba calls over suddenly as Tsuneko is dusting, every fiber of her being wants to tell him to shush and let her clean. But there are guests, actual guests here.

“Is there something you need, sir?” She says instead, hoping the sir will somehow get her point across. Yet, Baba is smiling like a damn idiot.

“Do you wanna have your fortune read?”

There’s an annoyed twitch behind her eye, she is working. She can see Kisaki gremlin smirking out of her peripheral vision. They’re trying to push her buttons.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m working, sir.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be shy, you know you can always call me Micchy!~”

He winks at her, three girls giggle, but Kaede still shows no signs of being entertained. Instead, her nose wrinkles. A clatter of glass as she smacks her finger into the stem of her wine glass, knocking it from the table.

“Ah!” Tsuneko flusters and rushes, she catches the glass before it shatters, but red wine drenches the front of her uniform. It soaks and chills through the fabric, making it stick to her.

“Couldn’t let you slack off for too long,” Kaede tells her, voice hushed and a mean little smirk pulling at her lips.

The door to the penthouse opens within the next moment, Ichinomiya and Oh entering the lounge. Like moths to a flame, suddenly the four women all flock over to them, abandoning Baba and Kisaki.

“Eisuke, it’s great to see you again!~” Kaede gushes and he narrows his eyes.

“We were waiting for you to get here!”

“I didn’t think we’d actually get a chance to meet the king!”

“You’re even more attractive in person, oh my god!”

“Are you okay?” Baba asks her, suddenly close and in her personal space.

“Yeah, better on me than on the linoleum,” she awkwardly tugs at the wet chest of her uniform, cold drops of wine rolling down her cleavage, that Baba’s eyes seem to follow, “nothing got on your cards?”

“Of all the things for you to be worried about,” Baba looks her in the eyes again and sighs, like he’s dealing with a child.

“I mean, I could also worry about how you two just got ditched for Ichinomiya,” she teases, voice low, as Baba carefully takes the glass from her hand. He’s being, nice.

“We’re used to it by now, some girls will do anything to get close to boss.”

“What’s going on here?” Ichinomiya questions, glaring at the women for a moment, before his eyes land on Tsuneko and her wine-soaked uniform.

“We just thought, it’d be okay for us to come up here and spend some time with you,” Kaede tells him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I take it, we know who’s to blame for letting you up here,” Oh glares at Baba who just grins.

“What’s wrong for having some beautiful women here?”

“Women who find it necessary to throw wine at my staff.” Ichinomiya narrows his eyes at Kaede, he doesn’t even have to wonder who’s to blame.

“Accidents happen,” Kaede waves it off, “she’ll be fine, why don’t we have a drink, just the two of us?”

“Get out.”

“Huh, don’t be ridiculous-”

“I don’t have time for this, get out, now.”

Slowly and with their heads hanging down, the women leave the penthouse, like they’ve been scolded. Which, she supposes isn’t that far from the truth.

“Ugh, I can still smell their perfume,” He’s not wrong, the smell of expensive perfume still hangs in the air.

“Are you sure you should talk to guests like that?”

“They’re not staying here.”

“What?”

“Those women just hang around in the casino, like flies,” Oh explains.

“God damn it, I was polite for nothing!”

“It was so funny watching you try to behave yourself.” Kisaki snickers.

“Oh shut up, now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says and starts to head to the door, wine making her thighs stick together awkwardly.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ichinomiya stops her.

“I’m gonna go change then come back to clean, the wine didn’t get on anything else, so don’t worry.”

“You’re going to let guests see you like that?” He narrows his eyes at her, and she looks down at the mess on her uniform, not that she needs to, she can feel it sticking to her.

“Well, it’s not going anywhere on its own.” She flails her arms out, glaring at him, what the hell does he expect?

“I’ll see if Kenzaki can bring you up a change of uniform.”

“Come on, you can get cleaned up in my bathroom and we’ll get your uniform taken care of,” Baba says, placing a hand on the small of her back as he leads her towards his suite, even though she knows where it is, his hand is welcomed warmth against the chill of the spilled wine.

She steps into his bathroom, familiar with the elaborate set up. The sun is just starting to set, shining orange golden light in through the giant window.

“There’s bathrobes for you to change into or you can borrow some clothes from me if you’d like.” He winks, because of course he does.

“I’ll take the bathrobe.”

He gives a melodramatic pout and she pushes him from the bathroom. The door shut behind him, she takes off her shoes and starts to unbutton her uniform. Her eyes dart between the tub and the shower, immaculate. The idea of relaxing back in a hot soapy bath looking at the sunset out the window, sounds so nice. However, reality is a cruel mistress, and she doesn’t have the luxury of taking her time and relaxing. She’s technically on the clock and she’s better off just taking a shorter shower.

There’s a bit of relief from the sticky wine, tacky on her skin, when she lets her uniform drop to the floor and peels off her stockings. The worst of the mess is off her, but it’s well soaked through the layers to her skin. She can even feel the residue on her nipples where it’s dripped down and soaked through her bra. Her underwear joins the pile of clothes and she starts up the shower, steam filling the room.

She leaves a towel over the stall door and steps under the hot water. There’s an array of the hotel provided items with soft clean neutral scents, but she notices a few of Baba’s products as well. They’re all rose and jasmine scented, floral almost romantic scents. Not that different from her own shampoo, but just slightly stronger. Of course, he drinks rose tea and uses rose soap, like the cheesy schmuck he is. Those thoughts don’t stop her from using it. Tsuneko’s muscles relax as she washes the grime from her skin and hair, not just the wine but the sweat of the day so far.

The door creaks as she’s massaging soap into her breasts, she jolts, a slick mess of suds and water in the shower stall makes her feet slip. She just manages to burrow her fingers into the towel before she yelps out, her ass hitting the floor. Pain shoots up her tailbone. The door swings open further.

“Tsuneko!” Baba’s voice jumps an octave as he rushes into the room, whirling around to see her. She scrambles to place the towel, so it covers her chest and groin, though she feels like he probably already got an eyeful in the amount of time it takes her.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Are you okay, I heard you yell?”

“Yeah, because you opened the fucking door!”

“Uh, oh,” realization seems to dawn on him, and he covers his eyes before turning his back to her, “I was going to get your clothes, so we can send them to be cleaned.”

“You couldn’t have waited?!”

“The quicker they’re washed the better, you don’t want the stains to set.”

“Just go!”

Baba flusters about for a moment before grabbing her pile of wine-soaked clothes and leaving the bathroom. She heaves out a deep sigh, once she hears the door shut behind him. Tsuneko gets back up on her feet, the towel is completely soaked now, so she tosses it aside. Fearful of another interruption, she finishes up as quickly as possible.

She shuts the shower off and does a quick dry off. They’re probably still sticky, but she goes to grab her underwear, to find they’re not there. Great, so not only has Baba seen her naked, but he knows what kind of underwear she wears. And, she’ll be wearing a bathrobe with nothing underneath, around them all. Lovely.

The bathrobe is clearly meant for an adult man and she doesn’t see any in smaller sizes. It’s soft fluffy white material, she pulls it on, she feels and looks a bit like a marshmallow, but that’s not a complaint. Plus, the excess fabric should make it easier to stay covered. It sags a little low on her shoulders, the sleeves hang over her hands, and the bottom drags across the floor as she leaves the bathroom.

Baba is just outside the bathroom door and she can’t help the pout that pulls at her face, asshole. He’s smirking in response and her fist is connecting with his side in the next moment. He barely flinches at the strike and she can feel the muscle beneath his shirt.

“Pull that kind of shit again and I’ll castrate you.”

“I only had the best of intentions, scouts honor.” He gives a cheesy little smile and scout salute, that she isn’t buying for a second.

“Hmmph.”

She lets out a huffy noise as she fixes her still damp bangs and moves towards her stuff that’s on the side table. Baba must have taken them from her pockets when he got her clothes. There are wine stains on some of her sticky note pads and a bit on her phone case, the phone itself doesn’t feel soaked, however. It’s already been scratched all up, she’s not sure how much more it can handle.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down, somehow you just manage to get prettier and prettier.”

