#maybe i’ll update this when i get in trouble for more bullshit reasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pendragonsandbuckleys · 3 years

Text

Oh it felt so easy then.

My @malexsanta fic for @manesguerin, Merry Christmas Sarah!! ✨

This is the first time I’ve ever been given a prompt so I really hope I’ve done it justice. I’ve gone with the prompt ‘lost decade’ and as you may notice by the length of it, it kind of got away from me… but I really hope you like it!

[Also on AO3]

Summary: Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for?

A look at the lost decade through Michael’s eyes.

Word Count: 21,499

❄️👽🎄💌

Ten years was a long time.

Five hundred and twenty-one weeks to be filled with laughter and tears, friends and family, old secrets and new opportunities.

Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days to get over a stupid high school crush that was never going to last.

Michael closed the door behind him, furious at the sudden emotions raging inside him. He hadn’t heard from Alex in a long time, hadn’t see him in even longer. So why was his heart racing at the mere sight of the man he once loved.

Glancing at the many whiteboards and notepads filled with scientific scribble and spaceship blueprints reminded Michael that there was so much more than just the thin wall of the airstream keeping them apart. They’d been kidding themselves to even try to make it work. They were two different people with two different lives.

His eyes wandered to the other end of the trailer. He should have thrown out the box long ago, burnt it even.

He had been so proud of the fact that he hadn’t looked inside in months, hadn’t given in to the temptation to see Alex’s delicate penmanship and carefully chosen words. He had most of the letters committed to memory, but re-reading them after a difficult day used to help calm the chaos in his mind.

It had been a long time since he’d forced himself to forget about the box and all it contained but one look at Alex and all the feelings he’d spent months suppressing had come flooding back. The feelings of hope and happiness. Of love.

He slowly walked towards the closet and crouched down to rummage through his belongings. There were a few things piled inside but right at the bottom was what he wanted.

A simple shoebox. The writing on the front was long worn away and the lid was practically falling apart but the box itself wasn’t important. He lifted the lid and a stale scent of roses immediately filled the air. His hand brushed the dried petals to the side before hesitating above the first envelope.

Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for?

September 2008

It started with the hubcaps.

Well, really, it all started seventy years ago when one innocent eyeliner wearing, music loving boy’s ancestors began a lifelong mission to destroy Michael’s family.

But those goddamn hubcaps. I mean, if he was going to steal anything from Kyle Valenti’s car it could have been something useful. His truck needed a new battery after all.

The thrill of the theft hadn’t quite overpowered the pain in his heart and a night in a cell, alone with his thoughts, definitely hadn’t helped the way he thought it would.

Ever since Alex had told him that he was enlisting, Michael had been acting weird around him. Getting into more and more fights, drinking and smoking and doing all he could to cause trouble, regardless of how much he could see it was hurting Alex.

And every time Alex begged him to get it together, Michael was reminded of the fact that the only person he had ever had feelings for would soon be leaving him. That Alex was choosing to leave him to follow in his father’s footsteps.

So he pushed Alex away. He got himself arrested all for the sake of self preservation which should have felt like a win but really all he had done was waste the last day he could have had with Alex.

It had been a few weeks since Alex had left for Texas for Basic Training and Michael hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Though he couldn’t blame him. Michael had made it very clear that their short lived relationship was over.

And maybe that’s really all it was meant to be. Maybe it was just some summer fling that meant nothing in the long run. Simply a way for two broken people to just breathe for five seconds.

And maybe it was stupid for him to believe it could have been anything more.

As he stared up at the starry night sky from the back of his truck he felt his phone vibrate inside his trouser pocket.

Another text from Isobel no doubt.

She had been trying to get in touch with him all evening. All week in fact. And he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it today.

After graduation she had been adamant that Michael wasn’t going to drift away from them. Not seeing each other just because they were no longer forced to share a classroom was not an option.

So she had taken to texting him. A lot. Mainly mundane things, little updates about her life like a job interview she’d managed to secure or a new boy she was possibly seeing. She’d always try to ask about what he was up to or encourage him to come over for dinner, but that was usually his cue to stop replying. A dead battery or no credit was his go to excuse but there’s no way she really believed him.

He just couldn’t face seeing her or Max, not yet. The horror of Rosa, Kate and Jasmine’s deaths and their decision to cover it up was still so fresh in his mind and any opportunity to not remember it was preferable.

It was strange, thinking about it. That night was one of the worst nights of his life for two wildly different reasons.

A very personal, homophobic attack that left his hand crushed beyond repair and a triple murder that no one would ever know the real truth about. Not even the person responsible.

And while he just wanted to take his mind off the people involved in one of these for a little while, he never wanted to forget the person involved in the other.

He had no idea if he would ever see Alex again, but just hoped that he was okay. That he was happy. That he was safe.

And that would have to be good enough for now.

November 2008

Michael’s truck jolted to a stop in the Wild Pony parking lot.

It was earlier than he’d usually be here but the day drinking was a new thing he was trying.

He’d been having regrets lately about not taking up the UNM scholarship. He was fully aware that he was more than smart enough to continue with his studies and yeah maybe the courses would be far more mundane than he’d like, but at least he could do something worthy with this life. But then every time he considered re-thinking his decision, his hopes were brought crashing back down to earth with the reminder of why he didn’t go to university in the first place.

