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veritas-dolos · 1 year

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How to Cope by Leo and Mikey Ch. 6

It was the early morning, and Leo had had just about enough.

Mikey fell asleep on his shoulder a while ago. He was a deep sleeper, and tended to go into his shell as he slept. Leo pushed him down slowly on the bed so he could be more comfortable, making sure his head rested on his pillow. He stayed sitting up, trying to focus on the movie and not on how his urges were getting stronger.

He knew a relapse was coming. It was inevitable.

He squirmed in his seat, fidgeting with his feet a little. He could go without it until morning, when he was alone. Right?

Realistically, in the back of his mind, he knew he couldn’t. But he couldn’t move, what if Mikey woke up?

That left him to do it… in his bed. With Mikey right there. Leo tried to suppress a smile. Oh god, that would be terrible of me, He thought to himself. He couldn’t do that, that was crazy.

But he was never one to turn down a challenge. He did have a spare paper towel in his sweatshirt pocket, though. Plus, why not? The odds were stacked against him. High risk, high reward.

I’m going to hell, he thought, snapping open his phone case to get out his emergency razor blade. He rolled up his sleeve and got out his paper towel. The lighting in Mikey’s room was less than ideal, aka pitch black, save for the dying light of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He grabbed his phone and opened it to his home screen and tucked it under his chin, screen facing out. He didn’t want to turn on his flashlight, too afraid to risk waking his sleeping brother.

He put the little razor blade to his arm. He smiled, the situation too funny not to. This was insane. It was too risky. But, hell, he was balls deep into it and didn’t want to go back now.

Leo pressed down on his arm and slowly moved the blade across his skin. He immediately let out a sigh of relief as he saw a bead of red blood come to the surface. His home screen suddenly dimmed, so he pressed the screen to keep the light on.

He cut again. And again. I should probably stop, he thought. Just a few more, Leo argued. So true bestie. He concluded.

After about ten cuts, he decided to call it. He didn’t go too deep because he didn’t have the opportunity to bandage, but each one bled, so he called it a win. Leo pressed the paper towel to his arm, soaking up the blood. Luckily, there wasn’t much of it, so he probably didn’t have to worry about it going through his sweatshirt.

Once the bleeding stopped, he pulled down his sleeve. The cuff scraped against his cuts, though, and he slid his hand up his sleeve to check if they opened. When his hand came back blood-free, he relaxed.

Leo stuck his razor blade back in his phone case and snapped it back on. Mission success!

He looked back over at Mikey, sound asleep. He suddenly felt very guilty that he did it with his sleeping brother in the room. What’s done is done, he thought, opening I Am Sober to reset. He got the little congratulations notification and promptly ignored it. He scrolled to the bottom and pressed reset. He was about to close the app when he looked at his reasons for staying clean.

There were several blue boxes. He looked at the first one. I don’t want the scars, it read. It was a little late for that, he supposed.

the second read, I don’t want to worry my friends and family. That one hurt, because that’s all he did. Donnie almost cried when he found out. And Donnie never cried. Mikey couldn’t find out that he relapsed, because he’d know Leo lied to him.

The third read, I don’t like hiding them. And he didn’t. Some days it was so hard, when he didn’t want his constricting arm wraps on and didn’t want to wear his sweatshirt. Leo’s eyes started to water, and he abruptly closed the app.

He wasn’t going to cry again.

Leo looked down at Mikey, halfway in his shell. He wished he was as strong as him. Leo reluctantly slid under the covers, finally feeling tired enough to try to fall asleep.

When he woke, it was still the early hours of the morning. Mikey was gone, probably making breakfast again. Then he realized, holy shit, I cut with Mikey in the room last night. Looking up to make sure that the door was closed, he quickly rolled up his sleeve to check on his arm. They were red, but hadn’t bled overnight. Leo pulled his sleeve back down and reluctantly slid out of bed.

So, not-so-new development. Guess I leveled up from mildly suicidal to very suicidal, Leo thought to himself.

But here was the thing. Leo was scared. He didn’t know what happened after you died; he didn’t really know if there was a heaven or hell or, fuck, if reincarnation was a thing. He didn’t know. And it scared the shit out of him.

He didn’t want to leave his family. But he felt like he had to. After the Krang, his body had been broken and they didn’t know if he was going to pull through. And at the time, he was ready to die. He never voiced it, but he wanted to die. He felt like that was the only way he could ever be rid of the guilt of starting a goddamn alien invasion.

Of course, he’d been suicidal before that. I mean, come on, how could he not be?

Ever since Leo had been appointed leader, his relationship with Raph had been… volatile. It was shaky at best. He didn’t even want to be leader. But Splinter had said so, and what he said goes.

Whatever. It’s not like he didn’t think about killing himself every day. He constantly thought of scenarios of his family finding him lying dead on his bedroom floor. He felt bad every time he did it, but he couldn’t help it. Leo guessed that was his egotistical side shining bright. He felt disgusted with himself for wanting them to hurt because he was gone.

That was another reason he thought he’d be better off dead.

He was so angry at himself. He hated feeling like this. Why couldn’t he be happy like everyone else?

Leo quietly made his way toward his room, making sure his footsteps were silent. He pulled the door open then closed so it wouldn’t creak, and walked over to his closet. He needed a new sweatshirt, because apparently to Donnie a dirty sweatshirt means you self harm.

As he slipped on a navy blue hoodie that said New York in sewn-on light blue letters, he realized that Donnie’s logic didn’t really make sense. How can a dirty sweatshirt equal self harm? I must really be slow if I’m just picking up on this now, he thought. How was he supposed to be the leader when he wasn’t even smart?

How did Donnie figure it out, then? He must’ve seen something, or heard Leo say something. It didn’t matter, though, the truth was already out. There wasn’t much he could do about it.

Leo sighed. Y’know, his teenage angst bullshit was kinda out of control. Because, of course, he wanted to relapse again. He was almost out the door, too, when he felt the urge. But who was he to turn down a chance to play with sharp objects?

Leo locked his door. He didn’t need any visitors.

Since his left arm had some cuts on it, he decided he’d do his right. He rolled up both of his sleeves and went to dig for his pack of razor blades. Leo slid the one on top out of the cartridge and sat on the floor, leading against his bed. He had his knees bent and his arm resting on top of them, so his arm wouldn’t move too much.

He looked up and made sure the door was locked. Self harm really was just one big game of paranoia. The door was locked, so he put the sharp blade to his arm and quickly swiped it down, watching as a bead of blood immediately made its way to the surface of his skin.

It should be noted that Leo was right handed, and was cutting himself with his non-dominant left hand. He hated that, because the cuts were never even on both arms. It also made it a little tricky because he was so clumsy with his left hand.

It was because of this he realized that he was screwed, because he cut a little too deep. And, shit, was that fat?

“Looks like someone made a dicey slicey,” He said to himself, panic rising in his throat. He was so fucked. Thanks to his position as head medic, he knew this needed stitches. He also knew there was no way in hell he was going to one of his brothers to sew this up.

The other three turtles knew basic first aid, of course, Leo had drilled it into them. They all knew how to do stitches, too, in case one of them happened to be injured. That actually paid off when they rescued him from the prison dimension (a questionable choice) because he had many, many injuries.

Either way, he was not going to one of them. It looked like he’d have to give himself the Leo Special.

Leo slapped a folded paper towel on the cut and pressed down hard, hoping to stem the bleeding. He went to his dresser and dug around the top drawer, hoping to anyone that he had some butterfly bandages in there. He didn’t find any.

He never said he was lucky.

Leo then noticed his sword leaning against the wall. He quickly walked over to it, realizing that he could portal to the med bay, grab what he needed, and come right back. That was convenient. He looked down at his arm and could see warm, red blood bleeding through the paper towel. He desperately reached for the roll and pressed a new one down.

Leo spun his sword with his left hand and watched as a bright blue portal appeared before him. He stepped through, and entered the med bay, running toward the drawer that he knew had butterfly bandages.

He debated grabbing the suture kit, but he needed both hands for that.

Leo fled through the portal to his room again, and sat back in his spot on the floor. The paper towel was now red with blood too, and he replaced it, because he couldn’t really do anything until it stopped bleeding.

Five minutes passed, and it was still bleeding, but significantly slower than at first. That was one of the worst parts about self harm, he supposed, that it sometimes took forever for the blood to stop.

A few more minutes passed, and it stopped bleeding. Fucking finally, he thought, angry at himself for cutting so deep. He should know better by now. He reached to his bedside table where his water bottle was, and poured some on a paper towel to wipe the dried blood off.

He could tell it was going to start bleeding again, so he knew it was now or never to stick a butterfly bandage on.

Leo tore one bandage off the pack and unwrapped it, peeling back one side of it. He put the unwrapped side in his mouth so he could somehow place it on his arm. With his left hand, he pinched the skin together and brought his head down, putting the small thing over the cut. He pulled the other side of the bandage off and released his hold on his skin, satisfied with his work. He pressed down on both sides to make sure it would stay.

He tilted his head back against his bed. This is exhausting.

Leo still needed to put some paper towels down in case it opened up again. He tore off two sheets and folded them, making a thick layer. He taped it down, and called it good. He rolled his sleeves down, but the bulge on his arm was way too noticeable.

He thought he saw some self-adhesive tape in the med bay. Why hadn’t he been using that before? He grabbed his sword and made another portal, reaching through and grabbing the tan material. Leo then pulled on the end of the roll, wincing at the loud sound it made. He wrapped it around his arm a few times, and pulled down his sleeve again.

It was flatter, so he called it a win.

Leo took his bloody paper towels and shoved them into the garbage bag under his bed, not wanting to see them anymore. He laid on his bed, tired of the unexpected effort he had had to put in. Leo crawled under his covers and pulled out his phone, opening I Am Sober.

He watched the seconds tick by on the timer. He watched the bar grow and then fall back to zero. How much longer could he keep living like this? How many more cuts could his body take? Would he one day cut too deep, and that day would be his last?

He shook his head, desperate to banish that thought from his head. He was just so sad all the time. He hated being alive. And he hated feeling that way.

After Leo reset his timer, he pulled the covers up over his head and went back to sleep.

Ch. 1 Ch. 5 Ch. 7

#How to Cope by Leo and Mikey #HCLM #tw self harm #tw self harm mention #fanfiction #rottmnt

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camillemontespan · 5 years

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stars [AU. drake walker x MC]

Skinny Cappuccino with an Extra Shot (part one)

Williamsburg (part two)

Here we go, the third and final installment of this AU trilogy!

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @notoriouscs @ritachacha @iplaydrake @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @be-still-my-aching-heart @dcbbw

******************************************************************************************

Relax. This is just a date. You’ve been on dates before. Granted, never to your date’s work, but hey, first time for everything. She is cool. She’s actually nice, she’s not stuck up, she is gorgeous, why the fuck is she interested in you? Right, breathe. Stop panicking.

Drake was standing the bottom of her apartment’s stoop, trying to work up the courage to press the buzzer. He wasn’t usually this bad with girls; but something about Camille made him feel nervous, excited, silly. It was a weirdly nice feeling.

Steeling himself, he made his way up the stairs and pressed the buzzer for Apartment 10. The piece of paper beside the number had her last name written in twirly, loopy handwriting.

The door buzzed him open and he entered the main foyer.

He found Apartment 10 and saw that she was standing at the door waiting for him. She was dressed but her hair was wrapped up in a towel. 'I promise I'll be ten minutes,' she told him. She beckoned him inside and led him through to the living room. Drake looked around. Dove grey walls, intricate cornices in the ceiling, wooden floors. It was a classy place. The TV was on, showing a football game - Raiders vs Patriots, Drake could see - and an unopened bottle of beer was placed on the coffee table beside the remote. Camille nodded at the beer and TV. 'Make yourself at home, I'm just going to dry my hair.' Giving him a smile, she padded out of the room and down the hallway.

Drake sat down on the sofa and opened the beer. This was new. Most of the time, his dates would have him standing in the hallway awkwardly. Not Camille. No. She put on the football and had a beer ready.

He looked around the room and began to see little bits of her. The bookcase filled with Austen novels and fashion biographies. The artwork on the walls which looked expensive. The framed photographs on the sideboard which showed her out with friends, on holiday, cuddling an old lady who resembled Camille.

Drake's phone buzzed with a text. Opening it, he saw it was from Leo.

Good luck tonight champ!

Drake grinned despite himself and took a picture of the TV screen and bottle of beer, captioning it : 'She's getting ready, look what she set me up with.' He sent it onto Leo, who texted back instantly.

Dude, marry her or I will.

Drake smirked and put his phone away. He watched the game for a few minutes, looking up when Camille came through.

She was wearing a red silk dress and gold strappy heels. Her hair was tousled around her shoulders and her makeup was smokey. Drake stared at her. 'You look stunning,' he said. Camille blushed and looked at him from under her eyelashes. 'You look pretty handsome yourself.'

