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bechloeislegit · 3 years

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My Spy - Chapter 10

Beca sat in the reception area while Amy spoke with Agent Parker. She couldn't help but get lost in thoughts of Chlo and how close they were to being a couple again.

"Fingers crossed," Beca mumbled to herself.

"Miss Mitchell?" Jason called out, getting Beca's attention.

Beca looked up, surprised as Amy had only been gone about ten minutes. She looked past Amy to see Agent Parker standing by the door Amy just walked out from.

"Um, yeah?" Beca said, looking at him.

"May I speak to you for a moment?" Jason asked.

"Uh, sure," Beca said, standing and walking over to Jason. "What's up?"

"Would you come with me, please?" Jason said as he held the door open.

Beca looked over at Amy; Amy just shrugged.

Beca stepped through the door and Jason followed, moving past her to lead her to a small conference room.

"I don't know anything about Amy's father," Beca said, sitting in the chair Jason held out for her. "Or his illegal activities. I mean, up until all this started happening, I thought both her parents were dead."

"I didn't ask you back here to talk about Miss Hobart or her father," Jason said, taking the seat opposite Beca.

"Oh," Beca said. "Then why am I here?"

"I wanted to personally apologize for what happened the other night," Jason said. "I was just following orders, but it was wrong of me to just show up and expect you to answer questions. Chloe was right. I should have just asked Miss Hobart to come in for a conversation. If I had done that, then maybe Chloe would still be an agent and I wouldn't have lost a good friend."

"What?" Beca squeaked. "Chloe got fired?"

"No," Jason said quickly. "She quit."

"Really?" Beca asked. "So, Chloe no longer works for the FBI?"

"That's right," Jason said. "She is with her aunt in Portland now-"

"I know," Beca interrupted. "I spoke with her this morning. She just didn't mention anything about quitting."

Jason looked at Beca. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and asked, "Is she okay? She's not taking my calls or responding to my texts."

"She's worried about her aunt," Beca said. "But otherwise she seems to be okay."

"Thank you," Jason said. "If you speak to her again will you please tell her I'm sorry? And, to I want to say again that I am sorry for ambushing you."

"I'll tell her," Beca said. "And, I understand you were following orders, so I kind of accept your apology. But don't expect Chloe to forgive you so easily. She didn't say it, but I could tell she feels betrayed by you and her uncle. You guys treated me like I was a, um, what do you call them? A perp? Even after Chloe told you to back off and find another way to get to Amy's father. Ignoring all that was disrespectful to her as an agent and as your friend. So, I suggest you give her some space, and maybe she'll be able to forgive you in time."

"I can do that," Jason said as he stood. "Thank you for hearing me out. I'll walk you out."

Beca and Jason silently walked back to the reception area. Jason held the door open for Beca. As Beca started to walk out, Jason grabbed her arm, stopping her. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.

"Please take my card," Jason said, holding the card out to Beca. "And, if you ever need anything, and I mean anything, please don't hesitate to call me."

Beca took the card and looked at it. "Um, thank you."

Amy, who had jumped up when Beca came through the door, stood waiting for Beca to come to her.

"Did he ask you about my dad?" Amy asked as soon as Beca reached her. "What did you tell him?"

"No, he didn't ask me about your dad. He apologized for what happened with Chloe the other night," Beca said, moving toward the exit. "Come on. I'll tell you about it over lunch. And, you can tell me what you two talked about."

"Okay," Amy said, following Beca.

~~ My Spy ~~

Chloe and her Uncle Matt sat silently in the hospital waiting room. They were able to see Peggy before she was taken down for surgery and Chloe was glad she was able to be there for her.

"Thank you," Matt blurted out, looking at Chloe. "I didn't think you'd forgive me for what happened with Beca."

"I haven't," Chloe responded without looking at him. "Don't think for one second that I'm here for you or that I've forgiven you. I'm here for Aunt Peggy and only Aunt Peggy."

"I know," Matt said and cleared his throat. "I was just trying to say-"

"I don't care about what you were trying to say," Chloe interrupted, looking at him. "I'm not interested in hearing it."

"So, you're serious about quitting?" Matt asked.

Chloe turned and looked at him. "What part of me telling you to 'go fuck yourself, I quit,' do you not fully understand?"

Matt swallowed and looked down at the floor. "I am sorry about all that."

"I'm sure you are," Chloe said. "I just don't understand why you did it. I've put so much into being a good agent and trying to make you proud of me and you treated me like I was nobody to you. I guess it was naive of me to think that we were family first, and agents second. The only reason I'm even talking to you now is that I spoke to Beca this morning and there's still a chance for us to be together despite what you and Jason did."

"I know you won't believe me," Matt said. "But I am glad to hear that."

Chloe went to respond but was stopped when a doctor called out, "Collins family?"

Chloe and Matt both stood and made their way to the doctor.

"I'm Matt Collins," Matt said. "Peggy Collins' husband."

"I'm Dr. Maxwell," the doctor said. "I performed the surgery on Mrs. Collins. The pacemaker is in and everything went well. She shouldn't have any complications, but we'll keep her overnight for observation. And, if things continue the way they are going, she can go home tomorrow afternoon. Is there someone who can stay with her for at least the next week?"

"I'll be there," Chloe said, quickly. "I can take care of her."

Matt didn't say anything; he just looked at Chloe.

"That's fine," Dr. Maxwell said, looking at Chloe. "She'll need to take it easy for the next week. I'll send some instructions home with her so you'll know what she should or should not be doing. Do you have any questions?"

Chloe shook her head.

"Can we see her?" Matt asked.

"She should be coming out of recovery in just a bit," Dr. Maxwell said. "I'll ask a nurse to notify you when she's back in her room. Is there anything else?"

"I can't think of anything," Matt said. "Thank you, doctor."

The doctor gave a brief nod before turning and walking away.

"Well, that's a relief," Chloe said.

"Yes, it is," Matt said. "Thank you for agreeing to stay and help."

"I'm only planning to stay until Aunt Peggy is back on her feet," Chloe said. "I'll be looking for a new job while she recuperates. And then I'm gone wherever my new job takes me."

"Don't take what I did out on your Aunt Peggy," Matt said.

"I wasn't going to do that," Chloe said. "I will call and visit as much as I can. I just don't want to have anything to do with you."

With that, Chloe turned and went back to sit in the waiting room to wait until she could see her Aunt Peggy.

~~ My Spy ~~

Beca and Amy had placed their orders and were sitting in their favorite diner, talking about what the FBI told Amy about her father.

"So, they think your dad's a major arms dealer?" Beca asked. "And that he's trying to smuggle guns into the U.S.?"

"Yeah," Amy said. "But I don't know anything about that. I did mention that he used to sell drugs to all my High School friends. They seemed very interested in that."

"Oh, my God, Ames," Beca said, laughing. "You ratted out your own father?"

"I didn't mean to," Amy said, laughing as well. "It just slipped out. I told them I didn't have anything to do with that either. I only found out about his drug dealing when one of my friends asked me if I got my drugs from my dad for free. I didn't take drugs then or now, so they had to explain to me that everyone at my school got their drugs from my dad or one of his dealers."

"So, are they going to leave you alone now?" Beca asked.

"I guess," Amy responded. "They let me leave, so I guess they're done with me."

Amy and Beca were silent as the waitress placed their food in front of them. They thanked the waitress and began eating.

"So, you said Agent Parker apologized," Amy said. "What did you tell him? Did you accept his apology?"

"Kinda," Beca said. "I told him that I understood he was following orders, but what he did was disrespectful to Chloe and that she deserved to be treated better than that."

Beca paused as she took a sip of water. She then added, "And, I still can't believe her uncle ordered him to do it."

"Family sucks sometimes," Amy said.

"Amen to that," Beca said, raising her glass toward Amy.

~~ My Spy ~~

The first thing Chloe did when she got back to the house that night was Skype Beca.

"Hey," Beca answered. "I was just thinking about calling you, but this is so much better. I miss seeing your face. How did your aunt's surgery go?"

"It went well," Chloe responded, smiling at Beca. "She has to stay overnight but will be coming home tomorrow."

"That's good," Beca said. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well," Chloe said. "So, how was your day?"

"It was a day," Beca said. "I went to the FBI office with Amy. She spoke with Agent Parker and answered questions about her father. She voluntarily went in because she wanted to do it on her own terms."

"Good for her," Chloe said. "How did it go?"

"She doesn't know anything about her father's dealings," Beca said. "So, it was a very short conversation. Funny thing, after Agent Parker was done he asked to speak to me."

"I told him you didn't know anything," Chloe said, her voice tight. "And that he should leave you alone. I swear the next time I see him, I'm going to punch him."

"That won't be necessary," Beca said, chuckling. "He apologized for crashing our date. He also asked me to ask you to call him so he can apologize to you, too."

"Oh, that was good of him," Chloe said. "But I don't think I'm going to be calling him anytime soon. I am still pissed about the whole thing."

"I get that," Beca said. "And I don't blame you. He, uh, he also told me you quit the FBI."

"I did."

"I hope it wasn't because of me."

"You were part of the reason. I mostly quit because of the way they treated me."

"Okay. I just wanted to be sure." Beca took in a breath and let it out. "So, um, how did you get the scar on your cheek?"

Chloe chuckled. "An arrest the went a bit sideways."

"Tell me about it," Beca said. "Wait, let me get more comfortable."

Chloe watched as Beca moved around to lie back against the back of the sofa bed, setting her laptop on her legs as she looked at Chloe on her screen. Beca let out a comfortable sigh.

"Comfy now, Princess?" Chloe asked, chuckling lightly.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Beca said, smirking. "You may proceed, babe."

Chloe's breath hitched. "I always loved when you called me babe. I didn't realize how much I missed it until now."

"Play your cards right," Beca said. "And, I'll be calling you babe a lot more and often."

"Can't wait," Chloe said, sighing heavily as she added, "God, I've missed you."

"I miss you, too," Beca said softly. "You know what I miss the most about you?"

"The amazing sex?"

"Yes, that too," Beca said with a soft chuckle. "But that's not what I was referring to."

"Okay," Chloe said chuckling as well. "What do you miss most about me?"

"Your smile," Beca said. "Your smile always makes me feel better."

"You're such a cheeseball," Chloe said, smiling at Beca. "I guess it's my turn to be cheesy. The thing I miss the most is your hugs. You were a bit standoffish about hugs at first, but you quickly realized that I was a force to be reckoned with when it came to hugs. Oh, and the sex, of course." She let out a breathy sigh. "God, I miss having sex with you."

"Same," Beca said, her cheeks reddening.

The two sat staring at each other. The sound of a key in the door caused Beca to look away from the screen. She watched as Amy came through the door.

"Um, Amy just got home, so I guess I should go," Beca said, her eyes back on Chloe.

"Okay," Chloe said. "Could you send me your itinerary for when you're in Europe? I want to know when I can call or Skype you."

"I expect to talk to you some more before we leave," Beca said.

"Hey, Chloe," Amy said, laying on the sofa bed to see Chloe on Beca's laptop screen.

"Hi, Amy," Chloe said and got quiet.

"Oh-kay," Amy said, getting off the bed. "I'll let you two get back to it."

"Um, okay," Beca said, looking back at Chloe. "Call me when you have some time to talk again."

"I will," Chloe said. "I, um, I love you."

"I love you, too," Beca said, scowling as Amy started making kissing noises in the background.

Chloe could hear Amy and laughed. She stared at Beca for a moment before reluctantly ending the Skype call.

~~ My Spy ~~

Over the next three days, Beca and Chloe managed to talk every night. They had scheduled a Skype dinner date for tonight, so they were sitting in their respective homes with their dinner plates and laptops in front of them.

They had finished their food and were just enjoying each other's company when Beca cleared her throat and looked a bit nervous.

"You okay, Beca?" Chloe asked, sipping her wine.

"I quit my job today," Beca blurted out. "I just couldn't take it anymore."

"Wow," Chloe said. "How are you feeling about that?"

"I actually feel good about it," Beca said. "It was something I've been wanting to do."

"What are you going to do now? I mean for work."

"I don't really know. I'll worry about it when we get back from the USO Tour."

"You could always move to L.A.," Chloe said. "That was always your dream."

"I'll think about that," Beca said. "So, um, where are you looking to find a job?"

"I hear L.A. is a good place to work," Chloe said. "I could very easily be persuaded to move there."

"Really?" Beca asked, staring at Chloe.

"Yes, really," Chloe said, chuckling. "Maybe we can move to L.A. together. As in move in together."

Beca smiled and said, "I'd like that."

"Me, too," Chloe said. "I'll start looking for a job now. I'll keep you posted on how things go."

"Chloe?" Aunt Peggy's voice called out from her bedroom.

"I'm sorry, Beca," Chloe said. "Aunt Peggy is calling for me. I think it's about time for her medicine."

"No worries," Beca said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Okay?"

"Definitely," Chloe said. "I love you."

"Love you, too, babe," Beca said and ended the call.

Chloe sighed and went to check on her Aunt Peggy.

~~ My Spy ~~

Beca and Chloe continued to talk almost every day. Beca had been in Europe for a few days when Chloe's Aunt Peggy was talking to her Uncle Matt.

"I can't believe you think Chloe will go for this," Peggy said into her phone.

"I just need to talk to her," Matt said. "Tell her what's happening and let her decide what she wants to do about it."

"Fine," Peggy said. "I'll get her for you."

Peggy got out of bed and carried her phone to the living room.

"Did you need something Aunt Peggy?" Chloe asked when she saw Peggy standing in the doorway.

"Your uncle wants to talk to you," Peggy said, holding her phone out toward Chloe. "I know you're still upset over what happened between you two and don't blame you one bit if you don't want to talk to him. But, I think you should hear him out. It's about Beca."

Chloe's eyes widened as she reached for the phone.

"What happened to Beca?" Chloe asked as soon as the phone was to her ear.

"Fergus Hobart knows where Patricia Hobart is," Matt said. "He has a jet scheduled to fly from Sydney to Paris early tomorrow morning. We already have French authorities keeping an eye out for him in case he arrives earlier than anticipated. Jason and I are taking the jet to France tonight. I thought you might want to meet us there."

"What about Aunt Peggy?" Chloe asked, looking at her as she spoke.

"I already have a nurse scheduled to come to the house to take care of her," Matt said. "So, do you want to be an agent for a little bit longer and help us take down Fergus Hobart AND see your girlfriend in the process or not?"

"I'll get the first flight out," Chloe said.

"You have a reservation to leave in ninety minutes," Matt said. "We'll pick you up at the airport." Matt paused for a moment. "Thanks for helping with this, Chloe."

"Thanks for including me, Director," Chloe said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Chloe ended the call and handed the phone back to Peggy.

"Are you sure you're okay with me leaving?" Chloe asked.

"Go get your girl, sweetie," Peggy said with a smile.

Chloe jumped up and hugged her aunt. She then ran off to pack.

~~ My Spy ~~

True to his word, Matt and Jason were waiting at the airport for Chloe.

Jason began by apologizing profusely to Chloe.

"It's okay, Jason," Chloe said. "Beca told me you apologized to her, so we're good."

"Just like that?" Jason asked.

"I could stay mad at you if you'd like," Chloe said, smirking.

"No, no," Jason said, holding his hands up. "Nobody wants that. Thank you."

"What about me?" Matt asked. "Are we good?"

"I'm over it," Chloe said. "Aunt Peggy and I had a long talk about you and I do feel much better. I still quit, and once this adventure is over we can just go back to being family."

"I can live with that," Matt said, smiling. "Now, let's go catch the bad guys."

Chloe smiled as she followed Matt and Jason out of the airport. Jason drove them to their hotel.

"The Bellas are staying in the hotel across the street," Matt said as they got out of the car.

"Do I have to avoid them?" Chloe asked. "Or can I go find Beca?"

"Try to avoid them as much as you can for now," Matt said. "Hobart is already in Paris, so we want to keep things low-key while we figure out what his plan is regarding Patricia."

"I'll do my best," Chloe said. "But, if I see Beca, I can't promise I'll behave."

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A/N: So, Beca and Chloe have spoken (finally). And, on more than one occasion, too. And now they are in the same city at the same time. Looks like they may finally get together. Or will Amy's dad be the reason they remain separated? Come back next week and find out.

A/N2: Before any asks, I promise to reveal how Chloe got the scar on her cheek in the next chapter.

#bechloe fanfiction #bechloe #beca mitchell #bechloe au #behloeislegit #chloe beale

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fnf-brain-rot · 3 years

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[Whitty x Boyfriend]

Chapter 3 - He's dangerous

Pico didn't like the idea of Boyfriend going to see this mystery man, and his gut feeling would only be made worse if his idea of who the stranger was, was correct. He only usually closed himself off in his room when he's in deep thought, or when he's organizing business. Right now, it was the latter.

He couldn't stop thinking about Boyfriend's surprise visit. Why did he hesitate to tell his name? He wasn't stupid, he could tell the guy was lying, the only problem is without a name, he wasn't totally sure if this target was the same guy he was hanging out with. Lying down on his queen sized mattress, he sighed, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He couldn't help but feel guilt for the plan he would come up with. He didn't like the idea of using his dear, close friend, especially since he quite liked him, but there's no other way to get the info out of him. Speaking of..

He heard a knock on his door. He quickly got up, put out his cigarette, and made his way down to answer. Of course, when he opened it, there stood Boyfriend, holding his beloved microphone. "Pi- oh! Sorry, am I bothering you?" The blue haired's face went red as he noticed Pico wasn't wearing a shirt. "Nope, you're just on time actually." Pico couldn't help but chuckle at the flustered male. "Come on, I'll make some tea." The ginger turned to retreat back into his house, and Boyfriend followed loosely behind him. He's seen Pico shirtless a lot, sure, but he still couldn't get used to seeing him like that. He wondered why.

"So, you come bearing more news about this mystery man of yours?" Pico's voice echoed from his place in the kitchen. "Well.. Yes and no." Boyfriend made himself at home right on Pico's couch of course, kicking his legs up onto the cushions. Pico noticed he's been in such a happy-go-lucky mood ever since meeting this guy. He was starting to suspect he had a crush. "We haven't hung out recently. I just wanted to you know.. kick it with you for a bit." He stated with a grin. Pico rolled his eyes and returned to the living room, holding a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. "Gee, who's fault is that?" He teased, and Boyfriend sat up with a whine, allowing the ginger to sit next to him. "I'm sorry! It's just.. I just really feel for him you know?" Pico only nodded.

"You barely know him Bee." Pico reminded him. "But I bought him food! He ate it! All of it! Like.. Oh my god.. If you were there you would know how much he ate I ordered one of everything." Boyfriend shuddered a little. He was thankful for him finishing the food though. "With who's money?" Pico snorted, and Boyfriend pouted, almost dejectedly. "Gigi's." He answered honestly. "Well.. At least it sounded like you had fun." The ginger glanced away, taking a brisk sip of his black coffee. The bitter taste kept him awake. "I'd love for you to actually meet him this weekend." Boyfriend then spoke up. Pico blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be handed to him like that. "This weekend? Wh- You could barely tell me his name yesterday." He set his cup down and crossed his arms. "I know! But I'll talk him into meeting you and Gigi and Nene and Darnell and the spooky boys!" The smaller male almost squealed in delight.

Pico didn't like the idea of his information being put out there to strangers-especially considering his reputation-but he guessed that was up to Boyfriend's innocence. Pico found it hard to stay mad at him. How could he? He sighed, looking the blue haired male up and down. "I.. guess it's fine. Just as long as he's not smelly, who knows where that guy's been lying around." He scrunched up his nose in distaste. Boyfriend grinned, thankful for Pico's blessing, then hugged him tightly, an action that made Pico's face go a slight shade of red. "Yeah yeah whatever, just.." He huffed in embarrassment, turning his head as Boyfriend buried his face into his chest. This blueberry had no sense of personal space, did he?

___________________________________________

Whitty hated to admit it, but he had been thinking about that shorty all day.

So much so, he ended up walking around the area they first met. He almost hadn't noticed his feet subconsciously leading him back to that alley. He only realised when he looked at his crude graffiti where he was, and had an immediate thought to flee but.. instead he sat against the wall. He couldn't help but get second hand embarrassment from the simple thought of his break down during their first battle. He looked down and took out a small phone that was gifted to him some time ago. During their afternoon binge yesterday-well his afternoon binge-he had gotten his phone number in case he needed to call or something. Of course, he wasn't planning on calling any time soon. He wasn't the type to ask for anything, but he was tempted to ask if they could hang out again today.

As he opened Boyfriend's contact, he paused, suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings. He set the phone in his pants pocket and stood back up. He could've sworn he heard movement...He stared intensely at the entrance to the alley way. It wasn't the sound of eager yet gentle foot steps by Boyfriend. It was definitely not friendly.

He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. He was starting to take steps back with each sound he heard, only to see about three-four? About four figures make their way into the alley. He was trapped, he had no where to run. This alley was a dead end. "See boss? I told you he would be here!" A small, yet gritty voice exhoed along the walls, followed by a loud "shhh!" with another loud "shhh!!"

Whitty could recognise these voices. He's heard them before. In this same spot, weeks ago. They were part of some gang that was out for his bounty. He didn't bother to learn the name, all he knew was that everyone was an enemy. Well.. except for Boyfriend of course. "Whitty, right?" The tallest male stood to the front. His voice was just as gritty, and he had pale skin, straight brown hair and was wearing what seemed to be casual attire. In fact, all of them looked similar. The only intimidating thing to a normal person would be his demeanor and the fact he's above 5'10. Whitty, however, was no normal person. He was a target. By everyone.

___________________________________________

Boyfriend sighed happily, just leaving Pico's house. He left with some conflicted feelings, butterflies in his stomach, and red constantly plastered on his cheeks. Sure he thought he had a crush on Pico for a while now but.. He might have been distracted with Whitty. The way his body grew hot at every tiny touch Pico gave him. He can't even see the guy shirtless without becoming a flustered mess. He could tell something was up with Pico too. Maybe he should talk to him about it..

He decided to run and stop at his favorite cafe. He wished he could sit with Whitty in the place. He thought Whitty would like the decor inside. It's warm, quiet, and they give tasty snacks. Boyfriend smiled at the thought of Whitty. He wondered what he was doing. Taking care of himself he hoped. He should probably stop by that alley they first met in, check to see if he left anything there possibly. He did leave in a hurry. Maybe he left his favorite.. thing?? Okay, he'll admit, he had no real reason to go. He just kind of... wanted to think about the taller guy. That's fine, right?

___________________________________________

Whitty had been trying his best to stand his ground. His main advantage, and disadvantage, was his height. He found it hard to get back up after being knocked down, so the plan was to stay on his feet. "Why don't you scumbags fuck off somewhere?" The bomb man scoffed, feeling the heat in his head begin, and his fuse started to light. "And miss out on this opportunity? No. You're lucky we want to take you alive." All four of them advanced. They planned to rush him. Whitty's been in a tussle a couple of times, but never with more than two people. Their first plan was to surround him, and take him down that way. He tried to focus and not panic, taking his hands out of his pockets and balling them into fists. They lit ablaze as if he were holding fire, and he turned around, throwing a punch at the guy to his left, catching them all by surprise. They honestly though he was the flight type.

"AH!! SHIT!" The male yelled in pain, but Whitty could care less. These guys were here supposedly to kidnap him or something. The other two goons went in, one grabbing his arm, thinking he could simply flip him over, and the other on his leg to catch him off balance. The big male stumbled, but forced himself to the side instead of on his back, pushing against the alley wall. He growled, an angry growl, before picking up the smaller guy on his leg by the neck. His hand seared the skin around his hold, and the other male tried to get him to drop him since he was practically cooking his throat.

The man who received the first punch finally recuperated, and dashed over to help. Shame, these three were gonna get killed by the hands of this thing. Everyone knows the leaders tend to make the smartest decisions. He's the leader right? This fight wasn't winnable with only four guys. Not with this big ass creature that seemed to become more and more unhinged with every second, almost as if he were taking pleasure in burning these men alive.

Whitty threw away the severely burned man and turned to the guy on his arm, who had tried to stab him with a needle, but the moment he touched the bare arm, it was like touching a burning stove. Whitty couldn't help but laugh, grabbing this man by the wrist with one hand, and catching the other by the arm as he tried to jump onto him. Yeah.. This is karma right? Their screams of pain, agony, they deserved more than to burn alive.

___________________________________________

Boyfriend was almost skipping down the sidewalk, but scrunched his nose at the smell of something burning. It seemed like it was coming right from where he was planning to go too. Was Whitty there? Granted it could just be a hobo using a fire to cook or something but... this was a different smelling burn. A smell he's never smelled before, and it formed a pit in his stomach, though he could never explain why.

He didn't rush popping his head around the corner. The sight made him pale, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Was that.. Whitty?