He had slowly begun letting Max and Isobel back into his life, a coffee date here and a shopping trip there, but sometimes all the friendly conversations in the world couldn’t stop his desire to just be numb every now and then.

The excessive alcohol consumption was a recent development, but hey, a town drunk has to start at some point, right?

There was a clerk at a gas station a few miles away that had no problems turning a blind eye to his clean shaven baby face and he’d managed to get a fake ID for the more difficult purchases. Such as the Wild Pony. A typical Roswell bar without the added green alien decor. Every local knew the Wild Pony and unfortunately the Wild Pony knew him - or more importantly, his age.

Maybe he’d get lucky today and it would be a new bar tender but if not, then he’d just slip some acetone into a soft drink. That would have to do the trick for now.

It was mid afternoon so there was a decent amount of people inside, but no sign of the rowdy drunks that tended to emerge after dark. The only person working behind the bar was currently wiping down the surfaces as a pair of customers walked away with their drinks.

Michael swaggered confidently past the men at the pool table and the group of girls in the booth that he vaguely recognised from school and perched on one of the stools at the bar. “I’ll have whatever’s cheapest.”

“You got ID?” The bar tender gave him a look that just screamed I don’t have time for your bullshit, but Michael was nothing if not persistent. She walked over, arms folded neatly across her chest, cloth still gripped in one hand, and came to a stop in front of him.

The badge pinned to her denim jacket spelled out her name in thick capital letters but Michael didn’t need to read it. Everyone knew who Maria Deluca was. With her beautiful curls and disarming smile, she was a friend to almost everyone at New Roswell High.

And though she was one of Alex’s oldest friends, Michael had barely said two words to her during their many years walking the same school halls but right now she was his best chance at scoring a drink.

“C’mon Deluca, we don’t have to bother with all that.” He mustered up as much charm as he could manage as he leant forward on the bar but Maria wasn’t swayed, her face set in a clear display of annoyance.

“I told you last time, I’m not getting fired just to help fuel these little angsty life choices you’ve been making recently.”

“Your mom’s not gonna fire you for helping a friend.”

“Oh wow,” Her eyes widened, feigning surprise, “Sorry I wasn’t aware we’d become friends.”

“Well,” Michael shrugged, “Every time I come in, it’s like you’re here waiting for me, so I just thought…”

“I’m stuck this side of the bar Guerin. I have no choice but to put up with whatever you think is going on right now.”

Michael sniggered as he raised an eyebrow. The chances of him getting drunk anytime soon were dwindling by the second but he was enjoying the banter nonetheless.

“One day. One day I’ll get you to admit how much you love seeing me.”

Maria rolled her eyes as she flipped the cloth over one shoulder. “I am glad you’re here actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It means I don’t have to spend my time trying to track you down.” She rummaged through a bag sitting behind the bar before pulling out an envelope. “Someone clearly knows you well.”

Michael took it from her with a frown. One quick glance at the front confirmed that it was indeed labelled to him, only with the Wild Pony’s address neatly scripted underneath his name.

Who would be sending him a letter? Who even sent letters anymore?

He looked up to ask Maria when it had arrived but she’d already made her way over to the customers at the other end of the bar.

Without hesitation he carefully ripped it open and pulled out the piece of paper inside. Impatient as ever, his eyes immediately darted to the end of the page to see who it was from and he almost fell off the chair at the name signed at the bottom.

It had been four months since he’d seen Alex. Four month since he’d heard his beautiful voice or seen his perfect face. And yet here, in his hands, was a letter from the one person he honestly thought he’d never hear from again.

Someone on a nearby table cheered loudly and Michael was suddenly reminded of where he was. It didn’t feel right, reading Alex’s first words to him in months under the harsh neon lights of the bar so without sparing a second glance at Maria, he practically sprinted all the way to the parking lot, yanking the door open as soon as he reached his truck.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and began reading.

Dear Michael,

I’ve debated writing this letter for a while now, mainly because of how we left things. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep in contact but I’ve been missing some people back in Roswell and I think I just needed to get a few things out of my head. I might not even send this letter, but if you’re reading this then I guess it means my sentimentality won out.

I’ve been thinking about how peaceful the desert is back home. How quiet it would be when we’d park the truck in the middle of nowhere and just lie under the sun for hours. It’s surprising the things you notice yourself missing when you haven’t been somewhere in a while.

There’s so many people here it feels like school all over again. I tried to distance myself from everyone in some last act of defiance, but I’ve ended up making a few friends. Honestly I think it would be impossible to get through this alone.

I’ve finished basic training now. It was harder than I thought it was going to be but I got through it and I’m onto the next phase. We get to choose the specialism ourselves so at least that’s a positive and who knows, maybe I’ll be quite good at it.

I’m going to be here for a least a few months to complete my training before I find out where I’m being assigned so I’ve included my address incase you want to write back.

Whatever it is that you decided to do with your life, I hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

P.S. I’m sorry for sending this to the Wild Pony, I hope Maria got it to you okay. I would have addressed it to ‘Michael Guerin’s Truck’, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t quite reach you.

Michael re-read the letter another three times before he could bear to take his eyes off the page.

Alex had written to him. Amongst all the training and hard work and confusion over how they’d parted, Alex had taken the time to sit down and write to him.

It was brief and simple and Michael couldn’t stop smiling.