Drake shrugged. He had picked out a black suit and tie for the occasion- he never felt comfortable dressed up but as this was a law firms annual party, he figured he had to make an effort. Plus it was Camille.

'Right let's go then!' she said, picking up her clutch bag. Drake followed her and she opened the door, letting him out first. She turned the key in the lock and when she looked up at him to say something, Drake's hand reached up behind her head and he gently pulled her into him. His lips brushed hers softly. He swore Camille sank into the kiss.

When they parted, she was blushing. 'What was that for?'

'I know I'll be wanting to kiss you all night and won't be brave enough to try anything. I was feeling brave then so..'

Camille laughed. 'You don't have to summon courage to kiss me, Drake.'

'Believe me, I do.'

Camille smiled and leaned up to kiss him herself. 'You can kiss me anytime you like, Walker.'

*************************************************************************************

They hailed a taxi to The Empire. They chatted easily on the way and Drake began to feel himself properly relax now.

The Empire was lit up from the outside. Pink and purple floodlights hit the facade. The words Beaumont Bash 2019 were lit uo against the stone and Drake could hear pulsing music coming from inside. Bouncers were at the door and Camille showed them her staff pass, before telling them that Drake was on the guest list. The bouncers let them inside and Drake whistled when he saw the scenes in front of him.

There were waitresses holding out trays of champagne glasses - their skin was spray painted in pink glitter body spray, as if they were aliens. As Drake and Camille went further into the hotel, they saw lights that looked like glowing planets hanging from the ceiling and the walls were lit up by a galaxy floodlight, making it look like they were in another world.

'Why is a law firm pretending to be in space?' Drake asked her. Camille grinned. 'This is our theme of the year. Beaumont LLP: The Firm of the Future.' We want to dominate the sector and be the law firm that everyone in the world wants to work with.'

'That's a big ambition.'

'You haven't met my boss,' Camille said, 'and speaking of, there he is!'

Drake looked over to see a tall, thin man wearing a purple silk suit. He was talking to some guests and was toasting his glass of champagne against theirs. Drake thought he looked familiar.

Beside him was a younger man, lanky, wearing a blue suit that sparkled. He turned and waved at Camille, rushing over.

'Little Blossom! You're here!' he cried, pulling her into a hug. He saw Drake and offered him a giant smile. 'You must be Drake! Hi, I'm Maxwell!' he thrust out his hand eagerly and Drake shook it.

'Nice to meet you, Maxwell. This is a great party.'

'I know right! I planned it myself! Do you get the theme?!'

'Firm of the Future, I see it,' Drake replied.

Maxwell finger gunned him and winked. 'You betcha. Now, Camille, how about we get a bottle of champagne? It is a free bar after all.'

'I don't think bottles are included in that, Max,' Camille said, raising an eyebrow. Maxwell rolled his eyes. 'For the common people maybe. But for me...,' He gave them both a wink and Drake chuckled. Maxwell led them toward the bar but was stopped by the man in the purple silk suit.

'Maxwell,' he said. He saw Camille and kissed her on both cheeks. 'Darling you look fantastic.. And who is this fine piece you've brought with you? A mid year bonus?'

Drake reddened as the man's eyes roamed Drake. Camille cleared her throat. 'This is Drake, my date. Drake, this is Bertrand Beaumont, the managing partner of Beaumont LLP.'

Drake shook Bertrand's hand. 'Have I seen you on the cover of Time Magazine?' he asked.

Bertrand winked at him. 'Yes, my darling, you have indeed. Pray tell, what do you do? Model? Act? I can see you modelling for an outdoor magazine myself, you are very... rugged.'

'Bertrand, are you hitting on my date right in front of me?' Camille asked, her hand on her hip.

Bernard waved his hand. 'Darling, I flirt with everyone's dates!'

Drake shuffled on his feet and felt Camille take his hand, squeezing it gently. 'Well this one is off limits to you!' she replied. Bertrand pretended to be offended but then kissed her cheek. He looked at Drake. 'She's my best Paralegal,' he told Drake seriously. 'She's a diamond. Now, away and help yourselves to the free bar!'

Camille lead Drake away with Maxwell following. 'So, at work, Bertrand is completely different,' Camille whispered.

'In what way?'

'Everything. His clothes, his mannerisms, his attitude. But when we have a Bash, it's like he's been replaced with this glamorous, fun, kinda pervy guy. It's so weird.'

'Maybe he has a twin?'

'Maybe. All I know is he has a collection of kimonos that are worth more than my rent.'

'How do you know that?' Drake whispered. Camille shot him a mischievous smile. 'They held a bash at their townhouse once. Hana and I went sneaking around, came across his dressing room. Oh my god it was a room of wonders!'

Maxwell asked for a bottle of champagne and three glasses. He handed one to Drake. 'So Camille tells me you make her her morning coffee and you also work in a bar. I tried working in a bar once, I was shit at it. I accidentally charged someone for a bottle of wine when they had actually asked for a glass. Oh dear.' He gave Drake a bashful grin and shrugged.

Drake smiled. 'It's alright, pays the bills you know? What do you at Beaumont LLP?'

'He's the social media superstar!' Camille answered for him. Maxwell bowed. 'I am indeed... A superstar.'

Camille chuckled. 'Seriously, he has that engraved in the sign on his office door.'

'Perks of the job, Little Blossom!' Maxwell turned to Drake. 'Basically, I manage our Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. I live feed our seminars, try and make law actually look interesting instead of full of stuffy old men. It was difficult at first but I discovered that if a post a video of a cute dog every so often, people will follow regardless. People love corgis right now I think.. Guys help me find videos of a corgi.'

Maxwell whipped out his phone and the three of them crowded round it, trying to find YouTube videos of corgis. 'This one's wearing socks!' Camille squealed.

'Yeah but this one is wearing a sombrero!' Drake protested. 'It's called Pablo!'

‘Hey guys, what are you up to?’

They looked up and Drake recognised Camille’s friend who ordered matcha tea at the coffee shop. ‘Hana!’ Camille greeted her, giving her a hug.

‘Ah Mr Barista Guy!’ Hana said, turning to Drake. Drake smiled and offered his hand to shake hers. ‘Drake Walker, nice to meet you, Hana.’

‘You too! Are you enjoying the party?’

‘Yeah, it’s really cool! Different.. I’ve never been to a shindig like this.’

‘Ha, get used to it if you’re going to be dating Camille,’ a familiar redhead said, sidling up to the group. Camille blushed. ‘Hey Olivia. Drake, this is our friend, Olivia.’

Olivia looked at Drake, her nose wrinkled. ‘Barista by day, bartender by night? Charming.’

Drake frowned. He was about to reply when he felt Camille take his hand. ‘Liv, don’t be a bitch,’ she told her. Olivia smirked. Camille turned to Drake.

‘Olivia has a bite but she’s a softie when you get to know her, promise.’

Drake nodded but he felt flat. Looking around the room at the lawyers dressed in their suits and the tinkle of laughter and the sound of champagne flutes being toasted, he felt like a fish out of water. What was he even doing here? He didn’t belong here. He was a barista and a bartender. He was on minimum wage. He had never even had a lawyer before.

‘Excuse me,’ he said quickly and he turned to leave the room. He felt Camille try to pull him back and say, ‘Drake, please..’ but he shrugged her off. He needed air. Walking with purpose, he strode to the foyer and out of the entrance door.

The warm New York air hit him and he inhaled, filling his lungs with the city. Looking around, he spotted a taxi and hailed it. He knew it was rude to leave Camille. But he didn’t want to feel inferior; as his mom had told him time and time again, nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.

He reached the taxi and pulled open the door.

‘Drake!’

He turned to see Camille running after him. She reached him, panting. ‘Drake, please. Don’t go.’

‘I don’t belong in there, Camille,’ he told her. ‘I’m not a lawyer. I’m not successful, I’m not rich, I’m not anything, okay? Why have you not brought a lawyer as your plus one? You’re wasted being my date. I’m just the guy who makes your morning coffee and works in a dive bar at night.’

He turned to get into the taxi but she pulled him around. He sighed, looking at anywhere but her. Camille reached out and pulled his chin towards her so he was staring into her brown eyes.

‘You’re my date because I like you,’ she told him. ‘I think you’re really interesting and fun and clever and sweet and bonus, insanely goodlooking.’ Drake cast his eyes down, embarrassed, and Camille clicked her fingers. ‘Look at me, Walker.’

He looked at her.

‘You are the best guy in that room,’ she said. ‘I know that we’ve only just met but I know that you are worth way more than all of them combined. I’ve got such a good feeling about you, you know?’

Drake blushed. ‘Montespan..’

‘I’m not asking you to come back in there but I do want to continue our date,’ she told him. ‘So, Drake Walker, what do you say?’

Drake looked at her earnest face. ‘I say the night’s still young.’

‘Correct answer. So, your place or mine?’

*******************************************************************************************

They went back to Camille’s. As soon as they were in the door, she kicked off her heels. ‘I’m going to get changed,’ she told him. ‘There’s beer in the fridge, knock yourself out.’

Drake went through to the kitchen to grab a beer. The fridge was littered with post its - doctors appointment reminders, shopping list, to do lists. A polaroid was stuck up with a magnet of Camille and Hana at a party raising their wine glasses in the air. Drake smiled; he felt like being in her apartment was like being allowed inside Camille’s head. All of these little touches about her laid bare to him.

He placed a beer on the coffee table for Camille and settled down on the sofa. He turned on the TV and saw that The Sixth Sense was on.

‘Ahhh I see dead people!’ Camille cried, entering the room. She had changed into denim shorts and a New York Giants jersey which was oversized on her, slipping off her shoulder. Drake felt his jeans tighten and hoped he could get rid of the situation before she sat down beside him.

She brought over a pizza delivery leaflet and sat down next to him, oblivious to the tent situation.

‘So, large pizza with like, all the meat?’ she suggested. Drake chuckled. ‘Sounds good to me.’

Camille phoned the pizza place and then settled down to watch the film. Drake was painfully aware of how close she was to him. He could smell the coconut scent of her hair. He swallowed and kept his eyes fixed on the TV, not absorbing anything that Haley Joel Osment was saying to Bruce Willis.

Camille stretched her long legs out, crossing her feet on the coffee table. Drake looked at her legs out the corner of his eye but then scolded himself. Stop being a perv.

Drake spent the next thirty minutes in silent torture. He really wanted to hold her close, make a move. But he didn’t want to come across like he was taking advantage.

The door buzzed and Camille jumped up. She came back with the pizza box and she placed it on the table. They both dug in. Drake turned to say something to Camille about how the twist in the film was so obvious, but chuckled when he saw she had pizza sauce on her cheek.

‘What? What’s so funny?’ she asked, blushing.

‘You got sauce on your face,’ he told her, smiling. She reached to get at it but missed. Drake shook his head and leaned forward to wipe it off. ‘There, all clean now,’ he said quietly.

Camille’s eyes met his. There was a loaded silence. He cleared his throat and looked away.

‘Drake.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You know you can kiss me whenever you want. I told you that earlier.’

Their eyes were steady on each other. Camille raised an eyebrow, daring him. Fuck it.

Drake bolted forward, his hands reaching out to behind her head and their mouths crashed together. Camille let out a gasp of surprise and Drake felt her smile against his lips. His arms went underneath her legs and he picked her up, throwing her back against the sofa. Camille laughed and Drake grinned, pinning her arms above her head, his body lying along hers.

‘Tell me if this is too much,’ he whispered.

She smirked. ‘I’m a big girl, Drake.’

Drake kissed her jawline, travelling down to her throat. His hands roamed up under her jersey, feeling her bare skin. Camille reached out to pull her sweater off and Drake watched as she cast it aside. Drake undid her bra in one swift motion, throwing it to the floor, and he closed his eyes when he felt her hands unbutton his shirt and skim across his chest.

Her legs wrapped around his waist. Drake was still on top of her and he breathed in her scent. They kissed deeper, more desperately now. They reached for each other, Camille unbuckling his belt, her hand reaching down to wrap around him.

Suddenly, in their hastiness, they rolled off the sofa.

‘Ah!’

Camille was lying on top of Drake. They were lying on the floor and they were staring at each other, holding back laughter.

‘Did I mention that I’m really smooth?’ Drake asked. Camille burst out laughing. ‘I think you can make up for it, Walker.’

Drake’s hand reached down to cup her ass and Camille ground her hips into his. Their lips caught and Drake’s fingers tangled in her hair. She let out a groan and tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth. Drake unbuttoned her shorts and pulled them down. She cast them aside, her underwear following.

Drake took a moment to take her in. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered.

Camille blushed. ‘No I’m not..’

‘You really are.’

