#look the bloke's got plenty of other stuff on his mind already

[coollyinterferes]

⬦ Plotted starter for @spiritistanchi​​ ⬦

Roaming through the seemingly endless maze of alleys that only added to the general eeriness of the place, Speedwagon came to the decision of leaving for a few hours, all with the sole purpose of looking for a target to strike. Nothing serious, just some pick-pocketing here and there that would get him enough money to not have to worry about the very basic stuff for the next few days, maybe a mugging or two if he was met with resistance. The usual stuff; the same stuff he was slowly working on leaving behind. For now, basic needs had to be covered, and there was only so much that could be done that would give instant results.

Right as he was making his way out, the sound of some rustling nearby rang in his ears. Far too close for him to ignore it. In a place like that, it would be careless, borderline foolish, to pretend he didn't hear anything and just leave. It was always better to be careful and snoop a bit 'just in case' and make sure things weren't getting out of hand, rather than coming to some terrible realization of that kind until it was too late. You can never really know when it comes to a place like this, after all...

The rustling went on, similar to that a cat or a dog makes when it's gotten stuck into piles of rotten wood boxes (the type one can normally find scattered around there), just a little stronger. Not too uncommon, Robert thought. Then again, there were plenty of strays all across the entire area, some having left their homes for one reason or another, ending up lost there at some point, some others having been abandoned there to their luck by their previous owners who now wanted nothing to do with them, some more having lived their entire lives there (these usually being the 'vicious' ones that would often leave a deep impression on whoever got to see them in action).

A quick peek into the alley where the noise had come from allowed Robert to get a glimpse of the culprit: A cat. Huh, nothing to write home about.

Or so he thought...

"What the..." Robert mumbled entirely to himself before he could resume his previous activity, noticing how the cat seemed to have... transformed...? Oh, yes, that was what the feline seemed to have done, having shifted shape into a more humanoid figure this time, or so it would look like. It was difficult for Robert to tell accurately given the poor lighting in the alley as the night had already fallen about an hour ago or so.

Was this a shape-shifter? Speedwagon had heard a little about those, but the stories he'd always heard about them were usually more of the fairytale type. Maybe it was an illusion of some kind? He was certain this was not some hallucination or a trick his mind was playing as a result of the consumption of any heavy substances (he hadn't had any in a while, so that was entirely ruled out). The only other idea he could come up with at the time was one that was far too dreadful and unpleasing... maybe this was somehow connected to Dio and his underlings? If the blond recalled correctly, there had been some odd-looking creatures that weren't precisely zombies –some of them with some animal-like features to them– running around in Dio's castle, screeching and causing trouble. As far as their group knew, they had killed up until the last one of them... There was also the fact that, well, every single supernatural being they had come across up until now had been inevitably linked to Dio in some way. Thinking about all that... the theory seemed to make some more sense, becoming now a possibility despite how unlikely it could have seemed at first glance; a possibility that demanded some investigation to see what this bloke was all about and what could he be up to.

Ah, it seemed like Speedwagon's plans for making some quick and easy money were going to have to be put on hold for a bit, being replaced with new ones that involved following this bloke around, which he promptly began to do as soon as his new target started moving location, always making sure to be as stealthy as he possibly could and putting a decent distance between them, enough to not get easily caught while also keeping the chances of losing complete sight of him relatively low.

#spiritistanchi #[heyo~ sorry this took a bit!!!] #[hope it works for you. else please let me know and i'll write you something else!! :D] #[also no need to match length so don't worry about that!!]

[shurelyasreverie]

Twisted Fate x Reader: Wanna Bet?

After a successful heist, you and Twisted Fate play cards to pass away the time, but it seems that money isn't the prize Tobias has on his mind...

Word Count: 1654

The life of a thief and mercenary was not an easy one, but it had its perks. The thrill of living on the edge, fighting nail and tooth for precious gold and jewels made this life addictive, especially with two reliable comrades that stood by your side through thick and thin. Tobias Felix had the charm, Malcolm Graves had the brawn, and most importantly, you had the common sense to not get yourself killed. Combined, you were an unstoppable force, shown again today through another successful heist that got you plenty of gold for you to throw away at the local pub.

Taking a table at the corner, you and Tobias had barely gone through a glass as Graves already finished a bottle of the heavy duty stuff, sending him slumped on a chair, dead to the world.

“It's been less than ten minutes and Grave's already a goner,” you groaned as you finished a shot glass.

“Well he don't look like he'll be causing any trouble tonight,” Tobias mused, sliding an already prepared shot to you.

“Cheers,” you mumbled in thanks as you took the new glass, about to down it until you hesitated. You looked at Tobias sceptically, the entire time his enigmatic smile was plastered on his face. You slammed the glass down. “Oh no, no, no. I'm not falling for that old trick again.”

“Whatever do you mean?” His voice had a light lilt, feigning ignorance.

“You get me drunk just so I'll agree to play cards with you, then I end up losing half my gold because of you,” you groaned as many regretful memories plagued your mind. You rubbed your temples, both the alcohol and memories causing a headache.

“Today might be your lucky day, you could end up winning against me.”

“Are you kidding me? Your skill and magic with cards is literally your selling point. It's your only selling point.”

“You wound me,” he frowned teasingly. You cursed yourself for feeling weak to his deep, reverberating voice as he chuckled. It was the alcohol's fault, right? Right.

“Anyway, why do you keep bothering me about cards? What's the point if you know you're going to win?”

“Just because I win doesn't mean it ain't a challenge,” Tobias corrected. “You're good with whatever hand you're given.”

“Play with Graves then.”

“He's too dumb,” he responded plainly. “Anyway, does he look like he's in a state to play?”

He pointed to the passed out form next to you.

“Point taken but I'm still not playing,” you grumbled, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Our heist went well and we got good money from it. I refuse to lose it all in the first night.”

“Fine...” Tobias huffed but after a brief moment he leaned back with a signature smirk on his face, already shuffling a deck of cards. “But how about this? We play but we don't bet money. I promise.”

“You don't keep your promises.”

“I've kept the ones I've made with you,” he pointed out. You had to give him that, you don't remember him ever breaking a promise but you barely remember him making any promises in the first place.

“Fine. What're we dealing with, then?”

His smile widened as he started to deal the cards. “I don't normally bet on this 'cause it requires trust. But I trust you.”

“A dangerous choice but I'm honoured.”

“I want your honesty,” Tobias announced and you raised your eyebrows. “I ask you a question and you answer wholeheartedly and entirely truthfully. Can you promise me that?”

You downed another shot as you contemplated.

“Sure.”

“That's what I like to hear,” he smirked.

Unsurprisingly, you lost, and quickly too.

“And here I was thinkin' you'd put up more of a fight,” he mused as he collected the cards and shuffled.

“I figured we'd be playing multiple games so I'm conserving energy,” you retorted and Tobias nodded in amusement.

“Fair.”

“So... your prize?”

“Ah, of course. I'll make this easy for you first. Ease you into it,” Tobias stopped shuffling to watch you. “Answer me honestly: what do you think of the pants Graves bought today?”

You pulled a face before instantly covering it up. “Well, I mean- he's wanted those things for ages... he was very happy with them.”

“Honesty, sweetheart,” Tobias reminded and your heart raced at the name as you cleared your throat. You sent a cautious glance over to a passed out Graves. You snapped your fingers by each of his ears, clapped your hands in front of his face and then lightly slapped him.

Not a peep.

Knowing now he'll never hear your answer, you leaned into Tobias. “I hate the ghastly things. They're a crime to all things good on this earth, I haven't seen anything uglier and at that price? You've got to be kidding me.”

By the time you were done with your rant, Tobias had a fist to his mouth, suppressing his laughter.

“I ain't ever seen you so passionate about anything before,” he mustered as he picked up his new hand of cards. You did the same.

“He was just so happy when he got them, I couldn't tell him what I truly thought,” you sighed as you put down a card.

“And what do you think of my looks?”

As he placed a card for his turn your eyes scanned Tobias up and down. Purely for noting his attire, and definitely not to admire his figure and features.

“You dress fine. It seems to work well for you, anyway,” you replied.

“Meaning?”

“If your clothes were ugly, your charm wouldn't work,” you explained. “But it seems no one has complaints about what you wear. Hell, a lot of people probably like it.”

Tobias hummed thoughtfully. “That so? Lady Luck's blessed me with a lotta things but she didn't give me no luck on the dating scene.”

“I think that's less Lady Luck and more just you being unfaithful.”

“Aw, come now. I ain't that bad.”

“Prove it.”

“You free tomorrow night?”

“Not like that,” you groaned as Tobias laughed.

“Ah... and would you look at that, I've won again.”

“I really shouldn't have agreed to this,” you grumbled as you chucked the rest of your hand onto the pile of cards.

“Now, tell me,” he leaned forward. “Who do you prefer? Me or Graves?”

“What?” You frowned. “Listen, you're both my partners in crime. We're a trio. I rely on both of you equally. Malcolm might be an idiot sometimes but he's a good, trustworthy bloke. Honestly, I admire him. Sometimes.”

“... I see,” Tobias nodded and he leaned back. He didn't inquire any further and you raised your eyebrows at his sudden solemnness. He idly rearranged and shuffled the cards as he seemed lost in thought. You sighed, figuring to give him the honesty you promised to give him.

“That being said, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel closer to you.”

“Oh?”

You nodded, saying no more. The three of you had each other's backs but it always felt a little more meaningful knowing Tobias was by your side. How he seemed to always know the right things to say to keep you motivated, encouraging you forward with a firm hand on the small of your back. You bit your lip, making sure you didn't voice your thoughts to him. Your words already seemed to have impacted him regardless, cards already dealt for a new game with his smirk back on his face.

“You're playin' better than before,” Tobias observed.

“I feel the next question is going to be a big one,” you replied, sending a wink. Tobias cleared his throat in response, hurriedly putting down a card.

After a few minutes of silence, another card was placed down and Tobias leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face. You frowned at his empty hand before sighing in resignation.

“Right, what do you want to know?” You took a pint of ale, bringing it to your lips.

“Would you date me?”

You almost spat out your drink. Eyes wide, you searched Tobias' face, wondering if he was lying. But there was no teasing smile, instead he was dead serious, his dark eyes burning into yours.

“I- what sort of question is that?”

“I want to know what you think of me,” he replied frankly.

“You're great,” you answered quickly.

“But would you date me? Remember your promise.”

“Why do you want to know?” You pouted.

“I think you can figure it out,” he cooed, bringing his face closer to yours. Frozen in place, you couldn't lean away. His nimble fingers took your chin, making you look at him. “Work partners ain't enough for me. I'm hopin' Lady Luck might help me out with you. So... what do you say?”

“I say...” you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his. Although when you tried to pull away, the grip on your chin tightened as Tobias kissed you back. Whenever you tried to part for air, his lips chased yours, only relenting as you placed a hand to his chest with a giggle.

“I love you,” you admitted.

“Dangerous words, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Soon enough you'll be beatin' me in the charm department.”

The moment was interrupted by the slow clapping of Graves, making you practically shove Tobias away as heat rushed to your face. Since when was he awake?

“About goddamn time,” Graves grumbled as he stood up. “I'll get some new drinks, it's on me to celebrate the new happy couple.”

#oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #drabble #lol #league of legends #league of legends imagine #league of legends x reader #twisted fate #league of legends twisted fate #twisted fate x reader #x reader #self insert #y/n #fluff #shurelyasreverie

[aealzx]

I’m going to put this one under the cut juuuust in case |D There’s a bit of mention of gorey stuff, and things that might be uncomfortable to some about Vanitas’ time with Xehanort and scientists.

I just realized when I was going through pics that I haven’t drawn Vanitas in awhile. So I wanted to draw him again, and ended up focusing on one of his therapy sessions, if they could be called that. |D I dunno anything about proper therapy, could never fine any psychiatrists that weren’t just “how did that make you feel?” or laughed at me.

“What would YOU know of my life Valentine? Did you live through it? You’ve spoken to me for four years already, but what does it matter? How can you hope to sympathize with something you’ve never experienced? Is this fun for you? To pick me apart with words much like those men cut my arms to see if I still bleed like a human.”

The sessions were starting to go downhill again. It was a struggle each time, for Vincent could never figure out what triggered them. Lacing his fingers in front of him, Vincent just watched Vanitas shout at him, refusing to make any sudden movements that might startle the boy and giving some time for him to calm down a little. “I’m aware of some of what happened to you and Ventus, Vanitas. But my goal here is not to try to empathize with you. It’s to help you come to terms with something affecting you in ways you refuse to admit. I hold no joy in your distress.”

“HA!” Vanitas barked, shifting into one of his moods where he preferred to laugh rather than shrink away. “Hahahaha, you pretend this is for my sake, as if I don’t know it’s all for you. You who had the tragic son you wish you could save. An abomination that murdered some poor bloke’s mother, I’ve heard all about it. You think by helping me you can save him? It doesn’t work that way. I have to be someone worthy of saving in the first place.”

“You don’t think you’re worthy?” Vincent asked, expertly keeping his voice level despite the prodding from Vanitas about his own past.

“Pff, don’t care. I’m not looking for some dumb redemption change or whatever,” Vanitas answered, making quotes in the air with his fingers in mocking. “I’m happy the way I am. Don’t want to deal with your light bullsh-.”

“You’re happy being here in a mental ward, without freedom to do as you please? Happy to be unable to sleep at night because of nightmares? Not being able to see the brother you cherish so dee-”

“And having some person here constantly badgering me about stuff that doesn’t matter?” Vanitas interrupted. “It’s not much different, actually. The only difference is that the cage doesn’t have bars, but a wooden door and walls. And the doctors don’t stab with knives, but with their words instead. You’re not so different, Doctor. Just because blood doesn’t actually run down your hands like the others.”

This time Vincent remained quiet, just watching Vanitas over his own fingers as the boy sagged down to lean back on the plush chair again. He watched Vincent carefully for a moment, before giving him a slight smirk.

“You know, there was this one kid there. Cut open his chest just to watch his heart beat. Dm dm. Dm dm,” Vanitas explained, placing his hands on his chest and pulling out slightly, then flaring them in rhythm to a heartbeat. “Just bleed on the floor, they didn’t care. Maybe they could see what was wrong just by looking with their eyes. ‘Course it didn’t work. Had to stitch him back up, and I dunno what happened after that. Not like I cared. The ones that cried and whined for mommy and daddy got the beatings. But if you gave the beatings instead.... They liked the fighters. Sometimes they’d let me out, if I beat up the other kids for them. Keep them in line.”

“.....It’s common for people to do terrible things in the mind of self preservation. You felt threatened, so you performed actions that would keep your captors from harming you. The fault lies with them.”

“Even for the girl I chose to shoot on my own?” Vanitas asked, a smile splitting his face when Vincent’s fingers twitched. “You know, we actually got out once. Some do gooder hero broke us out of the cells. But then there were the bodyguards behind us, chasing the little girl with pigtails as she ran with Ventus. She wasn’t going to get anywhere like that, dragging his half functioning body around. So when they caught up to us I took their gun… and I shot her, for being so stupid. That should have taught her a lesson for ruining everything I built up. Her and the other guy. Can’t say I know what happened to them, for they took us back soon enough.”

Vincent had to keep himself from reacting too much to the new revelation. He already knew that Vanitas had helped beat the other kids, but this was the first time he’d ever heard of them having a failed rescue attempt. And Vanitas claimed he’d shot a little girl? Had it been a dream, or had it actually happened? “Why would you hinder their attempt to help you?”

“Why would you ask me that, Doctor? I thought that was your job to figure out,” Vanitas responded, jaw resting on his fist. “And I think you’ll have plenty of time for that. I’m sure our session is over now.”

“I can extend it if necessary,” Vincent countered, not liking how Vanitas was avoiding the question. It was just a guess at this point, but Vincent was sure that Vanitas avoided content that made him feel like there was something more behind his actions than senseless violence.

“Don’t make me call the nurses in here,” Vanitas threatened, eyes narrowing. “I’m sure I could use the nap. Apparently I don’t sleep well after all.”

Vincent tensed, but inevitably let out a sigh in relent. He’d rather not have Vanitas attack him for the countless time just to have nurses rush in to sedate him. “Very well, Vanitas. We’ll pick this up next week. As usual.”

#my art #kingdom hearts #khau #htau #hreat transplant au #vanitas #angry boy #mention of gore #I guess #nothing detailed

[ashtray-girl]

Hey! I know you don't have the answer to this, but what are some of your theories concerning Johnny's feelings towards Morrissey? When i listen/read Morrissey's solo work it seems that their relationship wasn't completely one-sided (in the other hand in the smiths it seems so). Also how Morrissey often gives hints in his songs (and even in that interview "why doesn’t anyone ever assume that Johnny Marr was in love with me?") that Johnny isn't/wasn't being true to himself. 1/2

Especially in the song (that wasn’t released)  “Born To Hang”  “I am born to hang but not to have kids and to never be wed, no to someone who I don't even love” like it seems so strange.  By the way i absolutely love this blog (especially your essays) you’re such a good analyst, keep going! 2/2

hey anon, thank you so much! i’m glad you enjoy my ramblings! :)

i’ll try to answer your question step by step (and as usual, keep in mind that these are all just theories and speculations... after all, i wasn’t even born when all of this stuff happened haha)

so, first of all: do i believe that Johnny could be gay/bi? personally... yes. i don’t know if you’ve ever read Johnny’s autobiography, Set The Boy Free... it came out a few years ago and there’s a passage in the 5th chapter which i’ve never seen anyone talk abt, but which i personally think it’s worth considering when talking abt Johnny’s stand on the lgbt community: “My friend Tony was a beautiful creature, another Bowie fan, with a blond Ziggy haircut, high cheekbones, and green eyes like a Siamese cat. [...] Tony was three years older than me and was the first guy I knew who was openly gay. [...] We were together a lot, and it got some people talking, which didn’t bother me at all - we had a lot of things in common, and plenty to talk about. [...] One Saturday afternoon [...] we were waiting at the bus stop when two big uglies came over and started making cooing noises and blowing kisses. I looked at Tony’s face as he continued talking to me, and I could see he was aware of the situation. ‘Eh,’ said one of the lads, ‘are you queers?’. They were obviously up for a fight. I readied myself for the inevitable as Tony continued to talk to me with his back to the goons and appeared to be ignoring their remarks until one pushed him in the back and said, ‘Eh, y’fuckin’ queer’. With that, Tony grabbed my head and kissed me on the lips for what seemed like a very, very long time, then spun around and attacked the biggest of the two with really hard punches to the face until the lad went to his knees. He then grabbed the other guy, who was backing off, punched him very hard in the face and threw him down into the road full of traffic. [...] As we ran towards the train station, Tony turned to me and said, ‘That was nice’ and then, laughing, he added, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t do it again.’

let’s keep in mind this was back in the 70s, Johnny was still a teenager growing up in a violently homophobic environment, and yet he makes a point of underlining the fact that ppl thinking he was gay bc he was hanging out with a gay bloke didn’t bother him in the slightest, even though he could’ve literally been beaten up for it. it’s true that he later met Angie, they got together and he never looked back, but i often wonder... if he had met Morrissey while he was still single, would things have panned out differently for them? if Morrissey’s romantic feelings towards Johnny had been mutual, would Johnny have had the courage to take their relationship any further? when reading Johnny’s interviews, i always get the feeling that he’s the kind of person who would rather show than tell. and, after leaving The Smiths, what does he do (among other things)? he collabs with The Pet Shop Boys, another band whose members have often been rumoured to be in a relationship with each other. and, a couple of years later, he co-writes and plays on Billy Bragg’s song Sexuality, with lyrics such as: “And just because you’re gay I won’t turn you away / If you stick around I’m sure that we can find some common ground.” it’s like... he never reveals anything specifically abt himself and his sexual orientation, but he uses the thing he’s most famous for (his guitar work) to leave enough breadcrumbs around to let ppl know exactly where he stands on the matter.

now... do i believe Morrissey was in love with Johnny? yes. obviously i will never be able to prove that 100%, but i feel like the clues are just too many to ignore.

however... do i believe that Johnny reciprocated Morrissey’s feelings? ... yes. kind of. i think that because they weren’t just friends but colleagues as well, most of their relationship was shrouded in ambiguity out of necessity. my theory is that Johnny knew of Morrissey’s feelings for him but that he may have underestimated them, thinking it was only a crush when actually for Moz it was much more than that, only realising the full extent of the situation when it was too late (after Morrissey allegedly phoned him to tell him he’d od’d on sleeping pills and confessed his love for him - which would also explain why, according to Bernard Sumner, he was feeling “traumatised” by him). this, combined with the fact that he was already in a relationship and that his drive and ambition made him prioritise the band and their music above everything else, may all have been contributing factors as to why he never felt like he could’ve explored, let alone embraced whatever he was feeling towards Morrissey, even if he wanted to.

#answered #marrissey

[lu-undy]

Chapter 50 - SBT

Here it is!

Mundy frowned at Lucien. 

"What d'you mean 'non' ?" He asked. "I'll get the bloke as soon as I can get out of here." 

"Look at you." Lucien raised Mundy's arms and the Aussie hissed out of pain. His muscles were still sore. "Bruises, bruises and oh? Bruises! Your skin has patches of purple everywhere…"

"Yeah, well, I'll just wait for them to go away and I'll get him."

"Mundy, they caught you, beat you up, chained you to a wall and drugged you."

"Yeah but I'm still here so I won't give up."

Lucien rolled up his eyes and frowned. He started to be annoyed. 

"They had in mind to kill you and throw your corpse in the sewers, Mundy! How much clearer do I need to make this?! You are not returning there on your own like that!"

Mundy frowned, he removed his hand off of Lucien's.

"What's it gotta do to you? Let me go and do my thing!" 

"Non, Mundy! They caught you once, they will catch you again! You lost the element of surprise! You actually made us lose the element of surprise! You made it harder for the both of us to do it now!"

"Are you angry at me now cause I tried to do it myself and not get your sorry arse killed?!" Mundy exclaimed. 

"I then risked both of our lives getting us out of the trouble that you" Lucien put his index on Mundy's chest, "got yourself into!" 

"I never asked for your bloody heroics!" 

"What was I supposed to do?! Leave you to die?"

"What difference does it make to you - argh!" Mundy put his hands on his head. 

Lucien sighed and left the room. The Doctor came to Mundy's side not a minute later. 

"So, you have woken up?"

"Yeah…"

"Anything hurting?" 

"My head, Doc', it's almost like a hungover but even worse…"

"You will need to hydrate plenty for your body to get rid of the drugs you've been fed. And here, for the headache, but don't take these pills on an empty stomach. And as for your bruises, I rubbed some cream on them last night. You're welcome to do it again, four times a day max, until the pain goes away. The tube is on your night table."

"Can I go back home?" 

"Are you in a hurry?" 

"Kind of." 

"Mundy…"

The Doctor came closer to his patient and sighed. 

"What?" The Aussie asked. 

"He stayed with you all night. He actually carried you in here and took care of you, maybe more than I did." The Doctor nodded in the direction of the window through which they both could see Lucien leaning on the nearby lamp post and smoking.

Mundy sighed. 

"What d'you want me to do? I can't trust him. It's always the same with him, you think you understand him and poof, walk backwards for a mile cause turns out he played you like a damn fiddle!"

"Mundy, look at your bed." The Doctor said, and Mundy looked down. 

"What about it?" 

"Look at the beds." 

Now it struck Mundy. The beds were stuck to each other.

"And didn't you notice his red eyes?" The Doctor asked. 

"He stayed up late?"

"No… No, he cr-"

Lucien entered the room and the Doctor changed his sentence.

"Do you have any memory of what happened yesterday?" He asked as Lucien stood in front of the mirror to button up his shirt. 

"No, not really… I had the wildest dreams though…" Mundy answered. 

"Like what?" The Doctor questioned. 

"I dreamt I was in a bathtub and someone was washin' me. I couldn't see their face. But they talked and talked endlessly… They had a nice voice. It was a bloke's voice, though I couldn't understand anything they said…"

Lucien stopped closing his shirt and stared through the window, his back still to Mundy and the Doctor. 

"Anything else?" 

"Y-n-no… I mean… Nothin'..."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. He knew Mundy had lied. 

"In that case, I'll leave you two. Other patients call for me." 

"Thanks, Doc'." 

And the Doctor left. Lucien waited for the door to shut completely before breaking the tense silence. 

"Where did the lie start and where did it end?" He asked.

"What?" Mundy asked. 

"You remember more than what you said."

Mundy sighed and rolled his eyes. 

"Come on. What else do you remember, let us hear it." Lucien came back on his bed and Mundy sat up.

"I remember you helped me walk out of Duchemin's place…"

"Hm-mh."

Mundy frowned to try and wring more out of his memory. 

"And uh - huh?!" He gasped. "What about the girls?! My van?!"

"Don't worry. I found them and they are safe with Maurice."

"Oh, thank God for that…" Mundy sighed in relief. 

"You are welcome, although… I was quite surprised at first to find half a dozen teenage girls in your van, I must admit." 

"The sick bastard was usin' them. They're kids goddamn it!" 

"I know. They will be transferred to the right kind of authorities as soon as possible. It is perhaps already done." Lucien answered. 

"Oh, ok… Sounds good for them… and awfully posh."

"You know me." Lucien smiled.

Mundy raised his eyes over to Lucien. 

"I don't." He answered and the Frenchman's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Everytime I think I know you, you come up with lies that were hidden right under my nose and blow them up my face. I know nothin' about you, mate. You might as well be a sheila dressed as a bloke, who works as a baker and I wouldn't have a clue…" He crossed his arms on his chest. 

"Mundy-"

"No. Don't make this any harder and just shut up. I'm tired, my head burns and I've heard enough lies from you." Mundy turned to come off of his bed. He went to the pile of clothes that the Doctor had placed there for him and started to get dressed. 

"Mundy?"

The Aussie stopped buckling his belt and sighed. He was giving him his back. 

"What now?" 

"Do you remember the bet?" Lucien asked and saw Mundy's shoulders sink. 

"The what?" 

"You heard me. And you know what I am talking about." 

Mundy sighed. 

"You won your bet. I can honour my part of it whenever you feel ready for it." Lucien said. 

"I'd never do it." Mundy answered. 

"Why?" 

"Does it bother just me that you like a bloke but do… stuff that you should do to him to me?"

"Non. Because I am doing it to him."

"Well then that just went from a bit weird to complete madness…! And how do you think they'd react if they knew that what you do to them, you do to me too?" Mundy asked. 

"You mean, if they knew about my feelings for them?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, that, and all those things you do to me…" Mundy removed his medical robe and continued dressing up.

"I took your advice, Mundy, and I told him. I told him what I held in my heart for him." 

"And?" 

"He didn't listen, or maybe he couldn't hear." Lucien lowered his head. He picked his socks and garters off the floor and got dressed. "I think he didn't even understand what I was saying."

"What d'you mean? How did he not understand? Did you say it in French and he doesn't speak it or something?" 

"I said it in French and…"

"In English, I guess?" Mundy was buttoning the polo shirt that the Doctor lent him. 

"In tears." 

"What?"

"I cried, Mundy. My eyes still hurt from it now as I speak to you."

"Does he understand French though?"

"Mundy, if I were to tell you things as strong as that, don't you think the language matters little?" Lucien asked.

"Guess so…" The Aussie frowned. "But God knows you're so hard to follow. Just be clear with him." 

"I shall." Lucien put on his jacket and went to the door. 

"Also," Mundy interrupted him and Lucien stopped. "Since when d'you follow anyone's advice, let alone mine?" 

The Frenchman opened the door and answered.

"Since I fell for him."

He left the room.

And that was the last Mundy saw of Lucien for days. Mundy needed to take a break off of everything. So he decided to stay for a few days at the lake. He spent his time hunting, swimming and taking care of his equipment. Over that week, his wounds slowly disappeared and his skin became clear again, if a bit more tanned by the sun.

Lucien's proposition stuck to his mind. The bet. It wasn't a dream then? Hm. Weird. 

Of course, Mundy wanted to go and enjoy some dinner with the Frenchman. But what about that man he loved? He had told him about his feelings but he apparently didn't get the hint, hm? And even without that, with all the hand holding and leaning on his shoulder that Lucien did to Mundy, the guy still didn't get it? How slow and dumb he was! 

If Lucien was to do all that with Mundy, the Aussie thought that surely he would understand, especially if the Frenchman had said it. What would it look like, eh? Lucien admitting his feelings? 

Mundy started imagining it, his imagination ran wild. 

Surely Lucien wouldn't trip over his own words and blush ridiculously. Nah, the bloke had experience in those things and he is confident in himself. But given how soft Lucien could be, Mundy imagined that he would hold that man's hand, look into his eyes with his own ice blue eyes and just say it as honestly as he could, in French. 

"Je t'aime."

[I love you.]

The snob would surely say it over some dinner with some wine that costs more than Mundy's van twice… 

The Aussie smiled to himself. 