She rolls her eyes at his compliment, despite the heat in her cheeks. It’s sweet and she’s sure he’s right, the only one who’s seen her with her hair down fully was Kisaki when he was fixing it for the event. She twirls a still damp lock of her around her finger.

“You never lay off with the cheesy shit, do you?”

“I’m just an honest man.”

“You walked in on me showering and stole my underwear!”

“I was honestly trying to help.”

A heavy sigh escapes her as she puts her phone in the robe pocket and heads to the lounge, hopefully Kenzaki has brought a change of uniform for her. Baba follows after her, Kishi is on one of the couches smoking a cigarette. He managed to miss the chaos, lucky him.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t ask.” She waves him off, dismissing him and his smoke cloud as she takes a seat. Tsuneko is careful to fold her legs in the chair so she stays cocooned and covered in the robe.

“One of Boss’s fangirls got a little testy.”

“There are no spare uniforms in your size, so you’ll have to wait until laundry services washes yours,” Ichinomiya explains to her.

“So, what I’m hearing is I’m getting overtime pay?”

Ichinomiya sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t argue with her. At the very least a bit of extra money in her bank account, but now she’s stuck spending time with them. Last time she was actually sat down with them was when Ichinomiya gave her the confidentiality agreement, before she proposed the bet. She can remember just how tense and rigid she was, now she’s curled up in a robe.

She fiddles with the edge of the robes sleeve, suddenly aware of the strangely vulnerable position she’s put herself in with them. Hair damp from the shower and still down, not a smudge of makeup, in nothing but an oversized robe. Something about it all seems cozy, comfortable. She curls her knees in a bit closer at the thought, as if providing a bit more protection.

“Since you’ve got time you want to get your fortune read, now?” Baba offers, smiling.

“Aren’t you a little old to believe in that kind of shit?”

“You wound me and so soon after our special moment together in the shower.”

“Don’t say shit like that!” She reaches out and smacks him with the long sleeves of the robe, it hits his face and he just keeps grinning.

“Don’t tell me you’re into old men, now, Koro.”

“He walked in while I was showering!”

“You really have the worst luck, don’t ya?”

“You’re telling me. Speaking of shitty luck and women who hate me, Mr. Bucci wants me to spend time with Carolina.”

“Does he now?”

“And you actually agreed to that?”

“What was I supposed to do?” She shoots Oh an incredulous look.

“I’m not sure that’s the smartest idea, princess.”

“Mr. Bucci is gonna talk to her about it, best case scenario she refuses and worst case scenario I have to suffer through a day of her snide little insults.”

“Did you forget they’re mafia members?”

“And Carolina is jealous of you.”

“So,” she shrugs at Oh and Baba’s implications, “she’s not gonna do anything crazy.”

“You can’t let your guard down around people like that.”

“What’s that suppose to mean, slacker?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

Kishi and Oh are glaring daggers at each other, Oh’s hand starts heading towards where she’s sure his gun is. She tries not to snicker and starts scrolling through her phone again. Ichinomiya clears his throat, stopping the short-lived altercation.

“Make sure you take your pager.”

“Why, so you can badger me when you want coffee?”

“Just do what I say.”

“Just do what I say,” she mocks him, not bothering to look up from her Instagram feed. Chisato posted a cute selfie, that she gets a glimpse of before her phone is pulled from her hand, “hey!”

Kisaki has a hold of her phone, he’s perched himself on the arm of the chair she’s sitting in, his smarmy gremlin grin on his face. She doesn’t need him going through her phone, she’s already had one of them see her practically naked today.

“What are you look- hey,” she grabs her phone and yanks it from his hand, before pushing him off the chair arm. He gives a little yell, before his ass hits the floor.

“Don’t touch my phone.”

He shoots her a disgusted look from the floor and she hears the other men snickering.

“You’re so aggressive,” he says, glaring at her.

“Do you have something on there you don’t want people to see?” Baba asks, smirking.

“What is or isn’t on my phone is none of your concern.”

“You’re not helping yourself.” Ichinomiya isn’t looking up at them, but he’s smirking just the same.

“You’re not wrong.” She sighs, hiding her phone away back in her pocket.

There’s a knock, before Kenzaki steps into the lounge, carrying a laundry bag.

“Tomori’s clothes have been washed.”

She’s already out of her chair and making a beeline for Kenzaki, plucking the laundry bag from his hand and muttering a thanks before heading towards Baba’s bathroom. Tsuneko double, triple, checks that the door is locked before she starts to change back into her uniform. There is absolutely no signs of the wine on her uniform, the laundry services at the hotel are beyond amazing. Once she’s changed and tucked everything back into her uniform pockets, she’s able to get back to work. Cleaning the lounge and suites doesn’t take her much time at all

Tsuneko returns to her dorm later than average, going through her nighttime routine of caring for Kiyo and preparing for that stupid auction. The only thing unique to the whole process at this point is crossing off days until the end of the bet. It’s the final marker of the whole routine now, the last thing she does before she closes her eyes.

The next day at work isn’t quite as entertaining, Anais is enjoying Puroland with her family. Meaning, Tsuneko is left to her own usual routine. The first part of her shift passes by calmly and she gets to go enjoy lunch on time. Sakiko is eating a later lunch, Chisato and Itsuki got their lunch breaks to match up and are having a more romantic venture. So, Tsuneko decides to go out grab a quick bite during her break. Chisato already warned her that the gossip about Tsuneko working in the penthouse is only getting worse, so she’d rather have some distance between herself and her coworkers for a moment.

After filling her stomach with hamburger steak and catching up on Monster Lovers during her solo lunch, she’s headed back to the hotel. There’s a soft breeze blowing through as she reaches the backlot, just as a group of unfamiliar men venture through the back door. What are they doing? It’s always something at this fucking hotel.

“Excuse me, sirs!” She yells out as she starts sprinting after them, whatever reason they’re here, she plans on finding out. They don’t stop or respond out of earshot as she starts into the hotel. A glimpse of their back as they venture down the stairs, down to the basement level, she yells again. No response as they continue towards the sub-basement level, Wonderland.

“Hey!” Her voice jumps up another three octaves as she rushes down the final set of stairs. There are even more unfamiliar men there, a line forming out of Wonderland door. Men shoot her confused looks. It’s all random men of all ages and appearances, though, most don’t seem too pleasant.

She stomps and pushes her way through, all of the men shooting her dirty looks as she elbows her way through the crowd. Finally, she manages to make it into Wonderland. The Hatter is at the table across from one of the men, who have flooded the room. He has a notebook open before him and is scribbling notes, like he’s interviewing them.

“What are your hobbies?”

“Horse races, dog races, poker, pachinko.” Some man tells the Hatter in a gruff voice.

“Oh, so you’re a gambling man then. How much would you say you usually bet at once?”

“Everything I have at the moment.”

“You like high stakes bets then!”

“I borrow money from friends sometimes, tell ‘em I’ll pay them back with interest.”

“Have you paid any of these friends back?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright then. Next, please,” he calls another strange man forward to take the other’s place, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hey.”

“I have several questions I’d like to ask you; do you live nearby?”

“About thirty minutes by train, I guess.”

“Yes, that’s a very fine distance; what are your hobbies?”

“Afternoon naps.’

“Pffff,” she scoffs, making both the man and the Hatter looks up at her.

“Alice! Where have you been?” The Hatter shoots her a bright smile, while the man is glaring. He barely looks old enough to drink, so if he’s trying to look scary, it’s not going to work for him.

“I just got back from my lunch break, what is all of this?” She gestures to the crowd of men.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I’m having auditions for the new March Hare and Dormouse.”

He’s not seriously letting strangers back in here, so soon after being robbed.

“And where exactly did you find these men?”

“I put an advertisement up on the website craigslist.”