Sitting up, Drake pulled her further into him and her hand guided him to her entrance. He looked into her eyes, saw the desire, and gently he pulled her onto his length. Camille let out a sharp gasp. ‘Fuck, Drake, you’re really big..’

Drake kissed her neck, enjoying the feel of her around him. Their hips began to rock together, steady and fluid. ‘Oh god..’ she breathed.

Drake kissed her mouth fervently. His hands roamed her body, feeling her skin. Camille rode him harder, crying out louder as the movements became more rapid.

Their eyes met. ‘Make up for not being smooth, Drake,’ she said, her breath hitching. Drake’s eyes bore into hers.

‘Challenge accepted.’

*******************************************************************************************

They spent the rest of the night curled up under a blanket, naked, watching the rest of The Sixth Sense. The pizza box sat in between them; Camille was lying against Drake and he had his arms wrapped around her body. This was nice. This was cosy.

‘I really want to adopt Haley Joel Osment...’ Camille said. ‘He’s just too precious for this world.’

‘But, Camille..’ Drake said, staring at her in mock horror, ‘he sees dead people!’

Camille giggled and snuggled into him. ‘I would protect him at all costs.’

‘I’m sure you would.’

‘Let me guess..’ she said slowly. ‘You would adopt Bruce Willis, wouldn’t you?’

‘Die Hard Bruce Willis, yeah, why not. He can kill all of my enemies.’

Camille laughed and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Drake looked at the clock; it was 1am. ‘So... I should probably head home,’ he said.

‘Aww but.. we’re having so much fun.’

‘I know. But it’s getting late and you should go to sleep-’

‘Drake, I’m not tired.’

‘No but you will be soon. I should head.’

He stood up. Why was he suddenly being weird?

Camille frowned. ‘You know, you could stay over.’

‘I don’t want to look like..’

‘Like you’re taking advantage? Drake, you’re like, the most polite guy I know. Trust me, you’re not taking advantage of me.’

He scuffed his foot against the floor. ‘I’m a gentleman.’

‘We’ve already had sex.’

‘A reformed gentleman, then.’

Camille sighed. ‘I told you, I’m a big girl. I’m not expecting a marriage proposal. Maybe just a really nice cappuccino in the morning, okay?’

Drake chuckled.

‘Drake, stay,’ she said, her face serious. ‘It’s 1am. You can sleep on the sofa if you must but got to say, my bed’s comfier and I’ve just got a new mattress which is like sleeping on a cloud.’

Drake stared at her. She wasn’t going to give up. ‘Ahh fine, you got me. I’ll stay.’

She grinned at him. ‘Awesome!’

They turned off the TV and lights. Camille guided him to her bedroom. Drake stared at her naked body as she walked down the hall, her hips circling a figure of eight.

She got under the duvet. Drake followed.

‘Holy shit, this mattress is incredible.’

‘I know right!’ she squealed.

Drake settled into it and stretched. Camille looked at him mischievously.

‘Want to test it?’

*******************************************************************************************

As Camille slept, Drake was awake. He lay there looking out of the window, listening to the patter of rain. The moonlight shone in, highlighting Camille’s sleeping figure. She glowed. Drake could hear the sounds of New York, still awake, as always, and he had never felt more content.

Camille let out a sigh and rolled over into his chest. Drake wrapped his arm around her and listened to her lightly breathing. He wasn’t going to mess this up. This girl, Camille, was perfect. Drake felt like he had to count his lucky stars. He gazed out the window and although he couldn’t see the stars thanks to the city lights, he still thanked the universe, which had seemed to have gifted him this person. Drake closed his eyes and for the first time in a while, he slept peacefully.

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic

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leolair · 6 years

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[Possessing Me Softly] Chapter 2: His name is Leo

"Whoa-whoa" The demon was holding your body when it went limp in his arms and you almost took him with you; so he had to shift his own weight to support yours. He was rummaging his brain for an explanation of what had just happened, why did you just passed out like that? Even more importantly, what in Hell's prairies was he supposed to do with you now. He should be explaining the details and commands of the contract to you, but... he can't, so... should he... leave and come back later? Well, for the moment he guessed he had to put you down.

The carmine orb fluttering by his side gurgled and he heard an excited voice inside his head. "Leo? How did it go?" Red drops from the bubble stumbled upon the dirt with every word.

Leo picked the honey tar and gave it a sniff. It wasn't completely ruined, he guessed. One could still salvage around half of it. Such a shame, it smelled really good. "I closed it."

The bubble almost exploded when the voice spoke. "Congratulations! Oh, we have to celebrate. What do you want to eat?"

"Nothing that you cooked"

"It was one time I burnt the food, you have to let it go someday"

Leo didn't answer. There weren't numbers high enough to express how many times it had really been, and even when he didn't burnt it, N seemed to have a talent for striping ingredients out of their flavor. Leo had tried to teach him once or twice, but to no avail. Maybe N had a curse of sorts.

"Talk to me, Leo, how does your caster looks? Is she a girl, she sounded like a girl. Is she pretty? Have you two talked about the contract? Did you give her the bandage like I told you to?" Oh... that. Crap, N was going to nag him if he found out he had let you bleed all this time. He knelled right beside you; retrieving the small bandage from his coat, he started wrapping it around your arm. The cut didn't seem very deep and most of the bleeding had stopped now.

"No, she fainted," and the notion was swarming around Leo's head; he had seen deals being closed before and, although he admits he have been a tad more rough than he had seen N being in the past, he never witnessed a caster even losing his balance when the contract was sealed.

Leo noticed the voice in his head was awfully quiet, although he didn't ponder long if it was any sing of abnormality in your deal. "Maybe she cut too deep," the redhead suggested absent-mindedly. "Bleed too much". As far as he could see and as far as he could smell, there was blood everywhere. It coated the tars, it mixed with the honey, it stained the dirt and it even putted out one of the candles that had previously been knocked off.

He only heard a non-committal sound from his friend.

Time passed in which Leo picked your offerings, inspecting the ones he would take home and the ones he would simply toss out. So far he only had grabbed interest in the honey that had gone untouched by your blood and a small wooden music box. This weren't very common in the underground. He wondered how it would sound. There was also some wine there that N would appreciate.

He was picking stuff around when he spotted a glimpse of metal in the dirt. He leaned down to pick it up, but...

Fuck. He let it down with a grunt.

"Leo? Everything alright?"

"Silver," the demon looked around for something to grab the blade with, but a caw stopped him. Hugnin, his familiar, was pecking at a black backpack. Maybe it was yours?

"Uh, bad choice. Do you think she knows it hurts us? Does she seem the evil type of woman? Maybe a witch?"

Leo opened the bag refusing to answer. Inside was an old looking book. He flipped through the pages, catching drawings of summoning runes along the paper. It was yours, then. He rummaged a little more until he felt soft cloth touch his fingers. He was looking for something he could wrap around the knife to grab it and not have his hand scorched. A sweater. Good enough.

He was about to reach for the blade when N's voice came back. "Hey, Leo? Try not using your hands to pick it up."

Sigh. Leo shoved the sweater back in the bag, maybe with a little more force than necessary. He squatted by the knife and placed his hands on top of it.

"Come on, you can do it, you just need to-"

Leo tuned him out. He could feel the air crisp around him and the hair in his arms stood up, but the knife remained on the ground. He pushed harder. He could feel something vibrating within his chest, the place where his soul might have been stored in the past. He felt energy in his fingertip and the knife lifted in the air. The sight always reminded Leo of a puppet having its strings pulled.

"I did it."

"Congratulations! Everything is coming together today isn't it? You had your first deal and you finally managed to lift sacred metals." His voice took a dramatically sad tone. "They grow so fast. I can still remember the day we met, you were so-"

"Shut up." Leo shoved the silver blade into your backpack; a little more force and the back of the bag might have been cut through. He felt better now that the thing was out of sight, but he was back on his initial conundrum. What was he supposed to do with you?

As if reading his mind N intervened. "You aren't just gonna leave her there, right?" But couldn't he? Couldn't he just... take off? Sure, the night was chilly but it wasn't all that cold, and he even cleaned around. Maybe if he threw your sweater over you…

"No," N was never going to let him live it down. Leo went to you and cupped your face in his hands. "Hey," he waited for a second, but the demon had to repeat his command a couple of times before getting any sing of awareness in you. "Open your eyes for me, please," your eyes rolled in your sockets and Leo had to fight a sigh. When they finally open, he rushed before you could pass out again. "I just need you to think of home, okay? Just think of your house for a second," It took a while, but he felt the image form in his head. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled at the strings, feeling them take him into his destination.

Chirp.

Chirp? Oh for fuck's sake... Those goddamn birds. You swore upon your nana's grave that that if you could go back in time just for a second it would be to stop you mother from planting that damned tree by your window.

Now, there’s a lie.

Ben.

You quickly sat in your bed and peeled the covers away from your body. Your head was killing you and the space over your sternum felt sore and heavy. You massaged the place, trying to sooth the feeling while searching for an injury. You found nothing. No blood, no scratches, not even a bruise. Still... you could clearly remember the star entering your body and the pain… oh the pain. It was like something impossible heavy pushed your insides around and took place in the middle of your chest.

Then, you noticed the bandage wrapped around your forearm. The wound throbbed and you could see some blood splattered in the cloth. You didn't remember bandaging it yourself. Did the demon...?

You got up, shaking the though off. Whatever happened was over and you needed a shower with urgency. Sweat, dirt and dried blood stuck to you like a second skin, your cheeks had crusts of dry tears that you don’t even remember crying. Well... some of them you did.

The ritual in theory was not that complicated, you thought as you striped in the shower, careful to not get the bandage over your arm wet. The blood sacrifice had taken more of your sanity, both mental and physical, that you could’ve predicted, but the rest was quite simple. A chalk drawn circle with an over spiked star, weird runes, candles, an incantation and offerings.

Now that's where it got interesting. Apparently there wasn't any "how-to" when it came to flattering demons, but there were basic offerings that, if the internet was right, pleased a great variety of them. Oh!, because the little fuckers turned out to be picky. Some liked rice grains; some wouldn't present themselves if you offered it; some would drool over raw meat; some would open you in canal if you dared to have it near them during the ritual.

In the end you went with wine, honey, incense, a couple of herbs and a small music box, because apparently, the one thing they all agreed on was that 'tech is neat'.

You wrapped your body in a towel and stepped out of the shower, even when it felt like only you lived in this house now, with your parents always in the hospital. Passing by the sink, you stole a side eyed glace in the mirror, what you saw stole a gasp from your lips. There it was, just like the books had described it; a single black symbol on the skin between your breasts. It was a small cross with two horizontal lines, a hollow circle sat atop the upper one and another more filled one dangled from the one at the bottom.

You ran your fingers over it and reality came crashing down on you, making your head spin. You were marked. You were marked like cattle.

Fuck.

"I sold my soul to a demon."

It was almost ironic that after all that time of researching satanic rituals and their whatabouts, it was now that the gravity of the situation fell upon you.

You were screwed.

You were beyond screwed; you had sold your soul and now it was someone else’s property. Well... not quite yet. Not until Ben was healed. You were going to be around until he could carry on with his own life. The rush of adrenaline made your head spin a little. It brought back memories from last night; the candles, the smoke, the blood, the demon-.

You saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You twisted your head as fast as humanly possible and backed against the wall when you saw... him, in your shower stand. He looked so out of place with his red eyes and ominous clothes. Just now in the bathroom light did you realize that his hair, despite how the candlelight made it seem last night, was actually of an auburn shade. Like old blood. Fuck, he was intimidating. The big black coat he wore didn't helped either.

Thinking about clothes...

The lack of them in your own body fell on you and you gripped the towel around your chest. "What the hell are you doing here?" He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He seemed at a loss for words.

"I... We need to talk. About the contract," he shifted in his feet "I need to teach you-"

"How long have you been in there?" Getting into hysterics was a bad, bad idea, yes, but you were dressed in only a towel, your arm was bleeding and your head was about to explode, so, if your voice had a particularly panicked tone, well... you had motive.

"I just got here, I wasn't... watching" The demon seemed to stumble upon his words.

You cradled your head in between your hands. Jesus Christ, the day had barely started and you already wanted to crawl back in bed. "Can it wait?"

"Yes, but-"

"Please, just... Go downstairs, give me a second"

The demon nodded and disappeared in a bright light and a loud snap that brought a buzz to your ears.

What the-…

When you walked down the stairs a part of you wished the red-haired demon would be gone, but to your despair, he was planted in the middle of your kitchen, his eyes stuck to a brightly coloured cookie jar. Despite his dramatic look what made your heart jump was not him, bu the big bird perched in one of the wooden chairs from the breakfast table. When she heard you enter the room, she twisted her head around and stared at you with... one, two... seven? Seven eyes. Lord. Her companion heard you as well, and in a likewise manner twisted around looking guilty. You wanted to ask him if he would like a treat for the bird, instead you asked him what did he needed you for.