Yeah, and he would be wearing one of those other custom-made suits that also cost more than all of Mundy's clothes combined, ha!

One thing was for sure, Mundy knew Lucien was so suave, so elegant and refined that there was no way it would look like the disaster Mundy would make out of the situation. If the Aussie was asked to do it, he would blush so hard, his entire body would be trembling and sweating bullets bigger than his rifle's. In the end, he would probably pass out before the words make it out of his mouth. A disaster, an utter chain of unfortunate events rolling into one another, down a steep hill.

"Crikey…"

Mundy had been driving as he had thought about all that. The van parked on an almost empty parking lot, he exited it and went through the black wrought-iron gate and into that God forsaken place. 

He walked through the narrow alleys made of rectangular grey concrete tiles, trying to pay attention to his feet and not walk on anything he shouldn't. Every step he took cost him dearly, as he remembered the last time he had taken those steps. Ten years ago, he looked at his boots the same way as he was now but could hardly see his boots that his mother had bought for him. The tears blurred his vision and his mind refused to see anything anyway. 

Those steps felt like he was walking barefoot on sizzling, burning coal, glowing in orange between the flames that devoured it. Now, the fire had died, the coal was ashes and he was wearing a pair of boots he had freshly bought after the incident at Duchemin's. 

Mundy sighed when he stopped in front of the two tombstones. He knelt down and removed his hat. He could hardly see the names through the thick vines. So he decided to clean everything up, and he did it with shame. He shouldn't have let his parent's place of rest get into this mess, it was horrendously disrespectful. 

"I'm sorry Mum… Dad, I'm sorry, I just… Mum, I couldn't, I just couldn't."

He cleared the tombstones until they were clean and he could read the names on them.

"Michael John Turner"

"Caroline Mary Turner, born Clark"

He sat down cross-legged. 

"Hey Mum and Dad… I… I'm sorry I've never come to visit… Ah, bugger, I should've brought flowers, shouldn't I? I'm sure you'd tell me off for that, Mum. I'm sorry." 

He took a deep breath and removed his glasses too. He put them on the ground next to the hat. 

"Yeah, I uh… I kept your glasses and your hat, Dad. They're old things now, especially the hat. But I'm takin' care of them and I'd never let go of them." 

He tried smiling but it didn't feel right to grin at two slabs of stone while pretending he could see his parents' faces. 

"I uh… I guess you've been watchin' me from up above. And yes, Dad, I took my rifle again, I know you don't like it but the bloke who did that to you, he's here. I'll use my rifle for one last time on him. I promise it'll be the last time." 

Mundy could see his father lowering his head and shaking it in disappointment. 

"I-I know, Dad, I know what you think about it." 

Mundy turned his head to look at his mother. She was looking at him with sympathetic eyes. 

"I uh… Since you've been watchin' me from up above, uh… I guess you know that… Well, there's something I need to tell you. Dad, I could never say that to you if you were alive, but you both need to know it." 

He took a deep breath. 

"Y'know how you've always been pushin' me to find a sheila, settle down and all? Well, uh, I could do that, yeah but… I uh, I also like blokes…" Mundy screwed his eyes shut to not see his parents' reaction, the shock, the surprise, the disgust maybe. "And right now, there's… There's this one guy who… I mean you get it, right?" 

He dared open his eyes and looked at his mother. 

"M-mum, I… I love him. I love him and I don't know what to do. He's head over heels for another bloke and - ugh… I don't know… He promised me a dinner date b-but he fancies someone else… I-I don't know what to do! Please, Mum, tell me. Tell me what I should do and I'll do it."

Mundy implored with his pleading eyes but of course, the cold hard engraving of his mother's name on the stone did not answer. 

"Son?" 

Mundy's ears pricked up and he looked behind him. There was an old lady. 

"Are you alright, here? All grown up and strong, but still asking for Mum's advice eh?" Her voice was thin and fragile. 

"Y-yeah." Mundy picked up his glasses and hat off of the floor and stood up. 

"Pardon me, son, but I heard what you said to your parents."

"Ah, uh… Sorry I was a bit loud… I thought I was alone here, I didn't really pay attention…"

The old lady took his hand in her bony one and looked up at him. 

"Come down here, my poor eyes can't see you properly." 

Mundy was indeed very tall compared to the old woman. He obeyed and went down on one knee. 

"Sorry, Ma'am."

"It's alright, ah… Handsome man you are too, eh?" She pulled on one of his cheeks and he blushed. "You know, for your… problem. If you like the bloke, go for it. Each opportunity to find someone who likes you back is rare and it doesn't get better with time."

"Y-yeah but he told me he liked someone else, I can't do that to that other bloke. If I go and get dinner with him, that means that he can do that to me too. He can go and have dinner with another half a dozen people!" 

"It's true. But there is no time to lose asking yourself those questions, son. Besides, do you know that other man?"

"No, just that the guy I like told him that he liked him but he didn't understand, or didn't hear, I don't know, it's not very clear…"

"If he is indecisive, it's all the better for you. Go, son, and I'm sure he will see you are deserving and worthy of his attention more than anyone else." She answered. 

"How can you know that?" 

"Look at you. And look at them." She pointed her cane at the tombstones of Mundy's parents. "They have been here for ten years and you still remember them. You still come and talk to them, you ask them for their advice. Ah, I wish my kids would do that to me. You are a good man, son, there's no doubt about that. But I can see it in those eyes of yours…" She squinted and got her face closer to Mundy's and held his chin. "You are heartbroken. There is no time in life for that." 

Mundy sighed.

"Yeah… Guess you're right." 

"Does he know that you love him?"

"H-he might… I'm not… I'm not very good at hidin' it… I…"

She chuckled and the lines on her face all radiated under her smile.

"I can see that, eh." She tapped his shoulder. "Now, go."

"Thanks, Ma'am." Mundy stood up and went back to his van.

He drove to an open field and parked there.

Mundy glanced at his watch. Time to get ready. He changed into his three-piece, beige suit, tied his hair back into a ponytail and drove to town. 

He knew it was probably the worst idea he could have now. It was contradictory and didn't make sense with what he told Lucien. But his heart had cried too loud and he didn't want to miss any of it: Mundy was en route to the Queen Victoria. 

Yes, his head was screaming at him to not do it, it would wreck his heart even harder. Seeing the object of all his desires on stage, impeccably dressed, his fair eyes glimmering under the spotlight like the most precious of diamonds… 

"Ugh…" And it had started already. The warm coil in his stomach. Now, even just the thought of the Frenchman made Mundy's body react. It was exquisite agony, the joy of seeing him projected against his closed eyelids each time he blinked, and yet the heartbreak to know that that alluring silhouette would only ever be vapor between Mundy's hands. He would never hold it tangibly… 

The Aussie parked the van and pulled the handbrake before taking a deep breath. Ok, he would have his dessert, watch Lucien sing and then get back to his van and drive off. He wouldn't go backstage. Attending the show was dangerous enough for his heart, no need to go and find him afterwards and maybe stumble upon him and his… lover? 

Mundy shook his head and jumped out of the van to let the cold air of the night slap him across the face.

He made it in and soon was seated in the dimly lit dining area. The waiter brought him his chocolate dessert and coffee without him even asking. But Mundy couldn't care less because he hadn't dressed up, done his hair and driven all the way from the middle of the desert for that. 

The whole show was slow, so slow when Mundy was waiting for the final song. He wished people didn't take that much time to applaud after each piece…! 

But finally it arrived. It happened.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! The man you have been waiting for tonight, the great Lulu!" 

The curtains rolled open under the applause and Mundy's heart swelled at the sight of Lucien. Gosh, how the hell did he manage to always look like that? It's like they took him from the magazines or from TV. He looked too good to be real but Mundy didn't care if he saw him truly or with the eyes of love. He removed his glasses to see him better, and not under the yellow filter behind which he too often hid.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for honouring me with your presence." 

God damn that French accent… 

"Tonight, I would like to sing the issue our hearts know all too well… When you live love like a song and you want to make it last, regardless of any hurt it might induce, because the burning that your heart feels when you see them puts out any little bit of hurt. When you try to play your cards in the best way, when you try to make it last with someone with whom your head knows it is dangerous to be… But your heart," Lucien tapped his black vest with the velvet cashmere motifs. "Your heart needs that presence, that smile, those eyes…"

Lucien raised his eyes to his audience and foolish Mundy thought that he was looking straight at him. 

"Here is to you, whom my mind needs to see constantly."

{To the readers, the song is "How do you keep the music playing" as sung by Frank Sinatra}

"How do you keep the music playing?

How do you make it last?

How do you keep the song from fading

Too fast?"

Mundy raised an eyebrow. Lucien was singing in English?

"How do you lose yourself to someone

And never lose your way?

How do you not run out of new things

To say?"

And he wasn't playing the piano. No, he was walking on the stage, the microphone in his hand, his face and his body meaning the words that his beautifully thin lips said aloud, for everyone to hear. He closed his eyes to focus on his vibrato. But then opened them fast and Mundy could almost see his feline pupils retracting from the intensity of the spotlight.

"I know the way I feel for you is now or never

The more I love, the more that I'm afraid

That in your eyes I may not see forever, 

forever"

He finished his sentence with his head lowered and his face distraught.

"If we can be the best of lovers"

He raised his head to Mundy. Oui, Lucien was singing to this one man, no one else.

"Yet be the best of friends"

He stared at him intensely. No spotlight was bright enough to blind him. And even if it was, Lucien could still see him with the eyes of the heart, those who feel.

"If we can try with every day to make it better as it grows

With any luck than I suppose

The music never ends"

He inhaled deeply and sharply before bursting out singing loudly, moving the microphone away from his lips, his eyes screwed shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. Lucien was singing a cry for help. He had gone too far with his lies and half-truths and had lost the man for whom he would gladly surrender himself. He opened his arm in front of him, clenching his gloved fist as she sang and cried.

"I know the way I feel for you is now or never!

The more I love, the more that I'm afraid!

That in your eyes I may not see forever!

forever!"

Lucien slowly moved his clenched fist to his chest and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and with it, more tears rolled down his slender cheeks. He waited for the orchestra to conclude before bowing to the audience who applauded him loudly. 

Mundy stood gaping at the outstanding performance that the Frenchman offered. Not only was he a sight to behold, his hair flying above him as he walked the stage, his long and slim, gloved fingers brushing the air poetically. Argh! Mundy wished he could be that air, under Lucien's fingers!

The lights came back on in the dining area and when Mundy emerged of his daydream, Lucien had exited the stage. He collected his hat and glasses and stood up. 

"You haven't finished your dessert. In fact, you haven't touched it." 

The French accent that spoke behind him sawed Mundy's heart in halves. 

"Did my performance cut your appetite?" 

Mundy turned and saw Lucien sitting at his table, opposite the seat Mundy himself had been occupying.

"Please?" 

Lucien gestured to Mundy to resume his seat.

#tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #sniperspy #SBT

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Eight, “Almost There”

Clickable Links: 

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Playlist

- *NEW* Hecky Blurb from The Sex Bucketlist Fic Challenge (currently an extra chapter)

- Becky Character Survey #2 

- Harry Character Survey 

Word Count: 7.4k words

Warnings: None

                                  SNEAKKKKKKKK PEEEEEK

“At moments throughout the day, I could’ve cared less that I was being paid for all of this, because being in Harry’s presence for almost every second was rewarding enough. I got to remember the dark little freckles smattered across his face, the tan ones peppering his nose you can see if you’re close enough, and how utterly happy I feel being around him. He quickly felt like the sun and I was the orbiting planet, constantly around him and hanging onto his every word.”

Music Inspo: Sweet Tooth by Cavetown (click to listen)

P.S. - Talk about the most perfect gif up top of happy lawyer Harry c:

                         “I have a million things to talk to you about. A million things we have to talk about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.” - Haruki Murakami

“So, Hare, ya think she’ll like it?”

“I bloody hope so afta all tha cleanin’ and buyin’ new stuff,” I respond with a tired sigh, crossing my arms over my chest, sure there’s still dust clinging to me in places.

“We didn’t do any cleaning, you goon, the cleaning company we employ did,” Myles chuckles, bringing warmth to my cheeks. “I think we did good, though- I reckon you did good, seeing as you did most of the work, mate.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, taking a good look at the office that’s sat unused since the remodel.

“When’s her orientation with you, did you say?”

“This Friday,” I answer him, my hand wandering to my mouth where I bite at my fingernail, inspecting the clean office. Even after all of the work that’s been put into it ever since she was hired, I still doubt myself if Becks will like it. Will she like the desk that I chose, or the Merlot colored sofa against the wall, or the chair that I splurged on? She’s going to be the one spending time in here, not me, and I really want her to like it.

“Have you asked her out on that date yet?” Myles questions, stepping forward to adjust the black modern desk lamp, even though I’m sure she’ll move things around once she steps foot in here. I want her to change it to how she likes, just how she likes. Wait, what did he say?

“My’, what tha fook are ya goin’ on ‘bout?” I chuckle, holding out my hand in question to help me talk.

“What, mate? You’re wasting precious time here, you’ll be thirty in a few weeks. I thought we’d have kids and they’d be best mates by now.”

“Oh, shuddup, thirty isn’t that old, and no, I haven’t asked her out yet.”

“And why’s that? You said you ran into her at the supermarket last weekend, and you met her for dinner and drinks the Friday before. It sounds like you had plenty of opportunities, and once again, you didn’t take them,” he almost groans, opening a box of black pens that he pours into a tall black mug with ‘Styles & Lawson’ written on both the mug and the pens. It was his touch, not mine. I know Becks will hate it, she’ll find it gaudy. “Y’know I don’t care if you lot date, just keep it behind closed doors, is all I ask. Keep it professional.”

“‘s too soon, My. I know ‘s already a lot fer her t’ be startin’ a new job, ‘specially her first official lawyer job. I want her t’ get settled in first befo’ I do anythin’, and overwhelm her mo’. And I know, I wanna do all o’ it right.”

“That’s fair, Hare, but you better hurry up. I was telling Rory about her starting, and when he asked to see a photo, he couldn’t stop talking about how pretty she is,” he comments, breaking the box apart before tossing it in the empty bin, giggling.

“My’, don’t bloody encourage him. Rore’s a prick, tho’, even he knows it. She’d neva go fer him, anyways.”

“Are you gonna tell him how you feel about her then, y’know, so he doesn’t try anything?” Myles continues, walking behind Becks’ ‘Autumn Cherry Mahogany’ desk, pushing in the chair as he does a once over.

“I reckon I should, if tha idiot keeps quiet ‘bout it, which’d be a bloody wonder in itself. Watch him try t’ gimme relationship advice, as if he’s had a girlfriend lately fer longa than two weeks.”

Myles chuckles at that, tapping a pen against the desk barren besides the lamp, pens, a desk calendar, and the phone. I laugh along with him, turning around to glance at the wooden shelves that look rather pathetic with the few law books claiming them, but that’s the last thing on my to do list. I reckon she’ll want to add some of her own, anyways.

“You’re really going to leave the walls empty besides that bloody shelf and clock? It looks sad in here.”

“I told ya ‘m gonna let her pick out some prints, and tha firm will pay fer ‘em. There’s no use in buyin’ sumthin’ that she’ll end up not likin’, My. Oh, and tha rug ‘s s’posed t’ come in t’morrow, as is tha new iMac that one o’ Asher’s blokes will set up,” I repeat with a roll of my eyes, forgetting the books and finding him straightening the violet-colored clock on the wall.

“The firm is paying for it, is that right? Jeepers, Harry, she’s making you all soft again. I can’t complain though, because it means you’re far nicer to me for a change.”

“Shuddup,” I giggle, plucking a new pen from her desk to launch at him. “Ya I dunno, she has tho’ and I don’t really mind it. I guess ‘m used t’ it, but it was hard in tha beginnin’.”

“It’s a good thing, really, I mean it. Oh, by the way, did you let her know she needs to frame her degree to hang up in here? Preferably behind her desk,” he questions, turning to point to the eggshell-colored walls that were painted months ago, the exact shade of all of our offices.

“Thanks fer tha reminda. ‘ll hafta text her ‘bout it, I forgot.”

“Yeah, you can thank me for a good excuse to text her,” he grins, his hands falling from the clock until his attention is captured by something else. “Also, why’d you buy a bloody plant? Does she even like them, or know how to take care of them?”

“I dunno, she mentioned once she likes succulents, and there’s a huge ass window right there t’ give it sun, so ya jus’ need t’ water it,” I snicker, pointing to the floor to ceiling window taking up the wall across from her door, like all of the offices. “‘s some kinda succulent, I can’t rememba. I figured she’d like it, but thanks fer yer bloody vote o’ confidence, Mr. Lawson.”

“You’ll get my ‘bloody vote of confidence’ when you fucking finally ask her out, Hare. ‘s been two years, mate,” he insists, flicking the light off as I step out into the hallway.

“I know, My, ya think I don’t bloody know that?”

“I don’t know, Harry, but y’know how I feel about second chances. They don’t come around again, and you got one, so use it wisely and quickly,” he tells me, wagging a finger at me as he closes the door before walking off.

“I know, but I don’t wanna screw it up,” I whisper in defeat to none other than myself, messing with the silver rose ring on my left hand, just as my eyes pan over to the frosted glass door. At the sight of her full name etched into the door, my heart does a jump, from nerves and excitement. “See ya soon, Becks,” I finish softly, patting her name carved into the glass, a bubbly warmth filling my insides with anticipation.

I dunno how much longer I can wait for her.

+

“Alrighty, then let’s start with’a tour. Follow me right this way, Ms. Holte,” Harry says, leading me out of his office and can I say, giving me a perfect view of his gorgeous bum. Now, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed a bit, I decide silently as I take a quick glance around his office.

“Please stop with the Ms. Holte thing, it’s weird,” I giggle, watching him close his door behind him, and he winks at me.

“What, how come? Yer a lawyer now, Becks, ya gotta be all formal.”

“See, that name sounds much better, doesn’t it?” I tease him, and he shakes his head with a grin.

“I admit it does, but y’know yer gonna hafta decide what ya want people t’ call you. Rebecca, Becky, Ms. Holte, etcetera. But fer formal proceedings, like during cases you’ll be Ms. Holte, so ya betta get used t’ it.”

“Yeah, Ms. Holte isn’t happening if I can help it, it makes me feel old. I’m not a bloody teacher or something,” I remark and he nods his head, his fingers getting lost in his curls as he stops.

“Very true. Well t’ begin our tour, yer familiar with this hallway as it’s tha main one. My office is behind us at tha very end, Myles is down and on tha right as y’know, then Rose’s ‘s on tha left,” he explains by pointing a long finger in different directions, the pink nail polish from last weekend almost entirely gone. I guess Harper needs to give him a touch up, or I could. God, I wish. “Rory’s office ‘s down that way t’ tha right o’ mine, as ‘s Jennings as y’know. Mick’s ‘s down tha way afta his, then Gwen’s, Tate’s, Holly’s, Connor’s- Y’know what, let’s jus’ go and say hi t’ ‘em, I reckon that’ll be easier fer you t’ make sense o’ it all. I was plannin’ t’ introduce ya t’ e’rybody anyways, so we’ll see who’s here t’day and not stuck inn’a case.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I hum, unsure of how good of a job I’m doing masking my anxiousness, it’s hard to tell.

Evidently, I’m not doing that great of a job, because when Harry looks to his left at me, it’s fair game. “‘s okay, Becks, don’t worry. They’ll all love you too,” he smiles, patting my arm, calming me down and exciting me at the same time with his words and touch.

“God, I’m an open book, aren’t I?”

“Eh, I dunno really. I guess ‘m jus’ good at readin’ ya by now,” he responds with a short wink before stopping in front of another frosted glass door. After a short knock, the door opens and like every other time, I’m amazed by her fiery red hair. “Hey, Rose, ‘m not interruptin’, am I?”

“No, Harry, you’re not,” Rose answers, hanging onto her door, and I watch her eyes pan over to me. “Hi, Becky! I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you, love?”

“I’m good, thanks. How have you been, Rose?”

“Eh, I’ve been better, it’s not easy working for this guy. You should get out while you still can,” she answers teasingly, nodding her head over to Harry.

“Hey, don’t say that! ‘m givin’ her tha tour right now, ya don’t wanna scare her away already, Rose!” he scoffs jokingly, and quickly we’ve left him behind with our laughing that he doesn’t partake in.

“Quiet down, Harry, she’s come back for seconds so she must know how to deal with you by now,” she quips, looking over to me with a blushing smile. Oh, I’m liking it better and better the longer I’m here.

“God, I hope so,” I joke, spending a nervous laugh at the end of my words and so does everybody else, although in a self-deprecating way.

“I’m glad you’re back though, Becky. It’s so great to have you a part of the lawyer team now.”

“Thank you, Rose. I’m really happy to be a part of it too,” I answer shyly, and when I look over to Harry he’s wearing that sunshine smile again that I’d gladly look into, even if it blinded me.

“Thanks fer yer time, Rose, we’ll be movin’ along t’ meet e’rybody else now. There’ll be a formal meetin’ her first day t’ properly introduce e’rybody tho’,” Harry says, patting her on the shoulder before we move on.

We make our way down the hallway, and then soon reunite with Jennings, which wasn’t the best reunion per say after how he treated me at times.

“Don’t worry, I told him he has t’ be on his best behavior ‘round you,” Harry comments with a warm smile, doing a good job at smoothing over any bumps I feel in the road, like he so often does.

A few of the lawyers were gone for the day, including Gwen and Mickey who I’ve yet to hear anything about or meet. I got to meet Holly, Connor, Tate, and Brien who were all very kind. It was nerve wracking, but they were easy to talk to, and it was neat to see their difference in ages, their characters, and their offices. As for those we missed, Harry said I’d meet them the next time when I have my first official day.

“And this ‘s Rory, which requires a bit o’ prep fer meetin’ him, he can be a lot t’ handle sumtimes,” Harry prefaces, stopping in front of the ajar door, but his face falls when he peeks in, saying it’s empty. “‘m not bloody surprised, I can neva find tha idiot when I need him.”

“Looking for me, Harold?” a voice calls, pulling our attention down the hall and towards the lobby. I can almost see where my desk used to be from here, almost.

“Oh, so he can call you Harold, but I can’t?”

“No, neitha can he, he jus’ thinks he’s funny. He’s prolly tryna show off fer you,” he comments, cocking his head to the side as he looks at this Rory fellow questioningly. “Y’know I don’t like bein’ called that, Rore.”

“And what do I care?” Rory replies, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he approaches us, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Ooooo, who is this lovely lass?”

“Rory, this ‘s Ms.- I mean, Becky Holte, ‘ve told you ‘bout our new associate,” Harry explains, pointing his elbow to me as his hands sit in his pockets. Slowly with each new introduction, I’ve noticed Harry resume his professionalism, but it feels stronger whenever he says my name. It’s a little hard to get used to after all of the moments we’ve shared over the last two years, but I know that I’ll have to get used to working with him again, and all that it entails.

“Ah, so this is Becky,” Rory smiles, stepping forward to put out his hand as his eyes flit to Harry. With a confused look on my face, I take it and he shakes my hand with his other covering mine. My eyes race to Harry next with a question, but his are stuck to Rory’s with an annoyed expression. “I’ve heard loads about you, love. Welcome to the firm, we’re all happy to have you here working with us. I know Harry is especially.”

“Um, thank you, Rory. I’m excited to be here.”

He nods before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks and sauntering off, loud music soon coming from his office.

“He’s uh, different,” I comment slowly, looking over my shoulder as we walk away.

“Ya, he’s a prat ‘s what he ‘s,” Harry comments quickly, rubbing a knuckle along his hairy chin.

“So, you told your colleagues that you’re happy I’m back?”

“Perhaps,” he shrugs, saying it like he’s not sure of his answer either, but I take it and I run with it. “Perhaps very much so,” he finishes just as his steps cease in front of another closed door. I don’t get the chance to read the name on it, because quickly he’s opening it, and it’s already hard to tear my eyes away from him after he said that. Who do you think you are just saying that kind of stuff and not expecting me to freak out? It gets even worse when he finally meets my eyes with the cheekiest grin sitting there, waiting for me.

“Wow, this is a really nice office. It even smells good, like palo santo or something,” I comment, taking a step into the immaculate looking space. The room is lit up when Harry flips the light switch, bathing the shining desk in light, as well as the wine-colored sofa against the wall to my right. “Look at that view! Dang, whoever’s office this is sure is lucky. They even have a cute little plant on their desk, awe. Whose office is this, anyways? I don’t want to intrude, or anything,” I say, fawning over the cozy room and even how there’s two little tasseled pillows sitting on the sofa. When I bring my eyes back to Harry, he’s leaning against the door frame, arms and legs crossed amongst his tall body. In his eyes sits a tale that I can see he’s itching to tell, a sparkle in his eye.

“Consider yerself lucky, Becks, this ‘s yer new office,” he grins, his cheeks disappearing when the smile almost reaches his ears.

“Shut up!” I exclaim, my hands flying to my mouth as I look at the room in a new light, per say. “I get my own office? I didn’t even think I’d need one, since I’ll always be in yours. Harry, you shouldn’t have!” I sigh happily, hands falling as my eyes start to water.

“‘Course you’ll have yer own office, Becks. I mean ya, you’ll be with me in mine loads, but sumtimes we’re bound t’ get sick o’ each otha,” he says, lifting his crossed arms in a shrug as if they hold words as well. My head falls to the side as I look at him, telling him silently he’s stupid for saying that, and he giggles because he’s just too good at reading me. It’s going to be a long time before I get sick of him again. A very long time. “It’ll happen, I promise ya that. But sumtimes ‘ll be in partner meetings or sumthin’, and ya can do yer research and prep fer tha cases in here. Also, I wanted ya t’ have yer own space since ‘s no fun bein’ stuck in me office starin’ at tha same four walls all day long. And I know ya didn’t really have yer own space befo’ at yer old desk, and ya should’ve,” he completes eloquently, always knowing what to say and how to say it. I hope he can teach me how to do that, because I’m really going to need it. For more than one occasion, and both inside and outside of this firm.

I want to hug him so badly I can’t stand it, because the gratitude and happiness bubbling to the surface yell at me to, and he just looks so cute standing over there so proud of himself. The whole rule about being professional that stuck to me again the second I got off the lift comes back to me, and holds me back from surprising him with a bear hug. Boy, is it hard, and it gets even harder when I don’t see him trying to give me one, either.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” I almost blurt out, wishing for that eloquent speech trait once again.

“Thanks, bug, I try. ‘m really glad ya like it, really. I have a few sites ya can look at when ya have tha time t’ pick out some prints fer yer walls. Oh, and yer welcome t’ bring in any books ya’d like t’ place on yer shelf and anythin’ else fer that matta, ‘s all yers. All of it,” and with the sunshine smile leaking through in those words, the first tear falls onto my cheek and I couldn’t even care. “Hey, don’t cry, bug. C’mere, come gimme a hug.”

“But I have to be professional, and employees don’t hug their boss.”

“Hush, li’l one. ‘m not yer boss anymo’, ‘m yer colleague,” he contends shrugging, removing an arm from where it’s crossed over his chest to wave me over to him.

“A mentee shouldn’t hug their mentor,” I continue, the next tear falling as indecisiveness buzzes inside of me.

“Rebecca Ann Holte,” Harry insists firmly, and this one triumphs all others. It hurts more than any other, brings back the most memories, and makes the happy tears come even faster. And shit, does it get me going. “Come ova here and hug me, now,” he giggles with a finger pointing to the floor, and I swear it’s the best song I’ve ever heard in this whole entire world, next to the very words he just spoke.

But I can’t get my feet to wake up and in a blink he’s moving over to me with that sunshine smeared all over his face. I feel it cover my body when his long arms come around me, pulling my face against his chest.

“I don’t like my full name,” I confess into his button down, hoping I’m not smearing my blubbering makeup all over it.

“I do, ‘s pretty . . but I like ‘Becks’ betta. Yer my Becks,” he hums from above me, running miles up and down my back with his large hands. His hugs that can fix everything and anything.

“I’m sorry I always cry.”

“‘s okay, bug, ya don’t gotta apologize. I know it means yer really happy,” he muses, eliciting a quick nod from me that sings a happy giggle from above. “‘m so happy ya like it, I worked so hard onnit coz I wanted ya t’ love it.”

“You did all of this?!”

“Well, with a li’l help from me friends, ‘course,” he titters, the sound heard under my ears and overhead. His name leaves my lips in an amazed sigh and he only laughs harder. “Think that means ya like it, hmm, Becks?”

“Yes, I love it, Harry. All of this,” I answer, finding handfuls of his silky blazer in my hands, and his peppery vanilla scent. Too afraid of ruining his shirt, I back up and let go of him, wiping under my eyes embarrassingly.

“Alright?” he hums softly, brushing the hair away from my face and behind my ear. Even just his finger brushing my ear gets me going. Good God, Harry. “Here, lemme look.”