“What?” Her eyes grow wide, that’s so dangerous, people have been killed from doing stupid shit like this.

“The online world is dull compared to Wonderland, but it’s very convenient.”

“No way, nope,” she shakes her head emphatically, “you’re not doing this.”

She pulls a chair from the table and climbs to stand on it, drawing attention to herself as well as seeing over the crowd of strangers.

“Alice, what are you doing?”

“Hey,” she calls out, “I’m sorry, but you all need to go! The position is closed, there is no job, sorry for the trouble, you gotta get out of here!”

“Alice!” The Hatter’s yell cuts through the disappointed grumbles of the men, she’s never seen him so angry, “please, do not act selfishly like that!”

“Selfishly!?”

“They all came out to be interviewed and you’re being rude!”

“I’ll show you rude, everybody get the fuck out!” She stomps her foot down on the chair for emphasis.

The Hatter is glaring at her as the men slowly make their way out of Wonderland. She needs to call Kenzaki and let him know, in case any of them get wise ideas about venturing through the hotel and causing trouble. Tsuneko hops down from the chair as the last man meanders out, grumbling under his breath about how good the pay was and she shuts the door behind him.

“Why did you interfere?” The Hatter is glaring with a heavy, childish pout.

“Because that was beyond stupid, that’s why!”

“I must find a new March Hare and Dormouse! You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the point, I don’t give a shit about the hare and mouse!”

“Did you forget how lovely our parties were?” His face falls from anger to sorrow, unable to quite meet her eyes.

“Did you forget that you were robbed like, two days ago?!”

“Of course not!”

“And what, you thought you should just have more strangers here?”

He bites his lip and doesn’t meet her eyes, brow furrowing.

“Do you have any idea how reckless that was? Any of those men could have robbed you or worse! Did you even think about that? Huh, what if I came down here and found you fucking dead, ‘cause you let anyone with a pulse and internet just waltz on in.”

“I-”

“And what about everyone else here? What if one of them decided to go do something to a guest or one of the workers? For fucks sakes, even if those men weren’t bad, what if they found out about the auctions? What do you think Ichinomiya and them would do to keep them quiet?!”

“I-”

“You could have gotten yourself and someone else killed, you can’t do this shit!”

His butt hits the ground with a thump, he’s plopped on the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, hiding his pouting face there. Watching an actual seven-year-old child felt less like babysitting. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, getting her phone from her pocket then punching in Kenzaki’s number.

“Hey, yeah, it’s Tomori. We’ve had an issue in the tearoom with security, everyone is safe, and nothing is taken. But I think it might be good to keep an eye out for any strange characters.”

Kenzaki assures her it’s taken care of and she hangs up, looking over to see the Hatter still hasn’t budged from his new spot on the floor. She sighs, she knows he wants his dream Wonderland tea party, but he can’t sacrifice his own or someone else’s safety for that. Tsuneko chews her lip, the March Hare and Dormouse didn’t do much, other than arrange furniture. She can do that; god knows the pair of them weren’t conversationalists.

Most of her plushies are licensed characters as are most of the ones in her crane games, so they probably won’t work for him. She does a few searches for dormouse and hare plushies, it takes her a few moments to find ones cute enough to add to her cart. Tsuneko sits on the floor next to the Hatter who’s still pouting.

“I just wanted to have our tea parties again,” he mumbles against his knees.

“I know, sweetie, but hey, how about these?” She nudges her phone against his knee, getting his attention. He finally looks up, eyes soft with unshed tears and biting at his lip before looking at the phone.

“Oh…”

“Would that work, having stuffed animals instead?”

“Would you be happy with that?”

“Well, yeah. I mean let’s be honest, the March Hare and Dormouse weren’t exactly shining conversationalists. All I care about is that you’re safe.”

“That’s good then,” he says with a soft smile.

“Okay, I’ll order them and the tea party will be complete before you know it.” She pats her hand on his back, hoping the gesture can convey even just a bit of comfort. He seems to relax under her touch.

The door rattles open and all that comfort is useless as Ichinomiya steps into the room, no doubt Kenzaki informed him of the situation. The Hatter visibly curls into himself as the CEO’s harsh gaze lands on him.

“What happened?” He doesn’t ask for, so much as demand an answer.

“I-” The Hatter stumbles over his words and stalls, that shy soft-spoken boy shining through the façade. She squeezes his shoulder tight.

“There was a little issue, he let in a few strangers…but they’re gone now.’

“You let strangers in, again?”

“Um…”

“I already ripped him a new one. You know why it was wrong, right Mads?”

He nods his head, hat nearly falling over from the force of it.

“And you’re not gonna do it again, right?”

Another nod.

“See, it’s fixed, I just wanted to make sure Kenzaki knew what happened, just in case.”

“I can’t have just anyone coming down here.”

“He knows, he knows.”

“He can talk for himself.”

“Not with you scaring him, he can’t.”

“Is this going to happen again?”

“No, I won’t do it again…” The Hatter mumbles out a response.

“I’m holding you to that.” There’s a subtle threatening edge to his words, like a father threatening to ground his son.

“He knows, go, go,” she tries to shoo him off like a fly, earning a glare, “I’ll make you coffee when I clean the penthouse later.”

“Obviously.” He sneers and gives another stern look towards the Hatter before finally taking his leave.

She spends a few more minutes with the Hatter, ensuring he’s feeling better before she goes back to work. Her shift passes by with her on edge, looking out for any of the men from the Hatter’s auditions. None of them seem to have spread out to the hotel or taken up causing trouble, so she’s able to finish up work with little trouble. Other than a moment of annoyance when she makes Ichinomiya his precious coffee.

“You guys wanna get drinks?” Chisato asks as they’re leaving the locker room.

“You sure that’s a great idea with little miss pervert here?” Sakiko points a thumb in Tsuneko’s direction, a hint of pink in her cheeks.

“I’m not up for it anyway, so don’t worry.” She playfully shoves her as they leave out the back entrance. With the stress of the Hatter’s little auditions, this is the kind of night meant for cozy pajamas and ferret cuddles.

Chisato and Sakiko wave a bye to Tsuneko as they venture off towards the bar, her towards the dorms. Her steps halt, who’s outside the dorms? It’s a younger man, mess of auburn hair and green gold eyes, leaning against the building. A moment passes by before she realizes where she’s seen him before, he was one of the men interviewing with the Hatter. What on earth is he still doing here?

“Hey!” She yells out as she marches over towards the guy.

“You really do yell a lot, don’t you?” He comments, raising an eyebrow at her.

“What are you still doing here? I told you to go home.”

“And why would I do that?”

“’Cause there’s literally no reason for you to be here.”

“What’s the deal with the dude in the basement?” He asks suddenly and it’s like ice water’s been dumped on her. Of course, there had to be one person who stuck it out to ask questions.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Alice, was it?”

“Tsuneko, now go home.”

“I’m Hachirou, look, if I can’t make a buck off of this, I at least wanna know what the hell is going on,” he pleads as she’s opening the door to the complex.

“Go home and stop answering craigslist ads, it’s dangerous.”

With that she disappears into the complex, heading to her own dorm. Once there, she peeks out the window, watching as Hachirou finally takes his leave. She clutches her good luck charm and hopes that will be the end of it, for his sake more than her own.

#kbtbb kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb #eisuke ichinomiya #soryu oh #mamoru kishi #mitsunari baba #ota kisaki #rhion hatter #tsuneko tomori #black market wonderland

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itsawhumpthing-blog · 5 years

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo #2: Sports Injury

(What a great prompt and a perfect excuse to bring an old universe out of mothballs! This is an alternate reality in which Canada is good at soccer and has its own, pretty decent professional league; Kathy Fox is the first woman ever to sign for a Canadian professional men’s team, and Patrick Hatley is her childhood friend and rival)

(There should be a picture of my bingo card here, but tumblr won’t let me do that right now, so I’ll have to add it in later)

"You all right, Fox? You're walking kinda funny."