"Leo" Eh? "My name" Oh. You introduced yourself.

Leo took a notebook from a hidden pocket in his black coat. "We need to go over some things" You eyed the clock hanging over the wall. The black tail of the cat ticked in a steady rhythm; it's eyes traveled from side to side, but you had the feeling it was somehow judging your life decisions. Nevertheless, you still had some time until school started, so you sat down at the kitchen table, motioning Leo to do the same.

"Before we begin, do you have any question?"

"Yeah, why were you in my shower stand?"

"I-... You passed out, so I-"

"Yeah I get that, but how did you got in there?"

"It's..." He was trying to place it with the right words, but seemed unable to. The silence extended, you thought he was just going to left that hanging, but he proceeded talking "It's easier to show you."

You wondered what he meant, but a bright light shined and much like the way he did a couple of minutes ago, he vanished into thin air.

"What?" You looked around, but were completely alone in the kitchen. The baby blue walls that your father used to always keep on patrol for any oil or sauce spills, would have given a dramatic contrast with the almost gothic appearance of the demon. You stood up, looking through the windows that gave to the back garden. Your mother's forgotten cops, dried and dead sat unbothered under the early sun, but no trace of a black coat or a red head. Where had he...?

The black bird made a deep noise that sounded an awful lot like human speech. You passed saliva. It's okay. You knew some birds could mimic sounds. It wasn't all that rare. Although, added to the eyes and the way she looked at you, It was creepy as fuck. "What was that?" you spoke with a trembling voice.

"Leo."

"Leo?"

The air in front of you changed and there he was, he was... too close. You breathed in deep, and received a whiff of coffee and something deeper, far more sinister that complimented the situation perfectly. He was so tall he towered over you; he was close enough for you to feel the heat emanating from his body and his face was… his eyes were...

You took a step back.

"So you appear" Nod. "Whenever I call?"

Leo hesitated. "It works on intent" He passed his hands through the front of his clothes, as if straightening imaginary wrinkles. "You don't need to call me, just..."

"Yeah, I didn't call you upstairs."

"You didn't need to, I was sort of, 'keeping an eye... Ear. Keeping an ear out'"

"And what, you heard me saying the word 'demon' but not the shower running?"

"I didn't hear you I... well I did hear your voice, but I wasn't outside the door or anything"

"Then where-? Oh." It finally fell on you what he was trying to say. "How does that actually work?" You motioned between the two of you. "The books weren't all that clear."

"The contract is inside of you." Leo pointed at the middle of your chest. The star. "That..." He struggled with his words "keeps a door of sorts, open."

You placed a hand over your sternum. Then, a feeling of heaviness around your heart made itself present. As downing as this whole affair seemed... You had a cause. You had a purpose. Last night when you opened your wrist you thought that was going to be it, and the fact that it didn't... well, that changed nothing. "Is there anything else?"

You saw him shift in his chair. He was uneasy and you could almost swear he didn't want to keep going. Regardless, he started reading from his notebook. "The caster, as solicitor, holds complete liberties over the course of action they might prefer to accomplish the given task through, although it is advised to follow the generic methodology presented by the casteé. In addition, the contract enforces the fulfillment of these commands to accelerate the process and to assert the caster wishes are seen trough."

"Wait, what does that mean? I can just boss you around?" Nod. "And you 'have' to do it?" Shrug. "Yikes."

Leo let out a big exhale of air. You had the feeling he was trying to calm himself down. "I need to see your brother soon, but for now, please tell me what exactly is his situation.”

You squirmed in the chair, already familiar with the drowning sensation that swallowed you whenever someone asked about Ben's many afflictions. "My parents were... rather old when they got Ben and the pregnancy was risky," There was a knot forming in the back of your throat, but you pushed it down. "My mom... she went through a lot and Ben was born sooner that we thought."

"How soon?" You noticed the demon was scribbling in the notebook from before.

"Near 28 weeks. He... started to get really sick; had problems breathing and the doctors hooked him to a respirator, but... because of how long he needed the machine, his lungs took some damage. Over the years it escalated, he was diagnosed around a year ago with chronic lung disease. It was supposed to get better over time, but... it hasn't."

"How old is your brother right now?"

"He will turn three in a couple of weeks," which brought to mind that you still had to plan something for his birthday. Last year he had been crazy for butterflies, so you managed to sneak a couple and let them flutter in his hospital room. The smile on his face was worth every second the nurses scolded you. This year, you wondered where on earth you were going to get a dinosaur.

"I see. Is that all?"

"No. He gets infections all the time, even in the hospital's 'sterile' chambers. He also had a very bad anemia that slowed down his growth." Leo was nodding you along, pen dancing over the paper.

>>He has... trouble learning. At the beginning the doctors guessed his brain hadn't developed correctly, but it seems fine in all of the scans," you leaned against the wall, talking about Ben always drained you emotionally. You wondered if anyone will notice if you skipped class today. You considered for a moment, but desisted upon realizing that staying home would just prolong your current conversation. You focused again on your train of thought. "We are just... stumbling in the dark at this point. All the other preemies in his wing stayed in the hospital only a couple of weeks, Ben lives there."

"Is there any chance I could look into his medical records, as well as your family's?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll have to look for them, though."

"I'll need some blood too."

A chill ran down your spine. Last night you had to pay a price in blood, maybe... "You want me to..." your hand gestured towards the kitchen knives.

Leo's eyes bored on you. He seemed strangely amused by your suggestion. “I mean a sample. From your brother?”

Embarrassment brought the color back to your face. Right.

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minimalorc · 7 years

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Fortunes for the Signs

Aries: You are less alone than you want to believe. If you’re not at ease with where you are in life, it is usually not only your own shortcomings. Make sure you are looking at everything from your own perspective. Love is not something you are supposed to compromise yourself for. Make sure you cover certain foods with a paper towel in the microwave to minimize the clean up later.

Taurus: There is more to this world than what sounds good to say in the moment. People have an inherent knack for not behaving according to your daydreams, make sure you account for this disparity. Contrary to popular belief, being stubborn and loud is not the same as being a good leader or independent. Don’t go into an abandoned building after dark.

Gemini: Not everyone deserves to be trusted, be careful who you spill your guts with. There’s a lot of people who just want to keep your secrets to hold over you. Learn to do things differently now, rather than becoming stuck later. You can make baking powder with 2 parts lemon juice to 1 part baking soda.

Cancer: Stop second guessing yourself. How is anyone going to take you seriously when you can’t even choose between toast or a bagel? Just because people disagree with you doesn’t make you wrong. Speak up or sit down, choose one and live with it.

Sagittarius: Nothing is stopping you from opening closed doors. There’s way more to this than what you can see. On a related note, learning to pick locks has always been a valuable skill to learn.

Leo: Heaven is a long way from here, the angels probably aren’t paying all that much attention to what you do wrong. Stop doing things because they make you look good. Do things for the Hell of it. You don’t become a legend by staying at home and following the rules.

Virgo: Thinking things will never change is an insult to the gods. Historically speaking, things change all the time. It’s just that these things get performance anxiety when you watch them for the slightest change constantly. When was the last time you watched too many layers of paint dry?

Capricorn: Asking for things is not a guarantee that they will happen, but don’t let that stop you from asking. Send letters, leave voicemails, write a song about why you should have the thing. Persistence is not a sin; sloth is.

Libra: If at first you don’t succeed, reevaluate if it was worth succeeding in the first place. Make yourself a good meal, and move on to a different task. Preferably one that you want to do because of your own desires, not because it’s what is expected of you.

Aquarius: There’s a world of difference between growing together and co-dependency. Untangle your roots and have a proper conversation about where you’re going. Communication is just exchanging sound waves, it’s not going to kill you to be honest about how you feel.

Scorpio: Don’t stop moving. There’s a reason people don’t go near standing water. While it makes a nice home for moss and fish, the water itself has become undrinkable without proper filtration. Also snakes.

Pisces: Careful! Look out! Beware! Make sure you roll a d20 for trap detection before making a commitment.

#zodiac #advice for the signs #zodiac signs #pisces #scorpio #aquarius #libra #capricorn #virgo #leo #sagittarius #gemini #aries #taurus #cancer #ok 2 rb #this is your captain speaking

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

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It's a Funny Old Game (1/2)

Killian's not sure why he agreed to this. Well, no, that's not true. He does. Because Henry asked. And, well, maybe they're some kind of family now.

Emma's not sure why she hasn't said anything. Well, no, that's not true. She does. Because she's not supposed to. And, well, things were pretty good already.

Or: A quasi Out of the Frying Pan sequel with soccer.

AN: I wasn’t going to write soccer fic. Really, I wasn’t. But then the game happened and I was stuck in traffic after my own game on Saturday afternoon and I suddenly remembered that HENRY PLAYED SOCCER IN OUT OF THE FRYING PAN. So....this happened. I’m going to go ahead and blame both @distant-rose & @laurnorder for encouraging this fluff MONSTER and for reading it and fixing typos and just being generally fantastic humans. Emma’s POV (and, you know, the actual game) is coming on Friday. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“You’ve got to do it!” “I’m not.” “He’ll probably break his foot anyway.” Killian rolled his eyes, glancing over his shoulder to glare at Will who just shrugged in response, the hint of a smile on his face when he flipped a towel over his shoulder. “You’re fired,” Killian said evenly, some of his frustration ebbing when he heard Henry’s laughter.

“You are no longer in a position to do that,” Will argued. “I’m part of the money now. You’ve lost all your power, Cap.” The frustration was back.

Killian groaned, letting his head fall back and they absolutely did not have time for this. The restaurant was packed and Ariel was...somewhere. He had no idea where Ariel was. He’d lost complete control of his staff.

Not that they really were his staff anymore. At least not technically. They were partners or equals or some kind of ridiculous team which, considering the small stack of paper on the corner of the bar, almost made the most sense.

“You’re really not going to do it?” Henry asked again, but with a hint of disappointment that made Killian wince.

Will chuckled – like he knew he’d won.

“Does Gina know that’s here?” Killian asked, not sure who he was directing the question to exactly and it would probably be wrong to just start drinking straight out of the rum bottle when Henry was sitting there.

He was...Killian wasn’t sure what the technical term for it was.

That seemed like a trend.

This, however, was a bit less problematic than not knowing where his hostess was on a jam-packed Friday night. This was nice and domestic and, well, maybe Killian had considered qualifiers that were far too big to actually say out loud, but he thought them all the same and if there was a reason to play a charity soccer game, playing for Henry seemed like the best one.

“I don’t know,” Henry said, answering the question Killian had forgotten he’d even asked. “She was in the studio this afternoon.” “Wait, backtrack. Were you in the studio this afternoon?” Henry nodded. “Only for a little while, Mom had to film, but we got lunch before I helped M&M’s watch Leo so she could decorate her classroom.” “Right, right, right,” Killian muttered, closing his eyes lightly to try and picture the schedule on the front of the refrigerator three blocks downtown.

There was a regularly-updated schedule on the front of the refrigerator.

In their apartment.

The one they’d been living in for nearly a year – in some kind of vaguely perfect, decidedly familial domestic bubble.

“Has he gotten over that squash thing?” Killian asked and Henry’s answering smile nearly took up his entire face.

“No. It’s still the only thing he’ll eat. M&M’s asked if you or Mom could make something else. Try and get him off the squash or something. I don’t know, I was trying to make sure I hung all her posters straight.” “Did you?” “I mean, obviously.” “Obviously,” Killian repeated, a poor imitation of Henry’s voice and it wasn’t exactly teenage angst yet, but Henry was fourteen and the last thing he likely wanted to be doing on one of the few Fridays left in summer vacation was helping his aunt hang posters in her classroom. “And Mary Margaret realizes that Leo is only a little over a year old, right? It’s not like he’s got some kind of expressive palate or anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t think she gets that. You guys cook. She thinks you can get him to eat something.” “Like...Cheerios?” “Do a lot of one year olds eat Cheerios?” “I honestly have no idea.” “Huh,” Henry said and Killian got the distinct impression that there was more to those three words than he was letting on. “And, by the way, this whole thing was Gina’s idea.” Will’s whole body shook with the force of his laughter on the other side of the bar, leaning over the counter to take orders and, probably, flirt with Belle, who’d, apparently, learned how to teleport because Killian didn’t even notice the door open.

He really needed to find Ariel.

And maybe get back in the kitchen.

A year after the expansion and things were, finally, starting to settle again – Eric coming up short of a round dozen on the meltdown scale and there hadn’t been a menu issue in, at least, six weeks and the new sous chefs they’d hired, in both locations, were proving to be competent.