No way, had to be an evil twin or something..

No, it definitely was Whitty. He was crying.. and laughing? The burning smell was because of him. It was burning clothes, burning flesh. Two men were out on the ground, seeming to have accumulated severe burn wounds, singed clothing.. he almost thought they were dead. "You fucked with the wrong guy. Four dudes?? That's all you got?" He heard Whitty laugh. The laugh wasn't like any Boyfriend had heard. When he saw the man he was holding, he had to step in. "W-Whitty!" He choked, and Whitty stopped almost immediately. He stopped everything. He stopped crying. He stopped laughing. He was no longer heated. It was like his brain had to process what the fuck was going on, and he knew what it was when Boyfriend hesitantly stepped within his radius. "Whitty.. Put him down." The blue haired male demanded in a shaky voice. He felt like he was gonna vomit. Whitty dropped the guy, then looked at his hands. There were burned things sticking to them.. Hopefully he wasn't looking at human flesh and blood.

"B.. B-Bee.." Whitty's hands began to tremble. His eyes went wide and the black, inky substance began to leak from his eyes again. He did it again. He.. he hurt people again.. "Oh.. fuck.." Whitty breathed out shakily, beginning to back away from the short male. Boyfriend didn't know how to react, but.. he could feel the remorse in Whitty's actions. He had a feeling Whitty wouldn't want him to see him like this. Not like.. a monster. "Whitty.. c.. c-calm down.." Boyfriend didn't let him scoot away too far, tugging on his jacket sleeve. "Don't! Stop!" Whitty exclaimed, causing Boyfriend to jump a bit. "You're not gonna hurt me. "

"You don't know that!"

"Yes I do." Boyfriend stared into Whitty's eyes with intent.

The bomb crouched down, allowing Boyfriend to give him a look of permission, then hug him. "It's.. It's okay, I'm sure you had a reason to." Boyfriend tried to comfort him, while Whitty began to mutter "I'm sorry" Over and over again. Boyfriend only shushed him, hugging the bomb shaped head in his arms. His fuse was short. He's glad he caught him before he exploded. "Let's get out of here, okay? Don't worry about these guys, I'll.. I'll handle it. For now, let's get you somewhere calmer." Boyfriend muttered softly as he pulled away. Whitty was surprised he could still look him in the eyes and not scowl. He nodded and stood straight. Boyfriend took his hand and led him out. He would simply call an ambulance for these guys. For now, he wouldn't allow Whitty to worry about any of it. They were gonna sit by a tree for the rest of the day.

#fnfboyfriend #pico #whitty #friday night funkin #whittyfnf #whitmore #whitty whitmore #bf x whitty #bf x pico #boyfriend x pico

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spareseratoninplz · 3 years

Text

More Than Pain Bakugo x Y/N reader insert Ch. 2

“Miss…? Excuse me, miss…?” I was gently shaken awake by a hand, and when I woke up a friendly looking gentleman was smiling down at me.

“You’re miss (L/N), right?” He asked, and I nodded.

“Yes… how is my mother?” I asked, my brow immediately furrowing. He placed a hand on my shoulder to keep me from getting up, and took a seat across from me after pulling up a chair to sit on.

“Your mother is in stable condition… her case however… well, it’s uncertain.” He said, and my heart dropped.

“Case…? Uncertain…?” I echoed, and he cleared his throat.

“Your mother had a very serious seizure. Her brain was deprived of oxygen for too long, and this has caused her to slip into a coma. As I said, she’s in stable condition, but if she’s going to have any sort of chance of recovery, we’ll need to perform surgery…” He said the last few words very carefully, and I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“H-How much…?” I asked, and he hesitated before sighing deeply.

“54,200,000 ¥…*” The doctor spoke, and I felt my mouth go dry.

“Your mother’s insurance will pay for her accommodations here at the hospital until the money for surgery can be raised… with any luck, then surgery won’t be necessary. And she’ll simply wake up. Still, there’s the topic of muscle atrophy, and getting her the physical and psychological therapy to recuperate afterwards…” His voice faded out as my brain grew numb with the same question. How in the world am I supposed to raise that much money? As a middle school student I’m not allowed to have any sort of part time job. Not only that, but how was I supposed to pay for rent, power, water, and food when I had absolutely no income whatsoever?

“Miss (L/N)?” The doctor called out my name, and I snapped out of my stupor.

“Did you hear what I said?” He asked, and after a moment of hesitation, he realized I hadn’t.

“There is a program- a temporary service if you will- one that will place you in the care of a foster home… at least for the time being.” I nodded quietly, not really knowing what else to say.

“Come with me and I’ll introduce you to the program’s coordinator.” He ushered me along, and I followed blindly, my eyes growing heavy with exhaustion.

*One day later*

“Here we are! Oh, you are absolutely going to love this couple!” The coordinator opened the door for me to step out with nothing but my backpack on.

“Oh dear… are you certain that’s all you wanted to bring?” She asked.

“I don’t plan on being here for very long.” I said, walking passed her towards the front door. She followed me quickly, and rang the doorbell as I examined the outside structure of the house. It was rounded at the top with a subtle but elegant grey stone layout. The windows were large and somewhat tinted to reflect the incoming sunlight, and I couldn't help but think how clever that was of the designer to come up with. My attention was grabbed when the front door slowly opened to reveal a tall, muscular man with spiky brown hair, glasses, and the slightest hint of a mustache.

“Oh? Hey, you must be (F/N)! Mitsuki, she’s here!” He called behind him, and I could hear the sound of fast footsteps as she made her way to the front door, and nearly knocked the man over in the process.

“Who is it Masaru? Did you say (F/N)?” She asked. She poked her head out, and my eyes immediately focused on two distinctive features, her eyes and hair.

“(F/N)! It’s so good to meet you!” She exclaimed. Before I knew what was happening, she’d already pulled me inside.

“Katsuki! Come meet our guest!” She called out, and the moment she shouted that name, my blood ran cold.

“GO TO HELL!!!” He shouted back in response. Mitsuki only smiled at me briefly as the tension settled in the air. After a moment she turned to me with the same smile on her face.

“Wait right here dear, I’ll be right back.” She spoke softly and gracefully ascended the stairs to what I could only assume was Katsuki’s room. There were a few light knocks on the door before it sounded like the ceiling was falling in.

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO YOUR MOTHER LIKE THAT YOU LITTLE SHIT!” She screamed. She then proceeded to drag Bakugou down the stairs by his ear, much to his protest, and tossed him onto the floor in front of us. My eyes locked onto a coat rack in the corner near the door, and I didn’t dare tear my eyes away for a moment. He stood to his feet and swung around as though he were going to strike his own mother, but instead she smacked the back of his head, and he fell to his knees right in front of me. I jumped back, and accidentally met his eyes. If looks could kill, I’d already be dead.

“(F/N) Is going to be staying here for a little while, and I want you to be the one to show her to her room.” Mitsuki ordered, and Katsuki simply glared at me before sliding his hands into his pockets and walking back towards the stairs.

“You comin’ or not?!” He demanded, looking at me sideways as though I were supposed to read his mind. I glared back, unimpressed before following behind him up the stairs.

We took an immediate right, and he placed his foot against a door before roughly kicking it open and stepping inside. I followed him in, and took a look around. Everything was so neat, tidy, and fresh smelling. They had even changed the bed linens and had a fluffy black bathrobe neatly folded on the bed along with a set of clothes. What was this place? A hotel? “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demanded, and I glanced at him over my shoulder.

“Your parents didn’t tell you what’s going on?” I asked, and he scoffed.

“All they said was we’d have a guest for a couple months. They never said anything about it being some dumb bitch.” He said, expecting to get a rise out of me, but I remained quiet.

“I’ll stay out of your way.” I said, giving him a cold look that he seemed taken aback by.

“The hell’s your problem?” He asked, and I exhaled slowly through my nose before neatly placing my backpack on the back of a nearby chair.

“Why? So you can degrade me on that too?” I asked, my tone just as cold as my icy glare. For once he had nothing to say as he stood there with the same angry look on his face.

“I get that you don’t like me, and I’ll stay out of your way while I’m here, so, just go do… whatever.” I said, my tone bland as I turned to start unpacking things from my bag. After a moment of silence I assumed he had just left, so when I heard the shuffling of feet, and suddenly found myself pinned up against the desk as his hands gripped the edges at my hips, trapping me in place. His body and face were both very close to mine, and radiating heat that I didn’t know could be generated from a human body.

“Listen here you, don’t come into my fucking house thinking you’re better than me just because you have some stupid-ass quirk, you got it?” He hissed, and my brow furrowed.

“What did I say to insinuate that I think I’m better than you?” I asked, pressing my hand against his chest to move him away, but he quickly caught my hand and gripped it tightly, maybe even painfully if pain was something I could feel.

“What was that shit you pulled the other day in the hallway, huh?” He asked.

“Let go of me.” I hissed, and he smirked in an almost challenging way.

“Make me.” He growled. I felt something swelling up within me. This anger that I wasn’t at all familiar with coupled with something else. I felt my body begin to shake, and I forcibly grabbed his wrist with the hand that he was holding me, and his eyes widened for a split moment before I flipped him onto his back. He grunted as I stood up and moved away from him, looking down at my own two hands as though they weren’t mine.

“Shit…” Bakugou cursed under his breath before sitting up, and rubbing at the back of his head. He shot me a bewildered look before standing straight up and marching over to me. He looked me over expectantly before clicking his tongue, and heading for the door. He froze just before walking through, and glanced back at me over his shoulder.

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the left… dinner’s at 5:30… and don’t touch any of my shit!” He spat before shutting the door behind him roughly. I sighed before shaking my head, and pulling my laptop from my bag. I settled in on the bed, and began surfing the web in hopes of winding down, and ignoring what had just happened with my quirk. I had never been able to use it that way before… then again, no one has ever made me feel so frustrated before either.

“Hm?” I hummed in thought as my eyes caught a glimpse of a flashy headliner. I clicked on the link as the webpage opened completely.

“UA RECOMMENDATION EXAM REPORTED TO BE REWARDING HIGHEST RANKING ENTRANT 55,300,000!”

All I could do was stare at the screen with my mouth hanging open, unable to think or speak.

It seemed all too easy, enter the exam, pass with the highest score, and win the money that I would need to get mom the surgery she needed… an additional 1,152,320¥ never hurts either… I quickly began looking up anything and everything that I could about this exam, and found out quite a bit about it relatively quickly.

“Let’s see… consists of a written exam, practical exam, and an… interview…? Alright, no problem, but… what would I do about references? That would be the main thing I need, right?” I mumbled to myself and groaned before flopping backwards onto the bed.

I can’t believe I’m even playing with thoughts like these. To think I’d even stand a chance against anyone who’s recommended to UA? It may seem like easy money, but now that I think about it, there’s no way it would be that easy. There was suddenly a gentle knock at the door, and I quickly stood from the bed to answer it.

“Mrs. Bakugou, I’m sorry was I being too loud?” I asked, and she chuckled before waving me off, and shooting me a smile.

“Not at all dear! I just came up to check and see how you were getting settled.’ She said, and I nodded before giving her a thankful smile.

“Oh yes, I’m fine. You have a beautiful home.” I said, and she smiled even brighter.

“Aren’t you the sweetest, thank you!” She giggled before banging her fist once against the door directly behind her before shouting.

“YOU HEAR THAT, KID?! WHY CAN’T YOU BE SWEET LIKE HER?!” Mrs. Bakugou shouted.

“WOULD YOU SHUT IT, YOU OLD HAG?! I’M TRYIN’ TO STUDY!” Bakugou shouted back. So, his room was directly across from mine…? Good to know. I thought sarcastically.

“WHY YOU-” I cut her off before she had a chance to shout again. She looked as though she were about to break down his door.

“Bakugou is actually a pretty nice guy at school!” I blurted out before I could think. She froze, and turned to me with a skeptical look.

“That’s not what I’ve heard…” She said, her brow furrowing.

“What? No, really. He helped me to find my locker and the cafeteria on my first day of school, and he’s always willing to help out when I need a partner during study period.” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie. He had helped me find my locker and the cafeteria on the first day… he just wasn’t super polite about it. As for the study partner thing, really we had just been paired up together by the teacher, and did our own work silently.

“He may seem a little harsh at first, but Bakugou is someone who is really very dedicated to his goal of becoming a pro hero. I admire him for not being afraid to speak his mind about things… it’s a quality I wish I had.” I admitted, and I suddenly found myself wondering why I was suddenly singing Bakugou’s praises when I didn’t really know two things about the guy.

“You’re too sweet, (F/N)... by the way, you’re welcome to call me Mitsuki.” She offered, and I nodded politely. She turned towards Bakugou’s door again, and lifted her hand ready to bang on it once more, but after a moment her body seemed to relax as though she had second thoughts, and she lightly knocked instead.

“Supper will be ready in about an hour, hon.” She said gently. After a moment of silence, Bakugou responded. “Whatever…” His voice sounded tired almost, but it held no anger. Mitsuki smiled gently before giving me a small nod, and heading downstairs. Somehow I felt good about what I did, and turned to return to my room, only to be met by the sound of Bakugou’s door creaking open.

“So what’s your deal, huh?” He asked. I looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, and a bored expression on his face. I shrugged before resting my elbow against the doorframe, and pushing my hair back out of my eyes.

“I don’t know… I guess maybe you just don’t hear it as much as you should.” I said. His eyes lowered to the floor as though he were considering something.

“Hear what?” He asked. I swallowed hard, knowing what it was I was wanting to say, but I wasn’t sure how he would react.

“You’re a good guy, Bakugou… and I know you’ve built this reputation as the school’s hot head or whatever, but… I can tell by how hard you work that you truly do want to be a hero… and I don’t think you’d want to be a hero if you didn’t like people.” I said, and he remained silent, now resting his head against the door frame, and looking off down the hall.

“You’re so full of shit.” He spat, somewhat taking me by surprise, but I didn’t let it show.

“The other day, you were telling me to ‘grow up’... saying shit like ‘you’re not very heroic’- such bullshit.” He hissed, and for some reason an unfamiliar sensation hit me directly in the center of my chest before spreading to the rest of my body.

‘Is this… pain…?’ I thought to myself. Without realizing, my hand had come up and grabbed my shirt directly over my chest. My breathing began to increase, and my skin began to feel warm and flush.

“What is it? Just now realizing I’ve called you out on your bullshit?” He asked, crossing his arms again and smirking in an unnerving way.

“What? No, that’s not-” My breathing only increased, but it felt like all the air in my lungs had left me. I felt my eyes begin to burn as tears began to slide down my cheeks uncontrollably.

“Wh- hey. What’s wrong with you?” He asked, and I felt my body begin to shake as sobs began to rack my body.

“Shit, hey-” He kneeled beside me, and I hid my face from him. I’d never felt this way before in my life. As though someone had lit a fire at the center of my chest, but the rest of my body remained cold as Ice. How is it even possible to be freezing, and yet sweat at the same time?

“Calm your breathing and relax.” He said, his voice lower, and I felt him rest his hand on my back awkwardly, not knowingly exactly where to put it. After a moment I seemed to calm down, but I was still in shock at what had just happened.

“Wh-what… what was that…?” I mumbled to myself.

“You just had a fucking panic attack.” Bakugou said, now sitting on the floor next to me, and resting his head back against the wall. I could feel him watching me carefully, and after a moment he sighed.

“Look I… I’m sorry. Okay? I didn’t think sayin’ that would… cause a panic attack alright? I always thought you didn’t have emotions.” He said.

“I… I usually don’t feel anything. Pain, anger, fear, sadness… I can absorb it back into my body, channel it and use the energy to heal myself or others…” I said, and suddenly realized I hadn’t ever really explained how my quirk worked before.

“So that’s what happened the other day? You didn’t block my attack, you absorbed it?” He asked, and I nodded.

“And that’s how you healed yourself?” He asked, and again I nodded.

“Yes… the stronger the quirk, the faster I heal.” I said, and he just stared ahead at the wall.

“Well… it’s not the shittiest quirk I’ve ever heard of.” He said, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. We sat in silence for a bit longer before I spoke again.

“I need to get into UA on recommendation.” I said, and his entire body stiffened.

“WH- THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?!” He demanded, and I sighed.

“It’s not what you think okay, so don’t blow a fuse.” I said. I passed him my phone with the headline on it, and his eyes quickly skimmed over it.

“Yeah, I heard about that… so then what’s the deal? I thought you weren’t tryin’ to be a hero.” He said, and I ignored the fact that he knew that about me, and took my phone back from him.

“I… I just need the money, alright?” I admitted. I pulled my knees to my chest before resting my arms on top, and then my chin.

“What do you need with a shit-ton of cash like that?” He asked, and I laughed humorlessly. He didn’t respond after a moment of silence, so I sighed, and felt my brow furrow.

“Katsuki, (F/N) dinner’s ready!” Mitsuki called.

“HOLD YOUR HORSES WE’RE COMIN’!” Bakugou shouted back, but I was already standing.

“We should go eat. School in the morning.” I said, and he looked up at me with a stoic expression before standing himself and walking towards the stairs. I walked past him at the top of the stairs, and he grabbed my arm to stop me before I could continue.

“We’re not done yet.” He said, holding my gaze for several moments before turning away, and descending the stairs. I lightly brushed my fingers across my arm where he’d grabbed me, and felt an odd tingling sensation where his hand had been.

“I’m losing my mind…” I mumbled to myself before descending the stairs, and stepping into the dining room.

“Here you go (F/N) I’ve saved you a spot right next to Katsuki.” Mr. Bakugou said whilst drying his hands on a kitchen towel as Mrs. Bakugou finished placing the final plate of food on the table. I nodded silently before taking the seat I had been offered.

“The coordinator gave us a list with some of your favorites, so I made you some kakitama jiru!*” She exclaimed, very pleased with herself.

“It looks great, thank you Mrs. Bakugou.” I said, smiling kindly as I spooned it into a bowl along with some crispy noodles and a spoonful of green onions on top. The aroma was intoxicating, and I felt myself relax somewhat at the familiar smell.

“Would you like some Beef?” Mr. Bakugou offered, holding the plate out to me. I nodded before plucking a few pieces out, and placing them neatly on my plate before adding some steamed veggies and rice. Everything looked and smelled amazing. I couldn’t recall eating in the last few days, so this was more than welcomed.

“Have you had any news on your mother?” Mrs. Bakugou asked, and I felt the color immediately drain from my face. Any appetite I previously had was gone now. I lowered my chopsticks from my mouth before I could take a bite of food, and felt my hand shake slightly.

“Oh… uh… no ma’am. Nothing yet.” I said plainly, hoping she would just drop it.

“Oh… well, I’m very sorry to hear about what happened. We really hope she gets out of the hospital soon.” She said, and I felt my eyes drop to the table, suddenly intently focused on the pattern of the tablecloth, and nothing else. I wanted everything to fade away, and be silent. I wanted to be by myself where no one could see me like this because it was all new to me as well.

“Um… th-thanks…” I silently cursed myself for stuttering. They probably couldn’t tell I was uncomfortable since my body language wasn’t showing it. Would it be disrespectful to tell them that I was uncomfortable?

“Hey, we’re gonna eat upstairs.” Katsuki spoke up suddenly, his voice breaking through the haze of my hectic thought process.

“Huh? But you’ve already sat down.” Mrs. Bakugo said, dejected.

“I’ve been havin’ some trouble with English lately… she said she’d tutor me, so…” He lied, but I kept my mouth shut. Mrs. Bakugou looked utterly dumbfounded, but quickly smiled.

“Oh, of course!” She said gleefully. Katsuki grabbed his bowl, and I grabbed mine. I said my goodbyes as we ascended the stairs once more, and he all but forced me into my room. I placed the bowl down, and took a few deep breaths.

“Shit…” I mumbled to myself once my breath had come back.

“What’s going on with you? Why do you keep freaking out?” Bakugou scoffed, and I swallowed hard.

“Look, I’m not used to feeling emotions like this, okay?” I said, a bit more anger behind my tone than I had probably intended.

“Turn your shitty quirk back on then…” He said, as though it were the easiest thing.

“I… I can’t… I don’t know why but for some reason, I can’t.” I said, and he lifted an eyebrow.

“What you said before… when you said I’m ‘full of shit’... I don’t know how, or why, but for some reason or other, it caused my quirk to dissipate. That’s why I freaked out.” I said.

“So… you turn off your quirk, and you have a panic attack, or what the hell?” He asked, and I shook my head.

“No, no… look, I’ve had my emotions shut off since I was a child… sometimes they slip out, but I’ve always been able to keep them under control until a little while ago. At that time, I dunno…” I trailed off, taking a few breaths before continuing.

“I guess all the emotions that I’ve been holding back hit me at once.” I concluded, and Bakugou continued to sit there in silence.

“Why turn them off?” He asked, and the question caught me off guard.

“What?” I asked.

“Your emotions. Why turn them off?” He asked again, slightly annoyed this time at having to repeat himself.

“Oh… I dunno. It just seemed easier I guess.” I answered honestly. After a moment Katsuki stood with his bowl in hand, and headed for the door.

“Whatever… I’m goin’ back to my room.” He said, and something made me ask. “Bakugou…?” I called out, and he stopped to turn and look back at me.

“How did you know I was having a panic attack… I mean- how did you know how to handle it?” I asked, and his eyes widened momentarily before his brow creased in its usual pissed off manner.

“What the hell kinda question is that, dumbass!” He huffed before throwing the door open and storming out before shutting it behind him. I blinked a few times before sighing and shaking my head. I’ll never understand how this guy’s brain works… but maybe that’s for the best. I sat at the desk with the bowl of soup in front of me, and sighed as I picked at it with my chopsticks. The noodles were mush at this point, and the broth was surely cold. I pushed the bowl away, and stepped towards the bed. After moving my laptop and the clothes aside, I curled myself up on the comforter with my head resting against the plush pillow, and felt my eyelids growing heavier by the second. After a few deep breaths, I felt my body relax into the mattress, and sleep finally found me.

#bnha #bakugou katsuki #reader insert #bakugou x y/n #izuku midoriya

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sablelab · 4 years

Text

Covert Operations - Chapter 120

SYNOPSIS: It has been a couple of days since Jamie and Claire were admitted to Med Lab when Madeline decides to make a visit to ask about their progress. She visits both patients and once she has gone Jamie organises to visit Claire in the dead of night with Fergus’ help.

Chapter 119 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU all for your continued support of this story. Much appreciated.