Nothing brings Katherine Fox down to earth quicker than having someone worry about her. She straightens her back and nods, adjusting her gait. "I'm fine. I think I slept funny." Her teammate gives her a dubious look.

"You slept funny on your ankle? Are you a flamingo?"

Laughter ripples through the Royal Windsor side of the tunnel- on the opposite side, the Quebec City players remain studiously silent, all but Patrick Hatley, who snickers. "It's called nerves, Fox!" he calls across the gap.

He looks just as relaxed as always, grinning that same dumb grin with his canine teeth sticking out, rocking on the balls of his feet with his hands on his hips like he's king of the world.

"Whatever helps you feel better about yourself, Hatley," she replies blandly, and he smiles and nods like that was exactly his intention. Not nerves, that much she's sure of. Kathy Fox doesn't get nerves. Her left ankle may be hurting, and it may have been hurting ever since she woke up this morning, but it's definitely got nothing to do with nerves.

After all, she's been looking forward to this game for months.

The atmosphere is already hot as they walk out onto the field. The chants are in French, of course, and therefore unintelligible to Kathy, but the venom behind the words is a universal language. Forty-eight thousand people (the attendance hasn't been announced yet, but this game could never be anything but a sellout) bounce in unison, rattling the old stadium's metal bones right down to the field. The away support is impossible to miss, sequestered as they are in the north corner with three rows of empty seats between them and the home fans, and they're doing their best to be heard above the chaos.

The perfect atmosphere, in other words, for a late-season battle for first place. Kathy soaks it in, smiling, as the rituals get underway. She shakes hands with Quebec City's captain, calls the coin toss, and kicks off under a hail of boos.

"We're gonna psyche them out," Coach Leo had said in the locker room. "Start strong and fast. If we can dominate possession for a spell, keep them on the back foot, the crowd will get antsy. Score first, and they might just turn on their own team."

This was a well-documented phenomenon with Quebec City's supporters.

"We are not playing for a draw here. A draw will be the same as a loss, got that? They'll still be ahead of us, and their run-in is easier than ours. We're attacking."

Kathy doesn't mind that he was looking right at her for most of that speech. She's the captain, after all.

And she gets Coach's gameplan off to a good start less than five minutes in, sending number seven down the wing with a daring through ball. The crowd goes nearly silent until he blasts into the side netting, then express their relief with a shower of sarcastic applause.

Then suddenly they're cheering again, louder than ever, as a series of impressive one-time passes split the Windsor midfield all the way to Kathy. Her sore ankle almost lets her down, but she puts on a burst of speed to dispossess her Quebec counterpart.

He looks surprised, as they so often do. Sometimes it's nice to be a woman in a man's world.

"Don't wear out your stumpy little legs, Fox," says Hatley as he positions himself for the throw-in. He'd had a good run on goal, but he doesn't look too fazed by the lost chance.

"Don't waste your breath, Hatley," she replies.

He runs for the ball when it's thrown in and bounces a pass off his number ten. Dragging the ball through a wall of defenders isn't exactly his strong suit, so Kathy is somewhat taken aback to see him dodge past three of her teammates and suddenly find himself one-on-one with the keeper. The roar of the crowd builds to a peak; he goes for the bottom right.

It's a brilliant dive, and it just barely deflects the shot around the post.

The roar diminishes only a little.

"That was sloppy," she admonishes the defenders as they arrange themselves for the corner. They're all young, and the youngest is only nineteen- Akela Donovan from Toronto. He looks sheepish.

"Forgot he was fast."

"Don't forget again."

He nods earnestly.

The corner comes in high, with a dramatic curve. Patrick "Hat Trick" Hatley jumps for it, Windsor's goalie leaps to catch it, and three bodies collide in midair. The ball trickles away from the goal line, and Kathy lunges for it, clearing it away downfield.

"Fucker! That was a foul!"

Not Hatley's voice; he was never the type.

"Penalty!"

She backs away, not wanting to be associated in any way with the knot of Quebec players crowding into the referee or the knot of Windsor players trying to drag them away. Instead she glances towards the jumbotron, trying to get a sense for what just happened. Did Windsor's number four drag Hatley down? Was it the goalie? There's no good view, and the ref is unimpressed.

Play resumes. The crowd is livid; the curses thrown by the spectators in the fieldside seats can easily be made out through the roar. Hard to say if the gameplan is working yet; they're definitely provoking a reaction, at the very least.

The pain in her ankle is getting worse- now it's a deep, biting ache, and it's getting distracting, which is dangerous. One absolutely egregious pass to no one makes her suddenly wonder whether she should ask to be subbed off.

*Give it five minutes*, she decides, gritting her teeth.

It's an end-to-end game, much more so than Coach Leo wanted- he's getting red-faced on the touchline, and Kathy knows that at the next stoppage he's going to ask her what the hell is going on.

Hatley, on the other hand, is having one of his best games of the season, splitting their defense open with ease, and the frustration on her teammates' faces is starting to get to Kathy as well. It just figures, that he's playing like this while she's flailing.

She should really see it coming, what's about to happen. But she doesn't.

It's the thirty-sixth minute, four minutes into the five she's allowed herself. Her ankle doesn't want to bear her weight; she forces it to, exploding forward to beat her Quebec counterpart to a high ball, and makes what must be her best pass of the night to her number six. But his touch is poor, and the ball is gone from in front of him before he has a chance to recover.

Everything happens very quickly. Windsor's right fullback is backing up, trying to anticipate the Quebec winger's run, but the opposition player suddenly stops in his tracks and delivers a superb cross.

To fucking Patrick Hatley.

With a clear run at goal.

Akela Donovan is the only one near. "Go! Go!" Kathy screams, uselessly, sprinting after them. The crowd is on its feet- the stadium is vibrating- Donovan is three feet behind, he's not gonna make it, and Hatley is turning for the shot.

Donovan lunges in with both feet. Patrick goes down like a sack of potatoes, all six feet five inches of him, and Kathy stumbles in her tracks. The pain in her ankle is gone.

Her heart drops. She runs.

In the silence that's descended over the stadium, two sounds can suddenly be heard with terrible clarity. One of them is Akela Donovan, babbling in incoherent horror, and the other is Patrick Hatley, screaming.

She gets there first, falling to her knees beside him. "Patrick!"

"Hh... Kath..." His body is twisted, his fingers digging into the grass, but he opens his eyes to look at her. His gaze flicks downward.

"No, don't look at it," she gasps, grabbing his hand. "Look at me."

It's hard enough for her to see it, to see that brilliant right foot twisted to the side, looking so defiled, so wrong. And the blood... it's a testament to the amount of pain he's in that he obeys her immediately. She holds his gaze, and his hand, which clutches hers in a vise grip.

There are people all around them now. A voice is yelling for a stretcher. Kathy tries to smile. She wants to punch someone. "It's fine. It's not that bad. You... you should be ashamed of yourself, diving like that."

He tries to smile back. "You're... the one who... fell for it," he manages between breaths.

For a second she can almost believe that he'd fake this just to mess with her. Then the physios are there, and she's pushed aside, and Patrick just barely manages not to scream again as they lift him onto the stretcher.

The sound that comes out instead is almost as bad.

There's no faking that.

It takes Kathy a moment after she stands up to realize that Akela Donovan is already gone. She wonders if anyone spoke to him. She wonders if she can trust herself to do it.

All the spirit has been sucked out of the stadium; the game finishes dismally, with a 0-0 draw. As bitter a point as any Kathy's had in her career. She goes through the motions of sportsmanship afterwards, feeling aimlessly angry and very much like she shouldn't talk to Akela Donovan.

But there's no getting around it; he approaches her in the locker room once everyone else has left.

"Fuck, Fox, I'm sorry," he says, and the misery in his voice and on his face seems genuine. "I fucked everything up. I-"

"Don't apologize to me, Donovan. I'm not the one whose career might be over."

His face goes gray. "Over...?"