I oblige after doing most of the work and meeting his eyes that I swear I could melt looking into, and I should know because I have so many times. The happiness pours into me at the thought of getting to do it day after day, for as long as I like. Kind of.

“Doesn’t look too bad. Ya still look like me pretty Becks, but don’t wantcha cryin’, haven’t even been here an hour, love.”

“Oh, you knew I was going to cry when I saw the office,” I laugh and his quickly falls behind, tickling my ears.

“Ya, I admit I knew,” he titters and I playfully push at his chest, suddenly kicking myself for ending that hug so soon, unsure of the next time I’ll get one. “Well, shall we keep goin’ with this tour, or ya need anotha minute, bug?”

“I’m okay,” I answer and he nods.

“If ya say so, Boops,” he chirps, brushing the tip of his finger against my nose cheekily. “C’mon, ya have plenty o’ time t’ check this place out. I wanna show ya tha new law library, ‘s a real treat.” I follow his lead, even with tear streaks down my cheeks, because I know that if I’m by his side I’ll always be okay.

Well, so much for that whole ‘being a professional thing’, huh, Mr. Styles? He sure threw that out the door just now, as well as a few more doubts I had about the way he feels about me. Goodness gracious, I’m in real trouble.

I can’t wait.

At moments throughout the day, I could’ve cared less that I was being paid for all of this, because being in Harry’s presence for almost every second was rewarding enough. I got to remember the dark little freckles smattered across his face, the tan ones peppering his nose you can see if you’re close enough, and how utterly happy I feel being around him. He quickly felt like the sun and I was the orbiting planet, constantly around him and hanging onto his every word. Luckily, I was able to do a lot of staring, since I’m familiar with the firm and could tune out at times. He still gave me the grand tour which was a little different at times due to the remodel. I realized there was a post room that I had totally forgotten about, although I’m not sure how.

Harry made it fun, like he always does, but I noticed that he was ‘Boss Harry’ today. At times, he kept the personal talk to a minimum when there was stuff to get done, especially after the scene that unfolded in my office. God, I can’t believe any of what happened in there, and I try not to think about it, because I know I won’t be able to handle it. I called him ‘Mr. Styles’ on a few occasions and I think he liked the sound of it too. Fortunately, for my sake, he only remembered my last name aloud a few more times, because I think we’re both uncomfortable with anything besides ‘Becks.’ But I wouldn’t want it any other way, and I quickly realized that, when that’s how he introduced me to his- well my new colleagues before correcting himself. He really is just the cutest.  

“I didn’t dump too much on ya t’day, did I?” Harry asks with a sunny smile, falling down onto the sofa across from me.

“It’s debatable,” I shrug softly with an added laugh, my hand diving into the cloth bag sat between us.

“Hey, I did me best,” he pouts, pulling up his pastel slacks to get comfy, crossing his legs in front of me. Goodness, I really wish he wouldn’t, because it is the best and worst view I’ve ever seen. He looks too damn fine in those pants that hug him in all of the right places, fuck. Fuck me.

I’m sure you want him to, Becky.

Go away, demon, I’ve got this handled.

Pfffft, yeah right.

“I hope ya didn’t cheat while I was in tha loo,” he remarks, pulling his lips inwards to make a popping sound with his mouth, just like that part in Shrek 2 where Donkey does it in the carriage.

“I would not! I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“Oh, I trust ya, Becks, jus’ not when it comes t’ Scrabble,” he quips, dropping several tiles onto the thick cardstock board. I hold back a comeback comment as I watch him build off my word, forming one of his one.

H O T D O G

A devilish laugh leaves his cherry lips as I pluck my pre-chosen tiles from my rack. Meanwhile, he adds up his new points aloud and tallies them up.

“What kinda prints are ya gonna buy fer yer office, y’think?” he mumbles, the pen scratching against the yellow legal pad in his lap, doing one good thing, which is covering it from my prying gaze.

“I’m not sure yet, do you have any good suggestions?” I reply, turning over a D that had gotten flipped over, lining up my tiles from his G.

G O O D B Y E

“Nice long one, bug, and I dunno. ‘ve accumulated mine ova tha years, and they’re mostly prints o’ artists I love.”

“Yeah, I see that,” I respond, lifting my eyes to his spacious office that still surprises me with how different it does and doesn’t look from before.

As he said, more framed prints cover his walls. Before, he only had a Rolling Stones black and white picture above the sofa we sit on. Now, he has one of The Beatles from their Sgt Pepper launch party, a print of Mick Fleetwood and Stevie Nicks on the cover of Rumors, a smiling portrait of Cat Stevens playing guitar, and a moody photo of Simon and Garfunkel. The shelf above us is also brimming with new books, including biographies of previously mentioned musicians, and even Uncle-ing for Dummies.

“I like them. Maybe I’ll frame some favorite sheet music of mine, I have no idea,” I joke with uncertainty, finding his smiling eyes across from me, lifting from the pad of paper.

“There’s no rush, Becks, ya got loads o’ time t’ decorate. I jus’ wantcha t’ be at home in yer new office. I mean, ‘m still decoratin’ and ‘s been ova five years,” he comments, setting the pad to the side. “Don’t forget t’ pull new tiles, love.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for the reminder. It’s just weird, but in a good way, because I’ve never had my own office,” I say, reaching my hand into the bag and feeling the cool tiles once again.

“‘Course it’d be weird, ‘s sumthin’ new, but you’ll get used t’ it. ‘m sure you’ll figure out how t’ make it yer own, ya deserve it,” he exhales, his hands folded together against his mouth as he stares at the board intently.

“Thank you, you’re right . . The tiles aren’t going to arrange themselves if you stare that hard. You do know that, right?”

“Yes, Ms. Holte, ‘m well aware, thank you. Bloody hell, already feelin’ like we’re a hotshot coz we’re a lawyer now, are we?” he tuts teasingly, dropping his hands to his rack as he flits his eyes to me with a toothy grin.

“I am not, and watch the name, or no brownies for you!”

“Fine,” he sighs, his bottom lip catching between his teeth as he contemplates his move, but his focus is lost when his phone dings.

I try not to intrude, but the look on his face feeds my curiosity, and when his expression does a three-sixty and then another, I can’t look away. He doesn’t share anything though, just types back a brief reply to whoever and returns his attention to the game board. I try to do the same, planning my next attack on the board, but it’s futile because the worry I feel for him creeps up again like it so often does.

“Got any big plans fer t’night?” he muses aloud, laying down the ceramic tiles he’s chosen to form a short word off of my E.

B A K E

“Nah, just finally finishing New Girl after procrastinating it for the last few years. It’s always sad when a show ends.”

“Ah, guess yer busy then, nevamind,” Harry comments, adding up my points aloud before jotting them down. Wait, sir, you can’t just tease that at me. Well, whatever that is.

“Mr. Styles, what ever do you mean?” I ask calmly, placing heavy emphasis on his formal name, one that started as a joke but now I’m liking it more than I’d care to admit.

He doesn’t say anything right away, because of course. He just busies himself by picking out new letters and organizing his rack of tiles. I forgot about my new word long ago, because if I’m honest at least to myself, as soon as the short-hand had reached the three on the clock, I was already feeling melancholy. Now, no fewer than fifteen minutes of my orientation day remains, and the aching in my chest has only kept reminding me that I have to leave him soon. Talk about distracting.

“I mean t’ say, my sista had t’ cancel dinna coz Harper’s sick. So, how d’ya feel about dinna and drinks round two?” he suggests, finally meeting my eyes with his that have a little bit more sparkle to them.

“I’d love to, Harry. Maybe I could get that motorcycle ride already,” I comment, flitting my eyes over to the metallic gold helmet sitting on the edge of his organized desk.

“Maybe ya could, Becks,” he chirps after seeing where I’m looking. That sticky smile winds its way up his face, and finds the hole in the armor around my heart.

Am I in trouble with this man, or what? Fuck yes I am, and I can’t wait to dive right in.

The January day could be warmer, but it could also be colder, and yet with Harry by my side I don’t even notice. We both ditch our bags in my car for the time being, and suddenly I question a few things, mostly the intelligence of this idea seeing as what I’m wearing.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I say, voicing my concerns aloud and I regret it immediately when Harry looks over to me quickly, the disappointment building on his face.

“Oh, that’s alright, we don’t hafta, love.”

“No, I’m talking about the motorcycle ride. I want to, but I’m wearing heels,” I shrug giggling and he nods softly, biting his lip as a thought buds in his eyes. “Oh wait, I think I have trainers in my car somewhere from that one yoga class I went to years ago.”

I hear his delightful laugh in the corners of my mind as I pop open the boot of my car, grateful to my past self for cleaning it once, whenever the last time that was.

“Y’know, ‘m I eva gonna be able t’ get ya t’ go t’ a yoga class with me one o’ these days?”

“Most likely not, if you want my honest answer,” I tell him and he chuckles, but I hear the sadness in it. It goes both ways, being able to read each other like an open book. We may not open ourselves to other people that way, but I think we had let the other person in long before we can remember.

“Here they are!” I exclaim once I locate the old black shoes, soon taking a seat on the edge of my silver car. Harry chirps a ‘good’ as he unbuckles the black leather box on the far back of the motorcycle seat, pulling out a matte black helmet.

I’m reminded of the bitter cold through the thin fabric of my black dress pants that I tuck into my long socks, although it looks dorky.

“Nice socks,” he jokes, lips sputtering with a laugh as I approach him.

“Shush,” I retort playfully, fastening the last few buttons of my long violet peacoat.

“Lookin’ good, Becks.”

“Oh, I know, very motorcycle chic,” I agree jokingly, taking the helmet from him that he holds out to me.

I slide it over my wavy dark curls, and lift my chin to the ceiling of the parking ramp to try and fasten the clasp. After several seconds of trying, I still can’t get it. I grow anxious when I hear the thrum of the engine come to life.

“Okay, I’ve ridden with Robbie on his bike so many times, and I can still never get these stupid helmets buckled. Can you help me, please?” I ask, my hands falling with a sigh to find him zipping up his bulky North Face, a gray hood from his sweatshirt falling over his back.

“‘Course, love,” he snickers, and I know he’s just enjoying watching me struggle. “Didn’t know ya were familiar with bikes, kinda disappointed ‘m not givin’ ya yer first ride.”

“If it’s any consolation it’s my first ride in years, and anything will be better than riding with Robbie. He’s scary on that thing.”

“Don’t worry, ‘m a good driver with anythin’ that’s not a shopping cart. Here, lemme help,” he says softly, his brown leather Chelsea boots echoing on the cement ground as he nears me. The closer he gets, the more my heart starts to race in anticipation for the next moment, and it feels like it stops altogether when I feel the guitar calloused pads of his fingers on my chin. “Lift yer head, please.”

“Yeah, I guess you were a good driver the few times I’ve ridden with you in your Rover.”

“‘Course I was, and ‘m jus’ gonna ignore how yer bein’ a sarcastic li’l ass ‘bout it,” he quips, pulling a laugh from my lips. No longer can I stare at the ceiling or the top of the helmet, and so I finally look to him through the partition although nervously. “Here, I think I almost got it,” he announces, a tune soon flowing from his lips that he hums. Again, it’s that same song that I can never figure out and it’s driving me nuts, but just hearing him hum it makes my heart slow down and relax. I don’t even know why, I guess because I’ve heard it so many times now, and he can relax me without hardly trying. When it comes to touching him, it seems to excite me in a nervous way right from the get go.

Somehow, I had forgotten how dark and long his eyelashes are as they flutter against his skin while he focuses on fastening the strap under my chin. His tongue dots across his lips at times until his bottom lip becomes trapped between his teeth, his thick brows falling in concentration. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen anything cuter, but then the brisk wind catches his curls, again I’m uncertain.

“Don’t focus too hard now,” I tease him as the strap tightens under my chin. His features relax with a grin that doesn’t return a comment.

“There ya go, love,” he says, his warm vanilla touch falling away from me and he smiles as he pats the top of my helmet. “Oh here, almost forgot these.”

“What?” I answer, following him over to the bike as I lock my car, shoving my keys into the pocket of my coat. With his back to me, he plucks something from the leather bag of sorts and turns around, placing a pair of suede black gloves in my hands.

“Sorry, they’re prolly a bit large on ya, but ‘s betta than nuthin’,” he explains, and I only answer with a nod, watching him pull on a similar pair. “Ya still wanna do this?”

“By all means,” I agree aloud enthusiastically, stopping at the side of the gleaming black Harley. For some reason, it impresses me even more how the bike reminds me of how good he takes care of his things.

Now, I know I’m really falling.

“Hop on behind me then,” Harry instructs, swinging a long leg over the Harley to take a seat. My, was that a sight. I do as he says and settle onto the cushiony seat behind him, trying to ignore the bitter cold seeping in through my pants, but I’m sure he’s dealing with the same thing. “Ya warm enough, love?” he asks, raising his voice so I can hear him over the engine.

“Yeah, besides my bum, but what can you do?”

He chuckles with an agreeing nod, “Can ya find tha little footpegs with yer feet? Yer feet need t’ go on there and stay there, don’t wan’ ‘em touchin’ any otha parts o’ tha bike that’re hot.”

“Yeah, let me see,” I mumble, looking down and soon finding the little silver footrests. “Found them.”

“Good, now how does gnocchi soup ova on ninth sound?”

“Sounds great. I can’t remember the last time I was there,” I answer with a smile, wishing he could see it, and that I could see his. But I find that I can’t complain when I feel him grab my hands in each one of his, pulling them forward and around his middle to rest on his stomach.

“Neither can I, now that I think o’ it.”

“How come?” I wonder aloud. 

“Dunno, jus’ wasn’t tha same without ya there, Becks . . . Gotta hold onto me, ‘kay? ‘s notta very long ride, but that way we won’t get too cold goin’ jus’ ova there. Ya can fold her hands togetha too, if ya like,” Harry instructs, and I’m uncertain how many of his words I just heard after the very thing he just did. Shit, can’t I get a warning when you’re going to touch me? I need to prepare myself for something like that.

“O-Okay.”

“Alright?” he asks softly, projecting his voice over the loud rumble of the engine.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” I answer, my eyes dipping to the space in between us on the seat that I can’t get myself to close, no matter how much I’d like to.

“‘Kay, we’re gonna leave inna sec then. But if ya need anythin’ just, I dunno, pat my chest or sumthin’ since it’ll be loud. I won’t go very fast tho’. Hopefully I don’t have t’ do too much t’ be a betta driver than Robbie.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” I comment and we both laugh before I hear the click of the kickstand lifting, and then the weight of the bike resting on its two wheels.

“Ready, bug?” he asks, sitting forward a little to settle his hands on the handlebars.

“Yeah!” I call out to him, grabbing onto the front of his coat and feeling him under my touch, but the shyness keeps me from feeling more of him. It always manages to keep me from getting closer to him, all throughout the last few years.

He nods in front of me and within seconds he backs out of the parking spot slowly, then pulls down the aisle with a rumble of the engine. Luckily, we meet few cars in the parking ramp and soon we’re joining traffic. Harry was right, he is a good driver and already a better one than Robbie on his motorcycle. I can’t keep count of how many times over the years he’s made me feel safe so effortlessly, and once again he’s done it, and it only makes me fall harder.

Harry’s long legs come to sit on the tarmac when we approach a red light, but it quickly switches to green and he turns, the engine purring beneath us. The wind whips past us, but the helmet helps with some of it and so do his borrowed gloves that do indeed swallow my hands. They’re warm and cozy inside, likened to the feeling consuming my chest in this moment.

I’m not sure if I’d admit it to him, but this is the most fun I’ve had on a motorcycle ride before, although again it’s not that hard to beat the past rides I’ve taken part in. Somehow albeit unsurprisingly, this makes me find him all the more sexy as he drives us safely through town and expertly. The only thing that could make it better is getting to rest my head on his back, or in the crook of his neck. Despite knowing he wouldn’t mind, I refrain. Louder in my mind is the desire to scooch forward and have my chest against his back, but that too seems too intimate and it kills me to stay away.

“How ya doin’, bug?” Harry calls over the noisy traffic and engine when we come to another red light.

“Good, thanks!”

“Glad t’ hear. Are ya warm enough?” he continues, the bike stilling when he places his feet on the road.

“Yeah,” I answer, never sure if I’m speaking not loud enough or too loud.

“‘Kay. Ya don’t hafta be so far away y’know. I don’t bite, Becks,” Harry comments lightheartedly. “Scooch closer t’ me, you’ll be warmer that way.”

I nod, again feeling stupid because he wouldn’t know the difference if I nodded or shook my head. I oblige and close the distance between us like I’ve been itching to do, soon feeling the warmth from his body against my front.

“There ya go, ‘s that betta?” he says, patting my knee, once again scaring me in a good way. I respond with a short affirmation and a comment about how warm he is, and his head moves up and down. “Good, you’ll help me stay warm too, y’know. Ya’ve always been like a li’l heater.”

I’m not sure if he hears my laugh, but I’m okay if he doesn’t, because this is all more than enough. It’s just enough to be with him, and now behind him on his bike resting against his back with my arms around his middle, I don’t know how I could ever have anything to complain about. But then I remember all of the things I want with him, and how they’re just an arm’s reach away and not again for nine days. I smile sadly against the inside cushioning of the helmet, assuring myself that I’m getting closer to that with every day that passes, and that not even a month ago I never would’ve believed where I’d be today.

“Almost there, Becks,” Harry tells me over his shoulder as he returns his feet in front of mine while the traffic moves ahead.

“Yeah, we’re almost there, Harry, after all of this time. Almost,” I mumble aloud, the words dancing across his back and taken away by the wind.

Maybe he heard me, and if he did I don’t care, because we’re so close. I can’t help but wonder if he thinks it too.

#the assistant #hecky #pa harry #the assistant hs #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #lawyer!harry #lawyer harry styles #ceo!harry #boss!harry #office romance #personal assistant #lawyer romance #chaptered fic #alternate universe #narrymccartney writes #wattpad #writing #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 32 ~The Surprise~

"Hey, Jamie, look at this! Ye remember this picture?" Rabbie called out from the other side of the attic, waving a piece of yellowed photograph. "I must have been ten here and look at ye ...ye look like Annie from that musical show."

Ian got up from where he was sat sealing boxes and peered over Rabbie's shoulder. "Fuck, Jamie, ye look flaming hot!"

Joe grimaced and gave Jamie a sympathetic look. It was a normal occurrence that Jamie was the butt of the jokes in the family, having inherited the MacKenzie genes. He'd been the easiest target with his unruly coppery curls, but he'd learned from an early age, the best way to deal with it was by not responding.

Jamie gave a long-suffering sigh and looked all around him. There weren't enough hours in the day, and there was still so much to do before he went to see Claire and got on a plane to France. They needed to box all his rugby memorabilia, trophies and professional photos to be brought later to the rugby academy and displayed in the built-in, glass case Willie had recently installed. It had been his ma's idea to exhibit his rugby collections and awards, in the hope of inspiring young athletes who would be attending the academy. The only problem was, he just hadn't realised there would be plenty of it and paired with a lot of mucking about from his younger brother.

"And here's another one ..."

Willie shot Rabbie a look. "We're supposed to be boxing things up, no' spending yer time on the floor looking at pictures."

"Cool yer jets. I'm going through Jamie's rugby photos, but some of them are mixed with the family ones ...oh look! Here's one with Joe ...oh, and Claire's in it. Jamie, I didnae ken ye knew her back then."

They all gathered around behind Rabbie and bent down to take a closer look. On the photo standing next to Jamie was Joe, another medic and then Claire. Her hair was pulled back, and she was wearing a cap with a Scottish flag sewn into it, the visor almost concealing her eyes. Whereas Jamie and the rest in the photo had been smiling for the camera, Claire's face looked inscrutable.

They stared at the photo for a while. It was taken not that too long ago and wondered if Claire was with Frank already. Jamie guessed she was.

Joe broke the silence first. "Claire used to help my medical team during the early days of her internship," he explained, straightening up. "And working during the rugby game could be quite hectic with all of those lads getting all sorts of bumps and bruises. It was hardly a place to mingle."

"Aye, I understand that, but Jamie ye're in the same photo as her. Didn't ye notice her back then?" Rabbie asked, glancing at Jamie.

Jamie cleared his throat as he peered closer. He had a vague memory, but then again, after their meeting in Lallybroch, he'd always thought Claire looked familiar. He must have seen her in passing but with everything that usually happened in the sideline and all of his concentration focused on the game, it would have been easy to overlook a lot of things. "Aye ...weel ...there were a lot of people going in and out of the locker room after the game. As Joe said, it's hardly a place to socialise." He rubbed a hand behind his neck, wondering what it would have been like if he and Claire had been acquainted back then.

"Hang on a minute," Joe interrupted. "Now I remember that photo. Rabbie, flip it to the other side. There's a message on the back." He looked at Jamie. "I gave you that photo to sign it for Claire. I guess I must have forgotten to ask for it back. She'd wanted an autograph from you, but she'd been too shy to approach you and ask. She was worried you'd remember that awesome smackdown she gave you that time when you got too cheeky with her, so she'd asked me to ask you instead."

_ Ah yes! _ He remembered that encounter now. He'd been teasing her while she'd been attending to his injuries. Jamie felt his cheeks flushed. "Here, give me that. Let me take a look." He took the photo from Rabbie's hand and flipped it over. And sure enough, there was a message from Claire with her neat cursive writing.

_ Dear Mr Fraser,_

_Could you sign this photograph for me? I would be forever grateful if you could spare a moment of your time as I am an avid fan of yours. _

_ Many heartfelt thanks, CB x _

_ PS I am the one on the far right on this picture. _

Despite himself, Jamie grinned. _ Mr Fraser indeed! Will have to get her to say that in private, one of these days. Maybe while we're getting busy under the sheets. _ "I'm keeping this," he said suddenly, running a finger over the written words. _ Christ, I miss her already! _Ever since he'd confessed about Forbes, Claire had finally conceded to staying in his apartment every night. These past few days were like as if an invisible dark cloud had lifted from their midst, and there was more openness in their relationship allowing him to see the future more clearly. Already he was itching to see her again, and it was only a few hours ago he'd last seen her. Now he wished he wasn't going to France anymore.

"Uh-oh, look at him! Ye've gone soft, Jamie lad."

Ian's ribbing launched him out of his reverie and snagged the attention of Rabbie, who grinned and sniggered, making Jamie realise he'd been staring at Claire's writing this whole time,

"Aye, definitely, he's gone soft. Just the other day, I saw him buying tampons for Claire in the shop, and he didnae see me. I overheard him asking a girl if there's a size that fits all," Rabbie chuckled.

Joe and Ian burst out laughing.

_ Ah fuck, here we go! _

Rabbie shook his head. "Hey Jamie, how come ye dinnae ken about tampons? Ye've had a few of them stuck up yer nose when ye'd taken a bashing in the field."

"They're nasal packing you dimwit!" Joe snorted, throwing a crumpled paper at Rabbie. "But I guess you can call them that as it does the same job."

"Ach, Claire has been Jamie's Achilles' heel, and Kryptonite rolled into one," Ian grinned. "Jenny says, when ye start buying tampons for yer girlfriend, that means ye're ready to take it to the next level."

"Aye, I think so too," Rabbie agreed, nodding his head. "I wonder when Jamie is going to ..."

"Are ye done with those photos, Rabbie?" Willie cut in, trying hard not to smile at Jamie's expense.

Rabbie scowled at the older Fraser as he gathered the photos and stood up. "It's done, ye grouchy git," he muttered, getting up and placing the photographs in the open box. "Ye're just surly because the only thing ye're laying at the moment are bricks."

Jamie muttered a curse under his breath. He didn't have time for this, and the last thing wanted was to be in the middle of the big brother and wee brother verbal match. He might have been the target of their taunting as a tag team when they were bairns, but he wasn't about to play referee, middle brother or not.

"Right, lads ...ye think ye can sort this all out without me?" Jamie asked rapidly before Willie could come back with a rebounder for Rabbie. "I need to see Claire before I catch the plane. When I come back from France, dinner, drinks and more drinks are on me for sorting my stuff out." He grabbed his jacket from the nearby chair and pulled them on, careful not to crease the photo in his hand.

Willie scanned the room. "Aye, we can handle this. Ye go ahead, and we'll deal it. See ye in a few days?"

"Aye, see ye in a few days. Everything under control, aye?" When Willie nodded, Jamie faced the room once more. "And Joe, check up on Claire once in a while, alright? She's staying in my apartment while I'm away. And ye Rabbie behave. See you soon, Ian."

"Always mate!" Joe replied as the rest of the lads said their byes. "Now go before ye miss yer ladylove's lunch break."

With that, he turned around and left the attic.

..........

Ignoring the gazes that landed on him and the hush that followed, Jamie scanned the hospital cafeteria for Claire. When he found her sitting on her own at the far end of the room eating something, what looked like a sticky bun and reading a book, he quickly made his way to her, unhearing of the gushes and whispers that followed his wake. He caught her unaware when he planted a kiss on the nape of her neck.

"Jamie!" Claire gasped and looked around, her face blooming red as she caught the glances and attention they were gaining by the second. "You should have called. Do you want to go somewhere private?" she asked, putting the book down.

"No, here will do," he said, taking the seat opposite her and taking her hand in his. When she tried to pull it away, he tightened his hold and grinned. She looked so beautiful when she blushed. "What's the matter, Sassenach? Are ye embarrassed to be seen with yer boyfriend?"

"Of course not! How can you ask such a daft question? I'm surprised you haven't been mobbed, walking in like that without even a cap on."

"I was hoping ye'd protect me if that happened." When she didn't laugh and frowned at the people from the nearby table for staring, he kissed her fingers to catch her attention. "See it this way ...if I came in here with a cap on or any sort of disguise and your colleagues saw us holding hands, they would have figured out eventually who I was. Most of them already ken ye're with me, so they're hardly going to think there is some other bloke ye like to hold hands with. Unless of course, there's another bloke." When her frown deepened, he twined his fingers with hers and changed the subject. "Just joking. Don't mind them, Sassenach." He sighed. "I wish you were coming with me. I'm going to miss you and us, like this."

He'd asked her only once to come to France with him, and when she said she couldn't, he didn't push any further, knowing how dedicated she was to her work. He knew she wanted to go but asking her to take two weeks off was too much of an ask.

"Jamie, I wish I could come too ...you know that. But you'll be busy attending interviews, shoots and other stuff. So really there's no point in me coming. I'll just be bored out of my mind waiting for you to finish when I could be here doing something more productive." She sighed and looked down as he stroked the inside of her wrist. "The only thing I'll regret not coming with you is, we won't be together on my birthday." She looked into his eyes. "But don't worry about it. I'm aware you're doing this for the academy. If it's going to take a little separation sometimes to make this right, then that's what we have to live with."

He wished now they were somewhere private so he could take her in his arms. Instead, he kissed her hands again alternately, taking a few precious moments to lock away the irreplaceable sensation of basking in her love and understanding.

"We'll celebrate yer birthday when I come back," he promised. "Once the academy is up and running, I think I'll settle more into a routine. But I still think we should go on a break before the academy starts. The biggest part of the work is done, thanks to Willie and his team. But God knows when we'll get a chance once we get down to the nitty-gritty part, like hiring and administration. I intend to have the academy ready and functioning by next year, and I want to have everything covered before we officially open our doors."

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and smiled at him. "Just do what you need to do and hurry back to me. I'm quite sure we'll manage a little break before the academy opens." She squeezed his hands and gazed longingly like she's trying to keep them at this moment for as long as possible. When she finally pulled back, it's with a resigned expression. "You're going to be late for your flight. Call me or text me when you get there."

"I will do, I promise."

They left the cafeteria and walked together to the main entrance, and when they were stood outside, she turned to him. "It's only for two weeks, Jamie. We can do this. You've been away from me longer much longer."

"But this time, it's different," he said, referring to the time before he confessed about Forbes.

"I know," she whispered. "We'll be both busy, and before you know it, you're back again."

He nodded and smiled. It took an effort to act like saying goodbye wasn't physically painful. "Aye, ye're right. I'm quite sure the days will fly by quickly. See you in two weeks, Sassenach."

He kissed her briefly, knowing she was conscious of people watching and taking photographs.

"I love you, James Fraser," she whispered, before turning around and going back into the hospital.

Before he could say it back, the door already closed behind her.

..........

_ Nine days down and five days to go before Jamie arrives home_. Claire had taken three days off for her birthday to visit her parents' grave and left last night for Oxford after her gruelling shift. Arriving late at her booked Airbnb, she'd immediately gone to sleep so she could wake up early and have the cemetery to herself.

Before she'd left Edinburgh, Geillis had made her promise to be back around late afternoon today for whatever uncle Lamb had in store for her. Initially thinking Jamie had something to do with the surprise birthday celebration uncle Lamb had planned, her excitement had grown exponentially, believing Jamie would be home earlier than expected. But that hope was immediately dashed when she saw an announcement in social media that Jamie would be attending an interview with a sports network in Paris later today.