CHAPTER 120

As he walked out of Med Lab, Dr Jeremy Foster stopped in his tracks upon seeing Madeline as it had been a couple of days since either of Section’s leaders had last visited their two operatives. He had kept them well informed as to Jamie and Claire’s progress and was not surprised that Section’s second in command had finally decided to pay a visit to Medical. He hoped that the reason why Madeline was here was because she and Operations had reached a decision about downtime now that they were showing signs of improvement. “Dr Foster I’m glad you’re still here.” He gave her a nod of recognition. “How are the patients?” "The patients are not in the best of moods I’m afraid. Claire is getting bored and Jamie is … well … Jamie.” Madeline was not at all surprised that James Fraser was far from being a model patient. Section’s top operative was loath to be incapacitated at the best of times and no doubt he was ready to get out of Med Lab. “Tell me about their progress.” Jeremy Foster held nothing back, knowing that Madeline wouldn’t expect anything less. “Superficially, both Jamie and Claire look as though they are well on the road to recovery. They both have had their intravenous drip removed and their hourly observations reports have been sound. Overall, I’m pleased to say that both of their physical injuries are healing quite nicely.” “What’s Jamie’s status?” “Considering the state under which he entered Medical on his return from the mission, Jamie has indeed made excellent progress over the last couple of days. He has improved significantly but, as you know Madeline, this is not totally unexpected. James Fraser always seems to heal quickly due to his superb physical conditioning and training.” “Anything else?” “Although his blood pressure is a little elevated, I’m not concerned as his other data has been good. Since his blood transfusions, his anaemia has improved, his wound seems to be healing satisfactorily and there has been no infection. Jamie is still on pain relief as his injury will be tender for a while yet. He also doesn’t have complete mobility back in his shoulder. Unfortunately, this could take some time. He will definitely need some rehabilitation and physiotherapy to help build up his core strength.” He gave Madeline an earnest look before adding, “Despite his operation, Jamie seems to have fared the better of the two.” With her non-verbal reply, Dr Foster was unable to gauge Madeline’s reaction to this current news about Jamie’s condition as her expression was unreadable. No doubt she was mentally weighing up this information and ticking the boxes in her head as to her next plan of action. Glancing at her he reiterated his point once more, “I am pleased that Jamie is showing improvement each day, but I am somewhat concerned about Claire.” This time Madeline answered looking at him for clarification, “Meaning...?” “It’s the wounds I cannot see to treat that worry me. Physically, although Claire is recovering well, I’m concerned about her mental wellbeing and I’m also worried about her emotional state of mind. She still bears the scars of her captivity. These physical marks are a constant reminder of what happened to her. Under the circumstances it is little wonder that she is emotionally drained. Having been subjected to the kind of prolonged torture she endured, there is no way of telling as to the impact that being incarcerated has had on her psyche.” Madeline was well aware that the situation that Claire had faced could cause depression and anxiety and given the nature of her personality, succumbing to either of these conditions was feasible. Although Section operatives were trained to deal with such emotions, maybe, just maybe, given Claire’s state of mind and the severity of her afflictions that her wounds were deeper than first expected. Reluctantly she too had come to the same conclusion. Having done psyche evaluations on Claire in the past, it was possible that this mission had had a far greater effect than what her capture and torture by Red Cell had done to her on a previous mission. She listened as Jeremy Foster continued. “The kind of torture Claire experienced often causes severe mental scars that are much slower to heal than the physical ones you can see. As doctors, we don’t know the damage that has been done to a person's spirit or to their subconscious often until it's too late.” “Yes … I can see your point.” If what Dr Foster had told her was true any psyche analysis she’d planned would need to be postponed until Claire was mentally better. There was no way that Operations would tolerate an operative who was not 100% ready and able to be sent back on such an important mission to capture Sun Yee Lok once and for all. There was much on the line for them. Colum in particular had already given them a succinct directive. It seemed she had few options but she would need to discuss her findings with Operations after her visit. To bring an End Game to this troublesome triad group, they needed Jamie and Claire to be functioning at their optimum level as they were crucial players in the final scenario. “When can they be released?” The doctor considered the question for a brief moment before replying, knowing that his answer may be crucial to the decision that Madeline and Operations would make about Jamie and Claire’s recuperation. “I want to keep them both in for at least another twenty-four hours. If they continue to show continued improvement, I see no reason as to why they should stay under observation any longer than that. May I add that rehabilitation away from Section One would be the preferred option for the maximum success in their recovery. I think you will find that they will bounce back much better if you and Operations decide that this is the best course of action.” Madeline was stoic in her demeanour and did not comment on what Dr Foster had said but merely replied with, “I’d like to see them for myself now.” Comprehensively put back in his box his replied, “Of course. But I wouldn’t stay too long … Claire still needs her rest.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ When Claire Beauchamp heard the electronic “whoosh” of the automatic doors opening and the sound of high heels echo in her room, she immediately knew who had entered. The footsteps came closer and she sensed her visitor’s presence as she stood at the foot of her bed. She was sure that Madeline was scrutinizing her up and down with those unforgiving dark eyes making her own assessment as to her condition. Opening her eyes Claire met the intense gaze from Section’s second in command. “Dr Foster said that you're doing quite well.” Claire sat up a little and folded her arms across her chest in a defensive manner as she met her leader’s probing look. “I've been better, but I'll live.” Madeline gave her a wry smile. “I'm sure you will. You’re looking much better than the first time I saw you.” “Thank you.” “How are you feeling?” She asked, although her attempt at motherly concern fell on deaf ears. Claire turned and glanced at her. Madeline looked like any concerned parent for their child, but she knew otherwise. Her superior never did anything out of compassion and she doubted the sincerity of her words and the smile she gave her. Claire was wary of Madeline’s intentions. There was always an ulterior motive and her visit here was no exception.

Why was she being so nice? Was she baiting her so that she would drop her guard and say something she shouldn’t? You could never tell with Madeline, but what did she have to lose?

Seizing the opportunity presented to her Claire smiled back and asked nonchalantly, “So … when can I get out of here?” “Probably in a day or two, but that decision is up to Dr Foster.” “Oh …” Her superior noticed Claire’s eyes widen with unspoken questions. She guessed that they were concerning Jamie’s discharge as well. “Would that be a problem?” Madeline’s eyes focused on Claire’s face trying to read her reaction to her statement. “No …That’s fine. I’m going a bit stir crazy not being able to do anything. I’m so ready to get outta here.” Madeline walked closer to the head of the bed. “Yes ... I’m sure you have, but that will change soon enough. Let’s hope Dr Foster thinks you are well enough in a day or two shall we. Until then I guess you’ll have to amuse yourself, I’m afraid.” She smiled at her again. “I’m sure you’ve had some visitors … that should have help with the boredom.” “Murtagh and Fergus have been here.” “Yes …” Madeline’s eyes zeroed in on Claire’s. “… I know.” With all the surveillance cameras in Med Lab closely monitoring personnel twenty-four hours a day, Madeline was just reminding her that she knew who, when and how often they had visited. To rub salt into the wound knowing that her words would cut Claire to the bone she added, “I’m sure Jamie would have been here as well … If he’d been able.” Each word Madeline had just spoken was like a bard to the heart. Pressing her lips together, Claire closed her eyes thinking of Jamie in ICU. The pain, of not being able to see him, cut deep. Murtagh had said he was doing fine but until she had seen him for herself then she would not be at peace. Claire fought to keep her composure at Madeline’s well aimed taunt. She of all people knew what they’d both gone through on the mission yet she took satisfaction in her vindictiveness coated with concern and veiled kindness to push home a point.

How could she have forgotten that there was always a hidden agenda to what Madeline had to say? Section would always be the winner. There was no room for all the qualities she tried to hold onto because Section wanted to browbeat them out of her. Madeline scrutinized the emotions that crossed Claire’s face. The tell-tale swollen vein in her neck was a dead giveaway that her heart rate had accelerated and her face had lost its colour. There was something between the two operatives that went beyond mentor and material, and knowing that they were to have some downtime together was gnawing at her craw. It would only strengthen their bond and this could affect their performance in the field. Operations would not tolerate collusion between two operatives … especially their two best field operatives. It could put Section at risk. Yet when Claire looked at her, her composure was evident. She smiled brightly. “I'm sure he will … when he’s able. Maybe I could visit him instead.” “Yes … no doubt you are keen to see how he is too.” Noticing that Dr Foster had re-entered the room, Claire put her hand across her mouth stifling a yawn and hoping that he might intervene and cut short Madeline’s visit. He caught her eye and came to her rescue. “I think it is time that the patient got some rest Madeline. Doctor's orders." Without turning around she acknowledged his request, “Of course.” She smiled once more at Claire then gave her shoulder a light tap. “Operations and I will drop by tomorrow to see how you're feeling. He’s anxious to check up on you as well.” “Thank you.” Then turning towards Jeremy Foster Madeline uttered her next command. “I’d like to see Jamie now.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sound of the automatic doors opening registered in James Fraser’s mind, but he didn't bother turning his head around at the sound. He knew who it was. There was only one person that he wanted to see ... and it certainly wasn’t Madeline. Obviously she’d been told his recovery was better than the doctors had expected. No wonder she had felt compelled to come down to check on him to see if that was true. If there was any chance of him returning to the Rising Dragons mission quicker than expected then Madeline would grab it with both hands. He’d improved day by day; his strength was gradually returning and he’d finally turned the corner. This Intel would be most pleasing to Section’s leaders as the more time Sun Yee Lok and his triad were left to their own devices to restructure once more, the smaller the window of opportunity Section had to contain them while they were still vulnerable. Regrouping and rebuilding the triad was a possibility not to be taken for granted. The more the Rising Dragons grew in strength the more Section would be on the back foot. Resources were already stretched to the limit with other pending missions. If the Rising Dragons triad reinvented itself by amalgamating with other triad groups, this could mean greater problems also. Hence, Section wanted an End Game to happen as expediently as possible and for that they needed both he and Claire. Jamie also hated being in Med Lab any longer than necessary and Madeline knew this only too well. Was she here to say he was getting out of here? If so, then what about Claire? When would she be out of medical too? It had been several long, miserable days since he and Claire had been taken into Med Lab and he was determined to see her now he wasn’t hooked up to all the equipment and monitors. Although Fergus and Murtagh had been making visits to see Claire in shifts and had given him progress reports on her welfare, it was not enough. He needed to see her for himself. He had little concern for his own welfare when the person he cared most about was but a heartbeat away … but now Madeline had turned up un-expectantly. He hoped her visit would be brief. Her footfalls stopped and Jamie could hear her speaking to Dr Foster for a short while. He assumed she was going over the doctor’s notes on his condition. He closed his eyes knowing that Madeline would soon come nearer. He braced himself for her visit. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Jamie was surprised that Operations wasn’t with her. No doubt Madeline was here to ascertain what the chances were of his release from Med Lab and his recovery timeframe back to mission status. As he lay in bed waiting for her to finally speak with him, Murtagh’s words suddenly echoed in his head from his and Fergus’s visit earlier this evening. “I see you have finally decided to visit Claire tonight. I was wondering how long it would take.” But he had also uttered some concern. “Do you think that a wise move in your condition?” His condition was of no consequence. All that mattered was his Claire. He would know soon enough for himself, then he would be satisfied. Jamie had planned to see her as soon as everything was quiet for the night. More than likely Madeline had already paid a visit to Claire’s bedside and now, her impromptu visit had put a damper on his plans for the time being. It was inconvenient but not a total set back. He would prevail when he could. Jamie had arranged for Fergus to deactivate the surveillance cameras in Med Lab but in particular his and Claire’s room for a while and replace them with a recorded feed when he said so. When Operations and Madeline monitored the tapes, as they would, they would find that he was still in infirmary and everything was normal. They would be none the wiser that he had been to Claire’s room and seen her. Instead they would be watching the feed that Fergus had instigated without knowing anything had occurred between the two operatives. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “How are you doing?” The sound of Madeline’s question roused Jamie back to reality. He turned his head and looked at Section’s head strategist as she approached his bed. “I’m fine.” Jamie’s answer was nothing more than what she would have expected. Madeline knew exactly how he was doing. Dr Foster had told her. She’d read his files to clarify his observations, she and Operations had watched the surveillance tapes. They knew everything they needed to know. “Good …” She gave him a cheerful look then added. “Claire is recovering well also. That’s good news? Is it not?” Madeline knew Jamie wouldn’t react to her question; she was not surprised with his response. It was good news … in fact it was great news but he certainly wasn’t going to say that. The mission had brought him and Claire closer together to the point where he was now unable to deny his feelings. Unequivocally, irrefutably and completely he knew that he loved her. “Of course,” he responded with his customary laconic reply. Jamie’s eyes were vacuous in response not wanting to give his superior any more damning evidence of his feelings regarding Claire Beauchamp for her mental file. His show of concern when he bought her into Medical on their return from the mission was already damning enough. No doubt, it had left Operations and Madeline with just enough uncertainty for them to jump to conclusions about a relationship between the two of them. It would now be necessary for him to negate any thoughts they may suspect of a greater attachment between himself and Claire more than that of mentor and his recruit. Diffusing their attention away from any hidden agenda they may have about them and solely back onto the mission’s end game was his plan. Later that night … Madeline had long gone and Jamie waited until the night medic had finished his last observations and had also left before making his move. Seizing his chance and unable to fight the urgent need to know of Claire’s condition for himself any longer he contacted Fergus. “Covered?” “Yeah, they're watching the feed; they think you're in ICU.” “Good.” “The Med Lab staff don’t check on the patients when they are asleep unless they buzz Jamie, so … how much time do you need?” “An hour.” “The tape runs another three hours, but you won’t need all that time. “No.” “If there is any problem … Murtagh and I will cover it.” “Good. How is the feed? Is it clear?” ”It’s fine. You’ll have plenty of time. I’ll put the cameras back on real time when you’re ready just let me know and I’ll do the adjustment.” “Thank ye Fergus.” Gingerly Jamie got out of bed thankful that the cumbersome intravenous drip had been removed from his arm this morning. Steadying his body and ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder, he made his way to his Sassenach’s room. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ In the quiet of Med Lab, James Fraser stood like a looming sentinel in the doorway of Claire’s room. It was empty except for one lone cot, but his eyes immediately zeroed in on his love. His breath hitched in his throat as his eyes caressed Claire from head to toe as she lay in bed asleep. As he slowly walked over to her bed, he couldn’t look anywhere else but on the reposing form of the woman he loved. Moving closer to the bed he was able to observe his Sassenach much better while his eyes took inventory of everything about her. Jamie catalogued every inch of Claire’s exposed features riddled with the evidence of what she had suffered for the Section. He missed nothing. Although her face had been cleaned up, the extent of the injuries she’d endured were still clearly evident. Her beautiful, porcelain skin was riddled with dark lesions that had bruised her delicate face. Jamie studied her more closely. Claire still had deep circles under her eyes and she was far too pale for his liking. Madeline had said that she was recovering well, but to his eyes Claire was not. Any abrasion or blemish that marked her flesh was a kick to the gut for him and a firm reminder of what had happened to her. Now that her lacerations were more pronounced, he could see the lingering result of what was done to her. He felt physically sick to his stomach for what his beautiful Claire had suffered. Vivid images coursed his mind of their captivity at the monastery. His Claire bore the noticeable scars of the incarceration and torture she’d endured from Jonathon Randall. In time her physical wounds would heal and fade but it was the scars he couldn’t see that worried him more. Claire’s psyche would have taken a telling blow. Without a second thought, he vowed that he would avenge what the Rising Dragons had done to her. Caressing her once more, his lips wanted to kiss away the marks on her face and obliterate any sign of her torture. His feelings ran deep for this woman, deeper than he ever thought were possible and a longing so intense for her overpowered him. Jamie’s body shook with the desire he felt … a feeling so profound and strong it overwhelmed him. Claire Beauchamp was his everything. James Fraser ached for the woman who had his heart. She took his breath away. Claire was his lifeline … she was the only ray of sunshine in the hell hole of Section One. She brought lightness to his dark world and made his life worth living. Before Claire, he just existed; his life ruled by Section’s mantra. Missions were the means to an end and if he died what did it matter? Section had trained him to be the penultimate cold operative who killed without compunction. He was an emotionless, cold-blooded killing machine who had merely been existing in this hell hole that was Section One. His life before Section had ceased to exist. He was emotionally dead and cared not if he lived or died. Not only was he dead to the world he once knew, but more importantly he was dead inside. He cared nought for his own wellbeing and emotionally he was devoid of feelings for others. However, this mission had helped him realize something that was pointless for him to deny any longer. Because of Claire … he wanted to exist. She’d made him feel things he had buried deep inside, stirred emotions he had long ago denounced. Claire made him come alive. She had changed everything. He couldn’t live without her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~to be continued FRIDAY 15th May

#Jamieandclairefanfic #jamieandclairecrossover #jamieandclaireau #covert operations #LFNoutlander #the lallybroch library #outlander fanfic

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mahalkitajohnnysuh · 4 years

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The Dream Synopsis

Sometimes, you write with a goal in mind, and then it ends up in a way you didn’t expect it to. Does anyone have a similar, if not the same, experience?

Let me know through the comments!

Anyway, here’s Johnny looking like he stepped out of my dream in this GIF.

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

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Summary: This was supposed to be a sweet and fluffy Johnny and Essie piece, but then I don’t know why I had to include hurt and angsty Mark into the mix.

POV: 3rd person here.

Word count: 1,300 + words

Warning: I never go all the way yet with Johnny and Essie, but this is the closest thing we’ll get to them getting it on for now.

Recommended listening: I’m going to include the song that shares the same title below. If you must know, and if it isn’t obvious enough with the previous song recommendations, I’m a big Alex Turner fan.

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It was during their off-days that Johnny cherished his time with Essie the most.

He loved lazy weekend afternoons, with the curtains gently moving because of the cool breeze. He and Essie would be on the couch, listening to a curated playlist either one of them made or a record of their choosing. Jaehyun gifted them a record player like his, which delighted the girl.

They usually talked about anything and everything while they were on the sofa. Most of the time, Essie would be lying on top of Johnny’s lap, raising her arms in the air to illustrate her point. Sometimes, he would lean his head against her shoulder and then bury his face in her chest when he wanted to cuddle further.

Their hands were always over and around each other, making them a giggly, tangled mess. They would be more so when they had drinks on the coffee table – coffee for Johnny and beer for Essie. They loved how each other tasted when they kissed. Essie became more tolerant of bitter tastes while Johnny became desensitized to the stench of alcohol.

In one of those ideal moments, he talked to her about his recent dream. “I was playing the piano at an empty theater, wearing the usual velvet suits they make us wear. And I was told that it was a full house,” his eyes never left her face as he shared his story.

“Maybe the organizer was a ghost, and a bunch of dead people were there watching your performance,” she replied after a moment, a smile forming on her face.

“Isn’t that creepy, baby? I mean, what the heck? Why would I dream of dead people?” He sat up, shaking his head a little. He ran his hands through his hair, which seemed to help him compose himself.

Essie watched him fuss about his hair still with the same dopey smile on her face. The little things he did always made her heart feel warm and fuzzy, as cheesy as it sounds. She was extremely lucky to call him hers, which she hoped he felt the same way.

The guy didn’t notice the look of adoration on his girlfriend’s face as he cleared his throat, staring into the space ahead. “Sorry, baby, am I boring you with my story? It must be torture when I talk about my dreams…” he mumbled, tucking his head into his chin with shame.

“No, not at all! I find it fascinating, really.” The girl shifted from her position and moved closer to him. “Talking about dreams is interesting. You can interpret them in a million ways.”

When he noticed that her eyes twinkled even in the dim light of the living room, he couldn’t help but pull her closer to him and kiss her.

She responded to his action with no hesitation, hooking her arms around his neck immediately. They forgot about their world around them as they kissed.

However, they forgot that they still had a housemate who can come in whatever time he pleases.

As the couple made out with gusto, Mark Lee entered their apartment and dropped his bag on the floor. The thud it made didn’t bother Johnny and Essie, as the couple was intent on sucking each other’s faces until they were tired.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t time yet for them to stop. Essie started moaning as Johnny’s hands went down her bottom, cupping it with all his might. It made the guy grunt at how sexy that sounded, and both exchanged small (and dirty) nothings to each other.

Mark couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He wanted to sneak into his room as quietly as possible but he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the couple.

Deep inside, he felt a bit of hurt resurface. He liked Essie more than a noona. He admitted his feelings to her before, yet she politely declined him.

“Maybe it’s not the time yet, Marky. Maybe in another lifetime. But just so you know, I love you as a friend and as the little brother I never had,” those were her famous words that took him some time to recuperate from, and now the pain was back momentarily.

As he was rooted in spot watching his hyung and noona about to get it on, something inside him snapped. He walked away as silently as he could, his eyes downcast. He would watch some funny videos on YouTube to help him erase this image.

But Mark being Mark, he stubbed his toe on the dining table. “Shit,” he hissed in pain, slowly reaching his hand to soothe his toe.

The sound he made got the attention of the couple who were now looking at him.

“Oh, Mark,” Johnny started, gently prying Essie off him. “I thought you’d be back tomorrow morning.”

“Uh, flight was early. Decided to come home immediately. I missed my bed.” The young guy’s answers were clipped despite sounding like his usual self. Essie picked up on this and frowned.

“Sorry you had to see that, Marky…” she said softly, now standing up.

“No, it’s fine. You’re a couple now anyways. Making out is something couples do all the time,” he chuckled before he stepped out of the dining room completely.

Silence hung in the air for a moment until Johnny coughed. “Wow, that was a bit awkward,” he started, looking at his girlfriend.

Essie sighed, plopping back on the couch. “I know. I think he’s not yet over, you know…”

It was the guy’s turn to sigh. “I think so too, baby. But give it time. He’ll be over it.”

“You think so?” She looked up at him in worry, her eyes turning glassy with tears.

“Yeah, I do,” he sat closer to her, “and I don’t want to lose him too. He’s both the little brother we never had.”

“I find it a bit unfair that many people are affected with our relationship, and in a not-so-good way,” Essie huffed, wiping the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes.

“I know, baby. But that’s just the way it is, I guess?” Johnny leaned back on the couch, “You can’t win them all. We’re both good-looking people who click so well. And we’re friendly to everyone. We can’t help but make people fall for us.” This got the girl chuckling, who was now leaning back on the sofa as well.

“I never expected that I’ll be liked this much,” she said softly, her eyes looking at the space in front of her. It was a realization that never seemed to sink into her mind, considering how plain and normal she looked.

“Well, baby, you are wrong about that. Turns out that you’re almost everyone’s type,” he eyed her from head to toe, earning a thwack on his shoulder.

“Don’t say that!” She looked away to cover her reddening face. “I don’t know. I am flattered, but at the same time, I don’t deserve this.”

“Aw, come on!” Johnny tilted her face to look at him, and his heart ached when he saw tears coming out of her warm face. “You deserve all the love, my darling. But you can’t give it to everyone, especially if you’re looking for a partner. And I’m the happiest person to be the recipient of that special kind of love.”

Essie broke down into tears, which Johnny kissed away from her face.

“I love you, Essie Park. Please know that. Nothing can change that.”

Although his words came to her, she was at a loss on what to say. She was overwhelmed with her realization and his confession.

“Oh, John…” she mumbled, burying her face on his chest.

He held her in his arms as she wept, but his mind was thinking if she loved him as much as he did.

–––

FIN

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legolaslovely · 5 years

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Mistakes Part 2

A/N: Hello guys! Here’s part two of this series for those who requested it. Part three is giving me a lot of trouble but I hope to post it soon. Other than that, we have some Ross Poldark, some Kili and plenty of Fili coming up next! Hope you guys enjoy.

Pairing: Mitchell x Reader

Word Count: 3,226

Warnings: SPOILERS, Fluff, Angst, Protective!Mitchell, language, allusion to smut

Summary: Mitchell becomes obsessed with protecting (Y/N) after Daisy’s attack and deals with the aftermath of the funeral parlor explosion.

Mistakes Masterlist

The next days passed with Mitchell sticking to his original plan. He barely allowed (Y/N) to leave his bed. He let her rest and heal, remembering with a twinge of annoyance how slowly humans recuperated compared to vampires. All the same, she was safe in his arms and that’s all he could really ask for.

They didn’t speak much about what happened, and even then it ended in an argument. He had been lying over her, kissing her lips and down her jaw line. The sound of her rushing blood pounded in his ears, blinding him with need for her and lust for blood. He lifted from her, brushing his nose against her cheek, breathing in deeply.

“This is it. Tomorrow I’m leaving,” he said.

(Y/N) groaned. “Mitchell-”

“It has to be done. You’ll be safer without me.”

“We both know I’ll never be safe now.”

He drew back, the haze from his eyes gone. He never expected her to be so blunt.

“I’m in this now,” she said, taking a gentle hold on his arm. “I’m in it with you. I’ve made my decision because I love you- I love you more than anything, Mitchell, but I know I’ll never be completely, normally safe again. Unless you change me and we both know you won’t do that. And even then-”

“Woah, we-we’re not doing that. That’s not an option. No.”

She ran her fingers through his curls, using her thumb to smooth the harsh line between his brows. “I know how you feel about it. I’m not pushing you. I’m just saying-”

“Well, stop saying it.” He flopped off the bed, walking across the room and throwing his hands up in exasperation. “This is why I have to leave.”

“Your leaving is not going to change things and you know it.”

“You would have never had these thoughts if you didn’t meet me. You wouldn’t have even known about vampires in the first place, never mind be in this constant danger if we hadn’t met!”

“So you’re going to turn back time now? Is that another vampire trick I don’t know about?”

He whipped to her, sending his hair flying around his face like a curtain. “Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you go back if you could and never start this?”

“No!”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I wouldn’t do it!” She moved to stand. “If anything-”

“Do not get off that bed. You stay on that bed,” he said.

She groaned. “You’re being ridiculous. You’re ridiculous!”

“It’s ridiculous that I want you so badly and I don’t deserve you.” His voice fell and he sat next to her on the bed. “It’s ridiculous how much I need you. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Does that make me ridiculous?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her. Long ago, he’d memorized the shape of her lips, the smell of her skin, the wave of her hair, but now the realization that she was his crashed over him again. “What were you going to say?” he asked, barely pulling away from her.

“When?”

“If you could turn back time, what would you do?” he asked, rolling his thumb over her knuckles.

“I’d meet you sooner.”

Then it was understood that Mitchell and (Y/N) were in this together for the rest of her life. And if Mitchell had any say, they would spend that time in his bed.

The next few days of take out and make out were enjoyed by all. Even Annie and George were happy not to have a moody Mitchell on their hands. But that passed quickly.

Mitchell groaned loudly, laying his full weight on (Y/N) to prevent her escape. “I’m not letting you leave.”

(Y/N) sighed, collapsing back. Attempting to move him would steal all the strength she’d been gathering for her first day back at the hospital. “Mitchell, I have to go to work. I’m all healed and spent a week’s worth of time doing it. If I don’t go back today, they’ll fire me.”

“Oh, who cares? Stay here with me.” He kissed her.