"Yeah. Or shortened. Missing a large chunk, at the very least. You-" She can hear the venom starting to seep into her words, and she cuts them off, waving her hand. "Now's not a good time to be talking to me. I know you didn't do it on purpose. Go on, get moving."

He does, quickly, and she follows.

The verdict comes through only a day later; Akela Donovan is suspended the rest of the season. Four games. They'll miss him, but Quebec will miss Hatley more.

She calls Patrick in the morning.

"Apparently it's pretty gnarly," he tells her with forced nonchalance. "The bone went right through the skin. Just popped right... ugh, fuck."

"You can't even describe it," she teases, grinning.

"Take off."

"How are you, though?" This is the loudest that she'll ever voice her concern. Patrick clears his throat.

"Well, uh, it hurts." He pauses, as if to let this sink in, before continuing. "I'm just trying not to think about it too much, because I won't know if I'm out for six months or forever until after the surgery. So until then, why worry?"

It's clear from his voice that he is worrying. "Shit."

"It's the fucking worst."

A commiserative silence fills the air for a few moments.

"I'll come and visit tomorrow," Kathy says.

"While the rest of your team flies home to Windsor? Don't be stupid, you'll miss training. You're the captain."

"We've got a bye week anyway. I'll get another hotel."

"Well, okay," he concedes quickly. She almost laughs, but it occurs to her that he might not even be aware of what just happened. She lets it go.

"I'm gonna eat breakfast now. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, see you soon, Kathy."

No more than a minute after she ends the call, her phone is ringing again. Donovan, says the call display. She has to admire the kid's guts, at least.

She answers it. "Donovan. What's going on?"

"I'm doing what you told me to."

"Oh yeah?" She can't remember what she told him to do. Fuck off, maybe?

"Yeah. I'm going to apologize. I just thought you would want to know." There's a note of uncertainty in his voice; this is definitely new territory for him. She almost feels sorry for the kid.

"That's good. Good luck." It's tempting to tell him not to expect too much, but she knows he's not stupid; he must have come to that conclusion already.

However, she does take one precaution; once he has hung up, she texts Patrick.

F: Expect a possibly unwelcome visitor at some point today

H: What, you're arriving early?

F: Donovan wants to come say sorry

H: Oh

H: All right

She sighs as she puts the phone down. She's scared- on her childhood friend's behalf, and in general, a sort of all-encompassing dread. Was it wrong for her to put on a cheerful face, to banter with him like nothing was wrong, when she's this afraid? And if she's this afraid, what must he be feeling?

She slips the phone into her pocket and reaches for her shoes.

#mine #my writing #badthingshappenbingo #fandom: original #whump #this was almost a lot more graphic #but I know some of you guys have squicks #so I decided t #o be nice

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hazellvesque · 6 years

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Some Kind of Miracle - Chapter 4

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: G

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Summary: If Marinette had her way, she would have had nothing to do with Alya’s latest celebrity crush. So how did she get roped into stalking him around Los Angeles? When fashion icon Adrien Agreste quite literally crashes into Marinette’s life, they have no choice but to put up with one another or risk ruining both of their potential careers forever.

An AU based on the iconic Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 4 - Destiny

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Marinette’s head was pounding.

The dull ache that had sprouted from the point on contact on her forehead had quickly developed into a full-on migraine. Her vision was so blurred that she felt like she was one misstep away from falling to the floor and never getting back up. Wait, was she even standing up?

“Oh my god!” A male voice shouted. He sounded so far away, she could barely understand him. “Are you okay?”

Marinette opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she groaned loudly and slumped forward directly into the boy’s arms.

“Please tell me you’re not unconscious,” even though he sounded muffled, it was clear he was terrified. He tilted Marinette’s face up to get a better look at her, pointing her towards the light hanging over the door.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried her best to release herself from his grip. “’S too bright,” she muttered.

Closing her eyes definitely helped. She flailed around blindly, double-checking for any missing limbs and realizing that she was indeed already on the ground. The entire world was spinning.

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” the boy’s voice said again.

Slowly but surely, Marinette risked opening her eyes again, and was met with twin images of a teenage boy kneeling in front of her. A couple slow blinks later, and the two sides of her vision merged into one another and-

Okay, maybe she had fallen unconscious, because what she was seeing in front of her couldn’t possibly be real.

It was him. The model. Adrien, Alya’s blog boy - in all his tall, lanky, green-eyed glory - was staring down at Marinette like she had just grown an extra head.

Yes, she was definitely hallucinating. That could explain why it suddenly felt so hot out here.

He was asking her a question, she realized as she snapped herself out of her thoughts. He’d been talking this whole time. Speaking English, Marinette remembered. She had to concentrate hard to understand it all, which was not easy in her current state.

She’d been staring for far too long. “Do you know who I am?” he questioned her.

Marinette shook her head slowly. She had been dazed before, but now she felt like she was on an entirely different planet.

“Can you understand me?” was his next question. Clearly, she looked just as confused as she felt.

“Yes,” Marinette searched her mind for the right English words. Understanding the language was much easier than speaking it. “It’s a little hard, but I hear you.”

“Here, let me help you,” he offered a hand, which she took gladly.

His grip was solid, strong. He felt all too real to be a dream. He was so warm.

This could not be happening.

“I am so sorry,” he continued, staring at her with wide eyes. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, it’s totally my fault. Do you need some water, or an aspirin? Or a hospital?”

His eyes. Wow. They were so green.

“I think I need to sit back down,” she said.

The boy glanced over his shoulder, looking worried. “Well, there’s nothing but hard concrete out here, and I don’t think taking you back into the club would help. All that pounding music can’t be good for your head.”

He was making up excuses, Marinette could tell. Judging by how hard that door had swung and hit her, he had been in a rush to get out of there. What had be been running from?

His eyes lit up suddenly. “I think I know somewhere we can go.”

We can go. Yes, that sounded nice.

“Here, let me get your things,” the boy made sure Marinette was standing steadily before kneeling back down to grab something.

Her heart skipped a beat once she realized what he was reachaing for. During the crash, her backpack had fallen off. Her sketchbook and supplies had spilled out when she fell, and the page had opened right to-

“Oh,” the tiniest hint of a laugh left the boy’s lips. “This is interesting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marinette lied. She wished she could muster up the energy to snatch the book from his hands and run away to hide her face in shame for the next two weeks.

He pointed a single finger at the top of the page. “Well, that’s my name, and that-“ his finger trailed down the page, “-looks an awful lot like my face. And I thought you said you didn’t recognize me.”

So that confirmed it then. Not only had mister teen magazine come to life right before her eyes, but he was currently scrutinizing Marinette’s designs with a curious expression on his face.

And still standing so, so close. She took a cautious step backwards, begging the fluttering feeling in her stomach to go away.

“They’re not much,” Marinette began, then immediately regretted it. They were amazing designs. Some of her best work, actually, and she was confident about that much. Why was she acting like this?

It was the head trauma. Yeah, that could explain why she was literally seeing stars, whether her eyes were open or shut. And she could blame the July temperatures for the heat she was feeling all over.

“These are actually really good,” he smiled at her. Even his stupid teeth were perfect, damn him. “You know, I can sign these if you want. As an apology for… you know. Everything. So long as you promise not to sell them online,” he joked.

“I don’t want your autograph,” Marinette said quickly. After realizing how rude she sounded, she continued, “I don’t want to mess up the designs. But thanks for the offer.”

Adrien thought it over for a moment. “I want to make this up to you somehow. How about I run these by my dad’s assistant for you? I’m sure if he looked over him he’d see something he liked.”

An actual famous designer, liking something she made? Or, even better, wanting to help her bring her creations to life? The very idea of it made her feel like she was going to faint.

Suddenly that didn’t seem at all like a far-fetched idea. The pain behind her eyes became so searing it nearly blinded her. She couldn’t help but cry out in pain and reach out to Adrien to support so she wouldn’t fall again. Her entire world tipped sideways as if she were floating, she felt herself falling, her mind went blank, and then, she felt nothing at all.