Killian had been a finalist for the Beard that spring and they went to the ceremony and Emma bought another ridiculously gorgeous dress and he’d nearly asked her there.

It was close – the words nearly falling off his tongue as soon as she walked down the hallway and Killian felt his eyes go wide and he hadn’t even bought anything, but the question, much like Henry’s qualifiers, had been bouncing around his head since he left the first pile of clothes in her apartment, so it wasn’t really surprising.

The surprising part was that he didn’t. Or hadn’t. For the last four months.

He’d bought a ring a week before.

He’d asked Henry for help.

Henry was still staring at him. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that part though,” he admitted and Killian hummed in agreement. “And the only reason I know is because Rol told me, like, a week ago. He was super excited.” “Ah, well, now you’re done for, Cap,” Will muttered, pouring two shot glasses of something that might have been scotch and pushing it towards Killian. He raised his hands in some poor attempt at parental figure, but Will shook his head, lower lip jutted out and just tapped his finger on the bar. “You’re going to need this,” Will continued. “When you embarrass yourself at Yankee Stadium, at least you’ll have vaguely pleasant memories of how it all started.” Killian heard the door swing open that time – glancing up to find Regina and Robin weaving their way through tables, Roland all but sprinting towards Henry who jumped off his stool out of instinct to catch the eight-year-old around the waist.

“Is he going to do it?” Roland shouted, drawing the attention of half the dining room. No wonder Killian didn’t win a Beard – he was running the least organized restaurant in the entire Tri-State area.

“Did you guys see Ari when you just barrelled in here?” he asked, hoping if he started asking questions first he’d be able to control the conversation.

No such luck.

“Don’t play that card, Jones,” Regina warned. “It’s not going to work. You’ve already agreed.” “God, Gina, that’s not how this works. You are not actually my agent. I don’t have an agent. You are a producer on a show I only occasionally appear on.” “Do you think you should have an agent?” Robin asked, dropping onto a stool and trying to wave down Will who was too busy flirting with Belle to notice. “You should probably have an agent right, you know, someone who would, like, organize your life or something.” “Are you suggesting my life needs organizing, Locksley?” Robin shrugged. “You don’t know where A is.” “Do you?” “No, but this isn’t my dinner service. Or my potentially broken legs when you play soccer in two weeks.” “Why does everyone keep thinking I’m going to break my legs? I know how to walk!” Robin made a face and Will was probably never going to stop laughing. Regina was already reading the paperwork like she hadn’t already forged Killian’s signature on everything. He’d probably waived his right to sue if he did break his legs.

“I only said you were going to break your foot, Cap,” Will argued. “Locksley’s the one who used legs and plural, by the way, as in you are, somehow, going to break both of your legs at once. I’m clearly the better partner.” “Oh my God,” Killian sighed, downing the entire shot glass in one gulp. Definitely scotch. It burned his throat.

“Aren’t you going to play, Uncle Killian?” Roland asked. He’d managed to climb up onto Henry’s legs and was doing his best to get onto the bar, half an inch away from six different mixed drinks and one plate of onion rings.

Killian sighed, running his hand over his face and pressing his fingers into his cheekbones. He looked up to find matching expressions of something that was decidedly unfair on both Henry and Roland’s faces and Will was right.

There was absolutely no fighting that.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, Gina already signed me up, right? Or agreed? Or volunteered? Sold my soul?” “It was almost funny until you decided to just be rude,” Regina muttered, barely lifting her eyes away from the paper in front of her. “And I didn’t agree because, as you were so quick to point out, I am not your agent, but people do like to come to me with suggestions for your life, personal or otherwise, so maybe this game isn’t an absolutely terrible idea.” “That was almost heavy-handed.” “It’s because I’ve been sitting here for nearly five minutes and I still don’t have a martini.” “That seems to suggest the presence of a martini would stop you from judging everything I’m doing.” “Or not doing,” Robin amended. Killian rolled his eyes, resisting the temptation to pour himself another shot. Or just leave his restaurant in the middle of a dinner service. “You know, for, like, the last six months.” “I’m sorry, what?” Killian gaped and Henry sounded like he was actually trying to swallow down his laughter.

Roland grumbled when Henry couldn’t actually hold onto him, half on the bar and half on the fourteen-year-old and Killian reached forward before one of them ended up with a broken bone and he only wince slightly when he felt the full brunt of Roland’s weight land on his hip.

“God,” Killian groaned, twisting his arm and Roland was going to choke him. That would get him out of the game. “You are a grown adult.” “Uncle Killian, you’ve got to play,” Roland shouted in his ear. “Emma said she thought it would be fun and we could go to Yankee Stadium and get ice cream in hats.” “I don’t think she said hats, Rol,” Henry said reasonably. “And they’d put the ice cream in like...soccer balls, right? I mean, it wouldn’t be a Yankee game.” “It’s at Yankee Stadium?” Killian asked, another question just addressed to the masses.

Regina clicked her tongue, waving her hand at the distinct lack of a martini in front of her. “Do your job.” “I’m already not doing my job, which is to actually cook some of the food that comes out of that kitchen. Answer my question, Gina.” “How do you not know this already? Did you not actually read any of the paperwork?” “No.” She sighed as if she’d been personally offended by his lack of reading comprehension in the middle of a dinner service, but she didn’t actually say anything, interrupted by the door again and Killian felt like he started to breathe as soon as he noticed Emma.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about it.

Or, well, they hadn’t actually used the specific words, but they’d kind of danced around the subject, especially when Leo turned one and there was a birthday party and they’d been tasked with making the cake. They used the oven in the Jolly – Henry at a friend’s house for the night and there’d been some kind of volcano of flour that erupted at one point and Emma’s hair looked more white than blonde by the end of it and Killian was fairly certain the jeans he’d been wearing would always be a bit discolored.

But they’d kind of talked about it then. Almost. In between throwing flour and sugar and, at one point, frosting and all Killian really remembered about that night was sliding down the far wall in the kitchen with Emma tucked against his side and they spent, at least, fifteen minutes sitting on the floor and making out like teenagers while they waited for the cake to cool off.

They stayed upstairs. It was easier. And that bed was closer. Even if it didn’t have actual sheets on it anymore.

“Hey,” Emma said brightly, wrapping an arm around Henry’s front and grinning when he made a decidedly teenage noise in the back of his throat. “You get Leo to eat something other than that gross squash stuff?” “I don’t think you’re supposed to call it gross squash stuff, Swan,” Killian muttered and Regina was going to have some kind of conniption if she didn’t get her martini. “Oh my God, Gina, relax. Here,” he growled, trying to move Roland to his other side and grabbing a glass and slamming into the counter. She put the papers down. “How many olives?” “Four.” “You are doing this just to be difficult.”

“Agree to this thing.” Emma quirked an eyebrow, hooking her chin over Henry’s shoulder and he stopped arguing any of the decidedly maternal things going on. “What thing?” she asked, but Killian brushed her off, stabbing a fork into the container of olives under the bar.

“Nothing, love. She knows I’m going to play. She knew as soon as she told Henry. How was filming? And promo?” “Fine. ‘Ish. Isn’t Ruby here yet? She was supposed to come after she finished b-roll stuff with El. I figured she’d be here a million years before I got here.” “What was the ‘ish part?” “Are you interviewing me?” Emma asked and she was still smiling and he couldn’t think when she did that. Or when he was trying to ignore whatever Robin was muttering underneath his breath.

“Once more with conviction, Locksley,” Killian hissed. He put five olives in Regina’s martini. She did not look impressed.

Robin rolled his eyes, rubbing the heel of his hand into his chin. “I said that you are interviewing Emma who, per Ruby’s demands on her restock invoice, did great on both filming and promo, because you are trying to deflect any of our questions about why you don’t want to do this thing. You’re old hat at charity stuff now. This should be a piece of cake.” He laughed at his own joke and Henry tried not to make noise again, but it didn’t really work. “And,” Robin continued. “I’d like whatever you have on tap that you consider good.” “There are five different things on tap right now, Locksley,” Killian said. “Make a decision like an actual human being.” He pointed his finger at Killian, pushing up to lean over the bar and stab him in the chest. Killian growled, burying his face in Roland’s back and that wasn’t really going to do anything except infuriate an eight-year-old who probably wanted a cheeseburger and a new soccer jersey.

“Who’s it for?” Killian asked. He should be writing these questions down. He should really be cooking, but that was neither here nor there and none of the tables looked like wanted to riot yet, so maybe it was still going alright.

“Montefiore,” Regina answered immediately. “Children’s hospital in the Bronx.” “Of course it is.” “Sound like more of an ass when you say that, please, I dare you.” Killian made a face, pulling his forehead away from Roland’s shoulder and Regina almost looked repentant. She took a very long drink and Killian tried not to glance at Henry’s expectant face.

“Two weeks?”

Regina nodded. “And a day, so you’ve got an extra twenty-four hours of training so you don’t actually injure yourself because you really shouldn’t injure yourself. That wouldn’t bode well for IC scheduling.” “When do you film again?” Emma asked and Killian gaped at her like she’d just tried to give up the location of the American forces to General Burgoyne. No one else in that restaurant would probably get that reference. Except for Henry. Who was actually incredibly interested in history and absurdly good at remembering dates and maybe Killian shouldn’t have danced around major subjects while baking cakes for quasi-nephews who could be actual nephews if they’d just talk about it.

Emma shrugged, eyes flashing up towards him and the smile had turned just a bit mischievous. “What?” she asked. “That’s a genuine question. When’s the last time you filmed?” “I’ve been kind of busy,” Killian started, but Regina interrupted him before he could come up with a more detailed excuse.

“Two months, three weeks and…” She clicked her tongue, squeezing one eye closed and Killian felt his cheeks flush. Ariel was still missing in dinner-service action. “Uh, four days. So, really, closer to three months if you want to round up.” “That’s insubordination, Lieutenant,” Emma grinned.

He eyed her with something he hoped felt like the force of several universes and Emma stood up to her full height, lip tugged tightly between her teeth. “You should really play,” she continued, taking a step away from Henry and working her way around the bar. “It could be fun. And I’m fairly confident you won’t actually break any bones.”

“Fairly confident,” Killian repeated, letting his only free hand fall to her hip when she moved in front of him.

“So…” Henry said. “Ice cream in helmets?”

Emma’s head snapped towards him, hands flat against Killian’s chest. Henry smiled. “How do you know about ice cream in helmets?” “Mom, c’mon, you’ve got to be here for the start of these conversations. Otherwise you’re going to miss everything. And Rol wants ice cream in helmets. You’re the one who said helmets, right?”

“Yeah.” “It’s got to be soccer balls,” Killian said again. “It’s a soccer game. They don’t sell ice cream in Yankee helmets when it’s NYCFC.” Emma’s eyebrows shifted slightly. “Are you comparing yourself to NYCFC right now?” “Swan, I didn’t even want to play in the game until Henry mentioned it. I was just going to ignore Gina until she murdered me or something.” “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Gina mumbled, tapping her nail against the side of her glass. “Plus, we’re financially invested in your livelihood more than ever now. You give Robin those statements you were supposed to?” “I know how to run my restaurant, Regina.” The smile inched across her face when he dropped the nickname and Killian wasn’t sure how he was losing every conversation he was having. He kind of wished he had another birthday cake to bake for a one-year-old.

“That wasn’t an answer,” Regina pointed out. “Less olives this time. I barely had anything to drink before.” “Alright, relax,” Emma muttered, grabbing the glass out of Regina’s hand and dumping out the leftover olives and few drops of gin. “The statements are, literally, sitting on the counter at home. If you guys are going to eat here then I can walk down and get ‘em before you leave. Cool?” Regina blinked once, eyes darting towards Will when he couldn't quite control his laughter. “Yeah,” she said brusquely. “That’s cool.” “Good. You eat yet, kid?” Emma asked, glancing towards Henry.

“Killian made onion rings,” he answered. “We were waiting for you.”

Emma’s whole face shifted immediately – any hint of irritation over Regina or statements all but evaporating and they were making money already in Gowanus, which seemed like some kind of sign, but Killian didn’t like to think about it too much, certain he’d jinx it if they did.

He wasn’t sure what he’d jinx, exactly, but it had anything to do with Emma or the look on her face or whatever Killian’s stomach still did every time she walked into the Jolly or the apartment three blocks downtown that they both so casually called home , he was willing to stay silent for the rest of his life, determined to preserve this in some kind of indefinite way.

And he was absolutely going to play this soccer game for Henry.

“What do you want?” Killian asked, somehow managing to keep Roland hitched on his side and half hanging over his shoulder at the same time he worked his arm around Emma’s waist.

He was fairly positive she leaned back against him.

“Whatever,” Henry said noncommittally and Killian resisted the urge to groan. Emma didn’t.