“And starve? Lose my apartment- which I haven’t seen in a week, let me add- because I can’t pay the rent?”

“We’ll live off of George.” His lips moved to her neck.

“George’s porter salary will sustain all three of us?”

“I’ve been meaning to convince him to do more with his life.”

She smacked him. “Mitchell! Let me up!”

“Okay! Okay.” He rolled off of her and propped himself up on an elbow, watching her dress. She had been wearing one of his long sleeved shirts to sleep in and when she pulled it off, he could see the scars on her arms from Daisy’s nails. She tied her hair up, ran her fingers over the two small marks on her neck, and then let her hair loose again. She was covered in reminders of what had happened and it socked Mitchell in the gut all over again. “You’re beautiful,” he said.

“In my scrubs? Thank you, babe.”

“In anything,” he said, hopping off the bed and to her. “And in nothing.” She swatted at his hands roaming over her hips. “I know, I know. We have to go.”

“We?”

He shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his bag of scrubs. “Yeah, I got my schedule changed so we can go together.” He led her out of the house, waving to Annie who said George and Nina were already at the hospital.

“Won’t that affect the… the meetings? At the funeral parlor? They’re usually during the day.”

He led her through the street with his hand on her lower back. He let his thumb peek under her shirt and wave over her warm skin. “Easily moved to night. Ivan’s been watching over them, but I’ll have to check in at the parlor in a few days.” When (Y/N) gave no answer, he ran a hand through her hair. “Everything’ll be fine, love. Most are converting without issue-”

“And Daisy?”

“No one has seen her since the night at the bar. Not even Ivan. She’ll stay away now.”

“Why do you have to go to the meetings if Ivan has it under control?”

“Because, though I wish I wasn’t, I’m the leader, baby. If I’m not there… things will start to fall apart.” He followed (Y/N) through the doors of the hospital and paused in the lobby. “Listen, they gave me a pager since I’m on days now. If you need anything-”

“I’ll page you,” she said. Her hand landed on his waist.

He hummed. “I’ll meet you here at the end of the day. You do not leave this hospital without me.”

“Yes, boss.” She kissed him. “Thank you, Mitchell.”

“See you later. I love you.”

He watched her until the elevator doors ahead closed with her inside. Then, he turned to go downstairs to meet George, but came face to face with Daisy instead. She grinned at him.

“You two are disgusting, you know that?”

He grabbed her arm, making marks on her skin and dragged her outside. “I told you to stay away. Why are you here? I told you I’d rip you-”

“That you’d rip me to shreds if I even looked at your little human again.”

“Do you doubt me?” He was snarling in her face as other nurses passed by with concerned glances before they entered the hospital. He back away from her, but kept a vice like grip on her small arm.

“No. I don’t. Which is why I’m here to tell you that you win. I’ll stay away. I’ll never touch her again.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

Something flashed in her eyes. They weren’t as bright as he usually saw them to be. “I want to see my husband, Mitchell. Being on the run- being in exile is not easy for me. I want to be with Ivan.”

His dark brow fell on her. Then he straightened, letting go of her arm. “Then go clean.”

“I can’t. We both know I can’t.” She grabbed him when he scoffed at her, but he jerked away. “I swear to leave her alone. I’ll be more careful. I just want to be with Ivan, he’s all I have. You understand that, I know you do.” Her eyes and voice were cloudy with emotion.

Mitchell sighed. “If you make me regret this, if you do anything-”

“I won’t. I won’t, Mitchell.”

“Don’t come back to this hospital, Daisy,” he said, turning his back on her and heading inside. Before the door closed behind him, he looked back and saw she’d disappeared.

***

As every day for the past few weeks, (Y/N) rushed to meet Mitchell in the lobby of the hospital to walk home together. Though they got out at the same time, it always took her an extra fifteen minutes to finish what she was doing and clock out. And she always thanked him for waiting with a kiss. But today, she didn’t see him sitting in his usual seat in the corner by the window.

She didn’t think much of it. Maybe there was an accident or a spill that he had to take care of before he left for the day. She sat in his seat and watched the television on the wall that had been muted. There had been a large fire somewhere and she wondered if they’d call her in even though she’d just clocked out. That had happened a couple times since she’d gotten back to work and poor Mitchell had to come out in the middle of the night to walk her home.

She focused on the television, reading the headline passing across the bottom of the screen. Breaking News. Fire at Clifton Funeral Parlor. Many Dead. Cause of Fire Unknown. Her stomach dropped and then propelled into her throat. She stared at the screen, waiting for more headlines, more subtitles, but nothing came. She bent and searched her bag with trembling fingers for her pager and beeped Mitchell. If he was still in the building, he’d get it.

No answer came. She beeped again. Nothing. She stood, dropping most of her belongings out of her bag. The receptionist of the front desk ran around to help her pick up her things.

“(Y/N), are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Can I- can I use the phone? Just real quick.” She followed the receptionist to the desk and asked her to call the basement office where Mitchell would be clocking out. “I can’t remember the number, can you just? Thanks.” The phone rang and rang. (Y/N) paced as much as the short phone cord would allow and just as she was about to hang up, someone answered on the other line. “Is Mitchell there?”

“Mitchell? No. Hasn’t been in all day. Said he had family business.”

She hung up the phone with a slam and ran through the doors of the hospital. The crosswalks were swimming in her mind as she fled through the streets to Mitchell’s house. A car beeped and someone shouted at her, but she couldn’t turn her attention from her rambling thoughts. Why would he go there during the day? Why would he go there and not tell me? Maybe the news was wrong and it wasn’t the Clifton Funeral Parlor. Could vampires die from fire anyway? He’s supposed to meet me in the lobby. Maybe I should go back to the hospital. But she was already at the house.

She rummaged through her bag for the spare keys Mitchell gave her, but she couldn’t find them. She knocked on the door. ”Annie!” No answer. She knelt on the ground, opening her bag and looking for the damn keys. What color was the keychain? Green? She hadn’t needed keys in weeks, she was always with Mitchell. She stood and slammed her fist on the door. “Annie! George!” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Annie!”

Finally, the door opened. George and Annie were standing in the way and (Y/N) pushed through them. “Is Mitchell here? Is he here?”

“I don’t think so,” George said.

“What do you mean you don’t think so? Is he here?” (Y/N) said.

“No, (Y/N), he’s not here. What’s wrong?” She put her hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders, though she couldn’t feel them.

“There was a fire. There was a fire at the funeral parlor. Turn on the news, it’s all over. Where’s the remote? Turn it on.”

“What channel?” George asked.

“Any channel! Have you seen him today? Has he come back from work?” (Y/N) asked.

“No, he hasn’t been here since this morning when he left with you. (Y/N), calm down, you’re shaking.”

“I know I’m fucking shaking!” She drew away from Annie and looked out the windows, pulling the shades down roughly. “I’m an hour and a half late from work. You didn’t think to call the hospital and see if we were all right? If we were attacked again? How is it that he wasn’t at the hospital all day and none of us knew? George? You didn’t see him all day and thought nothing of it?”

“He’s probably fine,” George said.

“How could you say that? The only place he’d go is that fucking funeral parlor and it exploded! Everyone who was inside is dead! Thirty people! And you don’t care!”

“(Y/N), we do care,” Annie said. “Just hold on. We don’t know if he was there.”

(Y/N) forced breath into her lungs. “I know. I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. I just- if anything happened to him… after everything… God, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” She pushed her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist and found her forehead dripping with sweat. She took the water Annie gave her and rubbed her stomach where it was lurching. “I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” George said.

“No. I’m going there. I’m going to the funeral parlor.”

“There’s nothing you can do there,” he said.

“I don’t care. I can’t stay in this house without him in it.” Finally, she lost the battle with her tears. She turned from both of them and let them fill her eyes and fall down her cheeks as she downed the water. As she was about to pick up her bag to leave, she froze. Were those keys she heard in the door?

She ran to it and whipped it open, seeing Mitchell unharmed. She lunged at him, almost knocking him down as she wrapped her arms around his neck and half sobbed into his skin. “Oh my god, Mitchell. You’re all right. Jesus, I was so scared. I was so scared.”

He looked inside to see Annie and George standing in stunned silence. Then he heard the television screaming about the explosion at the funeral parlor. He rubbed (Y/N)’s back as she caught her breath. “Oh, baby. I’m okay. I’m all right.”

She stood in front of him, ran her fingers through his hair for a moment and then returned to her earlier position, hugging him tight around his neck. “Christ, Mitchell. I love you so much. You jackass, you didn’t answer your pager.” She slapped his shoulder but didn’t let go of him. Then she opened her eyes and saw Daisy standing outside in the doorway. She loosened her grip and fell from his arms. “What is she doing here?”

He turned. “Daisy, uh… (Y/N), Ivan… is gone. Everyone’s gone but us.”

“So you brought her back here?”

“It’s just us, (Y/N).”

“Just you and the woman who threatened to kill us and almost did? You’re gonna let her in your house after everything she’s done?” (Y/N) looked at Daisy. Though her face was red with spent tears, a vicious grin still donned her face. “Get out,” (Y/N) said to her.

“You’re not the one to tell me that,” Daisy said.

Something in (Y/N) snapped. Fearlessly, she charged at her, screaming. “Get out!” Mitchell caught her waist before she could step outside but she continued her verbal assault on Daisy. “You will not step foot in this house. Who do you think will invite you in after everything you’ve done? You’ve dug your own fucking grave, you bitch. I only wish you died in that fire but your fate is something much worse and I can’t wait to hear about it!”

Daisy chuckled. “She’s not scared now, is she Mitchell? Or is she just a good actor? She acts like I’m not the star of her worst nightmares. Like every time she closes her eyes she doesn’t see me ripping her throat out.” A new smile spread across her face. “Or fucking her boyfriend. Do you ever think of that one? Because honey, I’ve done it and I think about it all the time.”

“Get out! Get out now!” She thrashed in Mitchell’s arms, ready to peel the skin off Daisy’s pretty pink face.

Mitchell brought her away from the door and set her down with strong hands on her shoulders. “(Y/N), Daisy and I have come to an understanding-”

“Are you kidding me?”

“She will not touch you. Ever again. Ivan is dead- her husband is dead. Everything you just went through before I came in that door, she’s going through now. She needs somewhere to go, someone to help her or she’ll go off the rails.”

“So it’s your job to help her? If you don’t sleep with her she’ll kill the entire city? Is that it? Well, go nuts, Mitchell. I won’t stop you.” She grabbed her bag and walked out the door, shoving Daisy hard enough to knock her off her feet. She heard Mitchell chasing her and jerked away from him, but he caught her.

“Don’t leave. (Y/N), please. Don’t leave like this,” he said.

“How could you do this? After all the pain she’s caused both of us, are you really going to invite her back into our lives? Have these past few peaceful, perfectly normal weeks meant nothing to you?”

“You know they’ve meant everything to me. You mean everything to me.” His fingers rolled down her cheek, but she turned away. “All the vampires in the city are gone, (Y/N). Someone is after us.”

“They’re probably after her! She crossed the wrong person and now they want her dead. Let them do it!”

“It’s not just her. We’re all in danger until I figure this out. I don’t want you going off alone. Please, just come back to the house.”

“Not while she’s there, not while you’re trying to protect her. Let go of me.”

“Where will you go?”

“To my apartment.” She started down the street, but again, he grabbed her.

“Let me walk you.”

“No. Leave me alone, I-I don’t want to see you. Besides the streets are a lot safer now. Especially with her inside with you.” She wrestled her arm away from him and started down the street.

He watched her until she disappeared, feeling tears catch in his throat. It’s ruined. Is she safer now? He ran a hand over his eyes.

“Temperamental, isn’t she?” Daisy said from just behind him.

He turned and started for the house. “I betrayed her,” he grumbled.

“Wretched humans. We should just kill all of them. Get them back for what they’ve done.”

“Maybe,” Mitchell said, pushing her inside the house.

Taglist! Message to join! @emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm @burningcoffeetimetravel @fizzyxcustard

Tagging those who may enjoy. If you don’t want to be tagged let me know! @dashesofink @c-s-stars @marigoldvance @ailikananopop @sassyfrasy

#mitchell #john mitchell #mitchell being human #mitchell x reader #john mitchell being human #john mitchell x reader #being human #being human UK #being human bbc #fanfiction #being human fanfiction #mitchel fanfiction

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phosphorescent-naidheachd · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Ask Meme

Tagged by @youandthemountains

1. How has your day been?

Meh. The dubious joys of That Time of the Month aren’t exactly such that I’m singing and dancing in the (proverbial) streets, but at least I don’t have to be at work while it’s going on? I’m deeply grateful that I live close enough to my parents that I was able to spend this time with them instead of alone in my apartment, because I would be going nuts in there, especially since my neighbors all smoke. And while I completely understand why they’re probably doing even more smoking than usual right now, that doesn’t mean my lungs want to be anywhere near it lol.

Other things I’m grateful for include the fact that my younger brother got back from overseas before the borders closed (and is staying with us!), and my family’s current health. *spits over shoulder x 3*

I’ve desperately needed a bit of down time, so I’m perversely grateful for this time off, even as I feel bad because it’s come at such a terrible cost to so many; I have to remind myself that this would have happened regardless of how I felt or what I wanted, so I might as well get what benefits out of it I can, even as I keep in mind the need to help others. I’m also grateful that the library board pushed through an emergency measure to pay the library’s employees our regular salary through 6 April. (Though not knowing what comes after that makes us all a little anxious.) That said, I hope that most businesses and organizations---the library included---aren’t given leave to reopen starting then, because I think that’s much too soon for where we are in the “wave” of the virus. I remain grateful that our state governor is infinitely more competent than our president (not that that’s terribly difficult lmao), and infuriated/exhausted by the world at large, even it’s heartening to see individuals in the community step up to help out.

I’m finally trying the Curly Girl Method, and... well, my hair is definitely in the early transitional stages lol. Anyone have any personal tips and/or recommended products for fine, low-porosity, low density hair with a curl pattern that normally contains everything from 2A to 3A?

I’ve sorted my laundry and I’m currently sipping a cup of hot Yorkshire tea. Later today, I’ll hopefully do my laundry, go for a walk, and sew some facial masks. I should also queue more posts for the library social media. And maybe I’ll even do a little creative writing...

2. What is the last thing that made you smile?

My dad, knowing that I haven’t been feeling all that great, offered to watch a movie/TV episode with me this afternoon or evening, which is one of his ways of showing affection.

Other things that have made me smile recently: getting this ask meme; the family dog (we got a new one 2 years ago, but I’m not sure if I ever said so on tumblr) begging for attention; light books and fanfiction.

Oh! And I rediscovered the Pride & Prejudice canon divergence AU I started back in 2014-ish in my computer files, and it... isn’t bad? I got about ¾ of the way through writing it before I got stuck/became occupied with other projects, and now I kind of want to figure out how to get it to my planned ending. I’m also entertained---and mildly hipster-ishly offended---that a couple of the historical references I was so proud of myself for pulling and researching are now common parlance thanks to pop culture (ex: 1812′s Great Comet; yes, yes, the musical Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 has been around since 2012, but it didn’t really enter the wider consciousness until 2016 when it made its first appearance on Broadway, and thus the comet itself wasn’t common knowledge to the average person who wasn’t into this period of history either).

3. What's keeping you entertained these days?

A handful of library books I checked out before the library closed, assorted podcasts (Footnoting History, Code Switch, Jewish History Matters, When Diplomacy Fails, You’re Dead To Me, etc.), classic British murder mystery shows (Midsomer Murders, Rosemary & Thyme, Inspector Lewis, Inspector Lynley, etc.), random books I own, and fanfiction.

4. If you are in some kind of quarantine/self isolation: is there anything you would like to achieve in this time?

Lots! I’d like to do more writing and get back into better vocal shape; I’d like to get back into contact with several friends I’ve gradually lost touch with; and I desperately need to go through some old boxes of belongings. I also need to do some planning for my future.

Will I accomplish all of this? Unlikely, especially since I’m also using this time to mentally/emotionally recuperate from a busy year. But I’m hoping to accomplish at least some of it.

5. Post a selfie (if you feel comfortable with that)

;-)

6. Last but not least, send this to some mutuals to keep the game going 🥰: @singelisilverslippers, @sixth-light, @angel-deux-writes, @beanarie, @queerlaurabarton, @ricketybookshelf, @missmarthanightingale, @worldenoughtime, @melifair, @teandumplings, @tora42, @exlibrisastra, and anyone else who wants to! I’d tag you all, but that would take forever. And as always, this is 100% optional.

#1~~#2~~#3~~#4~~#5~~#phos gets personal #phos says: please do not reblog #about me #tumblr q&a #tumblr memes #q&a memes #q&a meme #ask memes #long post #eye contact #covid19 #2020

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tarasstorybook · 4 years

Text

Tariel’s New Friend

He sits up with a groan, his chest hurt, his back was sore, everything seemed to ache. The world slowly comes into focus when he opens his eyes. He frowns in confusion, it didn't make sense, he was at the bank not that long ago. He wondered where he was and how he got there, more importantly when he got there.

"Hey there." Someone pulls him from his thoughts. "This is a new one, never saw someone randomly show up in the halls before."

"........." He's not sure what to say, this blonde man came seemingly out of nowhere.

“My name is Max.” He pulls his hand out from his coat pocket. “What’s your name?”

“Aydriel.” He reluctantly takes Max’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.” Max hauls him to his feet, holding onto him until he was sure Aydriel was okay. Getting a better look at him, Max could see Aydriel’s clothes were covered in blood, before Aydriel had a chance to notice himself Max snaps his fingers and cleans the man up.

“So what did you mean by you’ve never seen someone show up in the halls? Where are we?”

“Ah, you haven’t realized yet. Come on, I’ll take you to meet someone and I’ll explain on the way.” Max turns and starts to walk off, only glancing back slightly to see if Aydriel was following him.

“Meet someone?” Aydriel questions, quickly catching up to Max. “Who would that be?”

“You’ll see.” Max smiles, his hands slide back into the pockets of his coat. “You had some questions didn’t you? What I meant by what I said was that it’s very rare for a soul to wind up in the halls of Hell.”

“Hell?” Aydriel looks at him in disbelief. “I’m in Hell?”

“Yeah, you’re surprised?”

“Yes, very why am I in Hell?”

“Have you sinned at all in life? Been a shitty person?”

“No.” Aydriel shakes his head.

“Hm, must’ve been a mix up then. It happens a lot you’d be surprised, if it makes you feel better I’m from a religion that no one had heard of before.” Max smiles at him a little. “I’m sure in time the angels in Heaven will realise their mistake and try to fix it.”

“So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“In the meantime you stay put in this section, you’re actually really lucky that you woke up here and not somewhere else. You would’ve been torn to shreds, nothing left of you.”

“Hell has sections?”

“Several, and two different sides. You ended up on the best side of Hell.” Max walks through a doorway while he talks.

“There’s different sides to Hell?” Aydriel asks confused, what the hell did he get into?

“Yes, you want to stay away from the border of West side Hell. This is East side Hell, we’re more civilized and have more rules.” A third voice joins the conversation.

Aydriel looks over to the taller man in surprise, he must have been too distracted to notice he had been led into an office.

“Phoenix this is Aydriel, he woke up in your halls not that long ago. I figured it would probably be best if I brought him to you.” Max takes a seat on Phoenix’s desk, pushing aside any papers that were in the way.

“A new soul in Hell, it’s a pleasure to meet you Aydriel. Someone new in my section is very rare, there’s not much job wise to do really. Other than informant I’m afraid there’s not much to offer.”

“Max had said something about their being a mix up? I’m not supposed to be here, I shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh.” Phoenix sits down at his desk, taken a little by surprise at this news. “Ah, well yeah there’s a chance my brothers and sisters might notice but if I’m being honest with you I don’t think they will.”

“Brothers and sisters, you’re an angel too?”

“Yes, fallen. I prefer the title I have now though, Prince of Hell sounds better than angel of war. Hell is run by a fair monarchy, a king and queen, the rest of us are princes and princess. Anyway going back to why you’re here, if Heaven doesn’t notice their mistake can I offer you a place here in my section?”

“I guess.” Aydriel didn’t like the idea of being in Hell, he didn’t do anything wrong in life, but they had said that mix ups happen a lot and there was a chance of it getting corrected. He supposed all he had to do now was come to terms with being dead. “What are you offering?”

“The most I can offer at the moment is informant, anything that goes on in this section that I’m not aware of gets brought to me. Uprisings, traitors, back stabbers, questioning fitness to rule. That ones my personal favorite.” Phoenix adds as much sarcasm as he can when he says that.

Max snorts his amusement before adding on. “Basically if someone sounds like they’re up to no good, then Phoenix needs to know about it as soon as possible before it gets out of hand.”

“That doesn’t sound so hard.” Aydriel muses.

“It’s easier than being a prison guard.” Max comments. “Shit speaking of which I have to get going, my rotation starts soon. I’ll see you later Phe.”

“Bye.” Phoenix kisses his cheek before Max runs off for the day. “Let me show you around Aydriel, you’ll like it here I promise.”

40 years later……..

There was too much on his plate for him to do, why he agreed to take on so many tasks was beyond him, it was probably because he thought he could do them all just fine by himself. He was a fool for thinking he could take on so many at once by himself, but he was almost done all he had to do was stop at Phoenix’s office and he was done for the day.

“Aydriel perfect timing, I’ve been meaning to talk to you when you had the chance.” Phoenix greets him when Aydriel walks in the room.

“Sir if you don’t me putting in-” He’s cut off before he can tell Phoenix all that he’s done for the day.

“Sir, that’s so formal you can call me Phoenix.” He can’t help but smile at the young demon, he was endearing.

“Right my bad I forgot, but a quick update about the section itself-” Aydriel’s cut off once again by a raised hand and small chuckle.

“Is running just fine, Aydriel really sit down and breathe. You’re done for the day whatever else you had to do today, the others picked up your workload. You’re working yourself to the point where you’re stressing yourself out, you don’t need to do this alone.”

“I know, but I can do it just fine really.”

“I know you can, but as your prince I’m telling you to stop and breathe. When was the last time you took time for just you?”

“Over thirty years ago I think.” He really wasn’t sure, he had to think pretty far back to when the last time he took a day off was.

“Take the rest of the day and tomorrow off, you need it I can tell that you do. The work you’ve done for the past forty years is appreciated, it really is, you’ve earned your place as one of my trusted. Take a few days for you, recuperate, let your stress levels go down. Our section will be just fine if you take a couple of days off, and I have an idea of where you can go. Haven has a town event going on soon, you’ve been there before. Go see Haven for a little while, meet somebody that isn’t me or Max, and who knows you might have fun.”

“Are you sure that’s alright?”

“Positive.” Phoenix nods. “Everything will be okay, I promise. Have I ever steered you wrong before?”

“No, if you’re sure it’s okay…”

“I’m sure, go see Haven I’ll be there in an hour.”

Aydriel nods and takes off, he had been to Haven a few times before and he decided that he liked visiting, the people seemed nice enough. Maybe Phoenix was right about taking the next couple of days off, he had been working his ass off not long after he ended up in Hell. When Aydriel got there, he felt like he showed up in the middle of a concert, must’ve been one of those nights that Phoenix referred to as live night.

Meanwhile not far, Terry wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, she was talking to Amatiel and then just lost track of where everyone was. She hadn’t noticed that a new person had showed up in the middle of the town street, it wasn’t until she ran into him that she noticed he was there.

“Oh sorry.” She starts to apologize. “I didn't...are you new to town?” She tilts her head curiously, she knew almost everyone in town and put an effort into getting to know the new residents. She took careful note of what he looked like so she could ask someone later if he just moved there.

He had short dark hair, and teal eyes, she also noted how he seemed to be tan and mused it was from spending time outside during the summer. He also wore a red shirt, jeans and boots, making him only an inch taller than she was but if she had to guess she’d say he was the same height as her.

“Oh, uh just visiting.” He tells her. “I’m Aydriel by the way, sorry about that.”

“Tariel, me too. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, I was looking for my sister Matti. Welcome to Haven, who are you visiting?”

“No one, I don’t think. I was told to come here by Phoenix.”

“Oh I know Phoenix.” Terry’s face lights up with excitement. “He’s fun to hangout with when he’s not busy. Honestly, you can’t go wrong with Haven, the timing for visiting is perfect too. You can’t go wrong with a Haven party, they can last for a while.”

“How long’s a while?”

“Depends, could be a few hours, or sometimes they can go all night.” Tariel shrugs. “I dunno, I usually go back to Heaven when I’m feeling tired.”

“Sounds like Haven has quite the night life.” Aydriel muses.

“Yeah sometimes.” Terry thinks about what she wants to say next. “So, do you want to maybe dance? It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“Sure, sounds like fun.”