He fumbled trying to get his keys in the ignition before putting the truck in gear, already planning his reply, all desire to get drunk suddenly forgotten.

February 2009

“I don’t pay you to sit around doodling.” Sanders called over gruffly from under the hood of the car he was working on.

“I’ve already finished with Campbell’s jeep.” Michael replied distractedly as he continued to scribble in the notepad.

The repair had needed longer than he had expected so he was taking what he deemed as a well earned break. If the old man had a problem with it then he could go ahead and find a better mechanic. Michael didn’t earn nearly enough to put up with his attitude anyway.

Sitting under the barely put together shelter that Sanders had the audacity to call his workshop, Michael started to scrawl a reply to Alex. Letter number four had arrived just under a week ago and he had yet to come up with a response.

Again addressed to the Wild Pony, Alex had talked about the latest shenanigans of his fellow airmen and how he’d been missing his guitar lately. He never went into detail about the work he was doing but he always made sure to mention that it was going well. Michael could practically visualise him picking out the words very carefully to make sure it didn’t sound like he was boasting, but sometimes it made writing a reply hard.

He was so pleased for Alex. Every letter he received had a more and more happier tone to it and honestly, he was glad that Alex was finding his place in the Air Force. He will always hate that he signed up, but considering he was going to be a part of it for a long time, Michael was just relieved that he had settled in.

It did mean, however, that his life felt very boring in comparison. What was he supposed to say? Hey Alex, I fixed another car today. I’ll probably be hanging out with Isobel later to spend hours listening to her moan about something before going to sleep in my truck and doing it all again tomorrow.

He was just about to jot something down when something small and hard bounced off his forehead.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Michael rubbed his head and glared at the man.

“Are you listening to me?” Sanders waved the wrench in his hand as he tried to punctuate his point.

“Obviously.”

“What did I say?”

“…words?” Michael replied innocently, throwing his hands up in defeat when Sanders looked ready to throw something else. “Alright, alright sorry, what did you want?”

“The Johnson's SUV needs its engine looking at and when you’re done with that you can change the brake pads on that pickup that came in this morning.”

“On it.” Michael gave a halfhearted salute as he grabbed the closest toolbox and headed out into the sun.

He wasn’t really in the mood to be working in the heat today but at least this way the vehicles were far enough away from Sanders that he wouldn’t have any distractions from his real task.

He’d been grabbing odd shifts at the junkyard since he was fourteen, but last month he’d finally persuaded Sanders to hire him properly. If he was to have any hope of moving out of his truck, he needed to start earning some proper money doing something he was half decent at.

He’d been trying to find a way to work this news into his letter but he couldn’t quite find the words. He didn’t want to admit to himself that it was because he was ashamed, but that’s exactly what it was. Alex was at the start of a prestigious career that would take him across the world, learning new skills and earning decent money.

Michael was a mechanic. Barely.

And he knew that Alex wouldn’t care about the difference in their jobs, he’d just be happy that Michael was a step above wasting his life. It was just so hard to fit everything he really wanted to say into one letter.

Maybe he was struggling so much with the words because he’d much rather say it in person. He hadn’t seen Alex in forever and he missed the simple act of just being with him. Of sitting in the back of the truck, shoulders touching and hands intertwined. The amount of serotonin a short handwritten note could produce was ridiculous but it in no way replaced the feel of having the real thing in front of him.

Though if Alex was feeling anything near the way he was, then maybe it didn’t matter what he wrote. The mere fact that he had replied would hopefully be enough.

April 2009

Isobel looked at him disapprovingly, switching her many bags from one hand to the other. “Really Michael? Just because you live in the desert doesn’t mean you need to actually start dressing like a cowboy.”

A shopping trip with Isobel wasn’t Michael’s first choice for a Saturday afternoon, but he’d had no good excuse to refuse as she practically dragged him to the mall.

For someone who liked to try on almost everything in a single store, Isobel had chosen what she wanted to buy pretty quickly. Now it was Michael’s turn but he honestly wasn’t sure what she expected of him. He’d been living in the same clothes for years now, he didn’t know how to do the whole shopping spree thing.

“You’re the one who wanted to buy me new clothes.”

“Yeah, because I wanted to make you look cool. Not like a nineteen year old version of the Lone Ranger.”

Michael looked in the mirror again. The black cowboy hat resting atop his head was working well with the rancher aesthetic he had going on. It hid his curls and made him look slightly older, giving him more of an edge than his baseball cap could usually muster.

It just felt right.

Growing up, he’d never had the chance to really figure out his own identity besides angry, rebellious orphan and going full-on cowboy felt like a good place to start.

Besides, he looked damn good.

“You’ve already chosen the rest of my wardrobe for me Isobel. You can’t let me make one big boy decision for myself?” Michael gave her a pointed looked as he took the hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Just don’t show Max, he’s already started a godawful belt buckle collection, I don’t want him getting any ideas.” She happily snatched it out of his hand and strutted elegantly to the till.

He had missed these moments with Isobel. The familial feeling of her bossing him around.

No one ever talked about how easy it was to drift apart from people after high school, how the close bonds you thought you’d formed over the lunch table could so quickly disappear once you’re all thrown into the real world.

But the three of them were different. Michael, Max and Isobel, the three children found wandering the desert all those years ago. He hadn’t been able to rid himself of them then and turns out he still couldn’t now. Despite his best efforts to distance himself, they had managed to completely worm their way back into his life over the past few months and honestly he was better off for it.