She walked past the giant redwood tree, clutching her mother's diary in one hand and a tote bag holding a tartan blanket, flask and flowers in the other. The sun was bright and early, and the autumn air crisp. Today she'd worn her mother's knitted red scarf for the occasion to commemorate her parents' death anniversary. Every year, for the past eight years, instead of celebrating her birthday, she came to visit Wolvercote cemetery where her parents had been laid to rest many years ago. She'd looked forward to visiting, welcoming the tranquil and peaceful surroundings and the chance to get things off her chest, but she had to make sure she arrived early to avoid the tourists that came to see the graves of the Tolkiens.

Following the same route of years past, she took her time wandering through the maze of headstones, reading inscriptions, stopping now and again to say a silent prayer for some of the memorials she'd become familiar with. The engravings promised the dearly departed ones they'd never be forgotten but a promise which sadly, sometimes were broken. She left a single flower on some of the old crooked, crumbling monuments which had no visit or care in a long time, greeting them like they were old friends. In a way, it felt like that, for whenever she stopped by to say hello, time seemed to stand still, the wind unmoving and the birds stilling in acknowledgement.

When she finally reached her parents' graves, their plots side by side next to each other, she was surprised to see generous bouquets of forget-me-nots laid on each headstone. She smiled, thinking it must have been from Reverend Wakefield, an old friend of uncle Lamb or perhaps his housekeeper, Mrs Graham. Either way, she was glad to see the graves well taken care of and free of weeds.

After she'd placed her own flowers in the flower holders, she laid out the tartan blanket on the ground between her parents' graves and settled herself comfortably. She poured herself some coffee and drew out a picture from her mother's diary. It was a photograph Jamie had sent her from France. It was a group photo of him, Joe, a colleague and her. At the back was her own writing she'd written a few years back asking him to sign an autograph. To her delight, he'd signed it with a note saying, _ long overdue _and a smiley face and sent it to her via post.

"Hey, mum and dad ... it's me. How is it going up there?" she whispered, leaning forward to touch their engraved names. "Well, whatever you're doing, I hope you're having a blast and a time of your afterlife. Unfortunately, I don't have much time today because uncle Lamb is planning something for my birthday, so I need to be back home tonight. Anyway, there's something I've been dying to show you ever since I got on the plane last night. Here take a look at this." She held up the photograph in the air as if she was showing it to a live person. "See that guy on the far left? That's Jamie. You probably heard all about him up there and how much of a big deal he is in rugby. Yeah, he's the same guy I've been crushing on for years, and you might remember I've mentioned his name a few times before. Well, what do you think? He's handsome right?"

An unusually warm breeze for a cold autumn morning caressed her cheeks as a monarch butterfly settled on the headstone. She stared at it for a while before slipping the photo back into her mother's diary. "I bet both of you have plenty to say after the year I had. Well, this time last year, I was engaged to Frank ...you remember Frank? Of course, you do. Stupid question. How could you not?" She shook her head as memories from her last visit to the cemetery came flooding back. "You might have noticed during my last visit, I was in a place of uncertainty. And I remember taking mum's diary with me for the first time hoping it would be our way of communicating. I have no idea why I thought of that. Maybe because her writing has brought me comfort over the years." She took a deep breath, and a wood pigeon cooed from a high branch. "It sounded a bit daft at the beginning, but when I look back with hindsight, I think it worked. I know ...I know ... a priest would be having a canary right now if they could hear me talk. You see ... last year I asked you what you thought about me marrying Frank, and then I opened mum's diary and read the first passage my eyes landed on. Can you remember that passage? Because I'm not sure anymore if I said it out loud to you. Well, allow me to remind you." She flipped the diary open to the page she was looking for. "It said ... here's a snippet ..._ from an early age, I've learned to trust my gut because I realised it knows what your head hasn't figured out yet _."

Sighing, her finger drifted over the words she just recited, admiring her mother's beautiful penmanship. "So there you go. Looking back now, I think you were indeed trying to tell me something about trusting my guts, even if the words didn't immediately register into my muddled brain. It may sound crazy, but I honestly believe that with my whole heart. And before you remind me of my Catholic upbringing and call this a form of divination, I'm sorry, but I have to disagree. Reading this diary has been my saving grace while growing up, and it always felt mum wrote those words to guide me one day, and it has, in a lot of ways." A lone starling landed on the neighbouring headstone and chirped.

She closed her eyes for a moment breathing the fresh air and soaking in the warmth of the sun. Then she laid down the diary and took a sip of her coffee. "Anyway, I'm not here to talk about Frank. I'm here to talk about Jamie." She fidgetted with the edge of her scarf and smiled. "Mum, dad, I really love him, and what I feel for him, it's something I've never felt before. It's different this time, and I want you to know I'm happy ...happiest I've been for a long time. So that must count for something, right? I know he made a lot of bad choices in the past ...choices you probably would disapprove of. But hey, we all make mistakes at some point in our lives, and I am no different. Yeah, he is a complex man, I must admit, but he has a big heart and an inherently good soul, and he's proven it time and time again. So I'm hoping you will like him and maybe find it in your heart to love him the same way as I do. And perhaps if it's not too much of a big ask, you can relay a message from me to the old man up there to watch out for him."

A wind suddenly picked, sending a folded note she hadn't seen before from one of the bouquets to land on her lap.

Curious, she unfolded it. When she saw the writing, she gasped, and her eyes widened. _ Oh, sweet mother of God, it's from Jamie! _ With trembling hands and blurring eyes, she read the simple yet heartfelt message.

_ You had left this world a long time ago, but your memories are still fresh in your beautiful daughter's heart and mind. May you rest in peace, knowing I will always protect her and love her with all of me until my heart stops beating. JAMMF _

_ ...Until my heart stops beating? _ Her heart swelled. Who needs a birthday present or celebration when Jamie did something like this out of the blue? At almost every turn, he somehow managed to surprise her with his affection and tenderness, something he'd doubted he'd be capable of. But here it was, a perfect example of love from a perfectly flawed man. She didn't know if it's the words, or the flowers, or the fact she missed him so damn much making her feel like she couldn't breathe right. Half sobbing and half laughing, she reread the note over and over again.

"Good God ...mum, dad, did you see that?" She shook her head and swiped her cheek. "Jamie's even trying to make a good impression on you. Who would do that? And what do you have to say about it? He is charming, isn't he but oh sweet Jesus, I have a sneaking suspicion he knows it too. He's cocky like that, you know? If you were alive today, he would have probably given you a lifetime free ticket to watch rugby. Or a free ticket to anywhere. Uncle Lamb only got a season ticket and a signed jersey, but it was uncle's fault pulling that meat cleaver move on him. But honestly ... Jamie's that smooth he makes my eyes roll, and I can almost see you doing the same."

She pulled out a miniature Fraser whiskey from her pocket. "I know it's still early in the morning, but shall we have a toast? It's my birthday, after all." The wind blew, the falling leaves of red and gold drifting all around her and flipping the pages of her mother's diary to a picture of her first birthday. "I get it, mum and dad," she whispered as she worked on opening the bottle. She didn't know if it's her parents' absence from years gone by or Jamie not being there that made the thought of having a celebratory drink seem bittersweet. Still, she smiled. There was so much in the future to look forward to.

"Today," Claire began, saluting the air with the wee bottle of whisky, "I'm going to honour my uncle's wish, and we're going to start our own new tradition. It was far too long ago that I lost you both, and even though I would give anything to have you both here with me, I wouldn't trade the time I spent growing up with uncle Lamb. So, from now on, every year, I'll celebrate your legacy, instead of dwelling on what could have been." She touched their headstones once more. "I wish both of you could be here to meet Jamie and see what a great job uncle has done being a parent. I have no doubt you're always watching over us. But I want you to know you also had a hand in raising me, with mum's little nuggets of wisdom written in her diary. Thank you for that and know you'll always be in my heart."

She raised her whisky. "To you, mum and dad. I love you both."

She sipped her drink, and as she swallowed a mouthful of the peaty alcohol, the wind lifted the pages of diary once more. She read the first passage her eyes landed on.

_ When the stormy clouds follow us with the turbulent concert of thunder, know that the liberating rain will finally wipe away the tears from our eyes. _

Suddenly out of nowhere a fat blob of water droplet fell onto the page, and when she looked up, she realised for the first time the clouds had drifted to cover the sun. Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she sent a quick text to Geillis, letting her know she would be heading home soon. With a smile, she said goodbye to her parents and gathered her things before she could get caught in the rain.

..........

Claire fished around in her oversized handbag to find her purse as the taxi slowly came to a standstill. She was just pulling a few pound notes when her phone rang.

She groaned when she saw Geillis' name flashing on the screen. "Ah, blooming heck."

When she paid the driver, she answered the call as she struggled to climb out of the vehicle.

"Geillis, hey. Did you get my voice message? I'm sorry I missed my flight in Oxford, so I'm catching the next flight from London. Sorry I'll be late."

She stepped out onto the kerb and gasped. It started to rain hard. Again. Squealing, she ran for the nearest cover, glad she only had a duffle bag to haul.

"Yes, I got yer message but are ye fucking kidding me? How could ye have missed yer flight?"

She paused, took huge deep breaths before making a mad dash to terminal five. "Well, it started to rain unusually hard," she explained huffing. "The Airbnb owner offered to drive me to the airport, but his car broke down on the way, so I missed my flight in Oxford. The best next flight I could get was here in London."

"Yer uncle was very anxious and fidgety when I told him about yer voice message."

"Oh, well, that's to be expected. Uncle Lamb has never planned a birthday surprise before."

"Please make sure you get in the next plane."

"Wow, you're really into this surprise party for me. Who's anxious now?"

"Weel, I put in a lot of effort, so I don't want ye to muck it up."

"I'm so sorry if I sound like I'm taking this lightly, but I'm in a bit of rush here too. Thank God I've printed my boarding pass. I think I'm running a bit late."

"Claire! Don't ye bloody dare miss this flight too or I swear to God ..."

She was trying to walk past a big group when she slipped on the wet tiles. As she let out a scream, her phone and bag went flying in all directions, and she fell heavily on her bottom. When she tried to get up, she slipped again and this time landing on her knees. She grunted when she tried to get up.

"Oh, bugger, bugger!" she muttered, wincing as the pain shot up her leg.

People crowded around her, asking if she was alright as two men helped her up. Mumbling she was fine, she quickly grabbed her handbag, but when she picked up her phone, the screen was cracked. _ Bloody hell! Whatever next! _

"Claire? Hello? Are ye still there?"

"I can hear ye Geillis," she replied, straightening her coat and scarf.

"Hello? Hello? Claire? Ah fuck, she's gone. Probably ran out of battery again. I swear I'm going to kill her."

Realising Geillis couldn't hear a word she was saying, she stuffed her phone back into the pocket of her coat with a sigh of resignation. As the crowd dispersed to catch their own flights, she scanned the area once more in case she'd dropped something else. Satisfied she got everything, she limp-ran to the boarding gate and realised she was the last passenger to board that flight.

..........

By the time Claire made it out of the terminal in Edinburgh, it was already eight in the evening, and she was hungry, bruised, cold, and missing Jamie terribly. To make her discomfort worse, her clothes, still slightly damp from the rain earlier, hadn't dried properly during the flight. She'd tried to change them in the cramp plane's toilet, but too bruised and sore from her fall, she couldn't even manage to lift her leg into a pair of jeans. She still couldn't believe the string of bad luck she'd endured after visiting her parents' grave. Maybe that's what happened when you decide to celebrate your birthday on their death anniversary.

Claire had taken another sneak peek on the last passage she read from her mother's diary. As she reread them again and again, she took the meaning literally and surmised it was probably a warning of the impending rain. Shaking her head, she tamped down the absurd thoughts, scanned the arrivals and was relieved to see Geillis walking towards her.

"Oh my God, what happened to ye? Ye look like a drowned rat!"

Claire wanted to cry and collapsed into Geillis' arms but refrained herself from doing so, afraid of causing a scene. She'd had enough of that in London earlier, so instead, she quickly filled her friend in with the incidents that took place as they made their way to the bathroom so she could change into some fresh clothes. It took them half an hour to make her look decent, and by the time they were in Geillis car, she was ready for bed.

"Christ Geillis is there any chance we can do this birthday party tomorrow? I'm really bone-tired, and all I need right now is a bath and a warm bed."

"Oh no, you don't! A lot of thought has gone to preparing your birthday, so suck it up, princess." When Claire didn't reply, Geillis rummaged through her bag and got some paracetamol. "Here take this, this should take the pain from yer bumps and bruises," she said, handing her the painkillers and a bottle of water.

Grateful, Claire took the medicines and popped two tablets into her mouth. "Sorry for sounding selfish and ungrateful, but it's just that I'm a bit emotional after visiting my parents' grave and missing Jamie so much. I haven't even spoken to Jamie all day."

"Not Jamie's fault, hen. Even if he had a chance to call now, your phone is damaged anyway. Besides, he's busy rearranging the stars in heaven for ye." Geillis handed her a bandana. "Here put this over yer eyes. And make sure ye cannae see a thing."

Claire glared at her. When she saw Geillis was serious, she groaned. "Oh no, Geillis, please no! Do I have to? I promise I will look surprised when we get to wherever we're going. Besides, is this really necessary if there's only me, you, Joe and uncle Lamb?"

Geillis gave her a sympathetic look. "Look, just humour me, alright? I ken it's been a rough day, but I need ye to trust me on this one. Just remember, Lamby had his heart set on this."

It was no use arguing with Geillis when she had no fight in her left. Grumbling under her breath, Claire gave in and tied the bandana over her eyes. When she was done, Geillis checked if she'd done it right.

"Good lass," Geillis said, starting the car and guiding it out from the parking lot.

They rode in silence for the next few minutes, and with all the turns and roundabouts Geillis took, Claire gave up guessing where they were heading to. She was relieved when they finally stopped as she was beginning to feel nauseous. With Geillis' erratic driving and impatience with slow-moving vehicles, Claire's stress level had reached an all-time high by the time her friend turned off the ignition.

Geillis hurriedly got out of her side of the car and helped Claire. "Right, here we are! Mind yer steps, we dinnae want a repeat from the London incident."

"That wasn't funny," Claire scolded, grabbing Geillis' hand. She sniffed the air for some clues to their location, but the one thing that stood out most was the eery stillness of their surrounding. The only sound she could hear was the traffic from a distance. "Jesus, where are we?"

"Patience, lass," Geillis replied, tugging her hand and guiding her forward. "We'll get there soon enough."

They walked for several metres, and when they finally stopped, Claire heard keys jiggling, some electronic beeping sound followed by a heavy door opening. She knew they weren't anywhere near the city and certainly not in a residential building. As they shuffled in, the loud echo of their movements made her think of empty open spaces. "I hope this is not a slaughterhouse you're leading me to. You're mentally unstable enough to come up with something like that."

"Ach, ye're sense of drama never ceases to amaze me."

"And your sense of humour is sometimes sick."

Geillis laughed as she gently pushed Claire into the lift. "Not far to go! Take huge big deep breaths and just remember, no one is making any sick jokes on ye. This is yer day, and it's high time we do a bit of celebration ...Lamby style."

"I don't even have a clue what his style is, so whatever he's got in store for me, it'll definitely be a surprise, and I don't think I would need to pretend anything."

"No, I don't think so either." The lift pinged, and the door slid open with a whoosh. "Alright, this way, we're almost there."

"Oh dear, here we go," she mumbled.

They stepped out, walked some more and then stopped again. Claire heard another door opened and Geillis gently pushed her inside. She held her breath, her heart already near her throat, unsure what to expect next. She just hoped no one was going to jump on her and shout "surprise!" as she had a strong feeling her nerves wouldn't be able to take it after the day she'd already had. Before Claire knew what was happening, Geillis gave her a bear hug. "Happy Birthday, hen," she whispered, her voice suddenly laced with choked emotions. "Just enjoy this, okay? Soak it all in. Promise me."

Surprised at her friend's sudden change in demeanour, Claire could only embrace Geillis back, thinking uncle Lamb must have done something extraordinary to get her all worked up.

"Ye can take off the bandana now and open yer eyes," Geillis whispered.

Before Claire could respond, Geillis stepped back, and the door suddenly shut. _ Ah, hell! _ She whipped off the covering from her eyes and blinked. She was engulfed in darkness. But there was the distant soft glow of city lights coming from outside the window and other than that, she couldn't see a thing. "Hello? Anyone in here? Please don't shout and jump and scare the bejesus out of me, because if you do, I'm out of here."

Nothing. No response.

She carefully moved forward until her hands grasped the ledge of the window and squinted. It was too dark to see and decipher the place she was in. But one thing she was sure of, she was outside of Edinburgh as its silhouette and lights were visible from where she stood.

She heard a whirring sound, and then all of a sudden, brightness replaced the darkness outside, as floodlights illuminated a wide-open space of green. She gasped when she realised she was looking down at a rugby field. It was complete with covered stands, benches and team shelters and even the lines on the mowed field were freshly marked with white. On the far end was a gigantic white screen and surrounding the area were netting erected in place. Everything looked brand spanking new and fresh. It could only mean she was in Jamie's academy. Shaking her head, she laughed out loud. _ He's done it, my bloody Scot has gone and done it! _

Tears started to fall as pride for Jamie overflowed in bucket loads. She was about to grab her phone from the pocket of her coat, but she remembered it wasn't working. So instead she allowed herself to cry like a child, knowing how far Jamie had come and at what cost. This was what he'd always wanted and worked so hard for, and she couldn't be happier for him and what he'd accomplished.

"Why the tears, Sassenach? Don't ye like it?"

Her heart jumped out of her chest, and the moment she spun around, she heard something clicked, and the light in the room went on. Jamie was sat on an office desk, looking ruggedly handsome in his black shirt, faded jeans and a leather jacket, and sporting a week-old scruff.

"Jamie!" she breathed.

He beamed, and it's the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. With her heart pumping madly, she took quick steps towards him and launched herself into his arms.

He laughed out loud as he caught her, lifting her against him and burying his face into the crook of her neck. "Mo chridhe," he murmured. "Christ, I've missed ye." He inhaled deeply, his lips warm and tantalising against her skin.

"Not as much as I've missed you," she whispered, raining kisses on his jawline. When they drew away, she looked into his eyes, all the restlessness from the past few days dissolving in the warmth of his body heat. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to do a live interview."

His hands gripped her waist and leaned his forehead against hers. "I did have an interview, but it was done early this morning. The show featured it tonight as live even if it wasnae. I didnae want to miss yer birthday for anything, so we did a pre-recording."

"But when are you going back?" she asked, pulling back. "I love the fact you came here for my birthday, but does that mean you will be away longer because you came here today?"

He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "I've finished everything I needed to do." He gave her a lopsided grin, unable to hide his joy. "I did a lot of rescheduling as I didn't want to hang around and wait in between interviews and photocalls. I told them I have a lot of business obligations, so I managed to convince them to scramble their timetable for me."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? So, that's it?" She smiled at him, happier than she could fully express. "No more public appearances?"

"Aye, that's it. The only interview I will entertain in the future will be for the academy." He brushed his lips against hers. "Oh, by the way, happy birthday, Sassenach!"

She linked her hands behind his neck. "Thank you. You being here is the best birthday gift ever and by the way too, congratulations on the completion of your academy. But how on earth did you do all of this so fast?"

"Weel, when I bought this sports complex, all the infrastructure were already here in place, and that helped a lot financially. It needed a lot of work done, and an additional extension to the building, but that wasnae much of a problem as Willie has a great construction team. The extension isnae quite finish yet though, but as ye saw, the field is complete. We are still waiting for some of the equipment for training and gym to arrive. But they're on their way. And this here ..." he waved a hand in the air. "...will be my office."

Claire looked around the spacious room, taking it all in for the first time since she came in. It was beautiful, masculine and fit for a rugby academy director. The whole space had been fitted out with rich dark wood, high-quality furnishings and the latest electronic gadget, including a massive TV on one wall. The exposed brick wall and the wide window overlooking the rugby field lent the room a more modern, twenty-first-century edge, without compromising practicality. It was simply too stunning for words.

Claire untangled herself from Jamie and walked over to the window. "This office reminds me of a private box in Murrayfield stadium. You have a bird's eye view of the whole field. As well as an uninterrupted panorama of Edinburgh."

"That's why I chose this space for my office." He stood behind her and pointed to the roof of the stand's cover. "And over there, Sassenach, is one of the spots where the sign and logo of the academy are going."

"Yes, I can see it already, Jamie," she whispered. "In big, bold, beautiful letters ...James Fraser Academy."

Jamie cleared his throat. "About that, Sassenach, I have something to show ye."

She turned around to face him and watched as he took out a bundle of folded papers from the inside of his jacket and placed it in her hand.

"What's this?"

He smiled nervously and nodded. "Take a look."

It was some sort of official document. Claire flicked through all the pages, skimming paragraphs as she went, but it was all legal jargon to her. "I don't understand, Jamie."

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled, his face turning red. "It's on the last page. Tell me what ye think."

There were only three sections on the page, and right at the bottom where Jamie's signature was supposed to be on the dotted line, was blank. Claire carefully read the words, and as the meaning behind them began to sink in, her heart started to race. Jamie had named his academy FRASER-BEAUCHAMP RUGBY ACADEMY.

She licked her lips and reread the page again, just to make sure she didn't misunderstand anything. "Jamie, but why ..." When she tore her gaze away from the paper, her heart stopped. Jamie was down on one knee in front of her, holding out her mother's engagement ring.

"Sassenach," he said gruffly. "I ken I do a lot of things poorly and a few things well. And when I'm with ye, I feel I can achieve anything and everything. Ye make me a better person, and I want to keep getting better with ye by my side. What I'm trying to say is, I want to spend the rest of my life with ye. I want to have babies with ye and grow old with ye. And if you agree to be my wife, what's mine will be yers, that's why I havenae signed that paper yer holding yet. And I swear as God is my witness, I will cherish ye with every fragment of my being each and every day until I draw my final breath." He swallowed audibly and whispered, "Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, will ye marry me?"

She gasped. Every ounce of oxygen and emotion she felt for Jamie poured out of her with such incredible force, she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. "Oh, Jamie ..." Her hand clapped over her mouth, stifling her cry.

"Sassenach?"

"Oh, this all too much."

He stood up and pulled her into his arms. "Sassenach, are ye upset because I asked ye to marry me?"

She shook her head and pressed her face against his chest, inhaling his clean, masculine smell. She was crying because they were two broken people when they first met, and despite all odds and their past, their pain had brought them together. It was the messiness of their histories that drove them, and the damage that came with it connected them at a soul level. The scars they carried were so deeply embedded they couldn't see them anymore but recognised them in each other. It would have been easy to wallow in bitterness and succumb to all the negative emotions, but somehow in understanding each other's hurt, they were able to heal and forgive their own shortcomings and give them the strength to have faith in love.

Jamie's hold tightened. "Please tell me those tears mean ye're saying yes. Because if it isnae, this would go down in history as the worse birthday present ever."

Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him and laughed through her tears. "Oh God, Jamie, yes, I want to marry you."

A single tear slid down Jamie's eye as he slid her mother's ring into her finger with trembling hands. And when he kissed her with so much reverence, it felt like they were kissing for the first time. As they gradually pulled away, he wiped the tears from her face. "Uncle Lamb gave me this ring to give to ye. He said this ring has been missing for a while and he found it a few weeks ago. Maybe it's a sign yer ma approves of me."

Claire laughed. "Oh, my mum and dad definitely approve. You don't need to worry about that."

"If ye dinnae approve of the ring, I can buy a new one. I cannae give ye my mother's because she's given it to Willie already."

"Oh, Jamie, this is perfect," she said, splaying her fingers out to admire the jewellery. It was a simple platinum Art Deco ring with two matching cut diamonds in a square frame. It had belonged to her father's mother.

"That's good then if ye think so," he grinned, putting on a pair of AirPods into his ears. "Now are ye ready for this?"

"What are you doing?"

Jamie didn't reply as he swiped a few times on his phone. When he shoved it back into his pocket, he smiled at her and pulled her into his arms. "I want everyone that matters to know that ye said yes. So, Sassenach, ye really do want to marry me?"

"Yes, Jamie, I want to marry you. I have the ring on now, don't I?"

A sudden loud roar of cheers came from the TV, and when she turned around, she was stunned to see Jamie's family, uncle Lamb, Joe and Geillis applauding and cheering on the screen.

"Oh, my God, so this is the surprise," she whispered, more to her herself than to Jamie.

While more shouts of congratulations and good wishes followed, Uncle Lamb's face filled up the TV screen. "Well, what are you both waiting for?" he grumbled into the camera, his face comically up too close. "Everyone is starving. Show us a kiss and come down here and let's celebrate."

Jamie and Claire both laughed and obliged their family and friends. When they got carried away kissing, another uproar ensued reminding them of where they were. With hesitation but with laughter, they untangled themselves from each other's embrace and left Jamie's office, heading down to what would one day be the cafeteria.

But before they entered, Jamie stopped her and pulled her into his arms once again. "Thank ye for choosing me, Sassenach. I still cannae believe I get to call ye my fiancee. But please, let's not make this a long engagement because I cannae wait to start our life together and start calling ye my wife."

She smiled up at him. "I don't want a long engagement neither nor do I want it all over the papers, nor do I wish for a fancy wedding. If ye want we can get married tomorrow."

Jamie shook his head. "Now, Sassenach, dinnae be silly. I want a proper wedding, and I want to see ye walking the aisle in yer dress. I'm gonnae get married only once, and I want to do this right."

"Fine, now kiss me before everyone starts looking for us."

"I love ye," he whispered before he lowered his head to kiss her.

"And I love you too," she murmured against his lips.

When Jamie's phone started to beep, they both groaned in despair.

"Come, Sassenach, we have a double celebration coming up, and everyone has been waiting for hours.."

With smiles in their faces and hearts, they entered the room to the cheers of their love ones.

As they walked hand in hand, Claire realised that loving Jamie will never cease to amaze her. He was like thunder and the gentle rain that follows. He was both fire and balm to her soul. There was no doubt there will be heartaches and pain along the way, but they've seen each other's mess and brokenness, and they still loved each other and came out stronger. She used to think it was fate when he caught her fall from the church window. But now, after all the twist and turns they'd been through, she believed fate is what one makes out of it - you get the love you fight for and the one you think you deserve. Their destiny was to nurture that love and keep reminding themselves, that whatever life throws at them, they will always find their way to each other.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

[phobiadeficient]

Damn i luv ur writing omgggg Sniper didn't know he liked ass that much... Until he saw Scout's ass. Sniper let's Scout know about it, teases him. Scout is embarrassed, but he likes it (but, of course, he'll never admit it) . Maybe with sum humping, groping and rimming? -🐑

sniper tf2 is an ass man and you can fuckin quote me on that. (no warnings)

-

Okay, to be fair, Scout knew that the pants were probably too tight.

One unfortunate side-effect of seven older brothers was literally all your clothes being hand-me-downs unless it was something that absolutely needed to fit correctly. And him being generally less broad and tall than his brothers (bunch of meatheads, all of them) meant just having to squeeze into clothes they’d all worn when they were a lot younger, and so they fit him in some ways and not in others.

Since he’d gotten his mercenary job he’d gone to the work of getting some new clothes that actually fit him. Shirts and pants and shoes and socks and everything. And he looked good in them, too, and would put them on whenever he went off base, either drinking with the guys or alone to pick up chicks or whatever other excuse he could get because he had to be in uniform so much of the rest of the time.

But the thing was, he’d been stupid busy with all sorts of dumb shit and kept forgetting to wash his normal-people clothes, so he was left with the last of his clothes, and he really wanted to wear this one shirt and only this one pair of pants wouldn’t look straight up stupid with it and so he had to wear them even though they were kinda small on him.

And as he’d been walking over to meet with Sniper to go out on what wasn’t technically a date and was technically just two coworkers getting a couple of drinks on the weekend, he’d realized that, okay, no, they were really small on him. And he was kind of tempted to go and change, but he was a little late anyways to the time he said he was going to be there and he didn’t want to be even more late from having to change into something else.

And Sniper wasn’t even ready yet when he got there, he was in a pair of pants and socks and toweling off from a shower and promised to be ready in a few minutes’ time. And Scout shrugged and leaned on the little counter and flipped through the magazine Sniper had there—some hunting magazine, but there were some cool guns in there at least—and he was startled out of his zoning out by a wolf-whistle from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sniper grinning a little, eyes darting from his face down towards his legs and back up again as he sat on the bed, steadily lacing up his boots. He rolled his eyes, even as he started to flush. “Shut the fuck up,” he deadpanned, shifting a little bit and looking away.

“How’d you even squeeze into those?” Sniper asked, chuckling.

“Look, they—they used to fit better,” he said defensively, which was true. When he’d first joined the team, they were only a little bit small on him. But since then he’d gained weight both in muscle mass and in body fat, even if it was only slightly, and apparently it all went to his thighs and ass.