“Great.” Terry grins and takes him by the hand. Most of that night is spent with the two of them talking and getting to know each other, Tariel telling him about Haven and how things work there. Aydriel didn’t have quite as many interesting stories to share himself but he did his best to tell her something.

“Can I show you something?” Terry eventually asks when they run out of things to talk about.

“What is it?”

“Take my hand.” She holds her hand out to him. “It’s outside of Haven, we’d have to go there.”

Aydriel thinks about it for a moment before taking her hand, she seemed nice enough and he felt like he could trust her. She gives him a small smile when he takes her hand, before they both know it they’re standing in the middle of a clearing in a forest.

“Look up.” Terry says as she sits down in the grass.

“Oh wow, you can see all the stars.” Aydriel sits down next to her.

“Yeah, it’s one of my places that I like to run away to when things just become too overwhelming. But I like coming at night and watching the stars.” Tariel decides to lay down on her back, her wings still out from the trip and spread out wide on either side showing Aydriel how her wings went from white to sky blue.

“Your wings are pretty.” He comments.

“Thank you, Father made them like that. I find it fitting for my job, an angel of summer.” Terry laughs a little to herself. “Matti’s going to be a little mad, she says it takes forever to pick grass blades out of my wings. All they really need is a good shake.”

Aydriel laughs with her, asking questions about what her job is like and what all she had to do. In turn she would ask him what he did in Hell, they lose track of time just talking. They make plans to see each other again sometime before returning back to their respective homes for the night.

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vyladromeave · 5 years

Text

Mr. Zvahl has updated!

Chapter 6: Forage and Found

(Read the full thing on AO3!)

(A/N: nbvGJDFSFSD THIS IS SO LATE IM SORRY. It was TECHNICALLY done like a week or so ago but it was under 1k words and i just couldnt Post It mnbdsfghfsd. ANYWAYS now its nearly 2k so hopefully thatll make up for the wait nfdsbghdjsf. i have been Neglecting Zoey so now you have to read So Much about my beautiful elf wife mndsfbhjsfdk. not much else to say, ill edit this if i can think of anything important. Also Once Again gentle reminder tht i would seriously reccomend reading this on ao3 instead because tumblr formatting makes the spacing Whack but whatever man u do u,,,, you do u,,,,,, dshjgsfd ANYWAYS Hope u enjoy!!)

They had been walking for some time now. She had explained on the way out there that the path used to be much clearer, but too much overgrowth in the area had made reaching difficult. It was still possible, it just took extra time. In their case, it had taken a good half-hour at least. (It could have taken longer, but he wasn’t too good at keeping track of the time these days.)

As they approached he wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but now that they were there, he realized it wasn’t actually that different from what he’d imagined. His only experience in portals were the ones that lead to the nether- it somewhat shocked him to see that this portal wasn’t much different. It was about the same size and shape, though the material was different and it gave off an energy that was much less malevolent. Even then, its aura made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and it wasn’t even activated.

“The portal leads to the Irene Dimension. That’s where we believe Aphmau, and all those that went with her, are trapped.” she continued.

He looked to her, silently asking permission if he could get a closer look, although she didn’t seem to notice. He took it as a yes. He approached the portal to get a closer look while she talked.

“I’ve been working for nearly a decade to find a way to open it again. Nothing has worked so far, but I’m getting close. I can feel it.”

“How so?”

She was somewhat thrown off by how direct his question is. “I- well- when I first started working on this… I didn’t really know what I was doing? I was just throwing things together, I didn’t understand any of it. And now… well, there’s a lot I still don’t understand, I won’t lie about that. Emmalyn was our resident Irene expert, but we lost her to the portal too. But I’ve also learned- I know what I’m doing now, I know the end goal. I just need to figure out how to get there.”

He nods, though his focus is still mostly devoted to the portal. He understands what she means now when she said there was a lot she didn’t understand- if he was in Zoey’s place he wouldn’t even know where to start. It takes him a solid minute to recognize that no, those “scratches” he spotted on the portal are words, and in some language he has no clue of recognizing. He shakes his head. He would love to help out, of course he would, but he isn’t cut out for this.

“Well, you’re the barrier magicks user. If anyone could do it, it’s you.”

She sighs and nods. “I suppose so. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Of course it’s a good thing. The town just needs to have faith in you.”

“It’s been ten years. There’s not much faith left to go around.”

“Well, what about you? Do you think you can do it? Bring them home?”

She pauses for a second, but nods. “Yes. I do.”

“Then that’s good enough for me. That settles it.”

She gives him a look and tilts her head, confused. “Settles what, exactly?”

“I think I’d like to stay here. In Phoenix Drop. At least until everyone returns.”

“Oh!” She smiles, but took another moment to process and “Oh.” Her face drops. “I- I mean that’s great, I’m glad you’d like to stay, but- this could take years. Decades. Centuries, even. You could be long dead by the time everyone is back here.”

“That’s fine. It’s worth the wait.”

She was startled by his ease in acceptance. “That’s- I mean- you could-“ she takes a breath to calm herself. “Alright. Welcome to Phoenix Drop, Mr. Zvahl.”

~~~

She had agreed to take him out to the portal if he would do some work for her in return. Nothing too strenuous, she wasn’t cruel, but it was nice to have help every once in a while.

For as good as he was in navigating the forest, he knew next to nothing about the plant life within it. Or plant life in general. She spent a solid ten minutes explaining to him what they were looking for, “Four leaves, notched edges, somewhat pointy at the ends. You’ll know you have the right plant if the base of the leaf is much thicker than the edges.” His understanding seemed to be shaky at best, but he didn’t want to waste more time when they were supposed to be gathering. And so he wandered north, she went a bit south, and hoped that he had at least a basic understanding of what they were looking for.

She hadn’t found too many- but she figured as much. It took some time to get to the better spots where the plant often grew in, which they had instead spent observing the portal (as if she didn’t spend enough time on that blasted thing already). So she paid it no mind when he was late meeting back up by a couple minutes. And then ten went past. Then fifteen. It was just enough time to make her start to worry when she’d spotted him returning. That was another odd thing about him, sometimes he was easier to spot with your eyes than to notice with your ears. He was oddly quiet, inhumanly stealthy. She’d wanted to say he was just good at that sort of thing, but what kind of person can disappear in a forest but can’t tell an acorn from a rock? Either he was oddly talented, or there was something even odder going on here, and it bugged her a bit too much.

Her mind was taken off the question when he’d stopped in front of her and she got a good look at him. She understood now why he was late- he seemed uncomfortable, and kept shifting the rather large pile of plants he gathered around. It was a bit hard to tell with the gloves he wore, but she swore she could see splotches of red creeping up his arms.

“Is this stuff we’re gathering… supposed to be itchy?”

And just like that, her suspicions were confirmed. “Well- yes, that is normal for that plant. But it’s also not the plant I told you to gather.”

“It’s not?” He said, looking down at the bundles of leaves in his arms.

“No, it isn’t. I sent you to gather lushsprout. The plants you’re holding look like poison ivy.”

A blank expression slowly grew on his face as he stared through the plant he’d gathered and into the middle distance. A look Zoey could only describe as regret took hold, and he dropped everything he had spent so long gathering as the name finally registered in his brain.

“One moment.” he said and rushed off in the direction of what Zoey could only assume was the nearest water source, a desperate attempt to wash off the red splotches that had already begun to form on his skin. Zoey couldn’t help but snort- it was the most emoted she had seen him ever, and yet it was all so comical.

Well, there was nothing comical about poison ivy, she supposed. It was mildly annoying at best, and painful at worst- but judging by his seeming unawareness she figured he would be alright this time. It would certainly make a good story for later, at least. They had done enough herb gathering for the day.

~~~

They made their way back to Phoenix Drop, recuperating at Aphmau’s house. He washed his hands and arms once again, as well as his gloves in order to make sure they were completely poison-ivy-free. (He’d gathered too much to be completely unscathed, but it was something he could deal with.) Zoey made him tea once again, and Vylad didn’t have the heart to turn her down. Of all the citizens of Phoenix Drop, he’d grown to like her and Dante the most.

She was kind and thoughtful, and understanding of his quiet demeanor. Where Dante often barged in and forced conversation, Zoey understood the importance of silence. They hadn’t physically talked much, though he discovered that he’d somewhat enjoyed just hanging out around her, helping her gather herbs, looking at her miniature garden, whatever trivial way they decided to pass the time. She was certainly more suspicious of him than Dante was (so perhaps she was smarter too), but Vylad figured it was justified and tried to not let it bother him much.

In a strange turn of events, he ended up the one to break the silence.

~~~

“...Just how often does Kawaii~Chan bake?”

“Well, she’s been doing it less often lately, since she’s got a child to look after now, but…”

“So not too often, then?”

She could’ve sworn he sounded almost disappointed. “Gods no, Kawaii~Chan is an unstoppable force when it comes to cooking. The day there is a force strong enough to prevent her is probably the day the world ends.”

She chuckled a bit at her own joke, Zvahl never laughed (or reacted much to anything at all, she’d noticed), so she did for both of them. Maybe it was a bit conceited, but in her eyes it let them both enjoy it, even if he was reluctant to show such feelings. “Why, were you hoping to get some of her sweets yourself?”

“Uh-”

“Have you ever even had her cooking? It’s very good, I’m just not sure why you’d be so interested…”

“Yes, I did. At that breakfast, about a week ago.”

“You’ve been craving her cooking for a week? ”

“Well-”

Any form of excuse was interrupted by more of her laughter, this time it was entirely for herself. Was he so reserved that it had taken him a week to ask about something as trivial as baking? She glanced over him once again to make sure she wasn’t missing anything- only finding what she decided was a hint of embarrassment. He opened his mouth to speak, and she nearly found herself laughing again when he closed it and glanced away.

She stifled her laughter to save him from any more embarrassment, and gave him a knowing wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word with her for you if you want. She loves to bake after all- I’m sure she’d be happy to make you something.”

It was muffled by the scarf which most of his face had retreated into, but through the cloth she swore she heard him give a mumbled, “... Thank you...”

Perhaps she was wrong. He had plenty of emotion. Zoey would just need to learn where to look.

~~~

#vylad ro'meave #zoey taltatheil #zoey aphmau #aphmau zoey #minecraft diaries #mcd #Mr. Zvahl #aiki writes #aiki be like: *doesnt know what consistent formatting is*

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amethyst-noir · 5 years

Note

After Endgame, Stephen is off to go willingly embrace the sweet release of death after the traumatising experience he’s had in the two damn movies he’s appeared in. Seriously, he’s only been in two movies and has gone through enough torture to fill an entire timeline.

The first one came in exactly 9 minutes before that.

This is a conspiracy to break me and my fragile nerves, right? Because I really don’t know what else it could be. Or are you trying to motivate me to write a 100.000k novel about just how broken and in need of saving one Doctor Stephen Strange really is? Because I’d love to do that, really, but I’m not built for long novels. Love to read them, can’t write them, unfortunately

Let’s go into the first message here, the other one deserves its own answer. (Probably tomorrow. Not today. Sorry.) I just thought that they fit so nicely, nestled together in my inbox, and if I have to look at that condensed pain and misery so can you.😎

So, let’s put on some Evanescence (although I listened to the Gladiator soundtrack while typing this up), to get into the right mood, and enjoy a wild mix-and-match ride between meta, headcanon and idon’tknowhwhatthisis (I totally understand if run away from it. It ran away from me, as well.):

Okay, first: Anon, you forgot about Thor: Ragnarok! Okay, Stephen wasn’t in it for long but the scenes he had were absolute gold. And no pain and misery in sight! Instead he was having fun with two gods! I swear, the moment I don’t find the scene with Thor falling down the stairs, and Loki emerging from the eternal portal, funny, is the day I give up on myself. The whole movie was a much-needed breath of fresh air, anyway. Just like Ant-Man and the Wasp after IW.But, yes, Doctor Strange and Infinity War are brutal on our beloved wizard doctor and I think I haven’t made secret of the fact that I headcanon him as halfway suicidal since the accident. (There was not enough material in DS for me to form an opinion on this pre-accident. But after? Puh, it was pure luck that he managed to find Kamar-taj before death.)And after finding magic and purpose (again)? Even more pain, misery, torture and death xInifinty with Dormammu. Yay. Torture designed to break the strongest man. He seemed to be relatively fine (for his standards) at the beginning of IW but after Ebony Maw, the crash, the future scrying and the fight against Thanos? Done. And then giving up the time stone, enduring whatever it is what he has to endure until Tony & Co reverse the snap? (Because I’m totally sure that Stephen manages to find some way to suffer even while not existing. It seems to be in his DNA or something.)It’s going to break him, badly, even more than he already is. And we won’t see much of it onscreen because all the screen time will go to the still existing heroes, except for the very end. But there will be hints and some superb acting from which we, the fandom, can take our cues and fill in the blanks.So, Stephen, after Endgame, is done, done, done. With everything. But especially life. I see him as someone who’s so low that he doesn’t even think about slinking of and slitting his wrists or something like that, because that’s not his mindset. But quietly disappearing even though he’s badly wounded but not thinking he’s worth the trouble? That he can take care of it himself? Absolutely. Searching and finding fights he knows he can’t win alone? Justifying his longing for death to himself with the fact that it is for the greater good and that there was no other choice?Yes. Stephen thinks it’s his destiny to go out in freaking suicide attack on something or that he’s meant to suffer through his last few hours alone in some dark corner.And I would love, love to write a whole long story about this concept, and maybe I will, one day, but I have to see Endgame for that. Because if I do that I’ll put in Tony to save the day - and Stephen - but to do that I have to first know how Tony survives and in what state he’s in. Because judging from the trailer it won’t be good. 😭Let’s have little thought experiment:Endgame is done, most of the occupants of the universe are back where they belong, and some of the heroes have, sadly, fallen. Tony Stark is not among them, but he’s in bad shape. Weak, hurt and fucking exhausted in every way imaginable. But on the plus side: Peter’s back! There was a long, drawn out hugging session. There was joy and tears. Peter babbles, while Tony is too exhausted to do much more than listen with half an ear while trying to stay conscious. But he notices that the name Stephen Strange falls a couple of times. He looks around, trying to find the man that is responsible for a good part of the whole mess and the reason didn’t die on Titan, as he should have. (Tony totally thinks that. You can’t change my mind.) His resentment towards Stephen is still there, even if it’s dulled by time and the first stirrings of understanding. But Stephen’s nowhere to be seen.Tony doesn’t like that. All of his people, dead or alive, are accounted for, except for the sorcerer. Helped up by Peter he makes the rounds, asking people about Stephen. Most of them don’t know who he’s speaking about, the rest shake their heads. Finally they manage to track down Wong, who just looks at them. “Gone,” he says and while Peter needs a moment to understand Tony knows immediately that Wong doesn’t mean death.“Where?” Tony’s so tired and everything hurts and every cell in his body screams at him to finally lay down his amour and rest but he can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t understand why but he just knows that the has to get to Stephen.Wong takes one look at him and shakes his head but he conjures up a portal to the Sanctum. “Not the kid,” he warns and despite Peter’s protests Tony persuades him to stay behind and help the rest of the team in the clean-up efforts. He doesn’t want any witnesses between this meeting anyway. Tony’s so tired that he goes through the portal without thinking about the magic behind it.He’s determined to clear the air, to scream at Stephen and maybe hit him or something. He’s not clear on that yet. But the need to know WHY burns in him. Why was he important enough to sacrifice everything for? He would have died in space, if rescue hadn’t come in the last second, and he spent most of the time recuperating and barely did anything. (Not true, but that’s how Tony sees himself. As doing nothing more than anyone else could have done.)Instead of the snarky wizard he finds a broken, sobbing wreck wedged between a couch and a bookshelf. He finds a man so destroyed by his choices that his greatest wish is to just stop existing, to be put out of his misery. 14+ million possibilities, one more horrible than the other, are swirling around in Stephen’s brain and he can’t handle it.He could hold the knowledge at bay while they were planning and fighting on Titan but the interim between becoming dust on Titan and coming back on earth has broken him completely. Without anything to do, without a body, without the constant pain to keep him grounded, he was forced to contemplate everything. His old life and his new, all of his choices in all of the timelines.Stephen came up hating himself even more than before and he has the millions of timelines where he fucked up to fuel his self-hate for the rest of his life.Tony takes one look at him and can guess at least a tiny part of what’s going on in Stephen’s mind. The desire to scream at him flees, it’s obvious that Stephen’s much better at beating up himself than Tony could ever be.It’s also obvious that he needs help. Tony manages a quiet “Stephen?” before his body finally gives out and the collapses just a few meters away. It breaks Stephen out of his endless circle of self-ramification. It takes him a moment before he realizes that what he sees is real and not a product of his broken mind. It takes him even longer to finally move and get over to Tony. By then his instincts as a doctor have kicked in and after some basic first-aid he gets Tony into hospital and to the treatment he needs.He stays on the sidelines until it’s clear that Tony’s going to survive. He whispers a quiet “sorry” in farewell and vanishes back to the Sanctum. His mind is a little bit clearer now but still clouded by self-hate. He tries meditation to push everything down but it only works to an extent.When he’s not busy taking insane risks (and trying to die) he spends his days in solitude and self-hate. It’s Tony who, after having halfway recovered, searches him out once again, still in search of an explanation and closure. He arrives at the Sanctum just in time to see a half-dead Stephen come in through a flickering and unstable looking portal. Instead of finding answers he helps Stephen up and takes care of him. The answers can wait until Stephen’s no longer shaking from exhaustion. While helping him Tony sees the bruises and the dark shadows under Stephen’s eyes and begins to understand.There is a talk, later, when Stephen’s more coherent and awake. There are even more talks in the following days and weeks. Somehow, they never devolve into screaming but they get heated sometimes. The manage to form some kind of friendship, based on mutual understanding and the concept of self-sacrifice. Tony steps down from being Iron Man after Thanos since his body just can’t do it anymore but Stephen’s still an idiot with a death wish. Tony’s trying to work on that but it’s a one step forward two steps back kind of situation.But Stephen’s still alive so Tony counts his blessings and if he still always has one Iron Man armor, untested in battle, with him? It’s just in case. One never knows when he needs one to protect the ones he loves.By the time the villain of Doctor Strange 2 (whoever it may be) comes along, Stephen’s recovered enough and is in some weird kind of half friend- half relationship with Tony Stark that gives him enough strength and hope for the future to not seek death but life.When he comes back home afterwards Tony’s waiting for him and it goes on from there.

#well that escalated quickly #i had to put tony in sorry not sorry #amy imagines #Anonymous #inbox #stephen strange #ironstrange #kind of #they're my personal endgame

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write-havoc · 5 years

Text

Of Sons and Daughters Ch 6

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

While Arthur was gone, Emmeline’s sleep was far from restful. She found herself waking up at all hours instead of sleeping until morning. But with him sleeping in the room next to hers again, she sleeps soundly.

When she wakes with the sun, she feels refreshed. She gets dressed quickly and goes out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Arthur’s door is still closed, meaning that he must still be sleeping. She figures that whatever Uncle Tacitus had him doing must’ve worn him out. As she puts the kettle on for coffee, she sits down at the table.

Figuring that she could probably finish the story she was writing last night while she waits for the water to get hot, she pulls the leather book over to her and opens it. To her surprise, she doesn’t see her own handwriting, but a sketched picture covering both pages. She realizes very quickly that it’s of her standing in the creek washing clothes. The details are all there, perfectly rendered in beautiful pencil strokes.

“What are you doing?” Arthur’s gruff voice booms from beside her, causing her to jump since she thought he was still asleep in his room. He had apparently woken and gotten dressed at some point because he is now standing right beside her looking none too impressed. Quickly he pulls his journal away from her and snaps it shut. Not before seeing what page she had it open to, though.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was my book.” She gestures to her notebook still sitting on the table. It and Arthur’s journal are very similar looking, so she hopes he will realize her mistake. “I didn’t mean-“

“Did you read it?” he barks out.

“No,” she answers quickly. “I just opened it. I swear. I-I wouldn’t have read it.” She looks up to him with wide eyes, willing her tears not to flow. She really doesn’t want Arthur mad at her, especially for something that was just a mistake.

He can see her eyes misting over and it causes his chest to tighten. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he says, “Don’t be upset, Emmeline. I ain’t really mad atcha.”

“No. It’s okay. I understand. I’d be mad, too, if I thought someone was reading my private thoughts.”

“You really didn’t read none of it?”

“Not a word. I just saw that picture of me. But only for a moment.”

He looks away, embarrassed that she saw pretty much the only picture in his journal he wouldn’t want her to see. And that she realized that it was of her. “I’m real sorry about that,” he says without looking up. “I’ll rip it out.”

“What?” she asks in confusion.

He finally looks at her. “I’ll get rid of the picture. I shouldn’ta drawn it.”

“Why not? You’re a very good artist.”

Now he’s confused. “You ain’t dressed in it. It weren’t proper for me to draw you like that.”

She thinks about it for a moment, not really understanding why it’s a big deal. “I don’t mind. I mean, I wasn’t about to step in the stream with my dress on.”

He stares at her for a moment. “You don’t mind that I drew you?”

“No. I think it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s vain to say that because it’s me in the picture. But you have a lot of talent.”

He looks away bashfully. “Aww. I ain’t really that good. I just scribble, really.”

“Do you have any drawings of yourself?” she asks. “Don’t artists do self portraits?”

He chuckles. “I ain’t no artist. And I ain’t gonna draw myself when there’s far more interesting things out there to draw.”

“Do you have more drawings in your journal?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see them?” When he doesn’t say anything right away, she looks away, shaking her head. “You don’t have to. I just... I really like the way you draw.”

He can feel the blood rushing up his neck to his cheeks. “Maybe some other time. I should really be heading out.”

“You’re leaving again?”

“Yeah. The camp needs me back, so...” He clears his throat. “I’ll come check on ya in a few days.”

“Oh.” She can’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” She gives him a tight smile, though she’s not exactly happy about being left alone again.

“Alright, Miss Emmeline.” He tips his hat and heads for the door.

“Please, call me Emma,” she calls out.

He stops and turns back to her, mulling it over for a moment as a smile creeps its way into his face. “I’ll see you later then, Emma.” He tips his hat again then is gone.

Even though she’s not happy that he’s leaving, the fact that he used her less formal name makes her smile. She doesn’t want him to see her just as a job or a responsibility someone else tasked him with. She wants him to care about her the way she cares about him. At least a little bit, anyways.

In the few days that Arthur is gone, Emmeline tries her hand at drawing. She used to draw a lot as a kid, and she was pretty good at it, too. After her father died, though, she stopped. He had always encouraged her to draw more, so when he passed, it reminded her too much of him. Seeing Arthur’s drawing made her want to pick the pencil back up again, though.

She draws Miss Susie, the creek, some trees, a squirrel, and anything else she sees fit to. The drawings are a little unrefined, especially compared to Arthur’s, but she finds that she rather likes the act of putting what she sees down on paper.

After being alone for a couple days, Emmeline finds herself missing Arthur quite a bit. The chores and practicing drawing have kept her occupied, but that loneliness still seeps in more and more. Before she can even think about it, her pencil is sketching Arthur’s face, as if just seeing him, even in illustration, would somehow make her feel better.

That first drawing doesn’t come out quite right. She shifts to drawing his form as he leans against a tree, his wide shoulders accentuated by crossed arms, narrow hips popped out to one side, and long legs, one crossed over the other at the ankle. She’s marginally happier with this attempt, finding the general pose easier to draw than a highly detailed face. She attempts his visage again, though. Over and over she tries to commit the memory of his expressions to paper. After a while, she’s happy with what she’s been able to accomplish, the face on the paper actually looking like more like Arthur than anything else.

Meanwhile, Arthur is busy trying to provide for the gang, since that Blackwater money is forever gone. He spends much of his time upon getting back hunting to build up their food stores and selling the pelts for profit. Then, there’s the homestead he and Javier rob, which goes pretty smoothly. The stagecoach job he gets roped into doing with Micah goes a little less smoothly, however. Arthur’s lucky to come out of it free of bullet holes, but they do manage a good take on it.

He also receives a letter from Mary asking him for help. He goes, of course, and does what she asked, saving her brother from getting himself killed. For a moment as he’s talking with Mary, he thinks that maybe she might ask him to run away with her, to start things up again. But she doesn’t. And on the ride back to camp, he realizes that the part of him that used to want to leave his outlaw life to be with her wasn’t there any more. He still cares for her in a way and the hurt she caused him with her rejection would always be there, but he realizes he’s closed that chapter of his life, well and truly.

Once he gets back to his tent at camp, he takes the picture of Mary he always kept beside his bed and puts it away in his trunk.