Today wasn’t the first weekend outing he’d endured and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but his heart felt a little lighter from having spent it in good company. With the bags heavy in their hands, they grabbed some food at a nearby burger place before calling it a day. He dropped Isobel home and drove to his usual night-time parking spot.

Climbing effortlessly onto the back of the truck, he looked inside the singular bag Isobel had gifted him. He’d come away with a new pair of boots, a few t-shirts and the cowboy hat. Nowhere near enough in Isobel’s opinion but after the reminder that he didn’t exactly have a closet right now she had conceded.

He shoved the bag into the corner and leant forward to pulled out the letter that had been burning a hole in his back pocket all day. He grimaced at the sight of it, with its crease down the middle and its crumpled edges. Isobel had ambushed him coming out of the Wild Pony before he’d had a chance to read it - or put it away - which meant it had been hidden in the only place available at the time.

As much as he loved her, he wasn’t quite ready to share it with her yet.

He unrolled his blanket and threw it around his shoulders, settling back against the truck before opening the envelope. He’d finally told Alex about the junkyard in his last letter and he’d been waiting to hear back for a few weeks now.

Dear Michael,

That’s amazing news about the job! You really are the best mechanic in the whole of Roswell so Sanders is lucky to have you.

You shouldn’t put yourself down though. You used to always be fixing things when I was back home (annoyingly effortlessly from what I remember) so to get paid for doing something you enjoy is kind of the dream, right?

Plus I’m sure the drivers of Roswell will be very grateful to have someone with two eyes checking their brakes are working correctly. I mean, should Sanders even be fixing cars anymore? I swear he can’t even see three inches in front of his face!

Speaking of work, I was thinking about the Emporium yesterday. Have you been inside recently? I wonder if they ever noticed the alien with its head on backwards. Still definitely your fault by the way.

I kind of miss that uniform too, even the visor. I have to wear my uniform all the time now and it’s nowhere near as comfortable. I feel like it’s becoming a part of me, like I’m never going to be able to go home after a long day and forget about everything for a while, it’s just always going to be there.

I’m sure I’ll get used it.

I think we’re being moved in a couple of weeks so I’ll give you my new address when that happens. But for now, I hope you’re okay.

Speak to you soon,

Alex.

Michael leant his head back and watched as the sun slowly began to set behind the trees.

Alex always knew how to make him feel a million different emotions at once. He felt an unfamiliar sense of pride at the praise Alex had offered but reading the boy’s words about his own work made Michael long to have him back with him, away from all the regimented days and looming risk of danger.

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning though, thinking back to the alien statue standing in the corner of the crop circle exhibit. That had been a good day. And yeah, it was definitely his fault.

He was about to put this latest letter away with the rest when an idea came to him. He grabbed the bag that Isobel had lovingly handed over and pulled out the shoebox that had been squeezed inside amongst the various clothes.

He ran his nail across the tape keeping the box sealed, breaking it easily in a single movement, and took off the lid.

He pulled out the new boots, followed by the scrunched up tissue paper intended to keep them somewhat preserved, until he was left with an empty box. It was a decent size, not too big that it would be a pain to store under the passenger seat and not too small that he would run out of space anytime soon.

He’d been keeping the letters in his glove compartment for now but it didn’t quite feel safe enough for something so precious. But this shoebox was perfect.

He placed the letter inside before heading to the front of the truck and retrieving the rest, slotting them in neatly and closing the lid to keep them secure.

Tonight he’d sleep thinking about the last day he and Alex had shared in the UFO Emporium and as soon as the sun was up, he’d write his reply.

July 2009

Dear Alex,

You’ll never guess what happened today.

I’ve been working every shift Sanders will give me just to save up some cash and like some crazy act of luck an old airstream got dumped at the junkyard last week. It took some convincing but Sanders actually let me buy it off him!

It’s small and pretty run down but I figured it could be a fun project. I am very good with my hands, as you know.

It’s not as glamorous as a house or anything like that, but at least this way I can move out of my truck and into a place with an actual sink. Plus, I reckon I’m the smart one here. No rent to pay? Less space to clean? It’s perfect.

Do you think you’ll be able to visit Roswell soon? You’re probably working hard, getting your geek on and saving the world, but it’s been a while. A year actually, next month.

No pressure, but I look forward to the day I get to officially invite you inside my new place.

Stay safe out there.

Michael

Michael careful wrote his new address on the back, then sealed the envelope and left it by the door as a reminder to post the next time he was in town.

He hadn’t even started to unpack yet, his first priority being to share his big news. He figured that’s what he would have wanted to do if Alex was in Roswell anyway.

The airstream had been dumped a few days ago and though Michael wasn’t aware how much Sanders had paid the guy for it, he was pretty sure it must have cost more for Sanders than it had for Michael. Which was strange.

Since spending almost every day with Sanders, they had definitely worked up some form of workplace bond to some extent. Although some days, it was a wonder Michael could be bothered to engage in the conversations that were mainly a mix of complaints or disinterested grunts.

He must be rubbing off on the old man though because he had given away the airstream at a bargain.

As soon as he’d agreed it with Old Man Simmons that he could park it at Foster Ranch - along with the offer of earning his keep by working the land - he had brought all of his belongings inside and now the next task was to find a place for everything. There may not be much in the three boxes currently sitting on the bed, but they were his. They were the few things that he had been able to actually buy for himself over the past few years and really call his own.