“We can’t actually make you whatever,” Emma laughed. “You need a menu or something?” “There's mac and cheese,” Killian said. Roland nearly flew off him and straight into the kitchen. “Jeez, mate, calm down. No one is going to stop you from getting mac and cheese. That work for you, Henry?” Henry nodded, moving when Roland climbed back down Killian’s side and, eventually, they were going to have to figure out when those two just became...inseparable. Henry didn’t seem to realize he was, absolutely, Roland Locksley’s hero.

And they were both through some metaphorical roof at the prospect of mac and cheese.

“You want me to sign whatever waiver I have to sign before I make your kid food or after, Gina?” Killian asked, voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

She hardly even blinked. “After is fine, thank you, Jones.” “Naturally,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly and he knew he’d won when Regina huffed softly. “What do you want, Swan?” Emma looked surprised he’d actually asked her, blinking twice and her mouth opened slightly like she was considering her answer. “Wait, what?”

“Food, love. What do you want to eat?” “Oh, I can...I can help.” “What?” “This is the least productive conversation in the world.” “Swan, you filmed all day. There was an ‘ish to the description of how today went. The last thing you need to do is cook your own food.” “I honestly don’t mind,” she promised, tugging lightly on the front of his jacket and her cheeks were slightly redder than they should have been. There was something going on. “And, A’s standing outside on the phone with the babysitter by the way. She didn’t think you noticed.” “I absolutely did and she should probably mention she’s actually leaving before she leaves.” Will scoffed, shaking a mixer and handing Regina another martini. “Please, Cap, any threat you issue to A is going to be even less intimidating than whatever you tried to tell me before.” “What did you try to tell him before?” Emma asked.

Killian shrugged. “I fired him.” “Oh my God. You’re the one who needs to cook. Chop up all that excess frustration.” “That might be true.” “C’mon. We’ll go make sure the mac and cheese is good.” Emma did, eventually, walk three blocks downtown to get statements and charts and invoices for suppliers that Robin knew – pointedly ignoring Killian’s promises that he could do it, rolling her eyes good naturedly and pressing a kiss against his cheek before letting the kitchen door swing shut behind her.

And Ariel did eventually come inside, a knowing look on her face that did not appear to be someone who just spent forty-five minutes on the phone with her babysitter. “Where have you been, Ari?” Killian asked, back behind the bar after service ended.

Henry was asleep in a booth in the corner of the dining room.

“Around,” she answered evasively. “You talk to Emma yet?” “She’s in the kitchen. And, yes, obviously. She’s been here all night. Unlike some hostess I know.” “Oh, that was almost rude. What’s the deal with this game? Are you going to play? Is the network going to promo it? Gina said they probably would.” Killian leaned against the counter, pain shooting through both of his elbows when they all but crashed against the wood. Ariel widened her eyes, jumping up onto the edge and he didn’t even try to argue. “Of course she did,” he grumbled. “Did everyone know about this before I did then?”

“Nah, not really. I don’t think Eric knows.” “He’s in another borough, that doesn’t really count.” “You’ve got to take your victories where you can, Killian,” she said. “And the only reason I knew about it was because Henry was so excited. It was all he was talking about when he was sitting here with Scarlet before. You might actually be that kid’s hero if you play.” Killian’s stomach did something absurd and his heart seemed to take that particular sentence as a challenge, beating out an inconsistent rhythm against his lungs. That absolutely was not how his heart worked.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ariel smiled, like she was a keeping a secret or she was masquerading as the Cheshire cat. “Go tell your girlfriend you’re crazy in love with her and want to adopt her kid and the reason you’re nervous to play in this ridiculous charity game is because you don’t want to embarrass the family in some Godfather-type way.” “I don’t think we’re the mafia, Ari.” She shrugged. “Eh, like a cooking powerhouse family. Who’s making a shit ton of money.” “Eloquent.” “Go talk to Emma. And clean your own kitchen. God.” Killian saluted, rolling his shoulders back until he was almost standing at attention and Ariel’s smile turned a bit more like she was dealing with her toddler instead of a Beard Award nominee.

“Go home, Ari,” Killian called over his shoulder, grabbing his coat from the peg in the hallway to drape over Henry’s back.

Emma didn’t move when the door hit the wall, humming softly under her breath and she might have been bobbing on her heels slightly. Her sneakers squeaked when she moved.

She’d tugged her hair up at some point, the elastic barely holding it up and most of it was draped over her shoulder, but there were a few strands hanging across her neck and Killian felt his eyes widen when he noticed the streak of flour on her leg.

He took a step forward, glancing down at the pile of apron tossed a few feet behind her and the wide eyes were joined by an even wider smile.

She was baking.

In the middle of his restaurant kitchen. Like she owned it. Maybe she should. Maybe he should ask about that too.

“Smells good,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around her waist and she didn’t jump. She definitely leaned back.

Emma scoffed or maybe laughed, but Killian was certain he could feel it in every inch of him and Henry was asleep twenty-five feet away, only one not-quite-thick kitchen door between them. “Cookies,” she said softly, but her voice caught when he brushed his nose against her ear. “The most basic recipe I could remember.” “Are you stress-baking, love?” “No, no. I mean, kind of.” “Kind of?” Killian asked, letting his fingers trail across the front of her stomach and Emma’s shoulders shifted. “How exactly does that work?” “I wasn’t really stress baking for me.” Killian’s smile, somehow, got even wider, pressed against the side of Emma’s neck and she mumbled something about the batter before throwing the entire bowl on the counter, twisting around and pushing up on her toes and he barely took a breath before she was kissing him.

She was still wearing the clothes she’d been filming in and her back arched when Killian pushed his hand underneath the bottom of her shirt, palm flat on her skin like he was trying to make sure there wasn’t a single inch of space between them.

He wasn’t sure if the oven was on. He wasn’t quite sure where that crumpled-up apron was. Tripping over the apron probably would have ruined the mood. It didn’t matter.

He was far to preoccupied to think about anything that wasn’t the feel of Emma’s entire body pressed up against his and her arms slung around his neck. And maybe he was particularly focused on whatever she was doing with her hips, rolling them slightly and they were in the kitchen. He didn’t care.

“This is better,” Emma muttered and Killian was fairly positive she was still talking about stress baking, but his feet were moving and he was leaning up against the island in the middle of the room and she made some kind of noise that was absolutely unfair when they were three blocks away from home.

Killian tried to agree – hum or nod or make some kind of noise that wasn’t just a ridiculously loud groan, but then Emma did that thing with her hips again and both his hands were under her shirt and this was spiraling out of control rather quickly.

The timer went off.

“Oh my God,” Emma sighed, pulling away and letting her head fall against his shoulder.

“How long have you been baking, love?”

“Only, like, half an hour. You were making sarcastic comments to Regina and trying to fire Scarlet and then Roland wanted to talk more about ice cream. You were easily distracted. And this really is some kind of absurdly simple recipe. Fifteen minutes in the oven, tops.” “And you don’t want to eat fully cooked cookies,” Killian added knowingly, pulling his right hand away from her waist to trail across her spine and thread through the ends of her hair. The hair tie had fallen out at some point.

“Yeah, well, if I made the cookies, then I get to choose how long they get cooked, right? That’s only fair.” “Absolutely fair, Swan.”

He couldn’t actually feel her smile through his jacket, but he liked to imagine it anyway. “You going to tell me why you don’t want to play in this game, then?” Emma asked.

“I agreed to playing in the game.” “Yeah after you were coerced to do so by two kids and the general determination of a producer who, honestly, is a little intense. Does she think she’s your agent?” “I think so,” Killian admitted. “Although, if you talk to Locksley he’s probably already started making lists of potential agents because, according to Ari, I’m going to have to do promo stuff for this game with the network.”

Emma pulled her head up, eyes wide and distractingly green – or that might have been the way she bit her lip when she looked at him. “What? Really?” “Is that surprising? I would almost believe that this was all part of Zelena’s plan to get me back on IC so they can time everything and up the ratings for the inevitable Killian Jones returns to Kitchen Stadium episode.” “Good tagline.” “Swan.” “I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “I’d watch it.” “Generous of you.” She scrunched her nose, twisting her mouth slightly and her sneakers made noise when she moved again, pressing up and pushing her fingers in his hair to keep her balance. “You are very bad at trying to change the subject you know,” Emma smiled. “Come on, fess up. You’re worse than Henry when he’s trying to hang out with Violet and not actually say he’s hanging out with Violet.” “That is insulting, Swan,” Killian muttered. “This is a much better deflection than that. And that’s not even a deflection really. More like a very convoluted and obvious lie.” “It’s because he thinks you won’t feed him if you find out he’s lying.” “I’m fairly positive you know how to cook too.” “Yeah, I don’t think that’s part of his thought process at all,” Emma said and Killian wished the words in his brain would stop bouncing around, fairly certain he was going to hurt nerve endings or his cerebellum or something if they just kept doing that.

Killian couldn’t really shift on his feet – Emma still plastered against his front and a goddamn kitchen counter pushing into his spine, but he tried anyway and that was probably the worst idea he’d had all night because it was even more telling than actually saying anything. “For real,” Emma sighed, swiping her thumb over the ridge of his spine. “I made cookies.” He laughed before he could stop himself, nodding and kissing the top of her head and her thumb hadn’t actually stopped moving. “That’s true,” Killian admitted. “I, uh...I don’t want to disappoint him?” “Was that a question?” “It might have been.” “It didn’t have to be. It should have been the opposite of that. What’s the exact opposite of that?” “Probably just a normal sentence.” Emma scowled at him, but his heartbeat was, relatively, normal and there was still a sleeping fourteen-year-old in his dining room. Their dining room? Maybe.

God.

“You’re being frustrating on purpose,” Emma accused.

“I promise, Swan, I’m really not,” Killian said. “Well, no, that’s a lie. I was when I was talking to Gina, and maybe Ari, but I’m still the exact opposite while talking to you. You think that’s just another normal sentence, then?” “I hope you have to do eight-hundred hours of promo for this stupid game and your secret ingredient for your grand return is spinach.” “You can make a lot of things with spinach.” Emma let out a frustrated sound – a mix between a growl and a sigh and the exact noise she made when Henry didn’t take the garbage out every other day like he was supposed to and they really went through a ridiculous amount of food.

Maybe it was all the baking.

“Please stop talking about spinach,” Emma said and she was still on her toes, fingers tugging on the back of his hair. “Why would you think that?” “That I could make a lot of things with spinach? I know how to cook, Swan.” “Oh my God.” Killian flashed her a smile that was almost apologetic, but he also just enjoyed flirting with her and this was definitely flirting and absolutely a distraction. “I am...I cook things, Swan. And I’m good at that. And I’m...that’s enough. I will cook anything for any charity, but this is…” He sighed when he couldn’t come up with the right word, the plastic at the end of his left arm suddenly feeling far heavier than he could ever remember. He tried to move again – and probably bruised his back in the process – and Emma tilted her head like she was trying to read his mind.

She nearly gasped when she did.

“Oh no,” Emma shook her head. “No, that’s...you don’t even…” “Use your hands?” “Well, yeah, I guess. You really think Henry would care about that?” “No, no, not about that,” Killian said quickly. “Of course not. He’s not the worst kid in the world. I know he wouldn’t. Or doesn’t. But, come on, Swan, it’s an actual game and that paperwork Regina tried to push at me claimed it was going to be on TV and if the network wants to promo then there’s going to be all this extra stuff and…” He trailed off, still not sure what the words were when he wasn’t asking questions he’d been ignoring for the last week – or since she’d walked into a conference room two years before, but that seemed kind of absurdly sentimental and there were still cookies in his oven.

“He’s going to think you built the Empire State Building and the Brooklyn Bridge and possibly hung the moon no matter what you do,” Emma said. “You could try and kick the ball and totally whiff and break eighty-thousand bones and Henry will still think that. Because you are…”

They should consider finishing their sentences.

It wasn’t nearly as easy as it probably should have been.

Emma exhaled, closing her eyes and her shoulders moved when she took another deep breath, lips pulled tightly behind her teeth. “You’re absurdly good,” she said softly. “And you make all that stuff for his team and those kids love you and Henry thinks you’re...I mean there’s a distinct lack of teenage angst when it comes to you and Henry. None of that stupid, clich é , step-parent nonsense.” It was like all the oxygen flew out of the kitchen – both of them frozen and every inch of them still touching and Emma fell back onto her heels with a thump that seemed to ricochet off the walls.

Killian could almost feel his mind short-circuiting that word flashing like a neon sign in front of him. Emma’s mouth hung open, breathing on the wrong side of ragged as she looked anywhere that wasn’t actually him.

He had no idea how long they stood there, staring at each other and, maybe, hoping the other would say something so the silence would snap and the oxygen would come back and Killian couldn’t think of another word except yes and that didn’t really make sense because no one had actually asked a question yet.