After a few days of solid work for the gang, he knows he should check on Emmeline. He’s planning on spending at least a couple days with her, recuperating from how hard he’s been pushing himself to keep everyone fed and healthy at camp. He figures he’ll leave first thing in the morning to go to her house.

As Arthur walks toward his tent to turn in for the night, he’s stopped by Dutch.

“Arthur, my boy,” the dark haired man calls out jovially.

Arthur comes to stand before him. “Hey, Dutch.”

“You’ve been doing fine work out there.” He claps Arthur on the shoulder. “I’m real glad to have you back.”

“It’s, uh, it’s good to be back. Helpin’ out.” Arthur looks down and scratches the back of his neck. “I’m plannin’ on heading out tomorrow.”

His eyes are cold as he responds, “Where to, might I ask?”

Arthur doesn’t much like the scrutiny in Dutch’s expression, knowing what he must be thinking. He recalls the last conversation he had with Dutch concerning Emmeline and what he implied about Arthur’s feelings toward her. He’s technically not wrong in that assumption, but Arthur isn’t planning on acting on his feelings, so nothing will come of it in the end. Still, it surprises even himself when the lie starts to pour out from his own lips. “Heard from this trapper feller about a wolf up north in Ambarino, Cotorra Springs. He says the pelt is worth a lot of money. Thought I’d try to bring it in.”

Dutch nods, knowing full well that Arthur isn’t telling the whole truth. “I know what this is about,” he responds lowly.

Arthur just looks back at Dutch, not knowing what to say in defense. He was surely caught in his lie, he figures.

Dutch lays his hand softly on the younger man’s shoulder. “I know you went out to help Mary. And I saw you take her picture down when you came back. That woman tore your heart out once. Ain’t no shame in admitting that, son.” He moves his hand up to Arthur’s cheek and gives it a pat. “If you need a few days to yourself, go on and take ‘em.”

Dutch had misread the situation. Thankfully for Arthur.

He gives the man a tight smile. “Thank you, Dutch.”

Once Arthur is back in his tent, he lets out a sigh of relief then brings out his journal.

I’ve been working hard to make back the money that we lost when the Blackwater take burned up before my eyes. Running myself ragged. But the gang needs money. So Dutch says. Every day since I came back he’s said that to me. So every day since I came back, I’ve been making him money.

Even though I’ve been busy, I still think about her. Miss Emmeline. Emma. She asked me to call her Emma. I know she said once before that’s what her parents called her. I admit, I rather liked the idea of calling her something more personal. I guess maybe I should’ve done it sooner. She’s been calling me Arthur instead of Mr. Morgan for a little bit. I just wasn’t sure if I really should be so friendly.

I probably shouldn’t. I should be keeping her at arm’s length. But I just don’t want to. For the first time in a long time, I feel that pull. But it ain’t right of me. Mary is proof that I can’t be that kind of man. And I don’t want to keep Emma from finding the kind of man she really deserves.

Mary. I saw her again after all those years. She wrote me a letter and I ran out to her. But it felt different than what I thought it would. It still hurt, but it was less like a fresh wound and more like the memory of it. When I looked at her, I did see that woman I fell in love with, but it just felt different than I remembered.

I don’t know.

She asked me if I found someone else. I said no. She didn’t believe me. Said I had the look, whatever that means.

I guess deep down I do know what that means. It’s just hard to admit that I have feelings for someone again. I lied right to Dutch’s face about it. First time since I got into my twenties, probably. I didn’t know how to tell him that I needed to see Emmeline. So I didn’t. Spun some tale about hunting a rare wolf for a few days to cover it.

I don’t think he’d react very well if I told him how I feel about his daughter. Though he ain’t exactly a father to her, but it seems to matter to him all the same. I guess it don’t rightly matter anyway. I ain’t gonna act on it. I just want to make sure she’s doing fine. And when she finds a man that can take care of her, I’ll move on.

He lets out a sigh at the thought. He knows that’s what’s right for her, but it still leaves a pit in his stomach to think about her being with someone else.

The next morning, he tries to head out early. The problem is, Miss Grimshaw all but orders him to take the girls into town for some supplies. Once he gets back into camp it’s about noon. He wastes no time in getting Sparrow saddled up and ready to go.

“So, going off on a hunt?” Hosea’s voice comes out from behind Arthur as he brushes his horse.

He turns back to him. “Yup. Dutch tell you that?”

“He did. Though he thinks this impromptu trip has more to do with a woman than a wolf.”

Arthur just nods and looks away.

Hosea leans in closer. “But I think he’s wrong about which woman,” he whispers.

Arthur turns back to him. Lying to him is useless. It’s hard to get one over on Dutch, but it’s impossible to pull the wool over Hosea’s eyes.

“Did you tell him?” Arthur asks.

Hosea shakes his head. “No. Ain’t my business, is it? Who am I to say what you do with a girl I’m not supposed to even know about?”

“Dutch don’t want me to get close to her.” Arthur hangs his head. “But I ain’t gonna do nothin’ with her.”

“Because he told you not to?”

Arthur meets his gaze. “Because she deserves better than me.”

Hosea gives him a smile. “I don’t know this woman, but I’m inclined to think that she is capable to make her own decisions, including who she wants to be with. And I think it would do her a great disservice to take that choice away from her.” With a final pat on Arthur’s arm, he turns and walks back into camp, leaving Arthur to mull over their conversation.

Hosea and Dutch have worked together well for years, but they’re complete opposites in a lot of ways. Where Dutch could say nothing with a lot of words, Hosea could say everything with just a few. Most of the time, both of them left Arthur trying to discern what they mean from it. This time, it seems like Hosea is telling Arthur to be with Emmeline, in stark contrast to what Dutch wants. That only adds to the conflict already raging inside him.

When Arthur pulls up to Emmeline’s house, he finds her outside chopping wood. Or at least trying to. She’s been at it for two hours at least and has very little to show for it.

“Emma,” he calls out after dismounting. “Miss Emmeline, let me do that.”

She turns to him with a huge smile on her face, though her cheeks are red and her forehead is sweaty from the combined temperature outside and the work she’s been doing. “Arthur. How are you?” She’s a little breathless from the exertion of her chore.

He takes the axe from her hands. “What are you doing chopping wood?”

“It needed done. I figured I should do it.”

“This wood’s too thick for you. You shoulda found smaller sticks.” He places one of the logs on the stump then pushes her back a little bit to give him room.

“You made it look easy. I thought it wouldn’t be so hard.”

As if to demonstrate this point, he brings down the axe and cuts the log in two with one chop, a feat that had alluded Emmeline for the past two hours. “I’ve chopped a lot of wood in my life.”

“I was getting it.” She points to her meager pile off to the side. “It just took a while. And more chops.”

“You’re gonna wear yourself out.” He chops another one easily.

“Well... Did you eat lunch?” she asks excitedly. “I can make you something.”

He looks back to her. “That sounds nice,” he agrees then brings the axe down again.

Emmeline rushes into the house to start the food. Before she decided to chop the firewood, she had gone out to catch some fish, which she’s now cooking. She’s excited to show Arthur that she can catch good sized fish on her own.

By the time she calls him in for the meal, he’s just about done with the wood. The hot weather caused him to remove his jacket and shirt, leaving him in his red union shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the suspenders dangling from his waist. She tries not to stare at the sweaty skin of his chest exposed by the open buttons at the top of his shirt, but she finds the sight very appealing.

Once he sits down at the table, he looks over the plate. “That looks like a nice fish,” he compliments. “You caught it yourself?”

“Yeah. I actually kinda like fishing,” she admits. “I’m not too fond of the killing bit, but the rest of it is fun.”

He cuts himself a bite and eats it. “I’m glad you took to it. I’m gon hunt for ya tomorrow to get you some other meat though. Can’t live on just fish.”

“I got a few eggs out of the chickens already,” she explains excitedly. “I’ll use them for dinner tonight.”

“That’s great, Emma.”

She smiles at him. “If you get some meat, I’ll make us a stew tomorrow.”

“You’re a good cook,” he comments, his fish all but gone. “Real good. I sure missed your cooking back at camp.”

She blushes at the compliment. “Oh, thank you. You can always come in for dinner anytime. I won’t mind.”

Later that night, after dinner, Emmeline finally works up the nerve to show Arthur what she had been working on while he was gone. “You remember, the last time you were here, I saw one of your drawings?”

“Yeah,” he answers, embarrassment already building inside him for what she might say next. Maybe she thought it over and realized it was weird that he drew her. Maybe she wanted him to destroy the drawing.

“Well,” she picks up her notebook and sits in the chair beside him at the table, “I thought I’d try to draw, too.” She opens the book to her first set of drawings.

“Oh.” He lets out a sigh of relief that she didn’t bring up that picture again.

“I know they ain’t good. But I think I’m getting a little better.” She pushes the notebook over to him to see.

“They ain’t bad,” he comments. She needs a little more practice, but it seems to him like she has natural talent. He flips the page and sees a few animal sketches, some flowers, a deer, a few trees. When he turns the page again, all the breath leaves him as he’s met with his own face staring back at him.

“That one’s not good,” she immediately says. “Not the face, anyway. I don’t think I did too bad with this one.” She points to the sketch of him leaning against a tree.

“It ain’t bad. Don’t know about the subject matter,” he says in a half joking way. “I really look like that?”

She giggles at his reaction. “I drew one of me and you.” She turns a few pages to a picture of the two of them fishing. Off to each side, there are bigger sketches of their faces, so she could be more detailed with them. “I kinda like it.”

He looks it over. It actually is pretty good, though it’s a little rough. But the proportions are right and the expressions on their faces are convincingly happy.

“You drawn before?”

“I used to a lot when I was a younger. My father really liked my drawings, but when he died,” she shrugs a shoulder, “I stopped.”

“I’m sorry about your father. But you’re good at this.” He gestures to the book. “If you keep at it, you could make money off of it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. And if you pick better things to draw,” he chuckles a little at his self deprecating joke.

“I like drawing you,” she replies easily.

He hangs his head sheepishly. “Aw, I’m just an ugly old man.”

“You ain’t ugly.” She takes his chin in her hand and gently pulls his head up to look at her. “You’re handsome. I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“I think you ain’t seen a lot of men.”

She laughs, taking his statement as a joke. As she pulls her hand away from under his chin, she notices something. “I got your scars wrong in the picture.” She lightly traces the marks on his chin with her thumb.

He doesn’t pull away, though there’s a voice inside him telling himself to. Instead, he’s transfixed, his eyes taking in all the details of her face as she looks over his own.

“How did you get them?” she asks as she flicks her gaze from his chin to his eyes.

“Horse threw me into a fence, years ago,” he tries to answer as normally as he can, though his heart is pounding in his chest at her proximity to him.

His close closeness is affecting her, too, giving her a giddy feeling. She moves her hand from his chin to cradle his cheek then brings her other hand up to trace her finger over the small scar on the bridge of his nose. “And this one?” she asks, leaning closer to him.

Instead of answering, all resolve in him falls away and he pushes himself forward to place his lips on hers. The action is a surprise to her, but it certainly isn’t unwanted. She’s never done this before, but her body instinctively follows his in its movements as if they had done this a thousand times before.

Time seems to stand still and speed up simultaneously, the flow that normally would be constant is anything but. Getting into Emmeline’s bedroom and undressing goes by in a blur, but exploring one another’s bodies for the first time seems like slow motion.

Emmeline had never been with a man before. She’s read some things in books and her mother told her some, but she’s completely inexperienced. It doesn’t stop her from being an enthusiastic participant, though. Being with Arthur feels so right to her, like they belong to each other.

To Emmeline, it’s such a beautiful act sleeping with Arthur. He’s gentle and patient as he makes her feel things that she’s never experienced before, soaring to a high she didn’t think possible. As she comes down from that high, she feels such a connection to the man beside her, more so than with anyone else.

“Arthur,” she says breathlessly.

In response, he wraps his arm around her, pulling her to lay on his chest. It’s only a moment after he places a kiss to her head that the both of them fall asleep.

The next day as the morning sun shines through the window, Arthur is aware that he’s a little overheated as he starts to wake up. Once he becomes more conscious, he realizes that the heat isn’t coming from the sun, but the warm body partially laying on him. Just then, all the memories of what had transpired the night before come into focus. They’re pleasant thoughts, but as the realization of what should come next dawns on him, his face sours.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks. He was supposed to push her away, keep her from getting close to him. She shouldn’t be with him. Not with the kind of life he leads. He’s a bad man an he doesn’t deserve this good woman. He’ll just get her hurt. Or worse, even.

He lets out a heavy breath and looks down at Emmeline, her hand sprawled across his torso as her head lays delicately on his chest. Only giving himself a moment to revel in the feeling of her in his arms, he slides out of the bed from under her, trying not to wake her. After getting his union suit and pants on, he looks back over his shoulder at her. To his surprise, he’s met with her sleepy eyes looking back at him.

“Good morning,” she says quietly, her voice still heavy with sleep. It doesn’t detract from her wide smile, though.

Arthur looks away and bends down to pick up his shirt, saying nothing.

The smile falls from her face as she sits up. “Is something wrong?”

“What happened last night won’t happen again,” he says lowly as he faces away from her and pulls on his shirt.

Emmeline gets out of bed, not caring that she’s still naked. “Did I do something wrong?”

He turns to face her, but averts his eyes when he sees that she’s standing bare before him. “Will you please get dressed?”

“If I did something wrong, I-I can be better,” she states quickly.

Realizing that she doesn’t care about putting any clothes on, he pulls the blanket off the bed and wraps it around her. “You didn’t do nothing wrong,” he finally replies. “I did.”

“What do you mean?” She takes a step toward him but he takes a step back away from her.

He hangs his head, not having the strength to look at her. “I shouldn’ta done that. Laid wit ya. I shoulda stopped it.”

“What? No, I-“ She doesn’t understand why he’s saying this. How could it have felt so right to her but so wrong to him? “You didn’t do any wrong. It was beautiful.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t do this, Emma. We cant do this.”

“What? What do you mean?” She reaches her hand out to touch him, but he turns away to gather his satchel and holster.

“I’ll check on ya in a few days.” He practically runs out of her room, but she’s right behind him.

“You’re leaving?!” Now her vision is quickly clouded with tears. “Arthur, what’s wrong? Just tell me!” She rushes to him at the door and pulls on his arm. “Please.”

The action gives him pause, but he’s resolute. “I can’t-“ He shakes his head and gently pulls his arm away without fully turning to face her. “Goodbye, Miss Emmeline.”

As Emmeline watches Sparrow gallop away with Arthur in the saddle, she is left confused and completely alone.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan / oc #arthur morgan x original female character #Arthur Morgan / Original Female Character #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #writehavoc Of Sons and Daughters #of sons and daughters #RDR2 #rdr #writehavoc writes

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billvsamerica · 5 years

Text

Sin City

We’ve all noticed the lingering stare of a pervert.

On the high street when you’re shopping for Christmas presents or in the cinema when you’re watching the late night showing of Toy Story on your own again. But imagine you’re in a city full of them. Tight polyester trousers with flared bottoms, beer bellys flowing over the top of cheap plastic belts, topped off with a nice scruffy pair of Reeboks from the late 90s. But enough about my dad, this is the story of our latest adventure west.

A savory couple in a far from savory place

I always thought Vegas was a debauched place. That’s where it gets the nickname - Naughty Little Town for Naughty People. Prostitution and weed are both legal, but somehow in a much less savoury way than Amsterdam. With all that being said, we could never have known that the most morally reprehensible act we would witness would take place on the connecting flight from Chicago to Vegas.

Some of the most exciting parts of a holiday go on in the walkway of the airplane. Thoughts flood your mind: ‘Where will we be sitting?’ ‘What are my chances of survival if this thing goes down?’ ‘Who will the “third” person be?’ ‘Hopefully, there isn’t a “third” person!’ ‘Oh God, this things coming down, I’ve had a premonition. I need to warn everybody else on board.’ ‘No, don’t ruin it. It’s fine. You’re being stupid.’ ‘Oh, Jesus Christ! I just signed our death warrant.’ ‘I wonder if they have a TV?!’ etc.

Shelby and I took our spots next to the "third" person in the window seat, who we immediately disliked just for existing in a space near us, and opened our books: Shelby was reading an interesting book about the Appalachian area of America and taking on a challenging Sudoku puzzle. I was reading a different kind of book, still just as challenging though, the instructions on how to work the TV.

After the internal struggle of whether it’s okay to ignore the air stewardesses safety announcements, the passengers settled into the flight. The aircraft was not quite Wright Brothers old, but it was missing the mod cons of a transatlantic flight, like being able to choose an individual movie. However, it did have DirectTV channels. Shelby and I stuck on the Oscar nominated Can You Ever Forgive Me?.

I glanced over at the "third" person's film choice. I couldn't recognise the show, but the vibrant colours and teenage actors led me to believe it was some sort of kid's show. I looked at the man. No, it wasn't a large child traveling alone. It was definitely a man - a man wearing a tight t shirt that accentuated his man breast. I poked Shelby, she grunted her usual response:

"What the fuck do you want, fuckwit?"

She said, in a loving way though.

“What show is that?”

She glanced across at his screen.

"i-Carly"

"No, you Shelby. Now, what show is that?"

"It's called i-Carly. Now will you shut the fuck up?"

Bit weird. Maybe he just put it on by mistake. Probably not watching it.

Fast forward three hours, I-Carly is still on his TV. And the man is inches from the screen. I looked at him intently. Does he not know we can see him? He's not in some sort of invisible perv’ chamber, although I'm sure those exist somewhere in Vegas.

I looked down to make sure nothing dodgy is... Unfortunately, the man was definitely touching himself. Now, I'll give him a bit of credit. His hand was outside the trousers, but that only made it slightly better. Suddenly, it dawned on me - Shelby was in the middle. I wasn’t worried about her, per say. He was clearly into much younger people, but she might accidentally be hit with his flailing elbow or something. She looked across at him then up and me and mouthed,

"What do we do?"

For the last thirty minutes I tried my hardest to put the man off. I gazed out the window and loudly said a range of off-putting phrases:

"Wow! Look at that skyline," "Can't believe we're flying in the sky right now!" "Do you know why they stopped serving peanuts on flights? What about the people allergic to pretzels? Nobody ever thought of them!"

If that lot didn’t put him off, nothing would.

As we walked from the airplane into Vegas airport, we discussed what we should do. I was going to confront him, and say what? Don't do that sort of thing, you sick freak. I was going to grab him by the scruff of the neck, shake him and say,

“That's digusting, you sweaty little cretin!”

I was going to be the hero and stop all bad things happening forever everywhere... I... I... I picked up our bags and we got in a cab to Caesar’s Palace.

The taxi from the airport into Vegas took us adjacent to the strip. Huge replica buildings designed to look like other things. It’s all smoke and mirrors, a mirage in the middle of the dessert like the magic shows that run every night of the week. After taking a detour we didn’t ask for and racking up a huge bill, we arrived at Caesar’s Palace.

Anybody fancy a crap? (That’s not my dad, but a man in a shirt)

We walked through the modern building designed to look like the Colosseum - a gaudy Rome rip off - and bumped into our own ancient relics in the form of my parents. We hugged. They were here again, but their bags weren’t.

That night, we had a quick go on the slot machines, or as cool locals call them, ‘the slotties’ (and lost a bit of money). My dad became slightly enamoured with the virtual blackjack game, and then we all headed to bed to recuperate for the next day. The city may never sleep, but we were certainly going to.

The next morning, we looked out through our curtains at the view of the famous Belagio Hotel’s dancing fountain show, the Eiffel Tower, and a giant poster of Donnie Osmond. We had a fat breakfast, then walked down the strip.

Along the way, we ducked into a casino for a cheeky lil dabble. Dad spotted the virtual blackjack, and I saw his eyes light up. He was straight on it. We watched eagerly with anticipation as he turned his $20 into $5 and then into $25 and then into $15 and then he cashed out. With his cashed out voucher, I jumped onto a huge slot machine that I had no idea as to the workings. I hit a few buttons, and it flashed on the screen “Extreme!”. The lights started strobing and the lines span like the slick tires on a Ford Escort. My cash started building along with my adrenalin.. 15-20-25... It kept going up and up and stopped, eventually, at $85. I took the money out and left the casino $85 richer because I didn’t give my dad his investment back.

What a start! Maybe I was a natural. Next stop, World Poker Tournament, but first, the off license for a can of beer that I could legally drink on the high street. It was like being back in Worcester on a Tuesday morning, I mean Wednesday afternoon, I mean Saturday evening.

The strip was packed with hen-dos, lad’s holidays, and waddling families who wanted a change from Disney. Me and my dad walked passed a man selling his hip-hop CD. I declined.

“Forget you then in your Bill Cosby sweater,” he said and laughed.

This drove me to grab another beer from a CVS. Inside, the cashier said,

“What a lovely sweater!”

Me and dad-livin’ it large Vegas

As you can imagine, I had very mixed emotions on the jumper and have not worn it since.

Shelby and mom stormed ahead up the strip, leaving me and dad to be awkwardly approached by dancing girls requesting a photo with us. It’s as if we looked like a couple of creepy blokes or something. We walked next to a bar where a man was strapped to a wooden chair and being forced to drink a strange green liquid by a woman in her underwear. Normally, this might be cause for alerting the authorities, but not in Vegas.

A group on a stag do walked passed us and my dad turned to me,

“Did you see that shirt? I need to get one of those!”

I had to tell him that it said “VAGITARIAN” not “VEGETARIAN”. He didn’t want one anymore.

After walking the equivalent of a half marathon up and down the strip, Shelby wanted us to recuperate at one of the West’s staple restaurants, In and Out Burger - a place known for juicy hamburgers. We’d heard that they also had veggie burgers for the three of us who don’t eat the carcasses of dead animals.

Our number came up and we sat down at a table that had just been vacated. The remnants of ravenous tub tubs lay around and an In and Out employee was kind enough to offer to clean it up for us. She picked up a tray with the remains of a sweaty burger on it. In slow motion, the burger, wrapper, and discarded sauce tumbled off the tray and down, down, down, onto my dad’s cream trousers, the only pair he had as his bag was currently somewhere in Uzbekistan.

Turned a corner in Nevada to see the New York Skyline (and a rollercoaster)

This hilarious event only slightly made up for the fact that the veggie burger was two pieces of lettuce and a tomato between a couple of soggy bits of bun. As the name suggests, we were in and out of there real quick.

The next day we went to Fremont Street, the second most famous street in Vegas after the strip. A biting wind whipped through the dimly lit passageway lined with souvenir stores, Irish bars and strip clubs. Grubby looking men stood along the street staring wildly at the tourists passing by. They held cardboard signs that read quite witty things like “I’ll look after your wife while you gamble” and some less witty - “Horny!”.

A woman danced on a huge stage with barely any clothes on while a bunch of homeless people rocked back and forwards in front of her, totally unaware, it seemed, that she was there. An abandoned car with red flashing lights moaned and groaned as a zombie popped out the top. In fairness, it was advertising a local Walking Dead Exhibit, but I wouldn’t have been that surprised if it was actually happening on this street.

Having survived Fremont Street, I decided another dabble was in order (I was continually having these dabbles the whole time, but I’m only going to tell you about the times I won). I selected my machine, one without a chair that looked very old, and put in my note. The machine started to freak out and I knew I was onto another winner - $160 coughed up this time. I was a genius. A genius I tell you and definitely did not spend all that money very quickly in other machines. Ahem.

Join me next time as I recount the next stage of the adventure, our journey to the grandest canyon of them all and beyond to the red rocks of Sedona, Arizona.

#lasvegas #comedy #lol #travelblog #travel #america #nevada #slots

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siverwrites · 6 years

Text

Fictober Day 14 FFVI AU

@laughingmango @azurefishnets I said I might and now I have. A rough attempt at a waking in the World of Ruin parallel.

FFVI Ghost Trick au. Some context kinda provided here and here. Except this all got even bigger.

I’ve never cared much for VI Cid really, but writing Pigeon Man in his place I think has somehow made me care for him even less...

It was the scientist in him, the professor supposed. Make notes, study, record everything. All fine and well when there was something to make note of. For a time progress was recorded and then he reached completion and that was that.

He could copy his previous entry and be entirely accurate. He wrote it anyway. It was something to do even if it relied on having had things to do. Another day, another foraging session for food, another bout of avoiding the monsters, another session of worrying over their limited stocks, and more fruitless checks on his unchanging charge—condition: stable. It was all he could say, stable and alive, which was at least better than stable and dead.

He turned in his chair to look at the bed. Cabanela hadn’t moved since that fateful, terrible day. Only his breath told him he was alive, if such a state could be called living.

“Any day now, you old crazy character.” He shook his head. “Hmph, never could convince you to get your head down. Ever the one for extremes, aren’t you?”