And now that he had a home to put them in, he wanted to do it perfectly.

It felt bizarre to think about. His home. A place he could finally call his own. A place to cook and wash and sleep, safe from the cold and desert dust. The group homes and fosters parents of the past had never let him decorate his own space but now he had the opportunity to make everything his own.

And he knew exactly where to start. The clothes would go in the closet and the limited toiletries would be given their place in the bathroom. That was all obvious, another decision made for him.

But something he could choose for himself?

He picked up the shoebox and peaked inside. It had gained a few more letters since he had started filling it and they were all piled neatly in order.

Looking around, there were several places it could sit.

On the desk would make it the first thing he’d see coming home. But would therefore be the first thing Isobel and Max would go snooping through when they visited.

The drawers next to the closet would keep it safe but they were just too small for the box.

The closet itself felt too impersonal. Like he was hiding it away from himself as well as everyone else.

His eyes were drawn to the bed - his mind instantly jumping to the thought of him and Alex sharing it together - and then to the overhead compartment above it.

Lifting the latch, it popped open with a click and when Michael slid the box in, it fit perfectly. Safe, sealed and close to him where he would sleep.

Feeling happy about the very important decision, he closed the compartment.

Now, onto the rest.

November 2009

It had been a very quiet morning.

Sanders was away for a few days and he’d banned Michael from working in the junkyard without supervision after a recent accident that had pissed him off. He hadn’t meant for the hammer to hit the window of the Davis’ land rover, honest. He’d been aiming for the toolbox.

He’d get the old man to change his mind soon enough, but in the meantime what better place to spend the morning than in bed.

The recently bought sheets were soft against his bare chest as he stared up at the ceiling. The box was still tucked away in the cupboard above him, taken out frequently with every new visit from the mailman. It’s not like anyone else ever sent him post.

Alex had been getting very sappy in his letters recently, reminiscing about the previous summer. Though compared to the past year of writing, the days they had actually spent in each other’s company were few and far between.

It was practically the end of the school year when Michael had borrowed Alex’s guitar from the music room. A decision which he would never regret. And though they had barely spoken during their many years at the same school, when Alex had offered him shelter it hadn’t really mattered. They had clicked so instantly that the few months that they did manage to share felt like they spanned an eternity.

A lot of bad things happened that summer, but he’d do anything to go back just to relieve those good days again.

A knock at the door interrupted his daydream. He sat up, confused, and tried to peak through the newspaper taped to the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors and he couldn’t quite make out enough of the shape to work out who it was.

He rolled sleepily out of bed and grabbed yesterday’s pants, hopping the short distance to the door as he tried to yank them up.

Pushing the door open revealed a sight that had Michael’s breath catching in his throat.

The boy in front of him looked different. Gone was the dark eyeliner that used to frame his eyes and the nail varnish that would stand out against his skin. No more septum piercing or earring, and the chain that Michael would play with as they kissed was missing from his neck.

His hair was much shorter and so not him.

But he was here.

Alex was here. Standing in front of him. And Michael hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was like his brain had short-circuited at the mere sight of the one person he’d been longing to see.

“Hi.” Alex nervously broke the silence, playing with the zip of his hoodie between his thumb and forefinger. “I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this.”

Mind? Did Alex really just ask that? He’d been dreaming of this moment for months now.

He also didn’t really know how to put that into words in his current state of shock, so he did the next best thing. He stepped down onto the dry ground and immediately pulled Alex into his arms.

Alex took all of a second to reciprocate the hug as he melted against Michael’s chest.

It was cold outside, winter drawing to its peak and showing its first signs of snow, but being in Alex’s arms was the warmest he had felt in a while.

“You’re here.” Michael mumbled against Alex’s shoulder and he felt him chuckle.

“Well, I have a few days leave and I was promised an invite.” Alex replied softly.

Oh god. This was it, the official house warming personally tailored to Alex. And everything was a mess. Turns out getting a new place doesn’t stop old habits from taking hold and barely a week after he moved in there was paperwork all over the desk and clothes strewn across the bathroom floor. It hadn’t exactly gotten better since then.

Michael reluctantly broke the hug, bringing his hands down to gently link with Alex’s.

“It’s a bit of a mess.” He muttered playfully causing Alex to giggle, the enormity of the moment getting too much for him.

“I don’t mind.”

Nodding to himself, Michael turned and led Alex into the airstream, waiting for the boy to close the door behind him before he spoke. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s…” Alex hesitated, glancing around at the cluttered desk and the half opened drawers and Michael felt so embarrassed. It looked so much worse than he remembered it being before he opened the door two minutes ago.

“I know it’s not much.” He offered grudgingly.

“No it’s…very you.” Alex said, smiling widely as he stepped closer. “I really like it.”

Really? Michael was going to ask. But it only took one look to get lost in Alex’s eyes and all words were suddenly forgotten.

Alex took another step to close the gap between them and slowly leant forward, his eyes not leaving Michael’s lips. Talking could come later, this is what they had really been missing.

It’s their smiles that touched first, excitement rushing through them making them giddy. But then as Michael’s lips parted and Alex leaned closer, it was as though time stood still. They had been waiting for this moment, longing for it for months.