Of course, this is just what Adrien needed to turn his night from good to great: an unconscious stranger in his arms.

Luckily, the girl didn’t weigh much. Adrien just barely had to tighten his grip to keep her from completely over.

If anyone happened to stroll down this alleyway, they’d stumble upon a very sketchy situation. They’d assume he was robbing her, judging by the way all of her belongings were strewn about. Or they’d notice she was passed out and assume something even worse. He was majorly screwed. How was he going to explain this? Nino and Chloe would be pulling up any minute now.

Unless…

He fished his phone from his back pocket, pressing the first number on speed dial and praying that the call would go through on time. Every buzz of the dial tone increased his fear tenfold until finally, the call clicked through.

“Hey, Adrien, we’re just about to get in the car-“

“DON’T!” Adrien flinched, realizing that it probably wasn’t the best idea to be yelling this loud. He risked a glance at the girl, who was still out cold but thankfully was otherwise unharmed. The reddish bruise on her forehead was reducing in size by the minute. He took another deep breath. “Nino, I need you to come alone.”

Chloe was asking a flurry of questions in the background, no doubt wondering what could have changed so quickly. Nino sounded equally as confused. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“It’s a long story,” Adrien spoke so fast he nearly tripped over his words. “Please. It’s an emergency. I promise I’ll explain everything later, I just need you to trust me.”

Nino was quiet. Too quiet, for far too long.

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” he said finally.

Despite the fact that the girl was still leaning on him, Adrien felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. Nino ended the call before Adrien could begin gushing about how much of a lifesaver he was. Adrien would never complain about his kitchen raiding again.

Focusing back on the more immediate issue, Adrien lowered the girl back to the ground, resting her against the wall to help her sit up at least semi-straight. Before, the poor girl was downright terrified, and she had had every reason to be. But now she looked positively peaceful, almost as if she were taking a nap.

Her forehead had a small red knot forming, barely visible just underneath her hair. Unless you looked closely, there was no way of knowing that anything was wrong.

A small part of Adrien hoped that she had hit her head so hard that she wouldn’t remember any of this. As selfish as it may be, he was still paranoid that word would spread about his little outing and he’d be done for. And this girl knew who he was, despite her denial, since she’d clearly spent a lot of time drawing him out.

Taking another glance at the girl’s book, Adrien smiled to himself. Sure, there were times where he’d try his best to flatter and compliment to try to network with big names in the business, but his compliments toward the girl were genuine. Adrien bet himself that he could slip some of the drawings into his dad’s office and Gabriel Agreste would be none the wiser; her designs would blend in so well with the other works he had pinned to the walls as part of his ‘artistic musings’, there was a definite chance he really would like something that he saw from her.

“What the hell?” Nino shouted.

Adrien hadn’t even noticed the headlights of the car pull up behind him. Nino jumped from the driver’s seat and raced over, his eyes wide.

His head snapped back and forth between Adrien and the girl. “What did you do?”

“Why are you assuming I did this?” Adrien’s voice cracked.

Nino didn’t believe it for a second.

“Okay fine, I did this,” Adrien tried his best to explain the situation as quickly as he could. Telling the story back was almost as bad as living through it the first time. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Please, please just let this girl be okay.

“So let me get this right,” Nino began, flabbergasted. “You knocked this girl unconscious-“

“I didn’t knock her unconscious,” Adrien defended himself poorly. “I just…bumped into her. With a door. But she was awake a minute ago!”

“So why did she faint?”

“I don’t know Nino, why don’t you ask her? She might have really hurt something, I don’t think its normal to pass out like that from a little bump.”

Nino pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so after all of that, instead of, oh, I don’t know, calling an ambulance, you decide to make me an accomplice to your crime?”

“I panicked!” Adrien cried. “Someone probably already saw me inside, I don’t need to draw any more attention to myself. Can you imagine if cops and an ambulance showed up? They’ll have to question me, I was the only witness.”

“You weren’t just a witness, you’re the perpetrator,” Nino pointed out.

“You’re not helping!”

The girl groaned and threw a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the bright headlights. She muttered something neither boy could quite catch. Adrien held a single finger in front of his mouth, signaling Nino to stay quiet.

“What happened?” the girl pushed her hair from her face, still watching Adrien with that weird look on her face that she’d had earlier. Sure, Adrien was used to plenty of people staring, but they usually looked happy or excited. But this girl, she just looked…confused. Not necessarily about the situation, but specifically about him.

“You fainted,” Adrien spoke gently. The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him or to dislike him, though in the past few minutes she had been given plenty of reasons to want nothing to do with him. “You might have a concussion. Can we take you to a hospital?”

The girl backed up even further into the wall, which was almost impossible. “No, I… I’ll be in huge trouble, can you just take me back to my hotel?”

“I can’t leave you in good conscience like this. You hit your head really hard.”

Her expression dropped completely, going from confused to annoyed in an instant. “Oh, did I really? I didn’t notice.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Adrien insisted. “I can get you some painkillers and give you some time to rest and work off the headache, and then I’ll bring you right back. We won’t involve any hospitals or police or anyone. Okay?”

“…Okay,” she said finally.

Adrien offered his hand once again. This time, the girl was hesitant, taking hold of his grasp much less firmly than before. She wobbled only slightly upon standing, which was a welcomed improvement. Adrien didn’t fail to notice how quickly she pulled away once she was standing, either.

“It’s okay, take your time,” Adrien felt the odd impulse to put his hand on her shoulder or back just to make sure she didn’t fall over again, but she seemed to be making her way towards the car just fine without him. She really wasn’t helping with his endless guilt trip.

He knelt down and picked up her bag and everything that had fallen, hoping to make some kind of positive impression. No doubt she wouldn’t be too impressed by the basic act of chivalry – after all, if you have the nerve to seriously injure someone, the least you can do is pick up their things for them – but Adrien figured any small action would help lower the tension of the situation.

“What did you do with Chloe?” Adrien asked, only just now noticing that Nino had listened after all, and the other girl was nowhere to be seen.

“I sent her on ahead in a cab,” Nino shrugged. “Hopefully she’s not too pissed at you later.”

The girl tensed up suddenly and gasped.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot. My friend, Alya,” she said. “She’s still inside. I can’t leave her.”

Of course. One more fantastic thing to add to the pile of perfection that was tonight.

“Can’t you call her?” Nino asked the obvious.

“We didn’t get international service,” the girl shook her head. “The call won’t go through.”

Nino and Adrien exchanged a look. The funny thing about their friendship was that, even without saying a word, both boys could sense what the other was thinking. Their first thought – international service? The second thought was more of a request on Adrien’s part, one more thing that he would owe Nino big time for.

“No,” Nino said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Adrien pleaded silently, doing his best beggar hands and sad frown.

Nino groaned. “What does your friend look like?” he said to the girl, making a point not to look at her.

“My height, red hair, glasses, probably on her phone” she paused to think. “She was wearing a really short black dress and heels.”

Adrien winked at Nino, who was already eyeing the front of the building, ready to go.

“The things I do for you, Agreste,” he dropped the car key into Adrien’s hand before turning on his heel and leaving the alleyway.

The girl watched Nino leave with that same terrified expression that she couldn’t seem to shake. She probably wasn’t too enthused to be left alone with Adrien again. He silently promised himself he’d take special care not to cause any more harm.

He walked to the car and opened the passenger side door – one last small act of kindness couldn’t hurt, could it?

“After you,” he said.

He could not be serious.

Adrien stood at the car’s side, stubbornly and silently holding the door open for her. He didn’t even look mildly concerned. As if it were completely okay to just welcome a stranger into your (very expensive-looking) car and take them on mysterious joyrides. Was she the only sane person in this weird country? Nothing about this situation was okay.

Then again, she didn’t exactly have too many options. The pressure behind her eyes grew more painful by the minute. If Mme. Césaire even found out that she and Alya had left the hotel, they’d be toast.