“Say something,” Emma muttered eventually and it might have been two weeks later and he was late for kickoff.

“Yes,” he said.

Jeez.

Emma blinked. “Wait, what?” “That’s...that’s not even remotely what I meant. God, shit. I can’t believe you were stress baking on my behalf.” “Yeah, well, everyone was outside all night so I mean I couldn’t jump you when I walked into service.” “Are you suggesting that you wanted to jump me when you walked into service?”

“You’re twisting my words.” “Eh,” Killian grinned. “I’m fairly positive those are exactly the words you said, Swan.” She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t actually take a step back and her hand brushed over his left forearm “I wouldn’t have objected. You know, for the record.” “The customers would have been scandalized.” “I don’t care about the customers.” She laughed – easy and loud and that counteracted the silence and any lingering worry over questions and qualifiers and they should probably box up those cookies. They should at least take the cookies out of the oven.

“I’m going to play, you know,” Killian said and Emma nodded before he even finished the sentence.

“Henry will probably make his own jersey. And possibly a sign. It will probably be painfully adorable.” “Painfully.”

“I’ll bring orange slices. That’s what soccer moms do, right? I mean, I’m not driving a mini-van to Yankee Stadium, but I think I can manage orange slices.” “We could make something, Swan,” Killian suggested, moving his eyebrows and Emma’s teeth sank into her lip again. “You do look pretty good with flour streaked across your face. And your jeans. And not your jeans.” Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide and green and he realized, rather suddenly, he hadn’t told her he loved her yet. He was fairly determined to remedy that immediately, but, as with most things in the last year, Emma knew.

“I love you, you know,” she said, twisting a finger through his belt loop and tugging on the front of his jacket with her free hand. “Just...a lot.” The muscles in his face were threatening to sprain from overuse, but if that was the worst injury he sustained pre or post charity soccer match, Killian wasn’t going to argue. “A lot, huh?” he asked, dropping his head to trail kisses along her jaw and he’d think about the way her breath hitched for, at least, two weeks.

And, all things considered, after the way the whole night had gone and the way his restaurant just seemed to exist, Killian probably should have been more prepared for the kitchen door to swing open at the least opportune time.

His hand was back under Emma’s shirt.

“Can we go?” Henry asked blearily, barely upright and arms already stuffed in Killian’s jacket. “It’s, like...wait are you guys making food?” Emma squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head slightly in disbelief and Killian tried to move his hand and make sure the stupid counter didn’t actually snap his spine in half. “There is no way you can possibly be hungry again,” he muttered.

Henry shrugged. “I mean, kind of. It just smells good in here.” “There are cookies,” Emma said, nodding towards the oven and the baked goods they still hadn’t taken out. They were probably cooked all the way through now.

“For real?” “I would not lie about cookies.” “Can I have a cookie?” “I thought you wanted to leave.” Another shrug. “Yeah,” Henry admitted. “But that was before I realized you guys were making cookies. And whatever else you’re doing.” “Oh my God.” “Alright,” Killian sighed, eyeing the smiling teenager in front of him with a look he hoped was vaguely disciplinary while still walking the fine line of not actually being a parent or even a step-parent and Henry was the only one who knew about the ring three blocks downtown. “Well, now that you’re awake, we can go home. That booth couldn’t have been very comfortable.” “Eh, it’s not bad. The mac and cheese was good.” “Do those two things go together?” Henry made a face, rolling his shoulders in a decidedly Emma-way and the jacket wasn’t nearly as big as it probably should have been. “Seriously though, can I have a cookie?” “There are containers in that cabinet up there,” Killian said, nodding towards the other side of the kitchen and Henry was walking as soon as he opened his mouth.

“That’s the fastest he’s moved all summer,” Emma muttered. She let her head fall against his shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and Henry didn’t ask for further instructions, just yanked open the oven and piled the cookies in the container after taking, no less, than five for himself and his three-block walk downtown.

“These are really good,” he mumbled, walking back towards the dining room and Emma’s laugh ticked against the side of Killian’s neck.

He kissed her head again.

“I’d help him make the sign,” Emma said suddenly. “You know, if that helps sweeten the deal or whatever. I’ll draw...what’s something I could draw on it?” “Soccer balls?” Killian asked.

“That’s super lame.” “That’s all soccer’s got.” “Ah, well, we’ll just make your name look good on the sign then. Oh, God, you think they’ll let us bring a sign into Yankee Stadium?” “I’m sure you could charm your way in with a sign, love.”

“That is cheating,” she accused. “You can’t start complimenting me when I’m trying to jumpstart that ego.” Killian laughed, eyes flitting towards the door when Henry yelled something decidedly impatient. “I love you,” he said and nothing interrupted them that time.

“If your eventual IC return secret ingredient is actually spinach, I’m going to talk about my future-telling abilities for the rest of our lives.” He hummed, ignoring everything every single one of his organs did at that particular idea. Good. That was good. That was exactly what he was working towards. Or waiting for. Or whatever.

“That seems fair, Swan,” Killian said, pushing open the kitchen door and smiling when they found Henry had already eaten every cookie he’d stolen. “Let’s get out of here.”

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himacchu · 7 years

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アハサ地方へようこそ！Welcome to the Ahasa Region!

She’d only meant to spend the afternoon gardening, but the weeds were especially tough today, making her work into the night! Delia wiped the sweat off her brow, before taking a deep breath in and grabbing at the base of the troublesome plant. She’d even dug around it best she could without disrupting her other crops—how’d this one get this bad in the first place?

“Hhhhhrrgh….!” Try as she may, she just couldn’t pull it out. Her grunts of “Heave! Ho! Hoppip!” just happened to mask the sound of the front gate opening, and footsteps creeping up behind her.

“Rrr…HOOTHOOT…” It was all she could do to keep herself from swearing; not that it would matter, she was alone—or so she thought.

The boy behind her took a deep breath in, and as loud as he could….

“BOO!”

She yelped, so surprised that she yanked the stubborn weed right out of the ground! And, well, fell over on her back, staring wide-eyed at her son’s grinning face.

“I’m home, mom!”

_________________________________________________________________________

Geez, this sure was a lot of vegetables—you’d think the garden was a farmer’s market all by itself! Ash thought. He could barely see over the top of this giant paper bag—probably not the safest way to walk into the house—as his mom chattered away excitedly.

“You know, I watched the whole Kalos League on TV! There were so many strong Trainers, weren’t there, I mean that’s obvious, isn’t it, since it’s a League tournament and all, but wow, you plowed through all those like…like…” She just couldn’t express herself while holding all these vegetables, so clearly the obvious course of action is to dash to the kitchen, plop that big ol’ bag onto the table, and rush back to her son to give him a big Ursaring hug and squeal like a schoolgirl.

“I’m so, so proud of you, sweetie—” Gosh, it was hard to hug him with the vegetable bag in the way.

“Well, I didn’t plow through all of ‘em, Mom, I came in second—“

“Oh, whatever! It was still amazing, you know?” She plucked the bag out his arms and set it on the dinner table next to the other. “I’ll wash these later—first I’ll get started on dinner. How’s my special deep-dish chili dog and pizza pot pie sound to you?”

“Awesome!” One of his favorites! “Hey, I can help wash the vegetables, if ya need it?” He got up to go find the bins and brush she used to clean them, while she stared.

“My Ash, offering to help with chores?” She gasped dramatically, and pretended to blow into her potholder. “He’s growing up! So mature!”

“Mom.” He rolled his eyes, and got to work with scrubbing down those vegetables. Pikachu tried helping too, doing its best to pat them dry with a towel. The mother and son chatted over their work, about the things that happened while they were apart, with Pikachu occasionally pitching in with a story of its own. Not that anyone could understand it, but it was cheery conversation nonetheless.

“So Ash,” Delia asked over dinner, resting her chin on her hands. “What’s next? Anything planned from here?”

Ash blinked, and chewed his mouthful of cholesterol thoughtfully. He swallowed.

“Dunno.” He shrugged and sucked the sauce off his fork. “Maybe I’ll stay here with you and train for a while.” It was the only thing he could think to do. Maybe he could spend time with his other Pokémon, the ones he left back in Professor Oak’s lab.

“Well, as much as I’d like that,” Delia pointed her own fork to the phone. “Brock called earlier and said he wanted to talk to you.”

That got Ash excited. He suddenly stood up from the table. “Brock?! Really?!” He hadn’t seen his old friend in forever! “How is he? What’d he say?”

“Well, why don’t you go ask? It’s not too late; he should still be up.”

Ash stuck his fork upright into the half-eaten dish and dashed to the phone, flipped through their contacts for Brock’s number, and dialed it.

“Ash!” Brock’s grinning face showed up on the monitor of the machine. “How ya been? I saw the Kalos League on TV—those were some hot battles!”

“I’ve been great! Mom said you wanted to talk to me about somethin’?”

“Well, Ash,” Brock’s figure went offscreen for a bit, to rummage under his desk. “You ever heard of the Ahasa region?”

Ash blinked. “I sure haven’t.”

“Oh, here it is! Ow.” Ash jumped a bit when he suddenly heard a loud thump! come from the monitor. Brock emerged, rubbing the back of his head—and holding a pamphlet. He opened it up for Ash to see. Photos of a lush, tropical region decorated the pamphlet, along with magnificent futuristic architectural structures.

“Whoa.” He whispered. This place seemed cool! His eyes jumped between all the Pokémon photos on the page, some of which he´d never seen before.

“I’m planning on doing an independent study on the medicinal plants there. And Ash, there’s Gyms and a Pokémon League there! So I was wondering, you wanna go travel together like the old days?”

Gyms, a League, new Pokémon, and travelling with a good friend! Ash thought excitedly. He didn’t need any more convincing than that! “For sure! I’m in!”

“Great! Let’s meet at the Vermillion airport the day after tomorrow. You can take the train there, right?”

“Uh, yeah!” He glanced over his shoulder at his mother—she’d already pulled out her laptop and was booking plane and train tickets. Wait, when did she get a laptop? Pallet did train tickets online, now? Just when did this little town in the sticks get so high-tech? Well, that was a mystery for another day.

_________________________________________________________________________

“Perfect! I knew it’d look good on you, Ash!” Delia had him strike some “cool” poses, to model the outfit she’d made for him. Pikachu joined in on the posing—after all, a Trainer wasn’t complete without their Pokémon! “Ooh, black suits you! You look so grown-up! But one more thing, young man.”

A dark glare came to her face, and Ash gulped. That couldn’t be good, but where was this coming from? She lifted up his arm, pointing out his skinned and calloused elbows. Ash thought back to the times he’d played outfielder for his Pokémon, like when he caught Noibat falling out of the sky.

“You,” She huffed. “Are going to need to be more careful. Which is why I got you these,” She handed him a pair of elbow guards, the kind used for sports. “I could see those scratches and bruises even on TV. There’s no sense in skinning yourself alive, so make sure to wear them.”

“Wow.” He had to admit, it wasn’t fun running his elbows through gritty dirt. But he’d never thought to protect them. Ash stared at the elbow guards curiously, and took them in his hands to slide them on. They were pretty comfortable! Plus, they looked kinda cool with the outfit. “Thanks, mom!”

After some more mandatory motherly fretting, Ash headed over to Oak’s place to drop off his Kalos Pokémon, and made his way to the train station with Pikachu. Little did he know, he was being watched.

_________________________________________________________________________

Leo was all packed up. Brushes, massage oils, Pokémon-friendly shampoos, soaps and conditioners, his notebook—they were all tucked neatly into his bag, and he headed out of his room. He peeked into the kitchen to see his dad preparing a breakfast of milk rice and egg hoppers. The ten-year-old really wanted to hurry up and go out, but…much to his disdain, his growling stomach was telling him to wait. He reluctantly sat down at the table, carefully and neatly folding the egg hopper to eat it, when his father set down a lunch box for him and ruffled his hair.

“Good luck out there, kiddo.” Leo looked annoyed and quickly combed his auburn hair back in place with his fingers, but he couldn’t help but smile once his dad’s back was turned.

Professor Magnolia’s lab was just a fifteen-minute walk from his house here in Kalawa Town, but this was his first time going there—Magnolia had a reputation for being a little bit kooky, and, quite frankly, he was downright scared. The Professor was often seen talking to herself, not making any sense, conducting explosive and vile-smelling experiments--who knows what she did to Pokémon? Or kids? Would she experiment on children? Leo didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out. But there was no other choice if he wanted to get his first Pokémon. Definitely not trembling, he slowly opened the gate, and knocked on the door.

“Hello? I’m Leo, here to get a Pokémon?”

With a creaking sound, the door opened by itself, and Leo shrieked—only to see a Purrloin purring at his feet.