“Didn’t say it looked bad,” Sniper said, and there was still a grin in his voice, and Scout heard the mattress squeak as he got to his feet. “Just not entirely sure I want to even bring you out in pants this tight. Firstly, some other bloke might get ideas.”

“Gonna start a brawl over some tight pants, Snipes?” Scout teased, flicking the page on the magazine.

He squeaked as he felt a pair of hands on his ass, freezing up a little in his surprise. “Maybe,” Sniper said, voice a rumble that sent shivers up Scout’s back. “But they’re also damn tempting, is all. Not sure I‘ll be able to keep my hands off you the whole night.”

Scout swallowed back a noise as Sniper slid his hands into his back pockets.

Alright, so maybe it was kind of sort of a date. Maybe it was a “Scout felt kind of weird to be so consistently fucking the guy when they didn’t even really do couple stuff or hang out in more than like two places” thing. Maybe it was a “Scout needing to justify why he liked this guy so much even though he barely knew him” thing. Maybe it was a “getting pounded into the mattress like twice a week without even knowing what kind of movies the dude likes felt weird” thing. But also it was feeling significantly less important just then, with Sniper nosing beneath his jaw and kissing at his neck idly.

“Aww, c’mon, I showered for this and everything,” Scout complained, just so he wouldn’t look like a total lovestruck idiot.

“You always shower before you come over here,” Sniper replied a little dryly, and Scout flushed, because he’d been pretty sure Sniper hadn’t noticed. “If you really want to go out, you’re going to need to change, Roo. I’m serious.”

Scout subtly leaned back into the weight of Sniper’s hands, flushing a little bit. “Jeez, you’re really that into it?” he tried, hoping he didn’t sound as flustered as he was.

Sniper nodded in agreement before he ducked back in again. “Always hear about people going on about how good people look, the, er, ‘hate to see her go love to watch her leave’ thing, but it never really clicked for me until I saw this,” Sniper said, squeezing once meaningfully and making Scout’s breath catch and muscles jolt. “But I get it now, really I do. Gorgeous, feels like I ought to have to pay to ogle you all the buggering time.”

Scout bit the inside of his cheek to try to get ahold of himself. “Well, uh, well maybe I’ll start makin’ you,” he teased, glad he was turned away and Sniper couldn’t see his face, because he was sure he probably looked like a flushed mess and it was embarrassing.

Because he’d dated plenty of people, mostly girls, and sometimes they’d teased him that he had a nice ass and all that, gotten the stray pinch and smack every now and then, right? But he’d never been outright groped like this, never had someone feel him up like this, nevermind so reverently, nevermind nipping up the column of his neck and slipping hands around his hips and pulling him back and tilting him just so and grinding into him with such a smooth roll of hips, and, fuck.

His breath wouldn’t stop catching, and he felt sweat beading against his brow, on the back of his neck, down his back. He swallowed hard as Sniper repeated the motion, twice as slow as before. “Fuck,” he managed, and swallowed hard again. “Uh. We, uh. We...”

Sniper went still, only kissing idly at the back of his neck, letting him catch up to what he wanted to say.

“We can, take a raincheck on the drinks,” Scout managed, still a little stuttery.

“Next weekend, maybe?” Sniper tried, sounding significantly more in control than Scout was.

“Yeah,” Scout said, and then he was being turned around, and then Sniper was kissing him.

Hands on his ass again, gripping even more firmly, squeezing, grinding their hips together even as Sniper made his head spin with his mouth. Scout tried to pull away to gasp, and was drawn back in a moment later, Sniper back with twice the enthusiasm and ferocity.

“Bloody unfair,” Sniper half-growled, and Scout could only get his brain together enough to make a vague sound of question. “How damn good you look in these.”

“Well, uh,” Scout started, and didn’t bother finishing the sentence when Sniper started kissing him again.

His knees started going weak enough that Sniper caught on and turned them enough to push Scout into bed, following behind shortly after once he’d stripped off his belt and pants.

Sniper proved to be a real asshole in that he kept distracting Scout from getting his own clothes off, nipping at his ear and stroking hands down his sides and playing with every inch of bare skin that Scout managed to get between fumbling hands.

Finally he complained, and Sniper eased off, and that only made him fumble more, Sniper’s eyes burning into him as he pulled free of his shirt, fought free of his pants and briefs. And he tried to hide how flustered he was by turning over, and Sniper caught on quick, making room and guiding him up onto his elbows and knees.

But the bastard didn’t set into lubing him up like he usually did. Apparently Scout had unintentionally put him in a mood. Instead, he went right back to feeling Scout up, squeezing and groping at his ass in firm, pleased sorts of motions, and Scout buried his face into his forearm as his face flushed, trying to hold back any embarrassing noises. He failed a second or two later when Sniper pinched him, and grabbed the pillow from not far away, whipping it back to smack Sniper in the side. He just laughed, tossing the pillow back up to the head of the bed.

“Said you showered?” Sniper prompted as he leaned to get the lube from the drawer. Scout hummed in agreement. “Good, good.”

Scout was a little tempted to ask exactly why that was so good, but then Sniper was back and pressing a finger in and he forgot the question, simply exhaling, doing his best to quickly relax.

Sniper was only at it for a few moments, though, before he pulled his hand back entirely, and Scout groaned in a mix of pleasure and embarrassment as he felt Sniper’s hands gripping at him again, spreading him apart. “Hurry up,” he practically whined, and Sniper made a sound of agreement, then—

Scout’s breath caught on a gasp, the sound something like a hiccup, as Sniper kissed just below his tailbone, then lower, then—

He moaned outright, higher than he’d expected it to sound, and that earned him a second lick, then a cautious probe of his tongue, and Scout felt like his muscles were already turning to jelly, shivery and electrified and weak.

It wasn’t often that Sniper indulged him in this. Partially because Scout always insisted that Sniper brush his teeth after, or else Scout wouldn’t kiss him. But every time he did, Scout turned into a complete mess.

Scout felt the bottle of lube roll on the mattress to hit his leg, and he processed in the back of his mind that it wasn’t the usual one, it was the flavored lube that Scout had half gotten as a joke. He hadn’t expected it to get used, to be honest, but here he was, getting proven wrong. And also getting turned into a pile of mush.

He couldn’t even keep track of the noises he was making, head swimming with pleasure. He was tempted to reach down and start tugging himself off, just to try and get an ounce of control over the situation, but he knew Sniper would stop him if he tried. He had in the past.

So instead he just gripped at the sheets and tried to remember to breathe and held on for dear life as Sniper’s mouth and tongue threatened to unravel him entirely.

When Sniper finally pulled back, Scout was slumped forward and was breathing like he’d run a marathon or twelve, and he didn’t waste a second before he set into begging, incoherent even to him but tone unmistakable. Sniper didn’t bother teasing him, just shucking his own pants down enough to free himself and slicking up, pushing in and making Scout’s begging cut off into a choked-off little gasp.

“There’s a love,” Sniper soothed, a hand drawing down over Scout’s back to settle him further, and once it was clear Scout was ready to start, that hand and his other one gripped high on Scout’s hips and he started on a merciless rhythm that had Scout’s voice cracking within moments.

Made all too aware of it all of a sudden, Scout couldn’t help but tune in to the feeling of Sniper’s hips snapping against his ass, blood pumping all the hotter at the way he felt it bounce. And Sniper apparently noticed too, because he went to pinch and grope at Scout some more, and it was almost embarrassing how hard it was to last under the assault of pleasure. He had to focus hard on clenching his fists in the sheets and not touching himself, sure he’d shoot in a minute flat if he did.

No, he held out, at least until Sniper started to break a bit, making real noises and faltering in his rhythm. Then he wrapped a hand around himself, and could’ve cried from how good it felt, and they finished damn near the same time, groaning and shuddering and pressing together tightly. Scout whined at the feeling of Sniper sealing teeth over his shoulder once he was through the brunt of his orgasm, the pain and the pleasure of it mixing into an intoxicating kind of cocktail.

Sniper pinched him again, and Scout couldn’t deny how much he liked it anymore. Not to himself, at least. But he still hit Sniper with a pillow again.

#//sniperscout #//teasing

[thesmalltowngal]

COC Snowbaz 8- My Love

COC #8: Endearment Terms

Simon is very much done with Baz calling him Snow... and Baz is plenty okay with that. 

~ Let’s be honest, I would just melt if anybody ever called me ‘my love’. *Sigh*. So fluffy. Enjoy! ~

“Oh for Christs’ sake, Baz!” I only swear like a Normal when I’m particularly angry (especially at Baz), and right now I’m fuming. (Once again- because of Baz.) I was already having a fucking bad day and then I get back to our rooms and he starts in on me right away! He seemed particularly feisty today; commenting on bloody everything wrong with me. (My hair, my clothes, my personality.) And it wouldn’t have been so bad if every other fucking word out of his mouth wasn’t condescendingly saying Snow.

Well, Snow, I wouldn’t expect you to get it. Too half witted for your own good, Snow. Blimey, Snow, can you ever manage to look even half decent? Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow. Baz’s voice was sarcastic and tight, laced with his usual venom. But after seven years of sharing a room (a home) with the git, I would expect him to at least have the common decency to not call me by my last name! (My middle name?) Even though he’s a cruel tit, a complete numpty and an all-around areshole of an enemy… the least he can do for me on this terrible day is call me by my proper name. 

“What, Snow? Something got your knickers in a twist?” He rolls his eyes as he lays back on his bed, eyeing me to make sure I don’t explode. (I’m already almost to that point- he should be bracing for bloody impact.)

“You, Baz. Always you!” I take a deep breath and turn around to face him. He’s standing up too, now. “Why can’t you just call me by my proper name?” He scoffs. (Him and that infuriating scoff and his fucking raised eyebrows.)

“Snow is your proper name, Snow.” He’s speaking calmly, as though he was talking to a child, but I can hear irritation and frustration behind every word. 

“Crowley, Baz, you’re just so- I would rather be, Jesus fucking Christ you tit, why can’t you-” I pull at the roots of my hair and then press my palms to my eyes and take a deep breath. (For what feels like the umpteenth time today.) “Merlin, Baz I would rather have you call me pet names than call me Sn-” I stop abruptly in the middle of my sentence as I look at Baz’s face to see a slow smirk crawling on his face. “Oh no…” I whisper, realizing what I’ve just done. 

He looks thoughtful as he says, “Oh, is that so?” I vigorously shake my head no, but once Baz sets his mind on something, there’s no turning back. What in the bloody hell have I done? Baz takes a step closer to me… and then a step closer. I can feel his breath whisper across my face as I look into his grey eyes- much like pavement on a rainy day. I feel my own breath hitch. “I can make that happen, love…” I want to scream. In a good way or bad, I’m not quite sure, but I decide not to think about it at the moment. (The only thing I’m thinking about is staying upright.) (It’s quite difficult.) 

“Baz, I-”

“Yes, babe?” He has a shit-eating grin taking up half his features. The look might be lovely if it weren’t so… unsettling at the moment. 

“You can just call me Snow; really, I overreacted-” He brings a cold finger up to my lips to shush me. Since I can’t seem to form many coherent things, I stay quiet. 

“Why ruin the fun, pumpkin?” My voice gets caught in my throat and I feel my heart jump when he pulls away, moving back to his bed. I follow suit, moving to mine own. He spells the lights off and gets under his sheets, telling me that the conversation is over. I can only hope that he’s done by tomorrow. “Night, hot stuff.” His voice wavers like he was nervous about saying it. My head is spinning. 

I sigh defeatedly. “G’night, Basil.” He scoffs in response, but not as unkindly as he was only a moment ago. I fall asleep hoping against all hopes that he stops this tomorrow. (Part of me wants him to carry on- although I might explode if he does.)

                                                           …

The next morning, I wake, my hair sticking up all over the place. Before I can even get out of bed, I see Baz fixing his tie in the mirror. I freeze, remembering the events of last night. Baz catches my eye in the mirror and sneers. I growl back, and we go on about our mornings as though nothing has changed. But right before Baz goes out the door to breakfast, he stops and looks at me.

Gruffly and with malice in his voice, he says, “Unfortunately, I’ll see you later, Sn-” He pauses, a revelation passing his features. He grins. “My love.” My love. My love. I’ve been called my love by a vampire. By my enemy. By a bloke. By T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch. My love. Damn it all to hell if that isn’t the best term of endearment that there is. 

Before Baz can get out the door, I run at him, shoving him against the wall. “The anathema-” Baz starts. (It’s funny how even though we hate each other we’ll remind each other about the anathema.) I shake my head, looking at him in the eyes. (His lovely, lovely grey eyes.) His breath is shaking (much like mine) and Crowley his hair is falling in waves around his face. He looks caught off guard and out of his element. 

“Say it again,” I spit at him. “I fucking dare you,” My nose is bumping into his and I can feel the magic radiating off me in waves. 

“Say wh-”

“You know what, you insufferable bastard. I. Dare. You.” It’s like he’s looking into my soul. (My eyes bore into his as well, so perhaps it’s even.) It’s as though we’re fighting with our eyes. He pauses for a long time, so I take a moment to inhale his scent of cedar and bergamot. It’s like he’s debating whether to say it or not. Say it, I silently beg. Just say it.

“I’ll see you later… my love.” I can feel his words whisper across my lips with his. I close the gap between us, swallowing up his terms of endearment with my mouth. I push against him so hard that I’m not sure I don’t hurt him. (Will the Anathema kick me out for this kind of hurt?) He pushes back with equal fervor, nipping at me and exploring my mouth like it’s a cave and he’s the explorer. We take in gasping breaths between desperate kisses. My love. His words ring in my ears. (I s’pose this means I’m gay, or at least just a bit... I’ll think about that later.)

I slow the kiss so that it’s softer- like we have all the time in the world. Still, he moans against me when I tug at his hair. I swipe at every part of his mouth like I can transfer the words from his mouth into my heart- into my soul. I kiss the lips that said the words like they can run straight down my throat and into me. I kiss his throat that made the sounds that made the words. Like the loveliest of those sounds can somehow be transferred to me. My love. 

I kiss him everywhere (and he lets me), hoping to transfer just a little bit of him to a little bit of me. I snog him like he himself is made of the words. All that he is (and all that he was, I s’pose) is my love. I want all of him…

All of my love. 

#COC 2019 #Carry On Countdown #Snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #my love #pet names #simon #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #Baz Grimm-Pitch #Baz Grimm Pitch #Magic #fanfiction #fanfic #love #Watford School of Magicks #watford #rainbow rowell #carry on

[haberdashing]

As If You Were There (2/4)

The statements from Episode 100 rewritten as regular statements, with a fair bit of creative liberty taken to fill in the missing details.

on AO3

Part 1 / Part 2

Statement of John Smith, regarding a supernatural encounter within the depths of the abandoned Aldwych Tube station. Original statement given May the 13th, 2017. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Look, I’m not giving you my name and address and birth date and goddamn blood type so you can go hand it all over to the bloody government when I’m done. Maybe you don’t do that sort of thing, maybe all that talk about confidentiality is more than just lip service, but I can’t trust you just like that. I’m not sure who I can trust, not anymore. I trusted my friend--let’s call him Jeremy, I trusted Jeremy--but that’s about it, and now he’s not here, and I don’t know what agencies will help and what agencies will just rat me out to the perpetrators. I’ve heard of your field, found a few web pages a while back, but that’s not much to go on. I just really hope you’re one of the good ones.

D’you know about Aldwych Tube station? Well, it’s not a Tube station anymore--there’s still trains running at the platform level, but the station itself isn’t running anymore, it’s been abandoned for decades now. So many of the things there are all in original condition--the original adverts are still up, things like that, never removed that stuff after they shut it all down. It’s part of London’s history, y’know, it’s public transport, it’s interesting.

But when Jeremy and I decided to break in there, it wasn’t just about about the public transport stuff and the adverts. We wanted to have a look around because we had some ideas about what else might be down there, maybe there was something worth investigating there. It’s the right kind of place for it, hiding in plain sight, unused space in the middle of London but nobody thinks twice about it because oh, it’s just an old Tube station, everybody knows that. But we figured maybe it’s not just an old Tube station, maybe there’s more to it than that.

Suppose we were right about that bit, at least. Just wish we could’ve learned it without losing Jeremy in the process.

We were in the tunnels when it happened. Already saw the adverts, the usual public transportation stuff, nothing too exciting there, but that wasn’t a surprise. We weren’t the first ones to break in there, not by a long shot, so it couldn’t be that easy. But the tunnels, they could be hiding something for sure. Jeremy and I both had torches with us--it was evening then, but it was gloomy enough in those tunnels that I doubt they’d be much lighter in the day time. It started out pretty boring, just following train tracks, no signs of anything.

Then our torches went out. Both of them, at the same time. And we’d packed them with fresh batteries, too. Can’t have been a coincidence there. Maybe the government made some kind of field down there that messes with electronics, just in case someone came poking around, getting too close to what they’re hiding down there.

Now, it was proper dark down there without the torches. Couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. But Jeremy started rambling about what he was doing, came closer and said he’d get his phone out and use it as a torch since the actual torches were a bust. I wasn’t big on his bringing the phone in the first place--too easy for the wrong people to track--but having the light from it definitely would’ve been better than nothing.  But the phone wouldn’t light up either. Thought it had died too, but then Jeremy tried to turn it on and it made a sound like it was turning off, though the screen hadn’t shown a thing the whole time.

Electronics disrupter, I’m telling you. Screwing with the EMF field. It’s gotta be.

Jeremy wanted to turn around then, just call it a bust and go home, but I figured this meant we were close to something big, exactly the sort of thing we’d come for in the first place, and I talked him into going a bit further before giving up. ‘Course I regret it now, but how could I have known?

We linked arms to make sure we each knew where the other one was in the dark, even though it made walking a little awkward, and Jeremy definitely stepped on my shoes more than once down there; to be fair, I probably paid him back in kind along the way. Tried to keep going straight, best as we could figure, but we kept bumping into the same wall over and over again. No matter how much we course-corrected, we kept bumping into this smooth, cold wall on either side, though the tunnels had seemed plenty big when we started out. No way the trains could pass through a space that small.

I pointed that out to Jeremy, actually, said we must be getting close to something then, and it was right after that that we first saw them.

Couldn’t tell you what they looked like, height, weight, gender, any of that stuff. For one thing, it was way too dark to make out any of those kinds of details, and for another, they were dressed to blend in, to hide that identifying information further. Could be some sort of military camouflage prototypes, adapted to the darkness of the tunnels. I could only see the faint snippets where their pitch-black clothes didn’t quite cover them--gaps between long sleeves and gloves, or between a turtleneck and a ski mask--and even then, they had to be pretty close first. If it really was camouflage like I thought, well, it wasn’t perfect, but it sure got the job done.

The first one I saw was off to the right, so we tried to go around, but just bumped into the wall on the left instead. Jeremy was on my left, and I think he got a few scrapes there, heard him wince in pain. Then I saw a flash of skin from another figure, and another, and my stomach began to sink.

I was sure there were five of them there. I don’t know how I was so sure, given that I only saw them in brief flashes, small snippets of skin that could’ve been the same person over and over, but I was sure. And if it was two on two, or even three on two, I might’ve been willing to duke it out, but five on two’s hardly a fair fight, is it?

I heard something in the distance, a loud, long sound that reminded me a little of a train coming, and I remembered this was a Tube station, or had been, though I didn’t think any trains were supposed to run that late. I thought maybe one was heading towards us, or coming from behind, though there were no lights to show as much, so I told Jeremy to run.

I heard my own breathing then, and could just barely make out Jeremy’s as we tried to head back, but I swear, I swear I didn’t hear a single breath from the five that were after us. Maybe they were robots that just looked like humans. Wouldn’t surprise me.

Whatever they were, they were after us for sure now. Even as we tried to get away, to dodge, they just kept getting closer. Tried heading to the right, but hit the wall pretty quick, even though we’d just hit the other one. Tried walking backwards but, well, that’s hard enough on your own, let alone when you’ve got your arms linked up to someone else.

So we just broke arms and ran. Every man for himself isn’t pretty, sure, and I’m far from proud of it, but sometimes that’s all you can do. If we’d stayed together, we’d prob’ly both be gone now.

At one point when I was running I saw a light back the way I came, looking like it was coming from everywhere all at once, and after being in the dark that long it hurt my eyes to see. I could see then that Jeremy was behind me, that the men in black were all gathered around him now. He was on the ground, so either he fell along the way or one of them knocked him down; probably the latter, if I had to guess. Either way, I hadn’t heard it, just that low rumble of a train that never quite arrived.

Part of me wanted to go towards the light, like it’d be safer, but I figured it had to be a trap. The only place that light could be coming from was their secret holding facility, and I wasn’t being dragged in there for the life of me. Plus, that roaring noise had only gotten louder when it showed up. So I ran the other way and made sure not to look back.

Eventually the sound faded away and I saw a sliver of light from above, managed to climb my way out of Aldwych station, but I never saw Jeremy again. I came back the next day with all the industrial torches I could buy with cash without triggering any government alarms, found the torches we’d dropped along the way--both still dead--and Jeremy’s phone--also dead, and screen way more cracked than it had been when we started--and a spot of blood on the wall, but no sign of Jeremy.

I tried going to the tabloids first, the kind that publish what they know is the truth, no matter what the authorities try to claim. I figured Jeremy’s younger, decent-looking bloke, and pretty well-off these days, so even if none of them believed the government connection--and none of them did, or at least, none of them were willing to admit it--I figured his disappearance would be a human interest story, and the details could come out later. They all turned me down and laughed me out of the room, though. A few suggested going to the police, but I knew better; at best I’d get arrested for trespassing, at worst I’d be locked up down in the tunnels with Jeremy. One of them looked to be in the middle of calling me a shrink, or worse, when I just up and left. And one mentioned your name as an alternative.

Even if you had all my details, I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me if you sent someone down into the tunnels the same way we’d gone, or got in touch with your government connections to arrange a deal, or whatever. That confidentiality agreement of yours goes both ways, I imagine. But I don’t need all those details. I just need you to get back Jeremy for me.

Or if you can’t--if he’s too far gone, if they’re already testing bioweapons on him, or they already wiped his mind, or did something else that means he isn’t coming back--make damn sure nobody else goes the same way he did.

Statement ends.

#tma #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

[leam1983]

Post-Quarantine Musings  - Hardspace: Shipbreaker

I book car showroom appointments for a living.

There’s more to it, seeing as I’m the office’s resident IT drone, proofreader and occasional copywriter, but it boils down to this. My job in these parlous times is to get you to strap on that dodgy graphene-filter mask you bought off of Wish or Alibaba and drive to your local showroom so you can socially distance yourself from a guy who really, really wants you to disregard the fact that payment delays on a 20K$ vehicle just isn’t a worthwhile deal in times like these. Money’s tight for everyone, but Honda, Nissan and everyone else’s plant workers need to put food on the plate - and that means buyback offers. Lots and lots of buyback offers, most of them being shockingly cheap and poorly thought-out.

Over the last few days, though, I’ve been poking at Blackbird Entertainment’s Hardspace: Shipbreaker, of which the basic setup uneasily mirrors the decidedly crapsack world we find ourselves living in, lately. Work is scarce for some, so blue-collar postings suddenly start to have some allure. What happens, then, when said blue-collar work takes you out of Earth’s gravity well?

The year is 2355 or thereabouts, and inflation’s made it so that a lower-middle class bloke having over nine million dollars in debt is totally normal. You’re one such average Joe, the game opening with the anxiety-inducing din of your cramped mega-building apartment. Your financial imprint is in shambles, creditors are after your ass, and your inbox varies between impassioned pleas from your mother and curt title lines coming from repo agencies.

You’re deep in it, safe to say.

Luckily for you, you’ve also applied to the LYNX Corporation’s Shipbreaker program, wherein all debts are shouldered by the company as well as all living expenses, so long as you don’t mind leaving your family and loved ones behind to spend your hours between work shifts in a pressurized habitat that’s essentially left out in the open space of your new workspace’s offered ship berth. The profile setup is presented diegetically as the world’s mortiferous take on Capitalism, wherein LYNX reserves the right to clone you, if you happen to sever the right fuel line at the wrong time. The company expects total obedience and even dictates who you should vote for, in the coming global elections. You’ll make millions of bucks per shift, but most of it will go to fruitlessly attempting to sponge off a debt not even your children’s children will have any prayer of making a dent in.

“But hey,” says Weaver, your supervisor, in his nonchalant Midwestern drawl, “work hard, and you too just might work off your debt, like Simmons did.”

In the beginning hours, it’s not hard to get the sense that Simmons might be a company-created chimera, a figment of corporate imagination - the Guy Who Made It.

In practice, your new job involves floating around in the zero-G confines of a spaceship berth, flanked by furnaces to smelt down what can be salvaged or repurpose what can be quickly reused. Everything else, from cots to pressurization units and loose personal O2 tanks, you have to fling down into the giant space barge that partially blots out your view of a brownish, detritus-covered Earth. Every work shift lasts fifteen minutes, and every shift comes with Work Orders, or tasks that need to be prioritized. Your tools of the trade include precision cutting lasers and beamsplitters, along with an energy-based grapple gun. The brunt of the work involves worming your way inside your Derelict of the Day, which another team’s already stripped down to the I-Beams and connecting points - and reducing all of the massive, yellow-marked solder points to slag. A little thruster work adds momentum to gigantic steel, aluminium or nanocarbon plates and walkways that you free from the ship’s armature, at which point you can slither out and guide all freed loose items and plates to either the Salvage, Furnace or Reclamation points.

Early on, it feels like you’re playing Operation inside the innards of some gigantic steel-borne beast - but the fifteen-minute timer soon starts to loom over you, as your Work Orders become increasingly complex. Soon enough, your safe and definitely OSHA-compliant procedures are set aside for hacky and mildly suicidal means of reaching your goals as quickly as possible.

Normally, creating a safe working environment involves depressurizing each wreck from within, using the provided consoles. Nevermind why, but LYNX supplies its wrecks with a remaining atmosphere and plenty of unsecured flotsam floating around. If you’re on the clock, you can also just hang onto the pilot’s cockpit with your magnetic gloves, aim your laser at the front windshield - and then hold on for dear life as all ninety-seven tons of atmosphere in the hauler you’re assigned to forces its way out into the void, through a space that has about the width of a finger. The resulting force rips through the front cockpit, turning the usually easy-to-handle ‘nano panels that line the ship’s outer plating into dozens of annoyingly small fragments you’ll later have to spent long minutes bundling together and flinging down the Reclamation chute.

The same goes for fuel lines, really. You only have a few minutes left and need the few million creds an intact thruster block sells for? Cut open a hole in the ship’s flank, near the stern, expose the fuel lines, line up your shot while going as far back as you can while still having a chance to make your target - and fire away. You’ll tear the entire back half open and even possibly kill yourself, but that’s what company-produced clones and mnemonic transfer jobs are for, right?

I mean, the ship’s half-ruined and LYNX’s just lost a few cool billions of expensive tech but, hey - the thruster block’s intact (miraculously) and that’s going to cover your equipment leases being commuted to a for-life permit! Woohoo, no more payments for my precision laser!

Of course, nothing says blue-collar tedium like Space Bluegrass, and that’s what you’ll be listening to for most of your run. Shipbreaker is still definitely barren on the audio spectrum, although a good chunk of it is by design: you’re in space, in a near-complete vaccuum, and the only clear sounds you’ll ever hear are broadcast out of your suit’s radio. Everything else is muffled and distant, with even your ship-rending occasional reactor failures only manifesting as a bright glare and a low whoosh.

The main draw quite obviously is the game’s zero-G physics engine. Fans of Space Sims like Elite: Dangerous will feel right at home, with the obviously small-scale setting being less focused on your pulling off Top Gun stunts in space and more with providing chunks of metal weighing a variable amount of tons with the ponderous floatyness to be expected - and small bits with the life-ending velocity to be expected when your non-compliant shenanigans result in your helmet cracking and your air reserves oozing out. The end result is surprising, seeing as what looks like a Homeworld-era cruiser bursting open like a beached whale barely taxes an i7 7700K, 16GB setup. The game is rather lightweight, technically speaking, which allows it to be impressively forgiving, based on the two machines I was able to fiddle with, one of them an entry-level gaming rig, and the other being more of an enthusiast setup, with an i9 and 32 GBs of memory.

If anything, you’re likely to notice that there’s a bit of a disconnect between your rough, dusty and used hand-crafted environments and the polygonal and simplistic construction of the vessels you’re tasked with decommissioning. That’s mostly a result of the game needing an efficient way to handle one interactive object splitting off into potentially dozens of physics-based objects. Keeping things sleek obviously makes sense, considering, and it also helps that Hardspace rests on the handiwork of a few ex-Relic Entertainment designers. Hiigara’s natives aren’t too far off if you look at the ship designs, with only the texture work suggesting that you’re a Blue Collar Joe or Jane working on an old tug that’s had just as rough a life as you.