He stiffened. He had to have imagined that. Was that a twitch in his hand? Back to stillness. Maybe he was starting to crack. He rose and cautiously approached the bed, eyes fixed on him.

Darkness. Noise.

He made it in time. The last minute. There was still time.

Memry cursing the wheel. Kamila screaming that something sounded wrong with the engine. And all around them death rained. Shuddering. A terrible grinding crack as if the whole airship was in agony.

The towering statues. The air thick with magic.

He caught and flung Kamila back as if it mattered. In or out of either ship’s half they were falling fast. Fast and away from the rest. She was with them at least. They could be together…

Emperor Sith.

He scrabbled at the wood. Air rushed around him. He tried to reach for the professor’s outstretched hand.

Him. He was faced with himself. It was true. Too many pieces fell into place too rapidly. Not enough time right now.

Falling.

The statues…

Him. What had he created? What had been created from him?

Falling, falling…

Cabanela’s eyes felt too heavy, but with effort he managed to drag them open and a blank expanse swam into his vision. It took several seconds to recognise it as a ceiling.

“Finally awake, are you?”

He turned his head, even harder to do than opening his eyes--how was that fair—and the professor’s face came into view.

“Professor!”

He tried to bolt up and made it as far as sitting before the room tried to careen away. The professor gripped his shoulder.

“Easy now. You’ve been out for a long time.”

Cabanela stared at him. What did he mean? It couldn’t have been for long. He felt as if he could still feel the crackle of magic on his skin. The sight of his own eyes, as if looking into a fractured mirror. Their panic in his ears, the airship cracking…

He shook himself. One thing at a time.

“How long?”

“A year,” the professor flatly. “By my count.”

A count to be trusted. That was… something to be addressed later after more urgent matters were answered.

“The others?”

The professor’s mouth thinned. “I don’t know. We were the only two to wind up here.”

Cabanela looked around the room. Small, serviceable. Devoid of any useful information.

“And wheeere is here? Didn’t you try to search for them?”

“’Here’ is a small island. And that ought to answer your other question.”

Cabanela’s hand clenched around the blanket. “We have to find them. They’re out there. I know it.” Nothing else was conceivable. Nothing else was possible.

“Yeah, I knew you’d say that. Luckily for you I didn’t have much to do with all this time but make preparations.”

Cabanela brightened. “Then what’re we waitin’ fooor, prof?”

“I have no idea what’s out there or if there is much of anything out there anymore.”

“I won’t waste more time—.”

“We will go,” the professor cut in, “when you’ve had time to recuperate and we’ve had time to prepare. Frankly, we’re putting our trust in the best pieces of wood I was able to find, lashed together with vines in the barest of rafts. It won’t be a kind journey and I didn’t spend all this time looking after you for you to get yourself killed through impatience. Now wait here. I’ll get some food.”

Cabanela did wait until the professor left. Then he swung his legs over the edge and after a couple false starts managed to regain his feet. A cautious pace carried him across the short distance from wall to wall.

A year… if anyone else had told him it’d be unbelievable. What happened to them all? Where were they?

The professor re-entered with a plate of fish. He passed a critical eye over Cabanela, set the plate down on the desk and nodded toward it.

“Hope you don’t mind fish, ‘cause that’s what we’ve got. I’ve tried some plants around here. Can’t say much for their flavour, but they’re safe if you want some variety.”

“Think I’ll stick with the fiiish for now.”

Not that it looked entirely appealing either, but food was food.

Appealing or not it didn’t matter as he hardly noticed the taste. His thoughts sped back to that day. Would it have made any difference if he’d arrived sooner? Was there anything that could have been done? What of him?

He stared at the professor.

“Did you know?”

“What are you on about?”

“You saw him. Did you know?”

The professor’s expression darkened. “No. There were whispers of a top secret project. There were a lot of those, usually rubbish. I suppose something had to be true eventually.” He gave Cabanela a shrewd look. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

“That it doooes,” Cabanela said distantly. Alma… no wonder. And Jowd…

“Hmph, with any luck he got himself killed in that mess,” the professor said.

If only that could be true. But he knew as he knew himself. If he survived this there was no doubt in his mind that his… that that… that he survived as well. A sickening thought, but all the more reason to push forward.

“My gut says no,” Cabanela said simply. “He won, prof, but not for much looonger.”

“Three days,” the professor replied. “If I think we’re ready we’ll go.”

Cabanela smiled. “Got yourself a deeeal.”

“It was never a negotiation.”

It wasn’t until later into the evening that Cabanela found it in himself to be able to ask. But the absence was too strange. He wasn’t supposed to be a solo act.

“What happened to Lovey-Dove?”

The professor grimaced. “I don’t know. She’s a tough old girl and unlike us, has wings. Nothing we can do but hope.”

“Hope’s not such a baaad thing, prof.”

The next morning Cabanela woke to the professor coming in and felt more relief than he ever expected at the mere passing glance he was granted. It was a piece of normality. And only a single night passed.

They moved around each other quietly and the professor only spoke up when Cabanela announced his intentions to take a look around outside.

“Don’t stray. We share this island with monsters and they’ve grown nastier in this new world of ours. Nothing like anything we’ve seen before.”

Cabanela stepped out and stared. Daylight wasn’t doing their surroundings any favours. He didn’t know what he expected; it wasn’t this. It was as if the ground itself withered and the world grown dull. Only the sound of the ocean reached his ears.

The professor had said they were near a beach. It seemed as good a place as any, so he went.

The sand was welcome, unaffected by the sickly tones the rest of the world had taken on. He stared at the horizon as the waves licked at the shore.

How far out were they? Raft or not they had to make it. They’d reunite soon. This wasn’t the end by far.

Cabanela drifted back to the cottage and ignored the professor’s attempts at telling him he didn’t need help. Go rest. Theoretically a good idea, but Cabanela felt too ill at ease to sit still. Their day passed in a quiet productivity that didn’t feel very productive to Cabanela at all.

The second day found him again at the beach. He paced across the sands and froze at the sight of a flash of blue behind a rock. The bright colour felt strange and dreamlike in this drab environment. He stepped cautiously toward it then sped up when he realized what he was looking at.

“Lovey-Dove!”

The pigeon lifted her head and gave him a weary coo as he knelt next to her.

“You’re aliiive. It’s goood to see you ladybird.”

She stuck out her leg and Cabanela reached out automatically. She had a piece of cloth, a large piece, by all rights too large for her. The rest of the world faded from Cabanela’s awareness as he took in the sight.

He saw it so briefly, but he’d know this pink and these paint splatters anywhere.

He’d barely made it to the dungeon and had only just caught hold of the cell door with a brief sight of Jowd before his other, unknown to him then, got the drop on him. The resultant time passed in a blur of exhaustion, pain and magic induced sleep. A mask and his own haze prevented him from recognising that voice but he remembered his words, gently spoken to him before he lost everything to another sleep.

“You will diiie in the very domain of your loved ones. Isn’t that poetic?”

But through that, through everything Jowd’s face remained clear. Jowd alone in that deep cell. Jowd who’d looked so confused in a garment that had made no sense.

The look made sense now, the garment less so. And yet it was a piece of that very garment that Cabanela now held.

“Youuu are a gift,” Cabanela breathed. “Where did you get this?”

“Coo.”

“Come on.” He gathered her gently into his arms. “Someone else here will be thrilled to see you too!”

As he passed over the beach, his gaze went back to the ocean and his step grew lighter.

“Wherever you are, you keep holdin’ on. We’re coming.”

#ghost trick #gt au #ffvi au #cabanela #pigeon man #jowd referencing always #ghost trick fic #crud I guess I should make another tag for this au too dammit #FF AUs falling out of my pockets #GTxFFVI fic

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digikate813 · 6 years

Text

Power Down: Chapter 4

Now that Fenton has officially become Gizmoduck, Duckburg’s newest protector, he is not holding back. Giving everything he has to being the greatest hero he can be. But how much can he push himself to do more before he starts to fall?

Based on a random request by @zefive. Not to me directly, but when I saw the post, this idea flooded into my head, and I couldn’t resist. Enjoy!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Fenton woke up in a daze, realizing that he had passed out. He really hoped this wouldn’t become a habit. When he looked around, it was still dark, but he wasn’t in the middle of the street anymore. He could feel the soft cushion of a mattress underneath him. He had to admit, it felt heavenly. He could also feel a robe that definitely wasn’t his over his shoulders. That's when he realized.

“The suit’s gone!” The mere panic at the thought of someone getting their hands on the Gizmoduck suit again was terrifying enough to snap him awake. He sat straight up, which he instantly regretted. His whole body ached, and not in the “broke every bone in your body” kind of way. He knew how that felt. It was not fun. Although this feeling wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. His head still throbbed a bit but it was definitely clearer. Clear enough to realize that he was, not home. He was sure of that. He took a minute to get a better sense of where he was. The room was a bit small, but much larger then his. And it’s decor was at a much higher standard then in the Cabrera household. He tried to figure out what was going on. Who could have possibly dragged him away and taken the suit? He got a look at an oil painting on the wall, depicting what looked like a golden dragon, with someone on it’s back. As he looked closer he recognized who it was, and by extension, where he was. “Oh boy.”

The door opened as soon as he came to his conclusion, and a tall muscular woman entered the room, who at first seemed taken aback by his presence. “Oh. You’re awake.” she said. “One moment” Stepping back out into the hallway, he could hear her talking to someone. He could guess who it was.

“Do you have any time what time it is?” he could hear a gruff muffled voice from what sounded like over a phone. “He’s awake.” she told him. There was a moment of silence before he heard “Tend to him quickly. I’ll be right there.” Fenton could feel it. He was in so much trouble. The woman returned with a silver tray in hand, and Fenton finally got up the courage to speak.

“Uhh, are you-?” he stuttered out before she quickly replied “Mrs. Beakley. Mr. McDuck’s housekeeper.” she introduced herself without even looking at him as she placed the tray on the table next to him. She finally turned to him with a glass of water. “Drink this. All of it. We wouldn’t want you getting dehydrated.” She was, very stern in her requests. Fenton wondered if she was like that with Mr. McDuck. Probably not. He accepted the glass and was about to do as she said before she added “And I suggest you tie up the dressing gown.”

Fenton was so startled by that comment he let out a yelp and almost spilled the drink. Instead he put it down quickly so he wouldn’t cause more of a fuss, and covered himself up a bit in a quick motion by pulling the blanket closer, with a nervous dry chuckle. Very dry. Maybe he should have a drink. “Where- where are my clothes?”

“Being washed. Something they clearly haven’t been in quite a while.” she replied in a pretty dismissive tone. This woman seemed way too intimidating to be a housekeeper. He was about to grab the glass again when Beakley grabbed his wrist while looking at her watch.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking your vitals” she answered as she seemed to have finished. “Can’t be too careful with sleep deprivation like this. Especially when someone has been asleep as long as you have to recuperate.”

“I see. And uhh, how long have I been asleep? Here? Exactly?”

“Since Mr McDuck brought you in? About 28 hours.”

“I’ve been asleep for over an entire day?!” Fenton shrieked. How is that possible? Sure he was a little tired, but he’d hardly consider it sleep deprivation. He just had a lot on his plate lately. To be out for 28 hours seemed unreal. As Fenton processed this, Mrs Beakley placed a tray of food next to the glass. “Help yourself. Mr. McDuck will be with you shortly.”

As she was leaving, Fenton had to ask. “Am I in trouble?”

Mrs Beakley simply looked at him over her shoulder, and left the room. Closing the door behind her.

Fenton straightened himself out and sat on the edge of the bed, tying up his borrowed robe like Beakley suggested. Guess he had nothing to do but wait. And eat. But worrying about Mr. McDuck scraping Gizmoduck for good was making him lose his appetite. He still grabbed a couple of loose grapes to snack on. Guess sleeping for that long would make you hungry no matter how much you were afraid of losing the greatest thing that ever happened to you.

Noticing the silver tray was left behind on the table, he picked it up, and took a good look at his reflection. Smoothing out the feathers on his head to look more presentable. Not that that should matter. This may be the worse he’s ever screwed up. And that was really saying something. But this time, he failed someone who had faith in him. Who believed in him and gave him a chance. No matter how much he’d messed up in the past, he couldn’t think of a time when he did that. How is it he slept for 28 hours, and he still felt weary?

He couldn’t bear to look at himself any longer. “Some hero I turned out to be.”

“Looks like ya got in a bit over yer head, eh lad?” He knew that voice. He turned around to see Scrooge McDuck standing in the doorway. “Mr. McDuck!”

He couldn’t quite read Scrooge’s expression as he approached him, but he didn’t look pleased. At the moment, he just leaned on his cane in front of him. “How you feeling lad?” he asked almost, comfortingly.

“Umm, better. I think.” Fenton trailed off. He didn’t realize just how bad he felt before until just now. “How did you find me?”

“Your mother called the office looking for me after you ran out. I wasn’t that far from the museum at the time and, well it didn’t take us long to find you on that little joyride you took.” He still couldn’t tell if Mr. McDuck was angry or amused. Maybe it was some weird combination of both.

Fenton shot off a rapid apology and hopefully a good explanation.“Mr. McDuck, I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. The suits been acting up a bit for days, but this was something else! I tried everything I could think of all day to find the problem, but-”

“The problem wasn’t the suit lad!” Scrooge interrupted abrasively, which immediately shut Fenton up. “The problem, was you.” Pointing his cane aggressively at him.

Fenton was in shock at the statement. “Me? How am I the problem? I’ve worked day and night on the suit and answered every call for help that came my way. I put everything I possibly could into being Gizmoduck.”

“Exactly. Ya pushed yerself too hard.” Scrooge’s furrowed brow and tense muscles loosened as he continued in a softer tone. “Tell me Fenton. When was the last time ya got a decent night’s sleep?”

Fenton paused, rubbing the back of his head absentmindedly.It should probably bother him more that he had to think this hard about it. “Well, there wasn’t much going on on Saturday. So probably then. But just a day or two with broken sleep isn’t that bad. Everyone does that once in a while, right?” Fenton argued nervously.

Scrooge’s brow was furrowed again. “Lad. It’s Thursday.”

Fenton’s eyes went wide at that realization, but he could only manage to say a quiet “Oh.” as he slouched inward a bit.

“According to what Gyro’s told me about how that armor works, you were so tired that ya couldn’t work the thing properly. When ya can’t think straight, something that’s processed through your brain is goin’ to have trouble functioning.” Scrooge stated, and crossed his arms as he continued. “You’re just lucky no one got hurt. Including yourself.”

“But I- I thought for sure that I was handling it.” Fenton stammered out trying to process this information. “I thought I was fine.”

“Ya don’t become dead to the world for over a day if you’re fine Fenton.” Scrooge instantly scolded.

Fenton was so ashamed, and with how Mr. McDuck was looking at him, that pit in his stomach was growing (though that could be from the whole not eating much thing). He knew what was coming. So he did the only thing he could think of. Beg.

“I’m sorry. For everything Mr. McDuck.” he started tiredly. “I know you don’t have any reason to give me another chance, but please. Don’t take back the suit. I can still be Gizmoduck! I just wanted to help, but I’ll be more careful. I promise!”

Scrooge could hear the desperation in his voice. He just smiled and said “Take back the suit? Don’t be daft! No one is more fit to pilot that crazy contraption then you Cabrera. Y’know I wish more of my employees had your determination.” Fenton perked up a bit at that remark. “But you’ve got to learn to work smarter lad, not harder. I figured someone as clever as you would know that.”

Fenton processed that for a minute. He wasn’t quite sure how this all went wrong. At the time it made sense. He was just doing what he’d always wanted as much as he possibly could. After a moment of awkward silence, Fenton finally let it all out.

“I know. I mean, I should have known. It’s just- No one’s ever depended on me before. All I’ve ever wanted was to help people. Make the world better and more exciting in a way. And with Gizmoduck, I was finally given that chance. I guess I just, wanted to put everything I had into it. Prove that I really could do what no one thought I could. Not let anyone down. And if I was doing anything less, then I wasn’t really being a hero. If I pick and choose what’s important, what’s worth my efforts as the protector you asked me to be, how am I any better then, Waddleduck?” This whole confession was making Fenton exhausted all over again. This probably sounded ridiculous to his boss. “Not that you’d understand that. I mean, you’re Scrooge McDuck! There’s nothing you can’t handle.”

Fenton didn’t know what else to say. He was ready for Mr. McDuck to just leave him be. Instead, he sat next to him on the edge of the bed, with a world weary expression. “Fenton, I’ve been running one of the largest companies in the world and traveling all over the globe on life threatening adventures for over a hundred years. Ya think I don’t know what it’s like to feel overwhelmed?”

“A hundred ye- How old are you again?” Fenton asked perplexed. But he soon realized that that probably wasn’t what he was supposed to take away from that.

“My point is” Scrooge continued “That I understand wanting to do it all. Wanting to tackle absolutely everything. To feel that weight of responsibility every single day. In a way, I thrive on it. And maybe you do too. Always ready to dive into an exciting situation? That’s a great quality to have. But I also understand that if you do nothing but that, you’re eventually going to crash. I know it’s difficult to put priority on stuff like this. But I also know that if you don’t take the time to take care of yourself, soon yer not gonna be of any help to anybody. And then Gizmoduck won’t be there for anyone. Understand?”

Fenton did understand. He just lost track of so much in the desire to be a true hero, he stopped looking after himself. As the first signs of the light of dawn slowly rose over Duckburg, he still wasn’t quite sure how he was going to prioritize his time as Gizmoduck, but after this whole debacle, he realized all too clearly that if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be a Gizmoduck at all. And that’s the last thing he wanted. “Perfectly”

“That’s a good lad.” Scrooge said with a pat on the back as he stood up again. “But you still exhausted yerself pretty badly. It could have been worse, but I want you to stay here so we can look after ya. This counts as time off without pay of course.”

“Of course”

Scrooge continued as started to leave. “Just do as Beakley says, and you’ll be stopping the criminals of Duckburg again in no time.”

“Criminals!” Fenton gasped. He nearly forgot. “That artifact from the museum. Was it recovered?”

Scrooge stopped in his tracks “Not yet” he answered as he turned around. “I don’t supposed you know who was behind it, do ya?”

“It was some kind of robot. I remember it was pretty well built, but there weren’t many distinct features on it. Except.” Fenton paused as he was slowly putting the picture of that evil android together in his mind again.

“Except what?”

“There was something on it’s head. It looked kind of like the shape of a hat of some kind, but I didn’t get a very good look.”

Scrooge had a look like Fenton had most of the time. Of the gears turning rapidly in his head. Putting pieces together for the ultimate solution. He pulled something out of his jacket and held it up to Fenton. Pointing near the top he asked “Did it look anything like this?”

Fenton squinted to get a better look. The light still wasn’t great in here. It was a Polaroid of what looked like an angry screaming Flintheart Glomgold. But on his head, he recognized the shape. “Yes! That’s it!” Fenton confirmed “Except it was, y’know, metal.”

“Glomgold” Scrooge growled under his breath with a look of annoyance and disgust on his face. Crumpling the picture in his fist.

“Why would Flintheart Glomgold want to steal something you donated to the museum? If he gets caught it seems like it’s not really worth it.” Fenton asked.

“That doesn’t matter to Glomgold. We were both after this treasure, and I beat him to it. Not surprisingly.” Scrooge got a pretty smug look on his face at that last remark. “As long as he has it, he wins as far as he’s concerned. Guess he’s got more tricks up his sleeve then I thought.” Seemed like Scrooge was pondering what to do about this. “Well, if that’s the way he’s gonna play it, then I guess I’ll just have to take it back.”

“Let me help!” Fenton requested without a second thought. “Please Mr. McDuck. This is all my fault. Give me a chance to make it right. This time I’ll be firing on all cylinders.” Scrooge looked skeptical, but before he could say no, Fenton added “You saw something in me when you asked me to watch out for Duckburg. You just said that I was clever, and had determination. That no one was more fit to pilot the armor then me. Let me prove that. Prove that I can handle the weight of that suit and all it entails without falling apart.” Fenton was more determined then ever before. He’d messed up too many times. He wasn’t going to again.

Something in Scrooge’s countenance changed. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said Mr. McDuck looked, impressed. After a moment of consideration, he finally broke the silence “We can’t do anything until after dark anyway. Very well lad. As long as you take it easy the rest of the day, you can come.”

Fenton beamed with enthusiasm and quickly replied “Oh thank you sir!”

“I have some business to take care of, I’ll leave you be. Rest up.” As he was leaving the room, he turned to Fenton with a grin “We’ve got a big night ahead of us.” before he closed the door behind him.

If Fenton was going to make his mark as Gizmoduck, it was going to be now. If he wasn’t still, frankly pretty worn out, he’d be running around the room preparing. But it was probably for the best. Being forced to take it easy actually gave him more time to think. About the battle and how he could have done better. About the enemy’s arsenal, and during the periods he was awake the rest of the day, he was coming up with a way to counteract certain problems.

A/N: This is officially the longest chapter yet, but it’s probably my favorite yet. The story was originally going to end here, but after watching Fenton’s episodes again (all both of them) while Fenton does screw up, he does prove himself and make things right in the end, and I wanted to give him that here, which will be covered in the final chapter.

There’s also a small pointless Broadway musical reference in here (Not the musical you’re probably thinking). It doesn’t connect to anything and it’s only there because I’ve been listening to the soundtrack lately. If anyone can figure it out, let me know. Look forward to the final chapter and i hope you enjoyed!

#ducktales #fanfiction #fenton crackshell cabrera #scrooge mcduck #gizmoduck #mrs beakley #fanfic

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years

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locking out the ghosts (chapter 2 of six)

chapter one

s5 fic: spoilers for schizogeny, chinga and kill switch, part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

the chapter count changed mostly bc this is getting too long for its own good. it might be subject to change again! this is turning into a little monster

Skinner keeps Mulder late after their meeting the next day. Scully waits for him outside the office, and he still won't look at her when he exits. He hasn't really looked at her since last night at the warehouse. He walks right past her. Scully sighs, goes to Skinner's door and taps on the door. “Sir? Could I have a quick word?”

Skinner adjusts his glasses and motions her in. “What is it?”

She folds her hands in front of her formally. “I'd like to request some vacation time, actually. A couple days off before the weekend after next. Thursday and Friday.”

Approval flickers over Skinner's face. “I think we could arrange that. You could use it after… after everything that's happened. You must have nearly a month of vacation time saved up.”

“Not based on recent circumstances,” she says quietly, thinking of her time off after her remission and the two days after Emily.

Skinner looks her in the eye. “Medical leave is different from vacation time. Take the extra days, Agent. You deserve it. Do you think you'll be able to stick out the next couple of weeks?”

She clenches and unclenches her jaw, tries not to growl her reply of, “I'll be fine.”

Skinner nods, picking up his pen. “You're dismissed, Agent. Keep an eye on Mulder. I'm worried about him.”

---

By all outside appearances, though, Skinner has no cause for worry. They are both pretending they're fine. Like Scully's daughter didn't just die. Like Mulder didn't watch his partner die and almost kill her. They work on paperwork. Mulder goes out to pick up lunch, Scully eats a salad and a little container of yogurt. They talk to each other only when they have to, and even then it's overly polite. They're hiding from each other, the psychologist in Mulder points out. He ignores it.

Days later, there is a case in Michigan with an apple orchard, with living trees. They go on pretending everything is fine. He flirts with her—just a little, no more than he usually would if it was before Florida—and she doesn't comment, doesn't protest, just rolls her eyes a little. It feels almost like before, like normal. If he ignores the nightmares, it almost is. (Her dead. The things he's said to her, the things she's said to him. Emily with blue, blank, unseeing eyes, the same as Scully's. The nightmares are the worst part.) It feels like if they don't confront the problem, it doesn't exist. But then again, that's the way it's always been with them.

The case closes, Scully digs him out of the mud he finds himself trapped in up to his chest. He can't stop looking at the dirt trapped beneath her fingernails as they drive back to the hotel. She'd brushed her hands over him when he'd crawled out, brushed his hair back and smudged mud across his face like war paint, asked if he was okay in a hushed voice. He shivers now, turning up the heat. He wants to say that he that is is not hers to comfort, but he will always be hers. If she wants him.

They pull into the motel parking lot and climb out of their car. Scully pulls at her jacket with frustration. “I can't wait to take a shower,” she groans. “Next time, Mulder, warn me so I can wear some old clothes.”

“You'd think you'd have learned that by now, Scully,” he says. She smiles, bending her head, hair hiding her face. He smiles a little, too. “Hey, thanks for… pulling me out of the mud earlier,” he adds, touching her gently on the shoulder.

Her shoulders scrunch up under his fingers. “Of course, Mulder,” she says. “We're partners.”

He swallows uncomfortably. “Right.” He brushes a hand down her elbow before turning away and inserting his room key. “G’night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder,” she replies quietly.