“Mrraaaow.” The Dark-type Pokémon turned around and looked at Leo pointedly, as if asking him to follow. He exhaled, relieved, and followed it into a dark room, with only a little electric lamp lighting up a wooden desk. A woman with big, round glasses was hunched over it, mumbling to herself.

Purrloin scratched at her lab coat, meowing loudly, and Leo stepped closer cautiously.

“H-hello? Professor Magnolia?”

The Professor stood up suddenly, knocking all her papers to the floor. “Oh! Oh, the new Trainer…Yes, yes, I’ll, um…Where did I put…” She was practically tripping over her own feet, looking around for something. She finally pulled out three PokéBalls, juggling them—yes, like a freaking clown or something-- as Leo stared at her, utterly confused.

She tossed them each, one by one, releasing three Pokémon. “Now, you can pick from Leafrupp, the Grass-type, Flambunny, the Fire-type, and Bluguana, the Water- and Ice-type.” Her glasses were sliding down, and she pushed them up. “So which one—“

Before she could finish, Leo was already crouched in front of the Grass-type. “I already know I’m going with Leafrupp!” He took the puppy in his arms, its tail wagging excitedly.

“Oh, er, okay. Umm, there was something else…” As she pondered over what she might be forgetting, Purrloin sauntered in, carefully holding a tray with a Pokédex and PokéBalls in its mouth. “Oh! Right. That.” She bends down to take the tray from her Pokémon, hands it to the newbie Trainer then turns around to pick up her fallen papers. Leo just stands there, holding Leafrupp. Wasn’t she supposed to give advice, or something? A pep talk? But she doesn’t say anything, not even acknowledging his existence, so he tiptoed his way the heck out of the place.

Outside the gates, he held up a happily panting Leafrupp and smiled at it. “I’m Leo! We’re gonna be partners from now on, so let’s take care of each other, okay?”

Leafrupp barked in agreement.

_________________________________________________________________________

“Ash!”

The young Trainer looked up from giving Pikachu a belly rub to see his friend waving and running toward him. Brock held out a fist, grinning. “It’s been a while! You got everything? Man, I’m glad I made it to the gate in time.”

Ash bumped his own fist with Brock’s. “It sure has! And yeah, I’m all ready to go!” Pikachu hopped up to its usual perch on Ash’s shoulder before he stood up, clutching the straps of his backpack.

They passed the long plane ride mostly chatting and sleeping (and for Brock, attempting to flirt with the flight attendants). But when they finally landed in Ahasa, the second they stepped out of the airport, Ash was met with a puff of smoke right in the face!

“Whoa!” Startled, Ash fell backwards onto his rear. “Ow…” As he cringed, a note fluttered in front of him, landing on his nose.

“What was that all about?!” Brock held his hand out to help his friend up, but Ash was reading the note.

Hi, Ash! I’m a fan of yours. Let’s have a battle! I’ll be waiting at the Pokémon Center. I look like this -->

He blinked. At the tip of the arrow was a cutesy little scrawl of a girl with pigtails, making a peace sign, and a tiny Pikachu head beside her.

“What the…”

_________________________________________________________________________

“You have fans?!” Brock was looking over his friend’s shoulder, mouth agape. “Well, I guess, with that show at the Kalos League…But, it’s a girl! Man, I’m so jealous!” He sulked. Pikachu was more interested in the tiny drawing next to the girl. It looked like him, but with…was that a Butterfree, behind it? What could that mean?

Ash looked the paper over, again and again, for some sort of explanation. It just…appeared in front of him! Did it fall from the sky? Then, what was that puff of smoke? The questions running through his head distracted him from the word that would have normally stood out—battle. It finally came to him as he read it over the fifth time.

“Hey! Whoever this is…they wanna battle!” That was something he understood for sure. “The Pokémon Center, huh? Brock, where is that?”

“Well, let’s see.” He opened up his map and stuck his nose in it. “It looks like there’s two here in Weralle, since it’s a pretty big city. We go…this-a-way, and then, uh, that-a-way…Okay! Follow me, Ash-man!” His face flushed red as he daydreamed. What would Ahasa’s Nurse Joys look like?

Leo could have kept Leafrupp in its PokéBall, but he didn’t want to be walking around in the big city alone. The pup trotted at his side, looking this way and that at all the new sights. Tall, modern buildings, hotels, fancy shops, and even an impressive beach made up the magnificent Weralle City.

Even with the breathtaking view, the newbie Trainer was extremely nervous—not that he’d ever admit it. He’d wanted to go find the route to the forest, stopping at a Pokémon Center first, but this place was just so darn big he couldn’t make heads or tails of which way to go. He walked along the beach at a loss. Was he going to have to ask for directions? Ugh. Gathering his courage, he walked up to a sunbathing couple with a Meowth.

“Um. Excuse me?”

The young red-haired woman twitched. She had better things to do than talk to some snot-nosed twerp. Like working on her tan. She continued to lay there on her stomach, hoping that if she ignored him long enough he’d go away. But Meowth poked a sharp claw at her arm.

“WHAT, you cretin?!” Her shriek made Leo jump, and he started to back away slowly.

“Ssshh!” The feline beckoned her closer and whispered into her ear. “That twerp there’s got a rare Pokémon!”

“Huuh?” She looked over her shoulder, squinting. “That thing?”

The lavender-haired man next to her sat up and explained. “We saw it in the briefing, Jessie. One of the Ahasa region’s beginner Pokémon, Leafrupp. How can we help you, tw—I mean, young man?” He rested his chin on his hand, with his best “you can totally trust me” smile.

Leafrupp whimpered and pawed at its Trainer’s leg. Something was weird!

“Leafrupp, stop that!” Leo scolded. “Um, do you know where a Pokémon Center is?”

“Oh, yes!” The man crooned cheerfully. “In fact, we’ll take you there ourselves? Isn’t that right, Jessie?” Jessie got up and forced a smile, tying a sarong around her waist.

”Of course. Just follow us.” She strutted off in some random direction, and the rest trailed after her.

The trio led Leo around the city, their surroundings becoming increasingly isolated. Leafrupp couldn’t take it anymore. It had to get its Trainer away from these people! The pup suddenly leaped out of Leo’s arms and ran off, hoping he’d chase after.

“Hey!” What’d gotten into it? Was his first Pokémon attempting mutiny already?! He started to run towards it, only to be caught by a net and fall down. Confused, he looked behind him. The three who were supposed to be helping him were grinning, and....the Meowth had a hand-cannon in its paws?! Another net was blasted from the cannon, and Leo heard a distressed yelp. The man and woman ran past him, and stuffed his Leafrupp in a bag!

“Leafrupp! Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Silly little boy, didn’t your mommy tell you not to go off with strangers? Sayonara, sucker!” Jessie stuck her tongue out at him before the three ran off, with his Pokémon in tow.

“Brock, are we sure this is the right way? I mean, there’s just an alley here.”

“Yeah, uh, I think we might’ve taken a left somewhere instead of a right…”

“Aw, man....” A big sigh escaped the Trainer, while his Pikachu’s ears twitched. He could hear something!

“Pika!” Pikachu sprung off Ash’s shoulder and ran deeper into the alley.

“Pikachu?!” Ash and Brock started after the little Pokémon—it wouldn’t just run off for no reason. There had to be something wrong.

“—elp!” Up ahead was a boy struggling to get out of a net. “Help, somebody!” Alarmed, the two rushed over to help him. The net was in a tangled mess—it was definitely going to take a while to get him out.

“Hey, calm down and stay still,” Brock instructed. “It’ll be easier if you don’t tangle it up more.” The kid complied, but he was sniffling and trembling. Ash and Brock worked to untangle and break through the net, while Pikachu tried chewing through it. Finally, he was free, and the two helped the sobbing young Trainer to stand up.

“Man, what a mess! How’d ya end up like this, anyway?”

“Wahh…hic.” Leo took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, teeth clenched as he tried in vain to hold back tears. Why did this have to happen on his very first day as a Pokémon Trainer? “It was…it was these two people and a Meowth, and they…” He looked up at the older boys with a panicked expression. ”They took my Leafrupp! I gotta get it back!” To their surprise, he suddenly rushed past them.

“Hey, wait, hold on!” They ran to catch up with him, Pikachu jumping back on Ash’s shoulder. “That must be Team Rocket! They’re bad guys who steal people’s Pokémon—they’re always after my Pikachu! If they got your…your Pokémon, we’ve gotta get it back quick!”

Leo didn’t say anything, and just kept running. How did he know he could trust these people? He’d literally just gotten tricked by bad guys who he thought were helping him! But at least these guys had helped him out of the net, and…it wasn’t like things could get any worse, right? He slowed down to a stop and looked at the two of them.

“But…how can we find them? They could be anywhere!”

“Well, they’ve usually got this big hot-air balloon shaped like a Meowth…” Ash illustrated the point by stretching out his arms above him. “Hard to miss somethin’ like that.”

“Or we could ask around, if anyone’s seen them.” Brock added.

“Ah, I’m Ash, by the way!” The black-haired boy said cheerfully, pointing at himself. “And my buddy here is Pikachu! What’s your name?”

“Pikachyuu.” Pikachu smiled at their new friend. Maybe looking at his cute squishy face would cheer the kid up!

“Oh—okay.” Leo adjusted his glasses. “I, uh. I’m Leo.”

“And I’m Brock!” The eldest of the three chimed in. “The best place to find out who’s seen something suspicious is police station, so let’s head there first.” Taking the lead, he opened up his map and marched onward—secretly grinning to himself. Ahasa Jenny, here I come!

“A hot-air balloon?” They’d managed to get to the police station properly, at least. Officer Jenny put her hands on her hips and frowned, concerned. “Lucky for you, one of our officers happened to see one during patrol today. It was parked on the outskirts of the city, near the forest entrance. We’ll go right away to check it out and see if we can find your stolen Pokémon.”

The chief officer made several commands through her walkie-talkie, artfully organizing the positions of her colleagues throughout the city. She leaned down, hands on her knees, to make eye contact with Leo.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do everything we can to find your Leafrupp!”

He hated the way adults did that—literally looking down on him. But they were helping him out, so the least he could do was force a smile. “Thank you, ma’am!”

“Come on, let’s do what we can to find them, too!” Ash rushed out of the police station, in pursuit of Team Rocket himself. Not hearing Jenny’s protests, Leo quickly followed behind. Up in the sky, they could see the Meowth-shaped balloon, but it was so far away! Suddenly, a patrol car pulled up to them, the window sliding down to show Officer Jenny at the wheel, and Brock in the passenger seat.

“I know you kids’re worried about the Pokémon, but you might as well get there fast! Hop in!¨ Ash and Leo did just that, and the police car raced to catch up with the balloon, when the police radio crackled, a panicked voice coming out of it.

“Chief! The balloon was just a decoy—there’s no one in it! Just an automatic steering device.”

“What?!”

Jenny brought the vehicle to a screeching stop when two people holding a rather excited canvas bag suddenly ran out in front of the car. Recognizing them, the three passengers all cried out at the same time.

“That’s them!”

The trio of villains shrieked and started for an escape, as everyone in the car rushed out to catch them. Jenny was just about to throw a Poké Ball when a girl’s voice cried out.

“Sparkles, use Thunder!”

A powerful blast of lightning struck right in front of Team Rocket, scaring them enough to stop them in their tracks. An angry female Pikachu with a pink ribbon around her neck stood on all fours, tail raised in apprehension, and snarled at them. The trio, shivering, backed away slowly, only to have the bag with Leafrupp plucked from behind them!

Jessie spun around to see a girl with long black pigtails flashing a bright smile at them. She turned on her heel to skip over to Ash and the others, but not before issuing a command to her Pikachu.

“Sparkles, finish it, okay?” she chirped.

Sparkles smirked, and started to charge up for another powerful attack.

“Yeek!” Team Rocket rushed to get the heck out of there--sure they were used to Electric attacks, but they were going to avoid it if they could help it!

“Hey, you get back here!” Jenny ran off in pursuit of the criminals, her Yungoos running at her side. The pigtailed girl, meanwhile, opened up the bag to free Leafrupp, who excitedly dashed back to its Trainer.

“Leafrupp!” Leo cried out and spread his arms out wide to hug his Pokémon. The little green puppy yapped and licked his face all over.

“Ash!” The girl ran up to him and started chattering away. “I was waitin’ for ya at the Pokémon Center, uh-huh, but then I saw you guys got into some trouble so I came right away! Uh-huh!”

“Uh...” Ash blinked. “Who’re you? Oh, wait!” He hastily pulled the note from earlier out of his pocket, while Sparkles hopped back up onto her Trainer’s hat. Ash held up the note--a girl with pigtails and a Pikachu! “That’s you?!”

“Uh-huh! I’m Himashi, and...” She grinned. “I’m from outer space!”

#[i'm not used to writing idk what im doing]#[just wanted to poop this out]#{ahasa region}#{v: pokemon planet}

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