The question is, however, if I’d recommend it. I would, but only if you’re the type of gamer who enjoys optimizing things. Shipbreaker is built from the ground-up to either be played like a reverse Bonzai tree simulator, or as a cool physics sandbox wherein cutting open fuel lines like a moron, rupturing power cells or letting the onboard nuke go critical all become cost-effective approaches. If you do, chances are you’ll find yourself strapping on your best or worst drawl and commenting on seat-of-your-pants escapes from technical disasters like they’re just the stuff of your average Tuesday.

You’ve got a debt to clear, after all, and enough clones to turn your grisly demise into an unfortunate bump in the road.

#game #review #hardspace:shipbreaker

[hymn2000]

Caramel Macchiato - MCU AU Mini-fic

This is a prequel to my first Frostiron and Spiderson fic, Called To Be A Rock. 

Peter tells Tony May’s predicament, and Tony offers to take him in for the summer. 

No warnings apply

You can also find me on AO3

-

“You’re very quiet today, Peter” Tony said, looking over at the boy.

“Am I?”

“Yeah, like, really quiet. What’s up?”

Peter shrugged. “I’m just thinkin’... May’s kinda stressed right now, and because of that, I’m kinda stressed too, so...”

Tony put down his screwdriver. “What’s stressing her out?”

“Well, um, you know she’s going away on this trip?”

“Uh, kinda. You’ve not really talked about it”

“No. Well, she’s going away all over the summer, working, and travelling and all that kinda stuff” Peter said.

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “And that’s stressful?”

“She’s looking forward to it” Peter said. “Just... it’s me she’s worried about. She can’t take me with her, obviously, and she’s all stressed out because she doesn’t know what to do with me. I said I’d be ok if she left me on my own, but she says I’m too young. She said it would be out of order asking Ned’s mum if I could stay there for a full summer too, and she doesn’t really have any other options. She says she might have to cancel the trip, tell them she can’t do it, but then that’s not fair on her. She shouldn’t have to do that, should she? I keep saying she can just leave me on my own, but she won’t do it”

Tony looked at him. The boy was staring down at the desk, and his hands had halted in their work. He was worried, more so than Tony had first realised. He sighed, and cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you just come and stay with me?”

Peter looked up. “What?”

“Come and stay with me” Tony said again. “I’ve got loads of space”

“What? But... Really?”

“Sure, why not? I’ll talk to May about it when I drop you off later”

Peter blinked at him. Had Tony Stark seriously just invited him to stay? 

“Are you sure? I mean, uh, well, I’ve never been to your house before, and it’d be the whole summer, and like, well, I just- are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Tony said, laughing. “Like I said, I’ll ask May, and if she says yes, I’ll look after you for the summer, and she won’t have to cancel her trip”

Peter just stared.

“What? Don’t you want to?”

“No, no, I do! It would be... Wow, it’d be wow! A whole summer with you? That’d just be- wait” Peter looked at him. “You’ve got a boyfriend”

“Well, yeah” Tony said, looking at the photo of himself and Loki that he kept on the workbench. 

“Doesn’t he live with you?”

“Yep, he does”

“Won’t he mind?”

Tony shrugged. “Don’t know. It’s my house anyway, so it’s not up to him. I want you to come and stay, so focus on that” he put his head to one side. “What’s up? You feeling a bit unsure about the whole idea?”

“Well, a bit” Peter admitted. “I’ve never met Loki before. I don’t really know that much about him. I’ve been told about New York, and I know that’s classified stuff, and I’ve heard you talk about him a bit, but...”

“I know. Don’t worry about it; he’s a good bloke”

“...You sure he won’t mind having me there?”

“I’ll talk about it with him. He might be a bit funny about it at first, but he’ll probably warm to the idea” Tony saw that Peter didn’t look reassured. “I know it’s daunting, but try not to worry... Listen, kid... Loki’s not well at the moment”

“What’s up with him? Has he got flu or something?”

“It’s not that kind of illness, chick. He’s not well, and he’s taking a break from everything for a few months, just while he tries to figure things out and clear his head” Tony said. “He thinks a lot, and he’s pretty deep in thought right now, so that’s something to bear in mind. I’d try not to talk so much in front of him”

“Oh, but I-”

“We’re both fully aware of the fact that you can be the worlds biggest chatterbox when you want to be. Like I said, he’ll probably warm to the idea of having you stay, but even so, maybe stay out of his way just a little bit. It won’t be too hard: he keeps to himself a lot when he’s poorly like he is now. Don’t worry about Loki; he’s not gonna be a threat to you”

Peter nodded. “Um...”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I’m kinda puzzling things out. You’d really give up your summer for me?”

“I’m not giving up anything! I’m enhancing my summer by having you, my little protege, to stay. Help out your insanely attractive aunt, and- hey, don’t give me that look!” he shook his head. “So, you staying will help out your aunt, and then me and you could have a nice summer hanging about together. You’ll love my lab at the house”

“You’d let me in your lab?!”

“I let you in this lab, don’t I? This is almost as private as my one at home. It’ll be fun having you around” Tony said. “Still, gotta ask May first, see what she thinks. We’d better not start planning anything until we’ve got a definite answer”

-

May invited Tony in for a coffee when he dropped Peter off that night, and Tony accepted. May smiled fondly at Peter while she made the drinks. It was endearing really, the look of utter devotion on Peter’s face when he looked at Tony. He really hung on to his every word. The way Tony looked at Peter was endearing too:- it was obvious he thought a lot of him. 

“So May” Tony said, setting his mug down. “Peter says you’re going away this summer”

“Maybe” May said. “It’s a work thing, mainly, but I’m not sure if I can actually do it yet. I’ve got things to sort out and one thing in particular is proving a real challenge for me”

“See, that’s a thing I wanted to run by you”

May looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I was talking with this one earlier” he ruffled Peter’s hair. “And I was thinking he could come and stay with me while you’re away on this trip”

May stared at him. “What?”

“It’s just an idea” Tony said. “But I’d be happy to have him. I’ve got loads of space, and there’s loads of stuff going on this summer that I can take him to within Stark Industries. It’d be fun having him around. But it’s up to you; he’s your nephew. Like I said; it’s just an idea”

May slowly turned to look at Peter. “Was this your idea?”

“No, no, it was my idea!” Tony said. “But he liked the idea when I suggested it. So, what do you say?”

“Is it... is it practical?”

“Sure it is. I’ve got a big house with plenty of space. I’d take good care of him”

“I couldn’t ask you to look after him for a full summer”

“You’re not asking; I’m offering” Tony said.

“But it’s still a big responsibility. There’s a lot to consider. I mean it’d be extra expense for one thing, and-”

“Hey, I’m a billionaire, remember? It’s not really gonna make a difference” Tony said. “May, we’re friends, right? I wanna help you out, and you know the kid means a lot to me. I’ll give him a good summer, and a safe place to stay, where you know he’ll be looked after by someone who cares about him, and you can go off on this work trip without having to worry”

May looked at him, thinking it over. Peter looked between the two grown-ups, staying quiet.

“What does your boyfriend think about this?”

Tony gave a dismissive wave. “He’ll be fine; he’ll probably just keep to himself anyway”

May looked at Peter. “What do you think about all this? What do you want to do about this summer?”

Peter swallowed. He knew May would never leave him on his own, and he also knew there wasn’t exactly any other care options available to her. He didn’t want her to cancel this work trip, especially when she’d been so excited about the opportunity. Besides, Tony was great, and he was super close to him. He was nervous about the prospect of meeting Loki, but Tony had said he’d be able to stay out of his way. It could be fun, spending a full summer with his mentor, who was definitely more like a friend-cum-father-figure at this point.

May was looking at him expectantly, and Tony was looking at him too.

“...I wanna stay with Mr Stark”

-

May knocked on Peter’s door frame. Peter looked up from his case.

“Hey, May”

“How’s your packing going?”

“I’m nearly done” Peter said. 

“Good” May sat down on his bed, running her fingers through his hair while he folded his last few t-shirts. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never been to Mr Stark’s house, and I’ve never met Loki before. We’ve already talked about that, though”

“Yeah, we have” May said. “Are you excited?”

Peter nodded. “Mm-hm. I think it’ll be fun, spending so much time with Mr Stark. I know I see him every week anyway, but I’ll be living with him for like, a good few months, won’t I? It’ll be cool” 

“You’ll have fun, I’m sure...”

Peter looked at her. “What?”

“I can still cancel, you know. Just say the word, and I’ll cancel”

“No way!” Peter said. “Go on your trip; you’ve been looking forward to it. I’ll be fine once I’ve settled in at Mr Stark’s place. It’s just the weird first few hours of nervousness that I’ve gotta get though, and then I’ll be fine... I starting to think that you’re more nervous than I am”

“It feels weird knowing I’ll be leaving you for so long. Packing you off for a full summer while I’m off seeing the world... I know it’s for work, but still” she sighed, rubbing his ear with her thumb. “You’ll be good, won’t you? I don’t know if he’s houseproud, but you’ve still got to be respectful and on your best behaviour, tidying up after yourself and being polite and all that stuff. I don’t expect anything else from you, but... You’ll behave yourself, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. You know I will”

“Yeah, I know you will. You always do”

“You don’t have to be so worried, May” Peter said, leaving his case and sitting beside her on the bed. “Mr Stark’ll look after me just fine. You trust him, right?”

May put her arm round Peter and rested her head against his. “I do... I’m going to miss you”

“I’ll miss you too” Peter said. “But I’ll be fine with Mr Stark”

“You don’t have to go tomorrow. You can wait until next week”

“No, it’s fine. It’s like Mr Stark said: it’s better if I go now, and then you’ll have a few days to yourself to sort everything out without me being under your feet”

“If you’re sure” May said, and she hugged him tight and kissed him hard on the cheek. “You’d better stay in touch, you little tyke”

“Yeah, yeah, I will” Peter said, squirming. “You’re squashing me, May”

May squeezed him harder for a moment, and then let him go. Peter shifted away, looking at his case. 

“I think I’ve got everything”

“Good. Well” May stood up. “Go to sleep. You’re being picked up at ten tomorrow, remember?”

Peter nodded. “Ok, ok”

“Wait, have you had a shower?”

“I’ll have one tomorrow”

“Have one now. Go and have a shower, and then go to bed, ok? No arguing”

“Aww, but May!”

“Hey, no arguing! You won’t be able to argue over the summer, so you’d better get used to doing as you’re told now” she said, but she laughed.

Peter grinned at her. “Ok, ok, I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll be good”

-

May held Peter like she could never bear to let him go. 

“I’m gonna miss you”

“I’ll miss you too” Peter said, hugging her back.

Tony had turned up at 10am exactly, but the goodbyes were taking far longer than expected. The three of them were stood on the side of the road outside the block of flats. Tony was leant against his car, giving them a bit of space. 

“Now you behave yourself, ok?” May said, holding Peter at arms length. “You be good”

“I will, I will. I promise” 

Tony stepped forwards and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Ok, kiddo? Why don’t you stick your cases in the boot?”

Peter nodded and went to do as he was told. Tony looked at May.

“Ok?” he said.

“I don’t know how to thank you for taking him in”

“Hey, it’s my pleasure” he said. “Don’t look so worried”

“...I’ll miss him”

Tony smiled sympathetically, and hugged her. May hugged him back, hard.

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

May held him tighter, blinking hard in a futile attempt to dry the tears in her eyes. “If he gets hurt, I’ll kill you... Just keep him safe. Please, just keep him safe, that’s all I ask... You’ll take good care of him, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. You know I will. Three meals a day, hot water and shelter, a bit of teaching here and there, all that stuff. I’ll keep him in line and make sure he wants for nothing. I’ll do my best by him. I’ve got my best spare room all set up for him too” Tony said. “I’ll stay in touch. I’ll make sure the kid does too. I’ll make sure he calls you at least twice a week, alright?”

“Thank you... Thank you so much”

Sensing Peter behind him, Tony kissed May on the cheek and slowly let go of her. He put an arm round Peter and kissed his cheek. 

“Ok you, ready to go?” 

Peter nodded automatically, looking at May. Suddenly he didn’t seem so sure. He’d been away from May before, obviously, but not for months at a time. Now that it was time to leave, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. All of the planning and sorting were behind them, and now he was stood by the car, his bags in the boot, ready to go to Tony’s for the summer. He felt funny, like he was suddenly scared. He wriggled away from Tony and hugged May again, and she hugged him tight, and he hugged her tighter. He could tell she was nearly crying. He’d seen the tears in her eyes, and somehow it felt horribly like he was being torn away. He hadn’t expected to feel like this. He’d been so excited about staying with Tony, and part of him still was, but now all he could focus on was saying goodbye, and it didn’t feel too great.

May let go of him, and cleared her throat. “You text me every day, ok?”

Peter nodded. “I will. Enjoy your trip”

May rested a hand on his cheek. “Have fun, ok? I’ll see you in the Autumn”

Peter laughed slightly, but it sounded like he was about to cry. May smiled shakily and pinched his cheek.

“I love you. Now go”

Peter nodded. “Love you too. I’ll text you later, promise”

He took a deep breath, and looked at Tony. Tony squeezed his shoulder. 

“Get in the car, kiddo”

Peter did as he was told. He could still hear Tony and May talking after he’d closed the door, although their voices were muffled. He started to feel a little cut off from everything.

Tony gave May another quick hug. “Dry your eyes. He’ll be fine, don’t worry. Go and enjoy your trip. I’ll take care of everything Peter-related, promise”

“Thank you. You’re brilliant, helping out like this”

Tony smiled at her. “As I’ve said; it’s my pleasure”

Tony opened the car door and got in on the drivers side. He closed the door, and wound down the window as he started the engine.

“I’ll keep you updated, May”

“Thank you” she blinked hard, and took a deep breath. “Right, get out of here! Scram. I’ve got stuff to do”

Tony laughed, and Peter couldn’t help smiling too.

“Bye, May”

“Goodbye. See you later” she said. “I love you”

“I love you too”

-

Peter looked over his shoulder out of the back window until May disappeared from view, and then he sat back heavily in his seat. He felt all trembly inside, and his throat felt tight. He looked out of the window, trying not to think about the long goodbye. 

“Peter? Hey, kiddo?” Tony said, glancing at him. “You alright, kiddo?”

Peter nodded. He shrugged. He shook his head, and half-covered his face with his hand, tears filling his eyes.

“Peter? Oh hey, don’t cry! Oh kiddo. You’re gonna set me off if you’re not careful” Tony said. 

He went to squeeze his shoulder, but Peter pushed his hand away and turned a little further towards the window, hiding his face properly and squeezing his eyes shut. He tried hard not to let himself cry, but a sob soon escaped him.

“Aww chick, you’re breaking my heart” Tony said sadly. 

He stayed quiet for a minute or two, wondering what to do.

“...Do you wanna talk about it?”

Peter shook his head slightly. Tony nodded understandingly.

“Ok” he said quietly. “Do you want a hug?”

Peter shook his head again. Tony looked into the distance, and then focused on the road. After a few seconds, he said;

“Do you want a Starbucks?”

Peter moved his hand slightly, looking over at Tony. He didn’t say anything. Tony glanced at him. Peter kept his gaze slightly downwards, refusing eye contact. Tony smiled slightly.

“Yeah, let’s go and get a Starbucks” he said softly. “There’s a drive-through at the one up here. Let’s get a Starbucks”

-

Tony could tell Peter wasn’t quite ready to speak, so he just ordered something sweet for him, and then decided to park up in the car park so they could drink easily.

“There you are, kiddo” Tony said, holding one of the drinks out to Peter. “I know you like sugary stuff. Mocha ok for you?”

Peter lowered his hand and sat up properly, taking the drink and nodding gratefully. He watched Tony, who took the lid off his drink and sat back to drink it. Peter looked down at his cup, and raised it to his lips. It was nicer than expected, and he settled quite comfortably as he drank. 

“Good boy” Tony said gently. “A bit of chocolate can solve a lot of problems”

Peter nodded, keeping his eyes down. “Did you know that the calories in a hot chocolate make it equivalent to a small meal?”

Tony smiled. “I remember you saying. I’m sure the same applies to mochas - but they’ll probably give you a bit more energy!”

Peter smiled slightly. “Thank you, Mr Stark”

“No problem, kid; it’s just a coffee”

They were both quiet for a few minutes, drinking their drinks. 

“You’re allowed to be upset” Tony said. “It’s a long time to be away from home. If you get homesick, that’s ok. You can talk to me about it, or you can spend some time on your own if that’s what you prefer”

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I didn’t expect to cry or get upset. It just all kinda hit this morning”

“It’s ok. I know you’re not ungrateful. I know how close you and May are”

“Thank you. For being so understanding”

“No problem, chick. How are you feeling now?”

“A bit better, I think. I’m just feeling a bit mixed up. I’m kinda nervous”

“Ah. About meeting Loki?” 

Peter nodded.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll introduce you when we get back to mine, and then I’ll show you the lab and stuff. It’ll be good”

“How does he feel about me staying?”

“He’s... Well, he’s not bowled over by the idea, but he’ll get used to it. He’s keeping to himself quite a lot right now anyway, so it’s not a big deal. No one’s gonna force you to spent time with him if you don’t want to. My house is big enough for you to coexist without seeing each other if that’s the way you want to play it”

“I don’t know. I guess it depends on how it is when we see each other. I mean, if we’re going down to see your lab, well, that’s kinda exciting. I’m looking forward to that”

“I’ve got loads to show you” Tony said. “You’ll love it”

Peter nodded, raising his drink to his lips once more. The warmth of it helped, and he wasn’t feeling anywhere near as shaky inside now. It was a warm day too, so the car was pleasantly warm, the sun shining on the dashboard. It felt comfortable. 

Peter took the lid off when he’d finished his drink, and ran his finger round the inside of the cup. Tony gave him an amused look as he watched him licking the cream from his finger.

“What?” Peter said, drying his hand on his jeans.

“You’re a weird little kid sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m not weird!” Peter said, putting his empty cup in one of the cup holders.

“Yes you are. Especially when it comes to drinks”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter said, wrinkling his nose. “I’ve never done anything weird with drinks, ever”

“Is that so?” Tony said. “Remember that time I came round to keep an eye on you one night so May could do out with her friends? And you were pouring yourself a glass of pop and it all fizzed up and I caught you licking the foam?”

Peter felt his face flushing. He’d just about died that night when he realised Tony had been in the room and seen him. He’d snuck in while Peter’s back was turned, and it had been just a little bit mortifying for the boy to suddenly be asked what on Earth he was doing.

 “Ok, but licking it made the bubbles go down, and in my defence, how else would I stop it fizzing over?”

“Stop pouring the drink, maybe?” Tony suggested.

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head. Tony laughed at him, setting his drink down in one of the cup holders.

“Cheeky! You know there’s nothing stopping me from texting May and telling her every little thing you do that might be verging on you being naughty, right?”

“How was that cheeky?”

“Because I said it was”

Peter rolled his eyes again, and then stuck his tongue out at him. Tony laughed, and stuck his own tongue out.

“You think you’re so clever” he said, poking Peter’s nose.

“I am clever” Peter said, prodding him in the chest.

“Hey, don’t poke me!” Tony said, poking his cheek.

“I didn’t! I prodded you” he said, giving him another poke.

“It’s the same thing, you little boffin” Tony said, jabbing him in the tummy.

“Ow! Mr Stark, that hurt!”

“Don’t be such a baby. You’re a little baby, that’s what you are”

“I’m not a baby, old man!” Peter pouted, rubbing his stomach.

“Don’t call me old man, little baby!”

“Don’t call me little baby, old man!” Peter said, sticking his tongue out at him again. 

“You’re a funny little baby, you know” Tony said, tickling him under the chin. 

Peter squeaked. “Don’t! I’m ticklish!”

“Are you now? You say it as though I didn’t already know” Tony said. “I can use this information”

Peter looked at him cautiously. “You wouldn’t dare”

“Wouldn’t dare? Really? Hm, how about I prove you wrong?”

“You’re not funny! There’s nothing funny about this”

“Is that so? So there’s nothing funny about this?” he tickled Peter under the chin again. “Or this?” he tickled Peter’s neck. “Or how about this?” he tickled him under the arms with both hands.

Peter shrieked and laughed, doubling up and trying to struggle away. 

“Stop! Mr Stark, stop it!” Peter giggled, trying to push him away. “Stop it, I’m too ticklish, I’m too ticklish!”

Tony didn’t stop, tickling his neck, under his arms, on his tummy. Peter soon gave up struggling, flopping weak with laughter in his seat. 

“God, I’ve absolutely defeated you!” Tony laughed, still tickling the helpless boy. “You really are ticklish, aren’t you?”

Peter just giggled and tried to push Tony’s hands away. Tony relented and sat back, giving him some space. He found a bottle of water and handed it to him.

“Catch your breath, kiddo” he said, spluttering. “I’m not even tickling you any more! Stop laughing!”

“I can’t help it!” Peter giggled. “I told you I was ticklish!”

“Are you ticklish on your feet?”

“That’s none of your business!” Peter said, opening the bottle of water.

Tony started the engine. “Drink. It’ll help”

It took him a good minute or more of sipping slowly and focusing on his breathing to stop laughing completely and go quiet. It helped that Tony was driving and not in a position to start tickling him again or teasing him. 

“There, you’ve calmed down now” Tony said when he was certain Peter had stopped laughing. “How are you feeling?”

Peter nodded. “Better. Kinda like, less sad, and more excited”

“Good” Tony said. “That’s good...”

They were quiet for a few more minutes.

“Mr Stark?”

“Mm?”

“How long does it take to get to your house?”

“It won’t be too much longer from here” Tony said. “Maybe another fifteen minutes”

“Oh, ok” Peter said.

He was excited now. He couldn’t wait to see Tony’s house.

-

Tony’s house was huge, but it looked very different from the outside than Peter had expected. It was different inside too, but it was still impressive. 

“What are you looking at, kiddo?”

“That” Peter said, pointing to the chandelier. “It’s amazing”

“Yeah, it’s nice, right? Nightmare to clean though”

“I could clean it for you. I could just stick to the ceiling and reach it easily enough”

Tony laughed. “Nah, you’re alright. Anyway, if you come with me, I’ll show you where you’re sleeping, and you can get settled in”

-

Tony left Peter alone for a while. The bedroom was amazing, huge and posh with big windows across one wall, a sink with a mirror by the window wall, and another door leading to an almost-en-suite. Tony apologised for it, saying he’d been planning some renovations but hadn’t gotten round to it yet, but that there was a bathroom just across the hall, so it wasn’t like he had to go far. It was incredible, really. Everything was so fancy and expensive, but felt so comfortable too, almost cosy. 

Tony told Peter he didn’t want him living out of suitcases and that he absolutely had to unpack right away. Peter knew it wasn’t a suggestion, so he spent a long time sorting all of his things into the chest of drawers and the bedside table, making sure everything was as neat as possible. Once everything was away, it suddenly seemed as though he’d brought much less with him than it had looked when he had packed the night before. He put his laptop and phone on the big bed, and then sat down, unsure how he was feeling. He felt quite out of place in his cheap t-shirt and grubby jeans. He kicked off his scruffy trainers and put them by the door. He bit his lip. What was he doing here? Did Tony Stark really want him around, or did he just offer him a room to get on May’s good side? Even if he really was wanted, he still felt strange surrounded by all the finery. He didn’t belong here... Did he?

There was a knock at the door which made Peter jump.

“H-hello?!”

“It’s just me, kiddo” Tony said, opening the door. “How are you doing? All unpacked?”

Peter nodded, shuffling his feet on the soft carpet. “I’ve just put my cases under the bed. Is that ok?”

“Yeah, of course” Tony said. “Anyway, uh, I was thinking we should introduce you to Loki”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now. Get it out of the way. He’ll’ve heard us come in so he’ll know you’re here. I’ve told him a lot about you. So”

“Mr Stark, do you mind if we wait?” he looked down. “If I’m honest, sir, I just... I don’t really want to meet him”

Tony sighed. He put a hand under Peter’s chin, tilting his head back. 

“You’re gonna be living with him the whole summer, chick” he said. “You’ve gotta meet him sooner or later”

Peter pulled his head away. 

“Hey” Tony said gently. “You’re saying hello whether you like it or not”

“But I don’t want to!”

Tony fixed him with a stern look. “You listen to me, Peter: I know you’re nervous. I know you’ve probably got a whole bunch of misconceptions that some people may have fed you, and-”

“Mr Stark, I-”

“Don’t interrupt me” Tony said. “Kid, you’re nervous, I get that. But Loki’s my boyfriend, and he means the absolute world to me. I adore him, and he’s really important to me. I’ve wanted you to meet him for a long time now, just this is basically the first real opportunity we’ve had”

Peter swallowed hard. He looked down, and nodded.

“Good boy. Now just remember what I told you about not talking too much, and it’ll be fine”

Peter decided he was very interested in the carpet, and kept his gaze fixed there. Tony put an arm round his shoulders, and cupped Peter’s face in his hand, making him look at him. 

“You’ve faced much scarier stuff in the past, kiddo” he smiled. “Listen chick, we’ll go and say hi to Loki, and then I’ll take you down to the lab, ok?”

Peter smiled at the mention of the lab. “Ok. That sounds good”

-

Tony opened the door to a room containing a lot of bookshelves and a big window seat. Peter gulped when he saw Loki. He’d been in regular clothes when they’d opened the door, but he’d transformed into full Asgardian leathers once they’d entered the room.

“Loki?” Tony said. “Loki. This is Peter. You know, I told you about him”

“The spider” Loki said, disinterested.

Peter’s heart had started to thud. Loki didn’t seem at all friendly, and he had a bad feeling about this.

“Erm. Yeah” Tony said. He went over to Loki, taking his book from him. “Remember, I said he’d be about for the summer”

Tony looked at Peter for a moment. Peter swallowed. He was nervous, but he guessed that was his queue to jump in, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting Tony, or coming across as rude. He approached cautiously. Loki was interesting, that was for sure. He just had to say hello.

“Hi, Mr Loki, sir” Peter said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Um, Mr Stark said I should try not to talk too much around you. He said you think a lot, and that you’re not who a lot of people think, that you’ve changed-”

*

#my writing #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #irondad and spiderson

[chuffyfan87]

It Started With A Kiss. Part 9a.

"I really don't think we need this." Charlie commented, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck as he looked at the item that Duffy pointed at excitedly.

This was the second Saturday in a row that she'd dragged him around the various baby shops and department stores in Holby town centre. It wasn't that he lacked the enthusiasm for the task, it was just that as far as he understood all a baby needed was a cot, a pram, a changing mat, nappies and some clothes. Everything else seemed like unnecessary extra expense. Unfortunately for Charlie this was not a viewpoint shared by Duffy.

Charlie only half listened as she babbled excitedly about the item. Where on earth she got her energy from was beyond him. By now well into her third trimester she showed no sign of slowing down, still working 12 hour shifts despite her due date being only 8 weeks away. He'd tried to discuss the idea of her reducing her hours or, his preferred choice, going on maternity leave now but she had responsed by shouting at him so he was reluctant to raise the topic again.

He was suddenly torn from his thoughts by her prodding him in the arm.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Well... Um..." He stuttered.

Duffy rolled her eyes as she let out a disgruntled sigh. "Well, what do you think?"

"Its a chair Duffy." He responded, confused by the enthusiastic look on her face. "The baby won't even be able to sit up for months so why would it need a chair?"

"Its not a chair, it's a rocking swing. Look," She indicated some buttons on the side, "it's got an electric motor that rocks the baby gently. It's supposed to be soothing."

"But where exactly would you plan on putting it?" He questioned. "It's huge!"

"Well if I moved the sofa..." She began.

"You are not doing anything of the sort Duffy!" Charlie interrupted, horrified at her suggestion. Unfazed by her glare, he continued. "Its too expensive anyway. Its bad enough that you're insisting we buy two of everything else without adding that on top too!"

Duffy sighed, frustration seeping into her words. "We need two cots. Otherwise where is the baby going to sleep when we're at your house? It's not like it's practical for me to drag a cot back and forth across town on the bus several times a week!"

Charlie looked at her aghast. "You're worried about what's practical all of a sudden are you? Well that makes a pleasant change!" He retorted, clearly frustrated.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She demanded, her hands moving to her hips as she glared at him.

"Erm..." Charlie mumbled, his mind suddenly blank, distracted by the vision in front of him. Even heavily pregnant she was still incredibly sexy when she was mad at him.

Duffy rolled her eyes as she saw the expression on Charlie's face change. "Well? Are you going to tell me?"

Charlie winced at the change in her tone. Now she'd morphed from sexy into downright terrifying. "Um, you could just..."

"Just what Charlie?" She interrupted, folding her arms across her chest.

"...live with me?" He finished, unsure of how she was going to react.

"That's a pretty big step."

"Not if it's what we both want." He countered. "I want you to live with me." He paused. "Both of you."