Reluctantly, Marinette slid into the passenger seat and buckled herself in. Adrien was ever so kind enough to close her door for her. He made his way around the vehicle, sat behind the wheel, and turned the key in the ignition.

They pulled away from the alley and down a street that was just a little too empty for Marinette’s comfort. Of course, he’d know which routes to take to avoid the most people. Adrien was a decent driver as well, taking care to avoid the potholes and stay exactly at the speed limit. His fingers tapped the wheel with a nervous energy. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words for the situation.

“Sorry for, um, fainting on you like that,” Marinette started.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Adrien looked relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to speak up first. “Besides, I’m used to people falling for me, maybe just not so literally.”

The regret was immediately visible on his face. One glance at Marinette and he sputtered and tried, unsuccessfully, to backpedal the conversation.

“I’m sorry, that was the wrong thing to say,” he winced. “I just assumed from the pictures and the way that you’re acting that you were a fan. They usually like when I make jokes like that, so-”

“I know it might be hard to believe, but I’m not one of your admirers,” Marinette blurted out. “And I’m still dazed from my massive head injury, so I’m not exactly feeling like myself right now. My friend Alya was the one who showed me your pictures that I ended up sketching. And sure, she’d probably be falling all over you if she were the one who ran into you. Me, on the other hand? I barely even know who you are.”

The car had stopped at a red light. Adrien stared straight ahead, unblinking and silent. Was he upset? Angry? He had started to get just a little annoying, but now, Marinette wished he would say something. A full thirty seconds had passed and he was still quiet.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I’m just…scared,” Marinette could feel prickling behind her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was from the headache or if she was tearing up from her frustration. “I’m stuck in an unfamiliar place with a strange boy who is being way too nice to me and I don’t really know how to feel about all of it.”

“No, I get it,” Adrien said gently. “It’s weird. We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. It was still frustrating that he was being so nice, but it was also much appreciated. The last thing she needed was to be stranded out here completely alone. At least she had some kind of solace with him here.

“Wait, one more thing,” he said.

Well that didn’t last long.

“You never told me your name.”

“You never asked,” she said, making clear that her sarcasm was more light and witty than rude. “It’s Marinette.”

“Marinette,” he pronounced the first syllable correctly, unlike most people here, like mahr rather than mair. “That’s really pretty. That’s my last unsolicited comment, I swear.”

He kept his vow of silence this time around, making driving his top priority.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty, then thirty. The bright lights of the city had long disappeared in the distance. After a while, Marinette couldn’t tell what direction they were facing anymore, what with all of the various back roads and unnecessary turns they’d done to avoid suspicion. They’d been in the car for what felt like ages. On the bright side, at least her headache was going away. Of course, being out of a moving vehicle would help ease her pain a lot more. She wanted to try something. “Adrien?” his name felt strange on her lips.

“Yes?” he asked, a bit too excitedly. Marinette’s heartbeat increased ever so slightly.

Part of her had wished that he wouldn’t respond, that he wouldn’t confirm once again that he was indeed really here in the flesh. She wanted to believe that she was still in the middle of some odd daydream that she couldn’t quite shake herself from. Instead, every minute their conversation continued on solidified the fact that she was really here, that he was really here, and that they were just chatting like none of this was a big deal at all.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You look pale.”

“No, I just had a question,” it was only partially a lie. “So… do you have your own private hospital wing or something?”

Adrien laughed. The joyful sound coming from him was refreshing. At least he’d finally stopped with the run on sentences and panicking. “No, I can’t say I do.”

“Really? Nothing like that at all? I would have suspected someone like you to have all sorts of resources at your fingertips.” She was exchanging sarcastic banter with a celebrity. Who had knocked her unconscious with a door. And then essentially kidnapped her. This was fine.

“Well, I have a personal trainer-“ Of course he does, Marinette thought, “-but I don’t think he’s good with head trauma. Besides, you said you didn’t want to go to a hospital, right?”

“Right. I don’t want anyone to know that I’m out here, I could get in a lot of trouble with someone who was counting on me to be responsible.”

“Well coincidentally enough, I’m trying to avoid trouble right now, too. We’re on the same boat.”

“You’re a superstar, what could you possibly do to get yourself in trouble?” There were plenty of things she could think of from the top of her head, but more than anything, she wanted to know what his answers would be.

“I think injuring an innocent bystander would be enough to get a few bad headlines written about me,” he gave her another apologetic smile.

“Okay, fair point,” Marinette couldn’t help but wonder if her name would be in those headlines too. Or if she didn’t matter enough to be recognized. The front page of the magazine would read: ‘Strange French girl walks headfirst into alley door like an idiot, completely ruins Pretty Boy Adrien Agreste’s entire night’

She risked another glance over at him, taking extra care not to stare. It was still hard to process that he was a real, actual person and not just a picture on a screen or billboard.

Oh god, what was Alya going to say if she found out about this? After screaming for an eternity, she’d probably hound Marinette for every last detail about what he was like in person. She’d only be more determined to keep stalking him around the city for her chance to run into him too. It had only been a day and Marinette was way in over her head about this whole situation, and this was only the beginning. Even once they parted ways tonight, she’d still have to see his face and hear about him constantly. She was never going to get a break.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“Should I slow down?”

“No!” God forbid she have to spend any more time than necessary suffering through this conversation. Her entire body was so tense she felt like she might just pop a blood vessel. “No, just… get us to wherever we’re going so I can get out of your hair.”

Moments later, they pulled into a long driveway. Two other cars were parked outside of a garage, and up a pathway to the left sat a smaller house with a single light on inside. A family practice office, Marinette guessed. Maybe Adrien didn’t have his own personal doctors, but he would know where to find someone who would keep quiet about the situation.

Adrien exited the car first, still taking the time to run to the other side and open Marinette’s door for her again although it was entirely unnecessary.

“Where are we, exactly?” Marinette asked as she stepped out.

“Oh, um…” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “This is my house.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #Adrienette #adrinette #my writing #some kind of miracle #i forgot to post this whoops

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varietyofwords · 7 years

Text

Cause I Never Wanted (Chicago P.D.)

Title: Cause I Never Wanted

Fandom: Chicago P.D.

Rating: T/PG-13

Author’s Note: This is set in the immediate aftermath of 4x17.

A neatly folded quilt is pressed into his arms, and he tries to offer the blonde woman standing before a grateful smile. Tries to convey his appreciation for her letting him crash here, for her putting out freshly fluffed pillows and neatly ironed sheets on the couch despite the assumptions she’s making about why he’s here. Assumptions that cause her reminder about the bathroom being just down the hall to sound clipped and short thanks to the anger and solidarity she’s failing to suppress.

And, yet, he still tries to convey his appreciation. Tries to repress the thoughts in his head – the dark ones, the kind that sneak up on him when he least expects it – long enough to make the corner of his lips pull upward and mumble words of thanks because he knows his brother probably sprung this on her. Knows he doesn’t deserve Nine Shore making sure he has ironed sheets and enough blankets or offering him a sad smile as she reassures him that she’s sure he and Erin will work it out.

“An apology does wonders,” she offers with her characteristically bright smile. Any other night and he’d have to bite his tongue to keep from telling her to run. To stop pinning her hopes and dreams on a guy like his brother because women who smile as she does, who see the world as glass half full deserve more.

Tonight, though, his tongue sits loosely in his mouth and his hands remain empty of any proverbial stones he might cast. And yet his head still nods slightly even as he casts his gaze downward because he hopes she’s right, hopes that the woman in his life believes in that, too.

“Thanks, Nina,” his brother pipes up. The words, the interruption forces his gaze from the flowery pattern on the blanket in his hand to the other side of the room where his brother leans lazily against the door jam. Forces him to watch as Nina crosses the room, gratefully takes one of the three open beer bottles in Will’s hands, and leaves the two of them alone in the living room.

“So,” Will draws out as he moves over towards the made-up couch, “Erin figured out who Abby was and kicked you out, huh?”