Later, he wakes up from a nightmare (Scully not breathing, bleeding, gun in his hand), shoving at blankets, reaching for someone who isn't there. Scully was crying out, in his dream, and that was what woke him up. Scully is crying out, he realizes, kicking the blankets away and rolling out of bed, and he's halfway across the room before he hears what she is saying. “No, please… please don't take her,” she is saying furiously, tearfully.

Tears spring to Mulder's eyes as he stands on the rug, sheets tangled around his leg. In other circumstances, he might go through the conjoining door and wake her up, but he's not sure if that's what Scully wants now. Instead, he stumbles across the room, yanks open the closet and slams it hard.

Scully yelps on the other side of the wall as she wakes up. Mulder runs his hand over his face, pulls the sheets away and walks back to bed. “Mulder, are you okay?” Scully calls back through the door, her voice thick with tears.

“Yeah,” he calls back, voice just as thick. “Tripped over something.”

Quiet on the other side of the wall—or maybe she's being too quiet for him to hear. He pulls the mounds of covers over himself and doesn't think.

---

The Michigan case happens over a weekend, and the next weekend is the weekend Scully asked for days off on. She warns Mulder that she is planning to be out of town that Thursday and Friday the Wednesday beforehand so that he has less time to try and talk her out of it. She doesn't tell him she asked for those days off weeks ago; she makes it sound like she just thought of it, like he should do it, too. “I think we could both use some time to ourselves,” she says. “Why not take the weekend for some recuperation?”

Mulder seems to be considering, tapping a pen against the table. “You're going out of town this weekend?”

“Yes, I'm flying up to Maine,” Scully says matter-of-factly. Melissa told her once that it's beautiful up there.

He considers further, staring at the table top, rolling the pen back and forth between his hands. “I think it's a good idea, Scully,” he says finally. “I think you could use a vacation.”

He calls her the very next day, when she's arriving in Maine. She should've known. She should've known it wouldn't last. He calls under the guise of wanting to talk about a “classic” X-File, but he's clearly bored, goading her into talking about the statistics of decapitation while talking on the phone while driving, and she politely hangs up on him. And runs straight into an X-File of her own. (Of course she does; she is turning into the woman from Murder, She Wrote. Her life is like a bad TV show.)

She calls Mulder the second time, to ask about the phenomenon she's seeing. He's startlingly unhelpful, outside of asking her to marry him in a breathy tone. She blinks, says, “I was hoping for something a little more helpful,” and pretends she didn’t consider saying yes for a millisecond. Half of a millisecond. She's used to the flirting, but it stings a little now. She regrets breaking up with him sometimes, misses him sometimes.

And definitely doesn't other times. She ends up deeper and deeper into the X-File, to her ultimate irritation aside. Mulder calls twice, and each time is vastly more unhelpful than the last. Between the doll case (an evil doll, really?) and Mulder's annoying phone calls punctuating the hours, she barely gets any actual time to relax. The one bright side (sort of) is Captain Jack Bonsaint, her temporary colleague, who is tripping over his own feet in attempts to be sweet, flirting just a little. It feels almost nice.

She sets a doll on fire on Friday. The mother goes to the hospital, the daughter refusing to leave her side, and Scully heads back to her hotel. She tries not to think about Melissa and Polly Turner and does anyway, thinks about how the little girl forgot her doll as soon as she saw her mother hurt, yelled, “I want to stay with Mommy!” at all the paramedics. Melissa. Mommy.

Scully downs two sleeping pills and goes to bed.

Saturday, Jack calls her up and asks her to dinner. She twirls the cord around her finger, considers it for a second. It might be nice. Jack is sweet. He's not Mulder, but they did manage to solve this case. She had a nice time with him. But that wasn't her intention in coming up here. She’s not looking for a relationship, especially not with random people she met in Maine. (Besides, she’ll never see him again after this weekend.) “I'm sorry, Jack, but I really need some time to myself,” she says. He's nice about it, telling her to let him know if she wanted someone to show her around. She thanks him and hangs up the phone, unplugs it so it is silent from there on out. She spends the rest of the weekend in the blissful silence she'd pictured, takes long baths and reads books and tries to forget.

---

After Maine, it's easier to pretend the things that haunt her dreams at night aren't real during the day. She keeps Emily’s picture in her wallet but almost never takes it out. She throws herself in work (distractions, anything for a distraction) and doesn't think of her sister or her daughter who looks like her sister. She doesn't think about it; she's getting good at that. And Mulder doesn't mention it, or their failed attempt at a relationship.

There's a shootout in a diner. Scully gets the call sometime after midnight, pulls on a wool coat and treks out into the chilled February air. It's just as well; she wasn't getting any sleep anyway.

Among the dead, Mulder identifies Donald Gelman, Silicon Valley folk hero. His theory is that the shootout was a staged hit, steals Gelman's laptop and finds a CD of Twilight Time inside. Scully follows him to the Gunmen, where they find the shipping container in Gelman's email, where they find Invisigoth. A supposed artificial intelligence blows the storage container. Invisigoth—or more accurately, Esther Nairn—claims that Twilight Time is the kill switch that will make sure the AI will deactivate. Scully thinks it's a load of horseshit. Mulder and the Gunmen latch onto the story eagerly, of course, and Mulder runs off to find the home base of the AI. Scully stays back with Esther and the Gunmen.

She makes the mistake of falling asleep on the couch and wakes up to Esther gone, Esther right around the corner with a gun. Being essentially kidnapped by a snarky computer geek isn't the worst of her problems at the moment, but it's still pretty irritating. Esther handcuffs her to the steering wheel and directs her to David Markham’s residence. Esther doesn't particularly strike her as malicious, so she's more annoyed than worried. Esther clearly doesn't know anything about this; she leaves the handcuff key in her coat slung across the car seat while she goes to check out the rubble of David’s house. Amatuer. Scully manages to get the key and unlock the cuffs just before Esther gets back to the car, sobbing into her hands. Meticulously, Scully begins to reach for the gun.

Esther snatches it and turns to point it at her. “Go ahead! Put me out of my misery!” she sobs. Scully is briefly surprised, sympathy coming in underneath it. “Take it!” Esther insists.

Scully takes the gun before putting a hand on her shoulder. “It's okay,” she tries, a little stiffly.

Esther sniffles, wiping her eyes. “Not to point out the obvious, but I don't think any of this is very okay,” she says bitterly, waving her hand at the ruins.

Scully squeezes her shoulder, sliding the gun into her holster with her free hand. Esther sniffles again, takes a shaky breath before holding out her wrists. “I guess I'm under arrest again,” she mutters. “Doesn't matter now, if David’s…”

Scully considers this for half a minute. Reconsiders. “I think we can be done with the… handcuffing,” she replies. “I think we have a similar goal at this point. But I'm keeping the gun.”

Esther takes another deep breath, meets her eyes and gives her a grateful nod. Then she turns and gets out of the car. Scully opens the door and follows her to the edge of the rubble.

“I lied to you,” Esther says as they walk. “I wasn’t working with Donald. I mean, I was, and then he found out about us.”

“About you and who?” Scully asks.

“David,” Esther says, still sniffling a little. “About our plans.”

“What plans did he find out?”

“Uploading,” Esther says miserably. Her black eyeshadow is smeared around her eyes like a bruise, the sunlight casting her face in gold. “Transfer of memory, of consciousness to the distributed system maintained by the AI. Imagine being mingled so completely with another, you no longer need your physical self—you’re one.”

It sounds like something out of a bad romantic sci-fi novel. “So you were going to—”

“Enter the AI,” Esther clarifies sadly. “Give up our inefficient bodies so that our consciousness could live together forever.”

She watches Esther a little sadly herself. The idea of never losing your loved one… she can't say that's not appealing. She'd do anything to never lose anyone ever again. But still, the idea of losing all physical aspects of life to live on in a computer… “But Donald Gelman forbade it,” she says, assuming he must've had the same doubts she does.

Esther kneels by the remnants of the house. “He was afraid of his creation. He was afraid of what would happen if other people followed us,” she says confirming Scully's suspicions. She pulls a burned picture out of the rubble. Scully catches a flash of a man's face next to Esther’s through the ashes. “I loved him so much,” she sniffles.

Scully has heard the longing, the worry, in Esther’s voice all too many times. Echoing in her own head. She understands. “Well, maybe he wasn’t here when this happened. Maybe he’s somewhere else,” she offers, an attempt at comfort. At hope.

Esther looks wistfully back at the photo. “I just… can't bear the thought of never seeing him again,” she says, turning to Scully and motioning with her free hand. “You know?”

Her hand doesn't still, fluttering nervously through the air. Scully reaches out and stills it, clasping Esther’s fingers in hers. She thinks about all the times she'd thought Mulder dead. “I know,” she says.

---

After hours of searching and attempting to reach Mulder, Scully realizes that she and Esther might have more in common than she'd hoped. “I can't get through to Mulder,” she says to Esther, trying to ignore the churning in her belly, immediately dialing again.

“It's the AI,” Esther says, and somehow, considering the explosion in the storage facility and the ruins of David Markham’s house, this statement doesn't comfort her.

They decide to follow Mulder to the chicken farm he'd said he was at when he called earlier, trying to cut off the AI’s communication in the process. It tracks them to a bridge, and Esther flings her computer into a river. It explodes in the air. They duck, Scully's hand shooting out to Esther’s arm. When she looks up, she sees the churning water and smoke rising.

Esther is breathing hard, picking herself up from the gritty ground. “Hell of a night, baby,” she says, and Scully huffs out a laugh. “C’mon,” Esther says, tugging at her sleeve. “We have shit to do.”

In the car, on the way to Fairfax, Esther finally asks the question Scully has heard entirely too many times: “So what's the deal between you and Mulder?”

Scully gazes at Esther out of the corner of her eye. She's got her feet up on the dash (which drives Scully absolutely mad) and her hands tangled in her lap. There are still worried lines drawn on her face, tenseness in her shoulders. She's worried, expecting the worse—Scully suspects they both are. She also suspects Esther is looking for a distraction in this conversation. But she needs a distraction, too, and this is exactly how not to do it. “We're partners,” she says sternly.

Esther laughs. “Trust me, I know when two coworkers are engaged in a forbidden romance.” She waggles her fingers dramatically on the word forbidden. “And you seem real worried about this Mulder guy for him to just be a colleague.”

“He's my friend,” Scully says, smacking the wheel a little. “We're partners. We're supposed to protect each other.” She is not going to go through the entire complicated spectrum of her relationship with Mulder with a woman who handcuffed her to a steering wheel today.

Esther’s feet hit the floorboard with a thunk. “We have more in common than I thought, I guess,” she says quietly. “Except it's more likely that your boyfriend is still alive.”

Scully's fingers clench around the steering wheel. God, she can't think about the possibility of Mulder dying or she'll fall apart right here. “He's not my boyfriend,” she says firmly.

“Maybe not.” Esther crosses her arms, resting her head against the window. Black is still smeared around her eyes like a bruise; it's impossible to look away from. “But that doesn't mean you don't care.”

Scully swallows harshly and says nothing. The car rattles down the Virginia road. Esther whistles the theme of some TV show as she watches the landscape go by. Snow starts to fall.

---

They pull up to the farm under the cover of darkness, right behind Mulder’s car. Getting out, Scully moves her flashlight beam over the windows and sees that it is empty. Esther moves ahead of her, muttering something in a singsong voice. Scully follows, flashlight in hand.

They move through a wooded area to a rundown trailer in a clearing. As soon as they exit the copse of trees, a siren wails, a light coming on out of nowhere. They both cover their ears, Scully’s flashlight hitting the ground wetly. She locates the source of the shrill sound and fumbles for her gun, shoots out the light on the trailer. It explodes in a wave of sparks, the sound ceasing on her second shot. There, in the new silence, she can hear it: Mulder calling her name.

“Mulder?” she calls back. “Mulder, are you all right?”

Faintly, she hears him saying something back, but she can’t understand it. “Mulder?” she calls again, approaching the trailer, Esther at her side. “Mulder, can you hear me?” She starts for the door, but Esther shakes her head, face serious, motions underneath the trailer. Understanding, Scully crouches on the frost-crunchy grass and crawls underneath the trailer. There is an open hatch. “Mulder?” she calls again, positioning herself and moving up through it.

A little robot-like thing whirs towards her. She ducks, raising her gun through the hole and shooting four times. She hears the crackling of sparks and raises her head again warily. All clear, in a matter of speaking. She climbs through the hatch, getting to her feet and moving through the trailer. “Mulder?”

Empty but for wires and computers. “Help me out here, Esther,” she says, surveying the space. “What’s its next move? What is it thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Esther says, nervous.

“Who built this?”

“It did.” She points ahead of them, to a large surface with what looks like a human sticking out from it. “There.”

The hand looks largely lifeless. Scully’s heart thumps loudly in her chest as she approaches. She can’t see who it is until Esther’s flashlight lands on the body. Not Mulder. A man, decomposing, covered in electrical burns. “David,” Esther says with defeat, astonishment. Grief. “Oh, god.”

Nervousness building, Scully looks away, towards another harness across from them. Fear fills her as she sees who is in it. “Mulder?” she half-gasps, moving towards him.

His face is mostly covered with some kind of headpiece that looks like it belongs in a bad sci-fi movie. He’s strapped in with some kind of restraints, trapped in place. She can’t see his face. “Mulder?” she whispers again, lifting the headpiece. His eyes are held open, almost lifeless. “Mulder, can you hear me?” His mouth moves, phantom words. “Mulder, talk to me,” she says firmly, near pleading.

She jolts at a thrumming sound behind her, turns and points her gun at an ejecting CD ROM drive. “It wants the Kill Switch,” says Esther.

“Well, we don’t have it,” Scully says. “You threw it in the water with the computer.”

Esther shakes her head, takes the disc out of her pocket. She goes to the open drive, but stops, hesitating. “But that’s going to kill it, right?” Scully asks.

“Not if it can learn the program and vaccinate itself against it.”

The sound of electrical jolts behind them. Scully turns and sees Mulder’s body contorting, his fingers splayed in pain. She can’t breathe. “Give it what it wants, Esther.”

Mulder shakes as the electricity contorts through him again. God, they are going to do this until he is dead, like David. “Put it in, Esther!” she says.

The computer beeps, the familiar map coming up on its screen. “It’s targeting us,” Esther says.

Panic rising, she almost shouts, “Put it in!” Esther doesn’t move, eyes on the screen. Desperate, Scully snatches the disc herself and shoves it into place.

Twilight Time begins playing. Behind them, Mulder’s restraints come loose with a whoosh, and he slumps forward. Scully crosses to him, whispering, “You’re going to be okay.” She pulls the headgear off. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Mulder doesn’t say anything. She wants to burn this machine to the ground. “Okay,” she says, pulling at the eye restraints. She can hear Esther typing madly behind them. “It’s okay.”

He stumbles forward, nearly landing on top of her as he’s released, holding onto her like she is his life preserver. She leans into him, supports him with an arm hard around his waist and begins moving towards the hatch. He keeps his arms around her outside of using his hands to push off of the sides of the trailer as they stumble towards the exit. When they reach it, Scully realizes that Esther is not with them. She lets go of Mulder as he begins to lower himself out of the trailer and turns. “What are you doing, Esther?”

“Get out of here,” she says, not looking away from the computer.

“What are you doing?” Scully prods. She refuses to leave someone else behind. She won’t.

“Go!” Esther says firmly, sparing her a brief look.

They don’t have time to argue. Scully ducks out of the trailer and helps Mulder crawl out from under it, leans him against one of the wheels before going back under, up and through the hatch. Twilight Time is still echoing, incessantly. She might’ve liked that song a long time ago. When she gets back in the trailer, she can’t see Esther anymore. “Esther?” she calls out, panicked.

“You don’t listen, do you?” Esther calls back from some unknown place.

“Where are you?” Scully scans the trailer.

“Get out of here now!”

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, realizing. Esther won’t leave David. She doesn’t have time to try and convince her; maybe if it was just her, but Mulder… She ducks out of the trailer and claws her way across the cold ground. Mulder is slumped where she left him, still conscious, thankfully; she wraps her arm around his waist, helping him to his feet, and moves them towards the woods. She pulls him through the trees in a clumsy near-run until she hears the explosion behind her. She turns in time to see the inferno, the fire.

She swallows dryly, pressing her hand into Mulder’s chest to steady him. There is no time to mourn or to be relieved they escaped; they have to get out of here before the woods catch on fire. They turn, walking towards where she parked the car.

Scully fumbles for the keys, unlocks the passenger side and lowers Mulder into the seat. “Mulder, can you hear me?” Her hand pushes the hair off his forehead as she checks for a fever, checks his pulse. Steady, thank god. Normal heart rate. “How do you feel?”

His eyes half-closed, he mutters, “Scully?”

“It’s me.” Her fingers move over the places where he was strapped to the machine, the electrical burns. “We need to get you to a hospital,” she whispers.

“No!” The force of his words surprise her, and she lifts her head to meet his eyes. He looks uncertain, frightened. “Can’t go back…”

“Mulder, you’re burned,” she says, pressing her cold hand flat against his cheek. “You need medical attention.”

“You’re my doctor.” He catches her free wrist, fluttering over his burns up and down his arms, and holds her hand against his chest. “You… you fix me. Not them. You.”

“Okay, okay. No hospital.”

She's stroking the side of his jaw a little with her thumb and he turns into her hand, kisses the center of her palm and presses her other hand harder against his chest. “I'm glad it's really you,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping low. “Not it. Just you. The real you.”

She has no idea what he means but the fear from when he was trapped there, being electrocuted, is still hot under her skin. She can still feel it. And Esther is dead and they almost, they almost, he almost…

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and hugs him. He presses his face into her stomach. She smooths his hair, overwhelmed, before pulling away. “I have to call the local police,” she says. “Hang on, Mulder. You're okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”

He mumbles something indecipherable. She ducks out of the car, leans against the side and calls 9-1-1. Some of the trees have caught on fire. She watches and thinks of Esther. She hopes she isn't really gone, that she was telling the truth. About being uploaded. About never dying, immortality. Her fingers are cold.

The police come, and the fire department, and she tells them that she is taking Mulder home to rest. After she agrees to come back in the morning and give a statement, they let her. Mulder has dozed off by the time she gets in the car; she suspects the AI gave him something to make him docile. She drives back to Alexandria and tries not to think.

In Mulder's apartment, she rinses the burns and bandages them at his kitchen table. “Tomorrow, we need to stop by the doctor's,” she says.

He closes his eyes and leans his head forward, resting his chin on the top of hers. “Okay.”

Her hand is on his knee. She squeezes it, leaning into him. Unthinking. Her eyes close as her nose brushes against his collarbone. He's holding her loosely, clumsily. She breathes in, out, her head tucked into the hollow of his neck. Pulls back, squeezing his knee again, and says, “You should get some rest, Mulder.”

His eyes still closed, he nods. She helps him up and goes to support him, but he steps away, walking towards the couch. Scully's stomach knots as she hears the jolts of electricity, again. She swallows hard and follows him.

He's curled into the back of the couch, a tiny bit of space left on the cushions. She crawls in beside him, slinging an arm over his side and leaning into his warmth. They fit, barely; he has to hold her against him to keep her from falling off. “Scully?” he whispers, uncertain, eyes huge and dark. A question.

They'd slept here only once in their brief relationship; he'd fallen off the couch with a hard thump and she couldn't stop laughing. They'd ended up sitting side by side on the floor, backs against the couch, watching TV. He held her hand, fingers tracing the softest spots of her wrist and arm. She fell asleep bonelessly against his shoulder. They'd both ached like crazy in the morning.

Scully crawls closer, wrapping herself around him and pulling the Navajo blanket slung over the back of his couch over them. “It's okay,” she says. “I'm here. It's okay.”

He's looking at her warily but says nothing more; he buries his head into the cool skin of her shoulder, where her shirt slips to the side. She can feel his hot breaths on her skin.

They've shared beds before, before they ever became a couple, and this isn't the most abnormal thing in the world, and oh fuck, he almost died. Another one lost on Dana Scully's watch, and fuck, he loves her. And she… maybe she's destined to lose everyone she loves, through death or emotional distance. She holds Mulder closer, fingers against his wrist to check his pulse. She falls asleep with her chin on his shoulder, still counting.

---

It had snowed in Virginia two nights before Scully went to San Diego. It was freezing. Mulder had used the cold as an excuse to hold Scully's hand, even though she had a rule about affection at work. “Frostbite kills, Scully,” he said seriously, locating her hand in the pockets of her trench coat. She rolled her eyes but didn't pull away, let him sleep his cold fingers through hers.

They'd gone to Scully's house because it was closer and cranked up the heat. Mulder opened the blinds in her bedroom so they could watch the snow fall. “It's pretty, huh?” he offered, crawling in beside her.

“Mm-hmm.” Scully leaned into him and he was suddenly warm all over. “Too bad I won't get a white Christmas.”

“If it snows here, I'll take pictures for you,” said Mulder.

“That's sweet.” Her cold feet brushed against his legs; she hid her smile against his shoulder. “What do you have planned for Christmas? Are you going to go up and visit your mother?”

“Actually, I thought I'd go find the Abominable Snowman,” he joked. She lifted her head to fix him with a look and he shrugged. “Haven't decided yet.”

“You could always come with me,” she said in a slow molasses voice, and even though he was sure she'd agree if he said he wanted to, they both knew she was kidding.

“I think I'll pass,” he said just as slowly. His hand traveled up and down Scully's arm and she shuddered with chilled pleasure, burrowing against him. “I'll miss you, though.”

“Mmm.” She was smiling against his shoulder again, wider; she kissed the curve of it through the cotton of his shirt. “I'll miss you, too.” He smiled, too, at the ceiling, his fingers traveling down her arm again to take her hand. “I think I'll be back for New Year's actually,” she added.

“Really.” He squeezed her hand. “I think I can cancel my standing appointment with the Gunmen to spend it with you.”

“How generous.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, kissing his cheek. “Sounds nice. I can't wait.” Her voice was thick with genuine affection, and he turned to face her, their noses nearly brushing. She was grinning softly.

“Hey, Scully,” he whispered confidentially. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” she whispered back.

“It's midnight,” he whispered. He leaned forward, his mouth colliding with hers.

They'd never made it to New Year's; Scully spent the holiday by her dying daughter's hospital bed. That was the last time they shared a bed as well. (In San Diego, he'd accepted Bill's head-jerk motion towards the couch without question; better not to arouse the wrath of Scully's brother.) The last time until that night. That morning.

Mulder wakes up warm all over, with Scully lying half on top of him, her bare feet sticking off the couch. His nose is pressed against the side of her neck, breathing in her scent. Her hair is brushing over his face. Confused, he wraps his arms around her waist. She murmurs something, nuzzling her face against his shoulder.

The events of the night unevenly rattle through his head. Hallucinations. Computer nurses and amputated arms. Scully comforting him. Scully crawling in beside him on the couch. The inferno in the forest. “Scully,” he whispers. “Scully?”

“Mmm.” She shifts against him. “Mulder?”

“Yeah.” He loosens his hold on her and waits for her to wake up. “What happened?”

Scully's eyes flutter open. Brief confusion, then panic, then something that might fall somewhere between embarrassment and a resigned acceptance. She rolls off of him and sits on the edge of the couch, rubbing her eyes. “How do you feel, Mulder?”

“Fine,” he says. “A little sore, maybe, but… why were you…”

A faint blush spreads over Scully's cheekbones. She shrugs. “I was worried about you. I didn't want to leave you alone.”

Mulder drags his teeth over his lower lips, considering. He doesn't mind sharing his makeshift bed with her—quite the opposite, actually—but somehow, he doesn't think this is a segue into getting back together. If Scully's face provides any clue, it definitely isn't. She looks guilty and embarrassed. “Scully…” he starts, uncertain.

“I need to check on your burns,” she says determinedly, turning to face him. Their eyes meet, and she looks completely professional now. As if crawling in and sleeping beside your patient/partner is totally normal behavior. “And then, if you're feeling up to it, we need to go back to Fairfax. The local police and firemen handled the explosion sight, but they'd like our side of things.”

“Sure,” Mulder says with a sigh, shifting into a sitting position on the couch.

There's blisters up and down his arms, but no signs of infection. Scully washes and rebandages the wounds before heading into the bathroom to freshen up. Mulder downs two painkillers and changes into a clean suit in his room. They leave about a half hour later, Scully driving, Mulder rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to pick absently at his bandages.

He knows little to nothing about medical jargon, but he knows you're not supposed to break open blisters, or else you risk infection. He feels like Scully staying with him the night before was the equivalent of breaking open a blister. Now they're risking infection.

#i feel like the metaphor at the end of this chapter is a little gross #xf fanfic #i wrote this #xf rewatch

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