"But what if it doesn't work out..?"

"Can't we at least try?" He pleaded.

She chewed at her lip. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and just say yes but still she worried things might go wrong.

"Duffy, just trust me, ok?"

"That's not the problem." She mumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. We about to raise a baby together. Why can't we live together?"

She looked embarrassed. "I've never lived with a bloke before." She explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We're practically living together already Duffy. Why would moving into my house be so bad?"

"I suppose you've got a point." She conceded.

"Finally. She understands." He said, as he raised his hands up in triumph.

She briefly glared at him before childishly sticking her tongue out at him. Briefly surprised by her response he shook his head indulgently before returning the gesture. She tried to hold a straight face but couldn't, quickly bursting into giggles.

Charlie frowned at her, then began to giggle himself. He then took her by the hand and pulled her towards him. "It's a bloody good job I love you!"

"Does that mean we can buy the swing?" She asked mischievously.

"Pfft!" Trust her to try that on him! "On one condition!"

"What condition?"

"That you move in with me this weekend."

She made a big show of contemplating the idea, looking intently at her watch. "Well, we're supposed to be meeting Megan for lunch in 10 minutes but I'm sure we can find some time after that to start moving my stuff."

"Seriously?" He asked in shock.

"Yes it's almost twenty past twelve, we said we'd meet her at half past."

"Duffy!?" He responded with amused annoyance.

"What?" She replied with fake innocence.

"You know exactly what!"

"Fine." She sighed theatrically. "Yes, OK. If the offer's still open I'd like to move in with you."

"Good! Now where do we go to pay for this thing anyway? Megan will lose her rag if we aren't there to meet her!"

"Um... I think the till was back over that way. Are you going to have time to take it back to the car before lunch?"

"We can pay for it now, and come back to collect it surely?" He reasoned.

"You're probably right. Why don't you go do that while I take a look at a couple of other things?"

"Um, what things?" He queried, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Just some, um, clothes. That's all." She replied lightly.

"More clothes?"

"They're really cute!"

"So were the ones we bought last week." He pointed out.

"Babies need plenty of clothes. In case they get messy."

"They'll have a new outfit everyday at this rate!"

"Anyone would think you didn't want our child to be the best dressed baby in Holby Charlie!" She pouted.

Charlie rolled his eyes at her. "Fine." He sighed.

She grinned at him and began to walk away. "I'll only be two minutes. I'll meet you by the till."

Charlie headed over to the till to pay for the swing. Partway through he was joined by Duffy who placed two yellow sleepsuits onto the counter.

He sighed, turning back to the cashier. "And those please."

Duffy kissed him on the cheek as he finished paying for the items. "Love you!"

"Yeah, yeah." He said, and smirked at her as she picked up the bag of clothes and they began to walk towards the exit holding hands.

"There was a really lovely pink dress too but, well, I resisted the temptation!"

He glared at her as they turned into the street and began walking towards the café where they were meeting Megan.

"I did consider buying it and then returning it if necessary."

"Or you could just wait?" He suggested, aspirated. It wasn't the first time that Duffy's impatience had gotten the better of her.

"I knew you'd say that which is why I was good and didn't buy it."

"First you're being practical and now you're being good? I'm not sure I can handle this!" He teased, laughing at the face she pulled in response.

Duffy was about to retort when a familiar voice broke in from behind them. "I do hope you two aren't going to bicker throughout the entire meal!"

The pair turned towards the voice, exchanging greetings and hugs with the older woman. Duffy rolled her eyes and let out a disgruntled sigh when after parting from their hug Megan held her by the shoulders and studied her intently at arm's length.

Megan clicked her tongue as she cast her eyes over her younger friend. She still looked a little too slim for Megan's liking but at least her shoulders didn't feel quite as bony as they had done previously and she was also pleased to see that Duffy was wearing flat slip on style shoes rather than the zipped up heeled boots she'd been wearing the last time they'd met up. "You'll do, though a few more pounds wouldn't hurt you!"

Duffy rolled her eyes and shook her head in resignation as the three of them entered the café and found a table. They quickly picked their meals, Duffy refusing to meet Megan's gaze as she placed her order. Megan shot a look at Charlie, receiving only a frustrated shrug in response. It wasn't like he hadn't tried several times already.

Whilst they waited for their food Duffy excitedly told Megan about the purchases they had made that morning for the baby.

"So where exactly are you planning on putting all these things?" Megan queried.

"Well..." Duffy could barely contain her grin as she glanced shyly through her lashes at Charlie who had an equally silly look on his face. "I'm moving into Charlie's house this afternoon."

"Are you now?" Megan was genuinely pleased for the couple but at the same time a part of her couldn't help feeling that Duffy deserved something more in terms of commitment from Charlie. Though for all she knew maybe Charlie had asked her and she'd said no - she wouldn't put it past Duffy to pull a silly, short-sighted stunt like that. She could be stubborn to the point of foolishness sometimes afterall.

Before Megan had the chance to confirm or disprove her thoughts their meals arrived bringing a temporary pause to the conversation. As she ate she surreptitiously watched the couple sat opposite her. She wondered if either of them realised how they were behaving - the little glances and half smiles when the other wasn't paying attention, the way Charlie's hand would lightly brush against Duffy's as he reached for his drink and, most interesting of all, the way the fingers of Duffy's left hand kept absentmindedly fiddling with the necklace she wore. Megan had long been a people watcher, it was a key skill in her job afterall - being able to pick up on the little hints and messages in other's body language. As such she'd been fascinated by the pair of them since she'd first observed them together roughly a year ago now.

Though it had been clear from the off that there was a spark between them she'd feared that it was just a passing fancy that would ultimately end in tears. Over time, however, it had become apparent that they were besotted with each other and also surprisingly resillant, seemingly able to weather any storm that life threw at them, of which there had been many of late.

Megan broke from her musings as once more her gaze was drawn to the necklace Duffy wore. It looked unlike anything she'd previously seen the young woman wearing. It was delicate and old, possibly even antique, Megan couldn't be entirely sure as it was difficult for her to get a proper look at it due to Duffy's near constant movement. Finishing her food she placed down her fork and considered her options. She was at a bit of a loss as to how to broach the subject until Charlie excused himself from the table to use the bathroom, leaving the women alone. Megan immediately seized the opportunity to fulfil her curiosity.

Megan smiled as she saw Duffy's gaze follow Charlie as he crossed the room away from the table.

"Earth to Duffy!" Megan teased.

Duffy tore her eyes away from Charlie and back to focus on Megan, her cheeks colouring a deep red hue. "Sorry..." She mumbled.

"Oh tosh! There's no need to be embarrassed. It's lovely to see you so happy." She replied before looking pointedly at the necklace around Duffy's neck that she was still playing with.

Following Megan's gaze Duffy suddenly realised what she had been doing. She swiftly moved her hand away like it had been burnt. Seeing Megan's eyebrow raise in response she attempted to explain. "Er, um, it's..." She stammered.

"Present was it?" Megan queried.

"Yeh, do you like it?" Duffy replied nervously.

"Let me see." She lent forward as Duffy held it out away from her neck. "Oh yes, very nice."

"It belonged to his mum." Duffy explained.

"Did it? His Mum? But I thought she..." Megan began, a little confused.

"Yeh... Um... He said she would have wanted me to have it."

"Would have? But, Duffy, I've met his Mum." Megan questioned, utterly baffled by Duffy's reply.

Seeing the confusion on Megan's face Duffy looked awkward, glancing around to check Charlie hadn't reappeared. "Um... That's not his mum..."

Megan rose her eyebrows up in shock. "She's not...she's not his Mum?"

"His mum died when he was 10." Duffy looked around her again. "Please don't tell him you know! I probably wasn't supposed to say anything." She babbled anxiously.

"When he was ten? Oh poor Charlie. He never, he never once said. Poor boy." Megan replied, her heart breaking thinking of the trauma he'd suffered at such a tender age.

"I think he only told me because I told him about my dad running off when I was little." Duffy shrugged, attempting to look unaffected by what had happened to her but the dark look in her eyes spoke volumes.

"It explains it all. No wonder you're both so afraid of commitment." Megan replied sympathetically.

"I just don't want to end up making a mess of things." Duffy whispered, her eyes cast downwards as her hand gently caressed her bump.

Charlie re-entered the room and saw the two women obviously deep in conversation. Deciding it would be best to leave them to it for a while he caught Megan's eye and mouthed "I'll be back soon" before quietly slipping out of the café to run a couple of errands.

"It won't, if you just trust him Duffy." Megan replied, turning her attention back to her young friend.

"I do trust him Megan. I just don't trust myself."

"What? Why?" Megan questioned, perplexed.

"Well I'm the reason my parents split up, what's to say history won't repeat itself?"

"Duffy, a child is never the reason parents split up, never!" Megan countered. "What your Dad did was wrong. He left your Mum, as well as you. But that is his fault, his decision. Not your fault. There is no way Charlie would leave you. Heck, I tried my best to keep him away from you. But I clearly had no effect on him."

"You did what?! When?!" Duffy asked, shocked at the revelation.

"Oh it doesn't matter. But, the point I'm making is, people chose their path in life. Charlie has, for want of a better word, done what his heart wanted him to do, not his head." She sighed. "He was chased by Baz and steered away from you by me, yet he still refused to be put off."

"Why would you do that though? You knew I liked him."

"He was your boss Duffy. And nearly ten years older than you. On paper that is a fling waiting to happen, but would have only ended in tears."

"It did for a while." Duffy muttered darkly.

"I mean, why else would a Senior Charge Nurse give driving lessons to a junior nurse, on his days off? Especially when he has a Doctor as a girlfriend too!" Megan rolled her eyes at Duffy.

"Alright, alright!" She held up her hands in surrender. "Guilty as charged, he suggested it as an offhand idea and I jumped at it." A small smile began to work its way back onto her face.

"My point exactly. Why would he do that for you? You're a capable enough girl. And there's nothing wrong with using the bus."

"I'm glad you think so as I think I'll be using the bus for a while yet." She replied sheepishly.

"Oh for goodness sake Duffy, you still haven't passed your test? I clearly need to have words with Charlie!"

"Its not his fault. I'm sure anyone would be reluctant to let me back behind the wheel of their car after finding out I crashed the test instructor's car on purpose in the middle of my test." She blurted out.

"Duffy?! You did what!?"

Realising what she'd just admitted she desperately attempted to backpeddle. "Um... It was an accident!" She replied unconvincingly.

"What was?" Charlie said, as he came up behind her, having re-entered the café moments earlier.

"The car." Duffy sighed.

"Oh, right. Um, well, the wheel has a tendency to stiffen up sometimes, and pulls to the right a lot too. Not your fault, it is a temperamental thing." He explained, flicking a glance at Megan to see if she had bought his excuse.

"She knows it wasn't your car that I crashed." Duffy laughed, rolling her eyes at him, it was rather sweet that he wanted to save her face over what had happened.

"Um...er..." Charlie blushed

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

[bastillewolf]

Last Winter (Bucky/Reader/Steve) - Chapter I

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader, (in later chapters!)Steve Rogers/Reader

Summary: Even though he claims to be as tough as he appears to be, James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t have a skin made of metal. While he has to work hard for his money, keep his best friend from picking a fight and his sister protected, he feels as if the slightest breeze might be able to push him over. That is until a stranger picks an interest in him and helps him find his way back home. Whatever home feels like.

Warnings: (Not all apply to this chapter) Strong female characters, mentions of violence and death, angst, mental health issues, future sexual content

Notes: Please let me know if you prefer an original character or a reader-insert, it means a lot to me. I’m never really sure how to write down what the reader feels considering everyone reacts differently to situations so if no one comments anything, I’ll make this O.C. instead of reader-insert.

1940s slang:

Fat-head = a stupid or foolish person.

Dead hoofer = a poor dancer.

To take a powder = to leave.

A dish = a cute girl.

Kraut = what Americans called the Germans during the Second World War.

CHAPTER I - Winter leaves its mark

James Buchanan Barnes always considered himself to be the responsible one, someone who wouldn’t punch a fella straight in the face if they’d called him a fat-head or a dead hoofer, unlike his best pal Steve. Steve always sought out the fights, he wasn’t one to take a powder when the town’s bully would ridicule the advertisement of America’s bravest soldiers shown in the cinema. He wouldn’t care that he’d be thrown against the trash cans in the alleyway outside, or that he’d get kicked in the stomach over and over again till he was bruised and bleeding. Of course, Bucky would always be right in time to save his ass.

Then again, Bucky was the responsible one of the duo.

He thinks back to this morning, where he’d met this cute blonde at the apothecary, where he was supposed to pick up Steve’s medicine.

Steve and him, they worked hard to scramble the money together. Bills needed to be paid, Buck’s sister needed to be looked after and Steve’s state of health didn’t make things easier for the two of them. But they always managed to get by, one way or another. In a couple of weeks, his sister would be off to boarding school and it was only a matter of months till he would be joining the army. Perhaps he could send some of his wages back home, to make sure Steve could go to art school.

Bucky didn’t really feel like he needed the money. He didn’t think he’d have a future after joining the military. So, he was set on making sure Steve would. The kid was talented, he’d have a fair chance at getting a proper job. Bucky did not.

As he took out the cash from his pocket, he felt someone’s gaze fixed on him. She had the bluest eyes and a polka dot dress on. He’d have to admit, she was a dish. But the way she followed Bucky’s hand as he paid the employee, made him hesitant to walk up to her.

You see, Bucky had gone to the funeral of Steve’s parents only a couple hours earlier. He’d worn his best – and only – suit, with his hair slicked back and his shoes shined. He hadn’t thought of changing after dropping Steve off at home.

She obviously thought he had quite a share of money stored in the bank.

He obviously knew he did not. He didn’t even have an account.

But she didn’t have to know that.

He took her out, treated her like any real gentleman would, and even shared a kiss afterward. She was absolutely smitten with him, he could tell. After all, he’d been in this situation plenty of times.

He never intended to go out today, he’d rather have hung out with Steve. But he knew what this girl wanted from him, and in a way that’s what made him ask her out in the first place. Not because he liked her, but because he wanted to teach her a lesson.

His ma had told him plenty of stories when he was a kid, about all of her lady friends who had married for the money and didn’t really care for their man. They had all ended up taking care of the kids, cleaning, cooking, becoming the perfect housewife. His ma had always told him to watch out for those girls. She wanted him to marry a girl he loved, whereas his dad had merely instructed him that he should get someone who’d do all the chores at home for him and who would obey his every command like a soldier would. His dad had slept a couple of nights on the couch after that strong piece of advice.

He’d always remember his mom to be the strongest person he’d ever come to have known. She’d taught him all he knew, and he intended even now, after her death, to make her proud of the son she had raised.

A very fond memory, but unfortunately it didn’t soothe the pain of a set of knuckles connecting to his face. He shook back to what was happening in the now and only then realized his idiocy in never stopping with trying to make other folks listen to his own so-called wisdom.

The gal’s boyfriend had shown up, right when Bucky had wanted to tell the girl the truth about the contents of his wallet. Apparently, the couple had had a big fight the day before about him losing his job and not being able to take care of her and whatnot. The usual stuff.

The gal had taken off without a second glance in Buck’s direction.

Of course, the bloke took his anger out on him. And in that moment Buck wished that he had someone for him like he was for Steve. Someone to remind him of how stupid he actually is and yet takes care of him while he lectures. No one took care of him anymore.

“Look, pal, I didn’t know she was your girl,” he tried to reason, but it was obvious that it was useless. The man’s red face wore eyes with fire which would have made any Kraut scurry off in fear.

Bucky tried to hit him, missed and ended up with a large foot in his gut and two arms wrapping around his neck, sucking the air out of his lungs.

‘Great job, Buck,’ he thought to himself in his annoyance, ‘Just add those cracks and bruises up to the medical bills. Steve will be happy to hear that.’

He started to feel lightheaded, and he knew he was going to pass out any second then.

But then a voice echoed through the alleyway they were in, making the man loosen his grip a little and Bucky already felt a surge of gratitude towards whoever was brave enough to step in.

Until he looked up at his rescuer and had to do his best to keep his jaw from dropping in shock.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” The words left her mouth like a song of velvet tones, soft yet threatening.

She wore an army green service uniform, one Bucky would only recognize as one only of the highest ranking would receive. It appeared to have been tailored just for her, as it fit her curves like a tight leather glove. Her hair was curled at the tips and was pushed back enough to show off her striking facial features, along with a scar which ran from her right cheekbone up to the inside of her left eyebrow. She didn’t appear to be self-conscious about it, however, as she carried herself with a confidence that little girls would look up to and boys would admire.

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to tare his gaze from her eyes. They looked as if they had lived through hundreds of years of the endless routine of life, experienced and focused, yet so tired and aged, even though the rest of her didn’t show any signs of elderliness.

Of course, he was intrigued; she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his gaze upon.

“Why don’t you mind your own business, lady,” the man growled, “this ain’t no place for people like you.”

If he hadn’t been holding him in a chokehold, Bucky would’ve – only this once – agreed and would’ve told her to turn her back to him and walk back the way she had come from.

A well-acted look of confusion crossed her face. “People like me? And who exactly are people like me? Last I checked, there are no people like me, but me.”

Bucky admired her confidence, he’d give her that.

The bully seemed puzzled with her words for a moment and of course, a man with his IQ would only grow angrier when being outsmarted and treated like a child. “I’ll give you one last warning, lady. Get lost or get tossed.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. My ass won’t be the one to land in the mud.”

It seemed the brute hadn’t been bluffing about his final warning. He threw Bucky off of him, sending him tumbling against the wall. His head received a big blow, making his ears pop and his vision go dark.

As the ringing subsided, all he could hear was a snap, a high-pitched scream, and something hitting the floor. He was too scared to open his eyes.

When he felt a hand land on his shoulder, he knew he was done for. He sent out a silent prayer for the brave beauty and for his own good, hoping for this to end soon. If he got home with any more bruises than he already has, he would most likely cause Steve to have a heart attack or something and that was, again, a bill from the hospital they could not afford to pay.

The punk would probably even blame himself for not being there for Bucky. And then the poor dame-

He had to get through this for her. Just think of her and maybe it won’t hurt as much.

He waited for it, for the pain, for he thought he deserved this punishment.

But it never came.

“Are you alright?”

 Blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, his eyes stared up in wonder at the beauty standing in front of him, who appeared not to have a scratch on her. “H-How did you…”

A groan nearby made him stop his mumbling and look over.

“You bitch!” the man yelled at her, “You broke my fucking arm!”

Indeed, Bucky noted. The piece of bone sticking out from the flesh of his upper arm made it clear that he would need more than just a bit of bandaging. Horrific, but impressive none the less.

“I’ll break something else if you don’t keep your trap shut,” she hissed back with as much venom as her voice made of pure honey could manage.

Their eyes locked, and neither of them wanted a key to change that. He looked into her shining ones, while she got lost in his own little blue seas. No words needed to be spoken, because they both felt the same. The electricity, the warmth that spread through both hearts gradually.

It sounded cheesy really, in their own minds, to think love at first sight was a real thing. And yet this feeling made them question their morals and decisions throughout their entire life, for if this was real, then how had they ever made the right choices, while not knowing what living with this incredible feeling was like?

“Hi,” he smiled, a dashing one only he could manage to gather in a moment such as this.

“Hello,” she replied, with a small chuckle of her own.

#Marvel #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #1940s #Fanfiction #Steve x reader #Bucky x reader #Feminism #Strong female character #Fluff #Slang #World War 2

[robronsecretvalentine]

For the lovely @robertjacobsugdens

I hope you enjoy this! Happy Valentine’s Day!

It was nearing the end of February and still colder than Aaron would ever be comfortable with. Not to mention the pouring rain that absolutely wasn’t helping. He was on his way to Bar West to meet Alex, and he was shivering so bad he didn’t know if he would make it. They had been hanging out an awful lot lately and Aaron usually had a laugh but for some reason he was finding it so hard to stay in the moment. His mind was always someplace else. And when he wasn’t daydreaming he was bored out of his mind. He knew exactly why so he couldn’t pretend to be in denial. Ever since Valentine’s Day things had been so out of focus, and people were starting to notice.

{“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about getting back with him.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. He’d done this dance before.

“No Mum. I was just helpin’ him out with Seb for one day.”

“That kid is his mess to clean up, Aaron, not yours.”

“Mum. That kid is barely three months old, none of this is his fault. Besides, I can’t spend my whole life holdin’ a grudge, the man deserves a break.”

“What he deserves is to be thrown out back with the rest of the rubbish.”

Aaron rolled his eyes again.  

“You’re happy with Alex right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, so that poor excuse for a human being should be the last thing on your mind right now.”}

Alex was sweet, stable, fit, all the things that Aaron always wanted, and what everyone in his life wanted for him but he couldn’t shake the feeling that a relationship with this “top shelf bloke” was being shoved down his throat.

Maybe that was a bit harsh but when he looked at his future, and who he was going to spend the rest of his life with he certainly didn’t see Alex. Or anyone he had settled for for that matter. Instead the same memory played over in his head. Not a hugely significant memory but an important one nonetheless.

{Aaron had his head on the older man’s lap. They were watching a film that Robert wasn’t currently paying attention to. It was an action film that Aaron had picked out.

Robert didn’t mind though because he was preoccupied playing with Aaron’s curls the way he always did when he got the chance, twirling his fingers in and out of them, making little knots and swirls.

Aaron looked up at him and smiled. Robert was wearing one of Aaron’s black t-shirts. He had many, but this specific one was Robert’s favorite because it was the softest. He stole it from Aaron on a regular basis and it was practically his now, to wear on nights like this one.

Robert smiled back, leaned down, and kissed Aaron’s forehead.}

“Aaron!” Alex was getting up from his corner booth to hug him. He had made it to the the bar without even realizing it and he suddenly felt the urge to be back out in the cold again.

They hugged awkwardly and Alex introduced him to his friends. “Guys this is Aaron, Aaron this is Trey and Samuel.”

“So you’re the famous Aaron? We’ve heard so much about you,” they smiled.

“Good things I hope.” Aaron sat down and Alex took the edge of their seat.

“I didn’t order your drink yet because I didn’t know what you would like but I can go get you something?”

“Erm, pint, thanks” literally the easiest drink to remember.

Alex nodded got up and walked over to the bar, and across the table Alex’s friends were  giggling about something. He hadn’t met them before and they weren’t making an effort to speak to him, which just made Aaron feel even more out of place. That was entirely his fault though, as Alex had invited him to go out with them plenty of times and Aaron always had some kind of excuse.

Everyone talked and laughed around him and he just waited for his drink, watching the people who left and entered the bar. He counted every face that came and went through the door until in walked a particular blonde man with a smile that somehow still made Aaron melt. He sat down at the end of the bar with Vanessa, Charity, and Vic, and they all ordered drinks. Robert was wearing that white floral shirt that he and Rebecca had made fun of at Holly’s funeral, and Aaron couldn’t help but notice how fit he actually looked in that shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and the first button was undone. He didn’t know why he was staring, he just wanted to think about something, anything, that wasn’t Alex’s inability to remember the simplest drink order known to man. And when a sight like this was placed in front of him, he was gonna watch.

Robert looked up and noticed Aaron staring. He smiled small, like always, simply acknowledging the younger man’s existence, but there was something behind it. Like he was trying to void himself of all emotion, and Aaron knew exactly how he felt.

“So our Alex tells us that you two are something of an item now?”

It took a second for Aaron to realize that they were talking to him but soon enough he pulled himself out of his thoughts to respond, “Erm, yeah I guess you could say that,” Aaron attempted a smile.

“Right, as soon as you two start thinking about tying the knot you have to tell us first. Trey here is an expert with centerpieces and venues.”

“It’s true, I’m like an actual wizard with that stuff!”

Aaron had never even thought about that possibility before. He knew it was a joke, with how tipsy they both were, but he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with the idea. Marriage was supposed to be an exciting prospect. Something that you wish for when you love the person. Aaron tried to imagine that with Alex and all he got was a montage of early nights and drag bingo. He couldn’t help but compare and contrast it to the only time in his life when he actually wanted to be tied to one person forever.

{They were laying in bed, Robert’s arms wrapped around Aaron’s middle. The purple duvet trapped in both of their body’s heat, making the freezing room actually bearable. And with it being almost one in the morning, Robert was asleep.

“Rob… Robert,” Aaron whispered into the dark.

“Mm,” his boyfriend grunted.

“You’re happy right?” It was a random question, “I mean… With me? Here?”

Robert yawned, “Nope, can’t stand it here,” he pulled Aaron closer and nuzzled into the back of his neck.

“I’m serious Rob,” Aaron smiled.

“Yeah, of course I’m happy here. Why, where’s this coming from?”

“I guess I just… well I’ve been thinking a lot about the future.” Robert was awake now, listening to whatever was about to be said next, “And, I was thinking… what if we made this permanent? Ya know, like if we made us all a proper family one day? You, me, and Liv?”

Robert was silent for about fifteen seconds and Aaron started to worry, waiting for Robert to get out of the bed, put his clothes back on and go home. They were still at the point in their relationship where they didn’t know if they were on the same page with the whole commitment thing and Aaron was falling hard. He needed to know if Robert felt the same way, but he was suddenly regretting ever opening his mouth. Until Robert spoke.

“I’d love that more than anything, Aaron,” he could here the smile in his voice, and he placed a kiss at the base of Aaron’s neck.  It wasn’t a definitive plan but it was a start.}

Alex came back with a pint and Aaron got up to let him into the booth. He probably should’ve just scooted over and let Alex have the edge again but for some reason the thought of being trapped between Alex and the wall seemed like the worst possible scenario right now, “Hey sorry it took so long, the bartender was taking ages to even notice I was there. You guys didn’t totally attempt to scare him off right? I’d like to leave here with a boyfriend.” Everyone laughed.

“They were fine… How was work?” Aaron asked. It was an empty question, something you ask when you have nothing else to talk about.

“It was alright, same old, same old,” Aaron pretended to listen, nodding along at the appropriate times. He watched Robert across the room with his friends. It was a strange concept; Robert having friends. But Aaron was happy for him, he deserved to have people in his life, apart from immediate family. Aaron had always told him to get out more and hang out with people around the village, but Robert always had some kind of excuse, like he had too much work to do, or he would rather spend time with Aaron.

Vanessa and Charity were teasing each other and Charity made a remark that was apparently hilarious because Robert had to keep himself from spitting out his drink. Once he finally  swallowed he leaned back and laughed that deep, genuine laugh that Aaron hadn’t heard in so long. He got lost in it, forgetting where he was and who he was with. But then his breath caught when the girls pointed Robert’s attention towards the man that was walking up next to him. He was a little taller than Robert, with brown hair and a slight scruffy beard. He and Robert had a similar taste in wardrobe; pristine white button up and dark dress pants. He looked like he’d just gotten off work at the office to come have a drink with the boys. He could already tell the guy had way more class than Aaron could ever hope to have.

He got really close to Robert, clearly flirting with him and something in Aaron started fuming. Robert smiled up at him, beaming, then laughed and shook his head at whatever pathetic pick up line the guy had used. The girls exchanged wide-eyed looks and Charity whistled as they watched the encounter unfold, but as soon as he put his hand on Robert’s thigh Aaron thought he was gonna throw up. Then Alex said something about missing him all day and it pushed him over the edge. He stood from the booth and mumbled something about nipping to the restroom, making his way out the front door instead. Luckily Alex didn’t seem to notice, seeing as his friends didn’t waste any time pulling him into a conversation.

Aaron ran out into the cold rain and prayed no one would follow him. He walked to where he’d parked his car down the block and got inside. The seats were probably suffering a great deal from his soaked clothes but he didn’t care. He rested his head against the steering wheel and gathered his thoughts. Then as soon as he was able to keep his last meal down, he started the engine and drove all the way back to the Mill.

When he got there he put the kettle on and sat on the couch, his head in his hands. This wasn’t fair, he shouldn’t have been allowed to feel like this. Alex didn’t deserve it and Robert certainly didn’t either. He was the one who had to watch Aaron with Alex all those times and Aaron never understood why he was so nasty towards them. Now though, Aaron had wanted to rip that guys head off. He couldn’t even begin to stomach the idea of watching Robert in a full-blown relationship. And now that Robert was finally able to let himself move on, Aaron had to go and do this. Knowing how far Robert had to come to be in the place he was now. It wasn’t fair.

{“I swear Aaron, I wasn’t trying to mess things up. I did enough of that when we broke up and I’m done keeping you from being happy.”

Aaron’s chest hurt at that. It broke him to think that that’s really what Robert believed he was doing. “Rob, it’s fine. Seriously, I offered to watch Seb, because me and you are friends and Alex is gonna have to deal with that.”

Robert smiled small, and was quiet. He was finally starting to get used to that word; “friends.”

“Tell ya how you can make it up to me though,” Aaron said. “I’m trying to cook something up for Alex. It’s Valentine’s or whatever and you know that I’m a terrible cook.”