The assumption is accompanied with an extended hand offering a bottle of beer, and he ends up staring at it for a moment. Watches a bead of perspiration roll down the bottle as another bead of perspiration rolls down his back, as he sweats the small stuff and the big stuff and the stuff he still doesn’t know how to articulate.

“No,” Jay finally forces out just as he forces himself to turn away from the bottle, as he concentrates on setting down the blanket in such a way that doesn’t mess the sheets. His ears don’t miss the sound of the bottle clinking as Will sets it down on the coffee table, and his peripheral vision doesn't miss the quizzical look on his brother’s face as he sinks down into one of the empty armchairs.

Because he already gave his brother evasive answers when he called him up asking for a place to crash. When the tone of his voice, the cracks in his voice said it wasn’t a request.

“So, you told her and she kicked you out,” Will replies with a knowing nod of his head before tipping back his beer bottle and taking a long swig. But there must have been something about the look on Jay’s face, about how the last two years have let the two of them repair their relationship that tips him off about his erroneous assumption.

The beer bottle falls from his lips, and the quick narrowing of his eyes is pushed aside with a small snort of disbelieving laughter. It’s the quick one-two step kind of reaction only a cop with years of experiencing – or a brother who’s been through years of bullshit from their sibling – would catch.

“You haven’t told her and now you’re hiding out here,” Will announces with the shake of his head and a mouth that cracks into an almost joking kind of smile. “Take it from me, you’ve gotta go way further than twenty blocks north to hide out.”

“Yeah,” Jay trails off as he continues to fiddle with the corners of the quilt and their arrangement against the cushions of the couch. His voice sounds noncommittal, but there’s a part of him that knows hiding out is exactly what he’s doing.

Hiding out until he can sort out how to get a divorce – for real, this time – and put things behind him so he won’t need sleep on the couch at his brother’s apartment. Hiding out until he can figure out whatever it is so maybe Erin can help him handle it, so the only wall between them is the six pillows she sleeps with every night.

“I’ve still got a contact over at Doctors without Borders. They’re always looking for security personnel,” Will quips over the lip of his beer bottle as he tips it back for one more drink, as he continues on with a joke that his younger brother doesn’t find funny. “Yemen. Myanmar. Sudan. Timbuktu. And with your experience…”

This time it is Will’s voice who trails off, and Jay’s face burns with the realization that his brother has caught on. The sudden rigidity of Jay’s posture being echoed in the rigidity of Will’s gaze, and he forces himself to stand up. To try to infuse some kind of relaxed appearance into his stance or his face or something. Yet his hand drifts upward to rub his fingertips against his hairline before he can stop himself, before he can force his arms to cross defensively across his chest as he meets his brother’s gaze.

It is Will who breaks first, who looks down at the beer bottle in his lap and proceeds to pick at the wrapper as silence fills the apartment. As Jay begins to wonder if he should shun the ironed sheets and Nina’s hospitality in favor of checking into a hotel or grabbing some Zzzs on the couch in the break room down at the District, instead.

“Hearing Abby’s in town must have drudged up some memories,” Will says in a low, even tone after a long, pregnant pause. His gaze remains fixated on the beer label as his fingers deftly peel it from the bottle.

Yet every so often his eyes dart up to look at his brother. To see that Jay’s gaze has become fixated on the spot on Nina’s rug where one of the brothers – Will claiming it was Jay, Jay blaming Will – had knocked over a bottle of beer the last time they sat on this couch together. To realize that two years of repairing their relationship through consultations on cases and nights watch the game hasn’t fully repaired their past.

“Uh, I know,” Will begins before pausing to clear his throat, to adjust his seat. “I know I wasn’t there, uh, before, but, with Mouse gone, if you need someone to talk to…”

The rest of the Will’s offer goes unspoken because they both know it's not the psychiatrist who Erin met with or the third-year resident with combat experience who Will works with that his older brother is offering up as people to take Mouse’s role in all this. And they both know what Jay’s answer is going to be long before he bends down to pick up the duffle bag he showed up on Will’s doorstep with.

He repeats his words about not needing to talk before making his way towards the bathroom, and the lie rolls almost as easily off his tongue as it did this morning. The sole difference, of course, being that it hadn’t felt like much of a lie then because there wasn’t anything important to talk about. A twenty-four hour total joke of a marriage, a cliché outcome from a weekend in Vegas wasn’t important because it meant nothing. Because it was from the time before – before he got his shit together, before he stopped being a guy he didn’t even like – and because it wasn’t part of his present or his future.

But now it is. Has been for eight years, apparently. And now he’s back to being that guy. The one who can’t sleep at night cause the memories of what he saw and did won’t leave him. The one who thinks he can take the easy way out, can ignore what he needs to face on. The one who takes things out on those who don’t deserve it.

Which is why he’s standing in his brother’s apartment instead of being home with her. Because she shouldn’t have to let that guy – the one who got blackout drunk and so fucked up that he married some girl in a piss poor attempt to fix things – into her life. Because she doesn’t deserve to be that guy’s mis–

He can’t bring himself to finish that thought, that word. It turns his stomach just as rapidly as it did earlier tonight when he was pushing his way out of the bar past all the happy and unhappy couples. Had taken all his strength not to be sick on the concrete sidewalk outside when he realized what Abby’s refusal to sign the papers really meant.

Because the look on her face when he told her, when she figured out that he hadn’t planned on telling her had been hard enough to see. To know he caused that pain to appear on the face of the woman he loves. And that had been back when he genuinely thought it was nothing, when it wasn’t something he had thought about in eight years because he wasn’t that guy anymore.

Except he is, and that’s all he could see when he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. All he could see reflected in the mirror hanging beside the table where he leaves his keys each time he walks in their apartment or in the mirror above the dresser in their bedroom as he pulled out his clothes. All he could see in her face as he tried to find the words that didn’t have the finality of goodbye.

And, because it’s all he could see, he purposefully avoids looking in the mirror as he ducks into the bathroom. As he drops his duffel bag at his feet and lets the door shutting behind him support him as his knees give out. As he sinks down backwards against the door until he’s nearly sitting ass-down against the floor.

The angle of his body forces the phone out of his back pocket, though, and it hits the tile floor with a sickening clatter. And he can’t bring himself to flip it over. To take the chance of seeing a missed called or a missed text from Abby blazoned across the picture of him and Erin that he’s got set as his iPhone’s lock screen. To take the chance of seeing what he thought was in his past touching his present or his future any more than it already has.

So the phone remains on the floor as he forces himself take some shaky breaths, as he forces the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes to go away for the second – or was it the third? – time that night. As he forces himself to recall all those sessions and meetings – the private ones with a PTSD specialist, the semi-anonymous ones with other veterans – Mouse dragged him off to nearly eight years ago told him to do. How he needed to focus on the things he can change and accept the things he cannot.

He cannot change who he used to be. He cannot change the fact that he still made a mistake one night in Vegas, that he chose to pretend it never happened rather than being upfront with her about it. He cannot change how that guy managed to affect the life he’s got now.

What he can change are the things he told her. He can change how much of that guy she has to see by taking himself out of their home. He can change the fact that he never made sure the mistakes that guy made were rectified by sorting out his marital status, by asking Will for the name of the law firm he hired a while back for his malpractice suit. He can change the fact that he doesn’t know whatever it is that she wants to handle for him and with him.

At least, he hopes he can do that as he forces himself to rise back up to standing. As he pulls a t-shirt and sweatpants out of his duffel bag and works on changing out of his street clothes. Because he’s not proud of the guy he was back then nor is he proud of the guy he is today, but he’s trying to take steps to make sure he won’t see either guy reflected back at him – in the mirror of the Sierra, in the TV of their living room, in the dark spots of her eyes – again.

#linstead #jay halstead #will halstead #jay x will #chicago pd #cpdfic #fanfiction #mine #oneshot #i'm still mad about the episode #and what did i say about anger fueling my muse?

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