Michael’s stomach fluttered at the familiar feeling of Alex’s hair under his fingertips, the soft lips against his own. He could practically feel Alex reflecting back at him every feeling of want and desperation that had occurred with every new letter and he had to half open his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

However long Alex was home for, Michael planned to make the most of every single second.

May 2010

Michael took another swig of beer as he watched the last rays of light disappear beyond the horizon. He had driven out into the desert hours ago with the strong desire to get so blackout drunk he wouldn’t be able to remember his own name.

He couldn’t do it at the Wild Pony with its many prying eyes and the airstream just felt too small tonight. So instead, he had parked the truck at a spot that he and Alex used to frequent when they had wanted to be alone.

Alex had taken longer than usual to reply, but Michael understood - between the two of them, Alex’s duty to Uncle Sam would have to take precedence. It just made the warmth that each letter provided that much stronger.

But today’s letter was different and all the wrong feelings had taken root. Fear, sadness, loss. They were swirling around his mind and sitting on his chest and no amount of alcohol seemed to banish them.

Because for the first time since they had begun writing, the return address on the envelope had not read United States, but Afghanistan.

Michael had barely registered Alex’s words during the first read through with his imagination going into overdrive, but taking a deep breath he had sat on the bed and forced himself to focus.

I can’t really give you any details, Alex had said.

I’ll be okay, he was brave enough to promise.

But he couldn’t promise that. Not really. Michael had done his research over the past two years, frantically gathering every measly scrap of information that the search engine could offer. He had seen the number of deaths to come out of every combat zone, read the stories of those whose lives would never be the same again and had the nightmares of every worst possible outcome.

The Air Force doesn’t deploy as long as the Army, but every second that Alex was on war-torn soil increased the risk of him not making it home. It was going to happen at some point, Alex’s first overseas deployment. Michael had just really been hoping for Spain or Turkey. Not this.

He had convinced himself that he would be prepared. That he would be rational and calm and wouldn’t jump to conclusions or freak out. Clearly he was better at lying to himself than he realised.

He didn’t know why he was feeling so sorry for himself. He wasn’t the one being sent halfway across the world to dutifully serve his country. No, Michael was stuck at home, waiting for the outcome.

It was dark now, his mini camping lantern emitting the only glow of light, but he had plenty of beers to keep him going through the night. He’d reply tomorrow - or the day after once his head had cleared. But for now he just wanted to forget everything and let the world fall away.

And maybe if he was inebriated enough it would keep the nightmares at bay.

August 2010

To anyone who asked, Michael was a stoic twenty year old who didn’t engage in something so pathetic as having emotions.

But to himself, he would reluctantly have to admit they often played a part in many of his life choices.

Like the big choices that had been fuelled by pain and confusion, standing in the middle of the desert with his two remaining family members standing by. Or the smaller choices made in the dead of night encouraged by a sappy romantic notion he had witnessed in one of Isobel’s romcoms.

Small, but no less important.

Like the decision to fill a shoebox with dried petals to help rid it of the musty smell that often accompanied any container that had been closed for too long.

He dedicated an entire day to researching flowers, finding out how to preserve them and which ones gave off the best scent.

Hydrangeas were a strong contender. Their pastel hues of purple and blue would add a nice drop of colour to the box and they were one of the easiest flowers to preserve. But they would last less than a year and Michael didn’t want to run the risk of the petals flaking into a hundred pieces and ruining the box.

Chrysanthemums were next on the list. The drying method seemed simple enough and though the petals were fairly small, they came in a whole host of vibrant colours. They were also the official flower for mother’s day in Australia and though the country itself meant nothing to him, it would give the petals a bittersweet double meaning. A way of keeping two separate loves alive alongside each other. Everything about them seemed perfect and several nearby florists even had them in stock ready for him to collect that day but when he stumbled upon a website stating that they also symbolised death they were instantly scratched off the list.

Pansies or larkspurs or little cuttings of lavender were all possibilities but they just didn’t feel right.

He didn’t want to become a stereotypical old romantic but his mind kept wandering to the roses. The elegant petals would sit nicely atop the letters and the sweet, fresh scent would be a pleasant addition to the box. Their frequent association with all things love and romance fell alongside the lesser known connotation of secrecy and confidentiality, words that all seemed to sum up the box completely.

The drying process would take time but it would be time well spent. Not to mention the intricate symbolism linked with each soft colour would add an extra touch to the box.

Red was a given with its instant connection to love.

Pink meant grace and gratitude and though he most certainly lacked one, he was definitely filled with the other. Every letter that arrived at his door was further proof that Alex was still alive and as long as they kept coming he would be eternally grateful.

Oranges roses were the symbol of passion and enthusiasm and while you could definitely use both of those words in relation to the last time he had seen Alex, the letters felt more innocent than that.

That didn’t necessarily mean that white roses were the way to go though, with their implication of innocence and purity. Not even he could kid himself that much.

With his mind made up, he grabbed his hat and headed out to engage in a spot of criminal activity.

Was it technically a crime though to cut someone else’s flowers? I mean how could Mrs Wilson really own her rose bushes when they belonged to Mother Nature first.

He wouldn’t have even thought about taking someone else’s, but the internet had very clearly specified that home grown roses were much better than shop bought flowers and who was he to argue with that?