“That’s true.” Robert chuckled.

He looked at the ingredients that Aaron had bought along with what was in the fridge, and decided that they had what they needed to make chicken marsala. So Robert got to cooking and Aaron stood idly by and watching/pretending like he had an opinion about what was going on.

“Grab us that fresh basil out of the crisper.”

Aaron complied and saw the festival tickets that were clipped to the fridge.

“So what was he supposed to be getting me then?”

“What?”

“For my birthday.”

“Oh, erm… tickets to the Rocky Horror Picture Show…” Aaron cringed. “Yeah. I guess there was some mix-up with a film you were gonna watch. Has he not told you what a massive fan he is?”

“No. Suppose we know why now don’t we?”

“Sorry.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe I’d want to go just because he likes it?”

“It wasn’t fair, I should’ve stayed out of it… I’m not doing too great at this friends thing.”

“Actually, I sorta of guessed that it was you that thought of the festival idea, so, I suppose I owe you one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I rather claw my eyes out than sit through Rocky Horror.”

“Well, not exactly. I could see you in a pair of suspenders and some lipstick.”

“Shut up.” Aaron laughed.

“And, he got you to try that posh italian place by the hospital so I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Aaron smiled and shook his head at him, “you’re here to cook, not take the mick.”

“Right, I suppose I should get on with it then.”

Robert rinsed the parsley and turned on the stove for the chicken. He didn’t know how it happened but one minute he was grilling the chicken and the next minute he was jerking his hand away from the stove, hissing in pain.

“Hey what’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing. It’s just a little heat. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Robert it’s already starting to blister.” He hadn’t realized it was that bad, until Aaron was taking hold of Robert’s hand, and examining the wound. “Come’ere.” He led him over to the sink and turned the tap on cold. Robert was completely capable of holding his hand under a faucet but Aaron didn’t let go, he held Robert’s hand under the sink and watched the water run. Robert looked at where their hands met and a pulse of electricity went through his body, one that he hadn’t felt in a while.

Aaron was looking at him now, and they were dangerously close to one another. Robert glanced at Aaron’s mouth and everything felt right. They were standing in the kitchen that they designed together, (sort of) holding hands, sharing the same space, cooking dinner together.

Robert had to remind himself that the dinner wasn’t for them. That the kitchen wasn’t his anymore and Aaron was just simply helping him with a minor injury, because that’s what friends do. But that didn’t mean he was going to let go of the moment just yet. They were so close to closing the gap between them and then-

“Aaron?”

It was Paddy.

Aaron backed away faster than he thought possible and Robert turned the tap off. Paddy stood for a few seconds, not knowing how to react but soon he decided to get to the point. He dropped off a pair of boots that Aaron had lent to him and nobody said a word about what he had walked in on. Not that there was anything to say.}

There was a loud knock on the door and Aaron pulled himself out of his thoughts, getting up to see who it was.

“Hey… I’m sorry for following ya, I just- I saw you leave and something was obviously wrong,” Robert said over the pounding rain.

“You came all the way here?”

“I came to check you were alright… But now I’m realizing I should’ve probably just left you alone, so… shit, I’ve done it again haven’t I?”

“Done what?”

“Stepped into boundaries that aren’t mine to step into anymore…” Robert looked at the ground. The guy was completely soaked, “I’m sorry I’ll leave.”

Every part of Aaron’s mind screamed at him to let him walk away, and he tried- he really did-  but he couldn’t do it anymore. He needed to do this, now.

“Rob!” Aaron yelled. Robert stopped.

“Yeah?” he turned around, looking almost hopeful, but he quickly wiped that from his face, going back to the stone expression he had before. He wasn’t about to give himself false hope and come out disappointed again.

“It’s ok…that you followed me here, I mean.”

Robert clearly didn’t know what to say in response so Aaron continued.

“You should come in… since you came all the way here, I mean.”

“Aaron-”

“Please?”

So he nodded and they went inside.

“Is this about Alex?” he asked, trying to sound as confident and ok with the subject as possible, wanting to be there for Aaron no matter how much it hurt. Aaron could tell he was struggling to keep everything under wraps, after Valentine’s, and something tugged in his chest.

“Erm, no… Well, and yes- sort of… I don’t really know. I just needed to get out of there.”

“Right. Well do you want to talk-”

“I erm, I saw ya with that guy. Are you two friends?” he wanted to steer the conversation away from Alex but he immediately regretted the path he chose to take instead.

“Oh, uh no. We just met at the bar. He gave me his number but I wasn’t interested. Why?”

“Just curious. He seemed pretty interested,” Aaron’s tone completely gave away how he felt about the situation.

“Aaron what is this about?”

“What?”

“This. The interrogation about some random guy that was talking with me at a bar. I know that can’t be the reason why you left.”

“Yeah, Rob. It is…” He didn’t mean to say it but he did and now it was on the table waiting to be dealt with. Maybe it was good thing considering now they had no choice but to talk about it.

“No.” Robert stood from where they were sitting across from each other. “No. You don’t get to do that.”

“You haven’t even let me say anything else.”

“I don’t need to. I know where this is going and if you keep talking, I’m not gonna be able to make the logical decision and turn you down.”

“Rob, just hear me out, please.” Aaron was standing now too.

“I’m finally forcing myself to move on, and if you start doing this, if I start hoping again… I won’t be able to cope this time, when the rug gets ripped out from under me. I won’t…”

Aaron could see the pain in the older man’s eyes and it killed him to see Robert so vulnerable. He was always so strong and too proud for his own good, but when it came to Aaron, it was as if all the walls that he had built up over the years were brought down, and he was completely exposed.

“Robert. I-”

“I’m sorry Aaron, I shouldn’t have come.” He looked emotionless, once again. Aaron hadn’t even had the chance to explain himself and Robert was leaving.

“Robert-” Aaron called, but he was already out the door.

“Well go after him then!” Aaron was startled by the voice and looked up to see Liv sitting at the top of the stairs. He hadn’t known that she was home, let alone listening to the whole thing. He’d guessed that whatever she “really needed to talk to Gabby about” didn’t go over too well. But he couldn’t ask about that now. She was right, he couldn’t let Robert slip through his fingers.

Aaron ran out the front door, hoping that Robert hadn’t driven off already. Luckily he was just leaning against his car, breathing hard. Aaron tried to gather his thoughts quickly but somehow all he could come up with was a disorganized jumble of words so he just decided to wing it, “You left some pretty big shoes to fill Rob and this. Me an’ you, I can’t shake it. I tried and I thought I had everything figured out with Alex and Liv and even Gerry but-”

“Aaron don’t do this. Please…” Robert turned towards Aaron and looked to the ground as if he was about to break.

“Why? Why can’t you listen to what I have to say?”

“Because if I listen then I won’t be able to say no because it’s you, and then we’ll get back together and I’ll screw everything up again. Who knows how bad this time.”

“No. You won’t-”

“Why now?” Robert was searching Aaron’s face. “Why now, after all those times that you rejected me and pushed me away? What’s different now?”

{Robert was drunk. He’d come around in the middle of the night banging on the door, and it took everything Aaron had not to ignore it until he left. But he wasn’t sure he would ever leave, so instead he opened the door and told him to go home.

“Aaron please. I know that me and you can work this out. I know we can.”

“Robert stop.”

“Messed up forever remember? You remember all the times we said that? What happened to that huh?”

He’d tried so hard to be nice, every time they did this, but he’d had enough, “You wanna know what happened to that, eh do ya? You dumped it down the drain when you slept with Rebecca in our bed and got her pregnant with your son! That’s what happened to that!… We’re done Robert, ok? Messed up forever? That’s gone! I don’t love you anymore and you have no one to blame for that but yourself.”

It wasn’t entirely the truth but Aaron was just so angry. Robert looked like a puppy who’d just been kicked and Aaron was suddenly regretting everything he’d just said. But he couldn’t take it back because Robert needed to hear it and accept the fact that they were done.

“You need to leave Robert, now.”

Robert looked to the floor and wiped his eyes, then looked back up at Aaron with a watery expression, “Say it again… tell me- tell me again that we’re done, and that you don’t love me anymore. Tell me so that I know there’s no hope and I can stop trying.”

“We’re done. I don’t love you anymore, and I want you to stop trying.”

Robert nodded, turned, and walked away, tossing the bottle he’d been holding into a bush. And Aaron went back inside and cried himself to sleep.}

“It’s different now Robert, we’re both different now.”

“Aaron you deserve so much better than me, don’t you get that?… and it kills me everyday, that I will never be what you need, but I have to learn to live with that,” Robert’s chin wobbled a bit but he straightened himself out quick like always, “Aaron, I want you to be happy. More than anything in the world. You’re genuinely the best person I know and after everything you’ve been through… after everything I’ve put you through…you deserve to be with someone who doesn’t royally fuck up everything he touches.”

“I really don’t.” Aaron sorta chuckled through the tears that were streaking down his face.

“Yes you do.”

“No, Robert… You made me happier than I have ever been in my whole life and I was forcing myself to get over that but I don’t want to anymore. It’s pointless because there’s no getting over you. You’re it.”

“No Aaron. You’ve found something really good with Alex,” he looked at the ground and back up, “and I can’t come in and ruin another good thing in your life, I can barely live with myself as it is. And I mean it when I say I’m brickin’ it; trying to get over you. So this conversation right now, turning you down, knowing that this is right in front of me and I can’t take it makes me want to throw myself off a bridge.” Aaron winced. “But I can’t go through all of that again. I can’t watch myself hurt you again and again. And I certainly can’t lose you for a third time. I won’t cope. I mean it Aaron, I love you so much that it hurts. I care about you more than I ever thought I could care about someone and it scares me.”

Aaron stepped closer and placed his hand on Robert’s neck. Electricity flowed through Robert’s body from where Aaron’s hand was, and it was still the greatest feeling in the world, no matter how much it hurt.

“Aaron-”

“Rob, please stop talking,” he grabbed hold of Robert’s face and kissed him. Robert was caught off guard but then he slowly started kissing back, holding onto something that he had been missing for so long. Aaron felt a pain in his chest but it was a good pain, that tingly pain that you get when you’re so incredibly overwhelmed with love that it hurts. A warmth wrapped around his organs and he was home again. It was the best kiss Aaron had had in a long time and he’d wondered why he ever let this feeling go. He was holding Robert’s face and he felt Robert’s hands slide around his waist. Then Aaron let one hand drop to Rob’s chest and the older man brought a hand up to hold Aaron’s cheek, together falling into a rhythm. They were like drowning men who were finally getting a taste of oxygen, and it was earth shattering. Aaron felt the hairs at the base of Robert’s neck and the tears that were falling against Robert’s cheeks, a warm contrast to the rain that was pouring around them. When they finally broke apart to breathe Aaron was crying too, their foreheads touching.

Aaron looked at Robert who still had a hand on Aaron’s cheek, his eyes closed, facing the ground like he was trying to hold onto that feeling for as long as he could. Storing it in the back of his mind for rainy days. He could tell Robert was insecure, waiting for Aaron to realize he had made a mistake, just to go back inside and leave Robert out in the cold with that feeling still on his lips.

“Hey…” He said, Robert finally looking up at him. “You’re the one that I want to be with alright? Alex may be a doctor with lots of friends and a stable life but he’s not you.”

“Ouch.” Robert laughed.

“Shut up you know what I mean.” Aaron smiled. “No one will ever be you, and regardless of what everyone is gonna say, I want to be with you because I love you and make me happy. I needed to learn how to be just Aaron and you needed to learn how to be just Robert. Now we can learn how to properly be Aaron and Robert, yeah?”

Robert nodded in response, “Yeah.”  

“Now I’m gonna go in there, with you, and we’re gonna talk alright? And mean really talk. You know, the bit that we always seemed to skip, hence the reason everything fell apart.”

Robert nodded.

Aaron took Robert’s hand and led him inside where they sat in the living room and talked, about everything. All the things they did wrong and all the things that they did right. When they were done Aaron sent a quick text to Alex saying that they needed to talk in the morning and Robert slept on the couch, with it being too late for him to drive to Vic’s. They agreed that if they were going to do this they would do it right. Dates, taking it slow, the whole nine yards. They would communicate and never lie to each other no matter how much it hurt to tell the truth. They were going to do it for real this time because damn it, they deserved that much.

#robertjacobsugdens #robronsecretvalentine #robron #robron secret valentine #fanfiction

[jim-reid]

Welcome to the Drugstore

David Cavanagh / Select 05.1992

Spring hath officially sprung, with all the copious rising of sap that that entails, and in the crisp brightness the shocking explosion of hallucinatory pink that is the Elephant & Castle Shopping Centre is looking even more of a concrete cake mix eyesore than usual. The Labour Party HQ is down the Walworth Road to the left. Some of the Capital's least convivial public houses are within gunshot; there was a highly publicised fatal gangland shooting in one of them last year. And a couple of streets away Jim and William Reid, oblivious to anything but their ongoing symbiotic rock 'n' roll quest and the shadowlands beyond, count The Jesus And Mary Chain into a tasty, fuzzified tune called "Teenage Lust", off their new "Honey's Dead" album. The studio belongs to the Reid brothers. They've done what loads of bands dream of and bought their own playground. Despite the perils of the turf outside their door, the studio's a bright little suntrap in a modernistic red-brick complex, and at least if any of their stuff ever gets nicked they won't have far to go - there's a police station over the road. The name the Mary Chain have given their little home from home was carefully chosen with their neighbours in mind. Welcome to The Drugstore. While the Reid brothers, fleshed out by long-time additional "tour guitarist" Ben Lurie and the recently-headhunted bassist and drummer from Anxious Records grungesters The Starlings, are trying to muscle up the obligatory lewd pelvic feel for "Teenage Lust"s plotline about a young girl losing her virginity, there's plenty of chance to wander around and explore. The loo downstairs, contrary to nervous premonitions, is a model of sophistication and hygiene. Up a flight of stairs, the kitchen is pristine white and user-friendly. Somebody's cut a picture of Kylie Minogue out of a style magazine and stuck it on the wall. There's a packet of Grapefruit & Orange Herbal Tea lying open on a shelf, with some Digestives nearby and - for those occasional moments of ill health -some sachets of Lemsip. The room where the Mary Chain are playing has large windows all along one wall, like a common room in a school. Indeed, the chairs they're sitting on are regulation school issue navy-blue plastic seats. There's a setlist on the wall of all the songs they'll be doing on the Rollercoaster tour, which they're working through. "We're off to Scandinavia next week," says Jim, coming into the control room. "Do, a few warm-up gigs. The rehearsals are going fine but we keep getting interrupted." Yeah, well, sorry about that. Any chance of a couple of hours of your time in that pub opposite? "Oh aye. Er…" he pauses. "Actually, better make it the one down on the road." "Been barred from the other one already, then?" someone pipes up. Jim smiles thinly. So The Mary Chain are back. This ghostly, sullen, black influence on pop's wan youth return to reclaim their children. Or something. Like My Bloody Valentine, whose lengthy absence just made the rumours about them that much wilder, the Mary Chain have flourished in absentia. Everyone from Ride down (and it's a long way down) has paid varyingly intense degrees of homage to the brothers, and specifically to their feedback-drenched 1985 debut album "Psychocandy". Although William Reid, for one believes the Mary Chain will only be fully appreciated eight or nine years after they split ("like Cubism"),their influence has spread like a bush-fire to the point where "Psychocandy" is now loads of bands' Year One. It breezed to the top of most magazines end-of-the'80s polls, clearly still intoxicating listeners five years after release with its seditionary, squalling little love-hate songs. When the Mary Chain formed, on a creed of disgust and frustration, in the appallingly shallow pop climate of '84, they were so shockingly intense that they provoked riots at gigs. At one early gig Jim's voice had screamed the word "fuck" over and over till it was time to leave the stage. The phrase "the new Sex Pistols" was used by journalists. Nihilism. The Velvet Underground. Arrogance. In interviews thay were a pair of spindly-legged naked flames somewhere between the Hair Bear Bunch and Class War. And although they may have mellowed to such an extent that they'll now toss avancular plaudits the way of Chapterhouse and Slowdive, never forget that these two guys were as scary as hell in the summer of 1984. It's been quite a resurrection. When the single "Reverence" went straight in the charts at number nine earlier this year, it was their highest placing since "April Skies" made number eight in 1987. "Honey's Dead" is easily their best LP since "Psychocandy". Everyone seems happy with the way they've leapt on the latest chattery typing-pool-from-hell dance beats, while sadistically cranking up the guitars to new, outrageously loud levels of obnoxiousness and ire. And the Rollercoaster tour, which has them playing after Blur, Dinosaur Jr and My Bloody Valentine every night, scarcely looks like the gesture of a band with low self-esteem. It's been a while. Aside from the "Rollercoaster" single in the middle of 1990 (which turns up, re-recorded on "Honeys Dead") it's been pretty much all quiet on the Mary Chain front since the "Automatic" LP in late '89, while the Reid brothers sorted their heads out. It comes as some surprise to learn that they seriously considered packing it all in around 1990, bored with doing the exact same tour of the UK for the seventh or eighth time and sick of the songs they'd by then played to death. Never the most prolific of bands (four albums in the years 1985-'92) they let '91 drift by until they were happy that all the new songs complied with the rigorously-observed Mary Chain rule of thumb - that "every song we do could be released as a single". The delay has, if anything been a good thing. Now they've got company. It would be difficult to imagine a Rollercoaster tour happening in 1987. Perry Farrell's Lollapalooza idea was the inspiration; he had actually invited them on to the bill for last years tour. They couldn't make it, but they might well be in the line-up for this year's. Their own provisional list had names like Ride, Lush and (planning a tad prematurely here, of course) Nirvana. Spiritualized, current Jim faves, made it to the last five. At the time of writing the bands had yet to meet each other (aside from the odd social drink), and the whole thing had a strong touch of the wing and a prayer about it. "Ask us when it's over." Jim and William sit drinking, respectively, a pint and a half of bitter in one of the area's safer boozers. For two blokes now in their early 30's they're looking pretty good on it. Jim is wiry and intense. Everything he says - even "Anybody want anything from the bar?" - sounds like he's been seething over it for about 20 minute. William is much more relaxed and speaks in a slightly slurred, quizzical tone. They argue good-naturedly a lot, like brothers do, and cynically puncture each other's wilder examples of hyperbole. If there's a joke to be told they both want to be first to the punchline. They refer to each other as "him" and "him". They bicker over historical details like an old married couple. What do these guys imagine the outside world sees, looking in at The Jesus And Mary Chain? "I think everybody's got an idea of what the Mary Chain are all about," says Jim, already seething a little. "But I don't think anybody really has a clue what we're about." He thinks for a moment. "I suppose that wedon't even know." A lot of it centres on their supposed arrogance. The Rollercoaster idea takes suprisingly good care of their audience - putting together the best value show in the least awful venues they could find. Wasn't the feeling before that they were The Jesus And Fuckin' Mary Chain and if people didn't like it they knew what they could do? "We're not really that arrogant these days," says Jim. "If anything we're probably pretty insecure and lacking in confidence. We've been arrogant. When we first came along we thought that you had to shout loud about how good you were to really grab people by the throat. I think we've now come to understand that it's music that grabs people. That was where the arrogance always came in." Did they feel they were on some sort of crusade at times? It sometimes seemed in the mid-'80s like it was them and The Smiths against the world. "We had very clear ideas about pop subversion," says Jim. "We really believed that if you could get a record like "You Trip Me Up" on Top of The Pops, it would seriously change the way people made music. And looking back I don't even know if that was particularly naïve. I think if "Reverence" had been on Top of The Pops (it was banned for its blasphemous references to Jesus Christ's crucifixion) there would have been a lot of people watching that night who would have realised there are other ways of making a pop record than the Kylie Minogue way, that pop records don't really have to be moronic or crass. "That was the idea. That you could make pure guitar noise and be pop stars and be on Top of the Pops. Because why bother doing it for some horrible little crowd at the ICA when you can be on TV playing for the whole country? Music only changes when the entire population of this country hears a noise they've never heard before." He seethes a bit more, snatches at his glass. The Jesus And Mary Chain used to be more of a proper band. Douglas Hart played bass and Bobby Gillespie played drums. "Psychocandy" was recorded as a four-piece. Nowadays if you read the sleeve credits on a Mary Chain record it'll tell you it was written, played and produced in its entirety by Jim and William Reid. Yet they insist on stressing how flimsy their knowledge of guitar playing is, and how despicable and appalling most musicians are. Here they are doing it again. "It took me ages to learn the guitar," recalls William quizically, "and I think the reason was I was never really interested in guitarists. I'd never listen to guitar on a record, or the bass or the drums; it'd just be the whole sound of the record that I loved. I never had any guitar heroes." "Guitarists are generally too respectful to the instrument, I find," says Jim, as William nods slowly. "A guitar is just like a hammer or a chisel. It's just something to get the job done. All that worshipping at the alter of the guitar is something we've never been into. Guitars look good. That's all we really care about. They look good, they make good sounds. You really don't need to sit down and learn to play the fuckin' thing. That would be three or four years of your life wasted. You should be doing a gig the day you get your first guitar." They both claim virtual incompetence as guitarists, although Jim reckons William is the best guitarist in the world on imagination alone. It took two of them to pull off the incredible feedback noises on "Catchfire" off the new album: one to hold the guitar and one to work the tremolo pedal. In fact, Jim was holding a guitar round his neck onstage a full year before he ever learned a note on it -he'd just turn his amp up and let it feed back. The early Mary Chain gigs were thus one continuous ear-splitting feedback shriek from beginning to end. "I think, in the studio," says William, "we're probably the least precious musicians around. If somebody in the studio can play a better guitar part than me, I'll give them the guitar. I'll give it to him," he nods at Jim, "or I'll give it to Alan Moulder (the engineer), or I'll give it too... For instance, on "Some Candy Talking", right? That bass part. He (Jim) couldn't play it. I couldn't play it. Douglas was the fuckin' bass player and hecouldn't play it. We asked all the engineers in the studio can any of you lot play it, and they couldn't play it." He starts to laugh. Jim: "It's got to be pointed out here that was an incredibly simple bass part." "It was," laughs William, "it was so simple. Then we got in a session bassist and he couldn't play it. And in the end Dick Green from Creation Records came down and he could play it. So we were like, Quick! Run the tape!" Jim: "We're producers, not musicians. We'll do anything to make a great record. We've been in studios in the past, with engineers and so on, and these guys can't believe we're serious. Cos we're sitting there with a bass or something, going like this," he does a fair impression of somebody who clearly has no idea how to play a bass, trying to play a bass. "And if we can't get it, we'll turn round to one of them and go, Aw look, have you any idea how this fuckin' thing works? We don't give a shit. If the record sounds good, who cares how it was made? I don't like musicians. I don't wanna end up like Clapton, wanking away at the Albert Hall like some propped up fuckin' zombie. That wasnae what the place was built for." Eric Clapton, for the Reid brothers is clearly Satan. He's always cropping up in Mary Chain interviews as the ultimate example of hideous technical expertise - a man with the ultimate guitar vocabulary, and nothing to say. Jim finds him "disgusting". "Musicianship's about imagination," he seethes, "not technical ability. If anything it just gets in the way. Like, Suicide could easily have been the Pet Shop Boys if they'd have gone away and learned how to play those synthesisers. But give 'em the synths - they don't know what they're doing, they'll try anything - and their first album's one of the greatest records I've ever heard." The man is on a roll. "I wanna see more people start bands. The more people start bands, the more good music there's gonna be around. Most people wait till they can play really well before they start bands. They don't need to. Spend an hour learning a chord or two, form a band. All you need is the confidence." William: "When we were recording "Upside Down", our first single, there was a drum bit in the middle, on the toms, and Murray (Dalglish) our drummer in those days, couldnae play it." He looks incredulous. "It was so fuckin' simple! He kept getting it wrong. So I said, Right, oot the way. And I played it. And, like, Murray was crying. He was really upset. So I said, Well, play my fuckin' guitar then if you think you can do something good with it. Murray... God, d'ye remember him? (He turns to Jim) He was about 16, and his father thought we were ripping him off. He told Murray to demand Musicians Union rates for gigs. So Murray's asking for, like, a hundred and fifty quid a gig, and we're only getting a fiver between us!" What's he up to now? "I think he's working in a bank." Jim: "We did a TV show once and Pete Townshend was on it. And he had Dave Gilmour from Pink Floyd in his band at the time. And he (William) had a vintage Grestch Tennessean guitar that had this kind of horrible coffee-table colour. A classic guitar, you know?" William: "Cost about fifteen hundred quid." Jim: "And Dave Gilmour walks past on the way to the soundcheck and sees him sitting there with a pot of black paint, painting this wonderful vintage Grestch guitar black. Ruining the guitar, y'know? And when he sees what he's doing he goes like this (horrified look) and hurries away. Probably to tell Pete. I wish I'd had a video camera. That was one of the highlights of our career." If they're that bad at playing guitar now ("Oh aye, we're useless"), what were they like in the summer of 1984? What, for instance, was their first gig (ten minutes supporting The Loft at Alan McGee's club The Living Room in Tottenham Court Road) like? Jim: "It was awful." William: "It was not." Jim: "It was, it was shite." William: "It was not." Jim: "It would be easy to sit here and tell you that it was fantastic, but the truth is it was rubbish. We hadn't even bothered to rehearse, and we'd known about the gig for three weeks. We played to about 12 or 15 people." William: "It wasn't like that." Jim: "It was." William: "It wasn't. You don't even remember it. It was brilliant. Every song was so fuckin' deep with noise. You felt it was coming from somewhere else. We were flying..." How many songs would you have got through in those ten minutes? Jim: "About 25." William: (irritated): "No, if you remember, we used to do about four cover versions cos we didn't have any of our own songs." Jim (peeved): "Well, why are we talking about the old days anyway?" William: "Because there's a load of kids out there who would have been about eleven when we did that gig and it's interesting for them to hear us talking about it." Jim: "Aye, well, I suppose so." William: "A lot of people don't know our history. They just think we've been around forever." Jim: "Aye. Fair enough." What, then have been the pivotal moments in the history of the Mary Chain? The lyric of "Reverence" rates as a current favourite in the brothers' minds. Getting dragged offstage at the Venue in Glasgow in '84 and kicked out the back door with the immortal words: "You'll never work in this city again!" was an early highlight. The same promoter, incidentally, rang back six months later to re-hire them. Then there was the mad tour of Germany that same year with Bobby Gillespie on drums. "He had a great time," recalls William. "He hadn't really wanted to join in the first place, because he'd got Primal Scream up and going. We said, Bobby, you've got to help us out here, we've got no drummer, and he was going, Aye, but I'm a guitar player, y'know, and... All I remember from those gigs is I used to kneel in front of my amp all through the gig, with my back to the audience. And I can remember looking at Bobby and just laughing our heads off for 25 minutes. Like a couple of wee kids. It was fuckin' brilliant!" Then there were the patented Mary Chain stencilled T-shirts, as modelled by the brothers themselves. Jim's said "FUCK FUCK FUCK". William's went "FUCK C*** CANDY C***". They had vague plans for a retail chain to flood the nation with them. Jim's still a bit disappointed they didn't get it together. For a truly cosmically crucial Mary Chain moment, however, both Jim and William agree that you'd have to backtrack considerably further, to the days of sunny East Kilbride when the band was just starting. Picture the scene. Jim couldn't sing. William couldn't play guitar. Douglas couldn't play bass. "We were shit," admits William, "but Douglas was ten times shitter." They had a gig lined up, but no idea what to do with it. They knew they wanted to make an incredible amount of noise, but they didn't know how. How did you get noise out of a guitar anyway? They didn't have a hell of a lot to go on. What happened next was true crazy farce. William, on the lookout for FX paraphernalia, bought a Japanese-made fuzz pedal "from a guy round the corner" for ten quid. "Plugged it in. I was using this old twin reverb amp. And..." His eyes light up at the memory. "Ohhh... You didn't even need to touch the guitar. It just went ppkkhhwwhhkkhhpppwwhhhkkkhh!!!" "Looking back on it," says Jim laconically, "the pedal was probably broke." William: "The pedal was broke. It was completely fucked. As I discovered when I tried to flog it to some other bloke for a tenner a few weeks later. But the noise it made. It was almost as if another member had joined the band." So getting a broken fuzz pedal was of huge significance to the eventual career of the Mary Chain? "Definitely," says William as Jim nods in amusement. "I'd say our whole career swings on that pedal." Back at The Drugstore they take a stab at "Reverence". William, hunched over his guitar, is producing caterwauling grief from his strings, but sure enough looks like he only picked the instrument up that morning. The other guitarist looks far more competent. They all sit round the drumkit, grooving away. Kylie's still in the kitchen, and one sachet of Lemsip is now missing. And as you wave adios and leave them to it, and make your way out into the mean streets below, you're already singing it softly to yourself. "I wanna die like Jesus Christ... I wanna die on a bed of spikes." There, as thay say goes the neighbourhood.

#interview