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday so no one was around to see him attack the hedge with some clippers. It would have been a lot easier to literally be a thief in the night, but roses were best picked before the midday sun had a chance to warm their delicate petals. Any later in the day and they would lose their fragrance, so daylight robbery was the way to go.

He snipped at the branches, grumbling as his fingers caught the sharp thorns protruding from the stems, and once he had retrieved the optimum amount of red and pink flowers he headed back to the airstream to begin the lengthy drying process.

It would take a few days but the outcome would be worth it.

February 2011

The sight of one man should not leave Michael freezing in his tracks. He was an alien for God's sake. A superior species with actual powers.

Who the hell was Jesse Manes compared to that? An old man with a limited wardrobe and receding hairline? A divorced father of four kids who hated him? A nameless soldier overshadowed by his peers?

No, Jesse Manes was a respected member of the community, known and loved by all. A loyal airman with several commendations under his belt. An intimidating man prepared to brutally disfigure the hand of a child and easily get away with it.

Why Alex would choose to follow in his footsteps he would never understand.

Michael hadn’t seen Alex’s father since the night in the toolshed. The night he ruined what, up until that point, had been a perfect day. And he destroyed so much more than Michael’s hand that night. He destroyed the memory of his and Alex’s first time together, the possibility of him using a guitar to quiet the world around him, the opportunity for a roof over his head.

He had destroyed the chance for Michael to heal and move on and gain some faith back in humanity.

And three years later, here he was across the street from Michael’s truck, sitting at the window of the Crashdown, keeping Michael frozen to his seat.

He was supposed to be meeting Max for lunch in ten minutes, but there was no way he could go inside now.

Maybe Alex’s father wouldn’t even remember him. He had only seen him one time, several years ago. He couldn’t possibly have committed Michael’s face to memory in the three minutes they had shared a space together. But then again, Michael couldn’t imagine he went around hitting kids with hammers all that often so maybe it had been a memorable night for him.

Whether it had had impact on Jesse Manes or not, Michael still remembered it vividly.

The way the door slammed open and Alex flinched away from his touch. The quiver in Alex’s voice as Manes picked up the hammer. The sight of Alex whimpering as his father’s hand squeezed around his throat. The pain filled shout Michael could barely make out over the sound of his own bones cracking.

In shock and in agony, he vaguely recalls being thrown out of the shed and staggering to his truck, but admittedly that part was still blurry.

To this day though, he still didn’t know what happened to Alex once he’d gone. They had never really talked about that night, not properly at least. Alex had been very eager to check how his hand was healing or offer to take him to a doctor, but always reluctant to discuss what he’d endured.

In all honesty, Michael still didn’t know if Jesse had done anything to Alex but it was always his suspicion. He’d recognised the fury in the older man’s eyes to know that that anger needed an outlet and Michael’s hand probably hadn’t been enough.

His hand ached suddenly at the memory and he clenched it hard in a useless attempt to make it stop. It had been hurting a lot lately, seizing up and making it impossible to do anything.

Max had offered to heal it a number of times but he still refused. He’d tell himself that it was because of Alex. How would he explain a perfectly healed hand to the guy who had witnessed the brutality it had suffered?

But if he ever decided to admit the truth to himself, he’d accept that really it was all for self preservation. A constant reminder moulded under his skin of what humans were really like. A way of reminding him not to get too close to people, not to let them into his life.

Clearly, Alex was the exception to this rule and Michael honestly couldn’t explain why. Right from the start their connection had just been something else. Something unexplainable.

Feeling the panic starting to bubble in his chest, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could text Max. The I’m held up at the junkyard excuse would keep him busy long enough for the police officer’s lunch break to end. He could dodge the bullet completely that way and just make it up to him tomorrow.

Or would that be like letting Jesse Manes win? What would he even be winning? There was no way that man remembered who Michael was.

Looking over to the window again, he watched as Alex’s father handed something to the waitress.

Was he really going to let his past trauma dictate where he could have lunch?

At the moment? Yes.

Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he unlocked it quickly and opened the messenger app, his thumb hovering over Max’s name but then he had an idea.

He clicked on the little notepad icon and began to type.

Alex’s latest letter arrived last week and was still awaiting a reply and what better time to write one than when you’re freaking out slightly at the sight of a man who had once attacked you.

He barely noticed the autocorrect working hard to fix his many mistakes, he just needed to get the words out.

He didn’t mention Jesse, deciding to steer clear of the man entirely and focus on the positives instead. Alex was free from his father’s harsh rules and strict parenting for the time being so there was no point wasting his words on a man he most likely didn’t want to hear about.

It was overly sentimental and he’d probably edit it massively before writing it up, but for now he impulsively typed up everything he wanted to say. Everything he would say if Alex was sitting next to him right now.

Dear Alex,

Glad to see that you’re stateside again, it stressed me out every day you were overseas.

I’m really happy that you’ve settled in with the work you’re doing and I’ve almost come to terms with the fact that your job is going to be dangerous at times, but that still doesn’t stop me worrying about it. And even after all this time you’ve been away, it’s still weird to not have you here.

Everything has been reminding me of you recently, which is both beautiful and horrible because at least you’re here when you’re not here. But you’re not here and I really wish you were. Like when a song by that band you like comes on the radio, or if I walk past the Emporium, or I order a milkshake at the Crashdown or even just seeing Maria at the Wild Pony.

Max was telling me the other day about this kid who reported his guitar stolen and I couldn’t help but think back to when I stole yours. Well, I say stole, I promise I really was just borrowing it. I knew it was yours though and part of me definitely wanted you to find out that I had taken it, anything to get you to notice me. The offer of somewhere to sleep was completely unexpected though and proves just what a good person you are. I took your belongings and in return you gave me shelter and I don’t think I thanked you enough for that.

You’re in every corner of this town for me Alex and I know we didn’t have long but the time that we spent together before you left were some of the best days of my life.

I miss you.

Come back soon.

Michael

As he reached the last sentence, a knock on the passenger side window made him jump.

Max, in his uniform and hat, lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave and tilted his head towards the Crashdown as if to say are you coming?

A quick final glance through the window showed no sign of Jesse Manes and Michael slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

September 2011

“This is a good look for you.” Michael whispered.

“What, naked?” Alex smiled softly, peering sleepily back at him.

Michael began to lightly trail his hand down Alex’s chest, watching Alex close his eyes at the sensation. “Naked. In my bed.”

Alex had shown up at his doorstep late last night, this time with some warning in his latest letter, and they hadn’t wasted any time. So fuelled with longing and desire, Michael couldn’t remember a second of last night where their bodies hadn’t been touching.

Looking at Alex now, with his perfect bed head and sun kissed skin, Michael wasn’t sure he was going to be able to let him leave.

He did have something important to talk to Alex about though. Something they had never really discussed that had been leaving Michael feeling very confused lately. He was twenty-one years old having the awkward teenage thought of are we together or is this just a bit of fun? Is this guy my boyfriend? Can I even say the word boyfriend without freaking him out?

“There was something I meant to talk to you about last night-” He began, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Did we actually talk at all last night?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” Alex smiled, holding his lip between his teeth. “Go on, what did you want to say?”

“You know I do have a phone, right? An actual expensive one and everything thanks to Isobel buying it for me. So you can text me, instead of spending weeks waiting for a reply.”

Alex paused for a moment. How was it best to tell Michael without looking weak? How during Basic Training one nosy guy thought it would be fun to take his unlocked phone and look through his messages. How he was terrified of being outed that day and that fear had followed him through his few years of serving. How even though his letters are technically much easier to read, the lock on the box they were kept in is so thick you would need to have a bolt cutter handy to break it. Or the key, which was kept in a very secure location.

“There’s something more…personal, about writing a letter. ” He decided to go with. “Besides, phones can get hacked.”

“Who the hell is gonna want to hack into your phone?”

Alex shrugged with a smirk, “I’m just saying, after learning what I have in training, hacking your phone right now would be a piece of cake.”

“Right, and these hackers would want to, what? Use all our discussions about broken alien statues and nights out in the desert against us.”

“There are some terrible people out there.” The fake sincerity in Alex’s eyes as he nodded his head made Michael chuckle.

Alex pushed himself up fully in the bed, letting the sheets pool around his naked hips. He leant forward and Michael didn’t need to be asked twice to drop the subject and meet him halfway. As much as he loved last night, their slow morning kisses were even better. Soft and all smiles, filled with the gratitude that they were still sharing this moment together.

“I’m sorry I was late last night, the move this week has been busier than I expected.” Alex whispered between pecks.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad you made it. Where are you based now?”

“Maryland. Probably just for a month or so though until I get more permanent orders.”

Leaning back, Michael could see the weariness in Alex’s eyes. He knew that being in the military was a hard job - even harder if you had been forced into it - and Michael hated just how much responsibility had been put on Alex’s young shoulders.

His eyes twinkled as he got an idea, a way of lightening Alex’s load for a few hours. “You fancy going out tonight?”

Alex’s face dropped and Michael’s heart along with it. “Like, together?”

“No, I figured we’d go to different bars and get drunk separately.” Michael replied sarcastically.

This is not what he had expected. Alex saying no to a night out? Fine, not a problem, wouldn’t have been that surprising of an answer. Maybe he doesn’t fancy a drink, maybe he’s just not into partying anymore.

But was Alex saying no to them going out together?

“Is it because of me?” Michael could hear the anger beginning to grow in his tone but he couldn’t help it. This conversation had flipped completely out of nowhere. “When I told you about the whole drunk cowboy reputation I’ve gained, it was meant to make you laugh. Not make you ashamed of me.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Alex defensively shook his head.

“Then what is it? Cos I like doing this Alex, but I need to know what it is that we’re actually doing, where we’re going with it. Are we going anywhere with it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Guerin! Things are complicated right now.”

I want you to say you want to be with me! I want you to tell me you love me as much as I love you! Michael hadn’t expected for this to turn into an argument, but he was prepared to cause one if it meant getting answers.

But as he took a breath, he looked at Alex. Like properly looked at him. He had grown up so much since they’d last seen each other. He’d changed so much. But for the first time he was the one who was looking unsure about what to say.

The defensive hunch of his shoulders, the nervous look in his eyes. It reminded Michael so much of when Alex had first told him he was leaving. And those goddamn hubcaps.

This was the second time he had caused that look in Alex’s eyes and if he never saw it again it would be too soon. He still had a few days before Alex was going to leave him again and he should be making the most of them instead of pushing him away.

If Alex was unsure of what they were doing then so be it. They would have to discuss it at some point this weekend, for Michael’s own sanity more than anything, but for now he would have to let it go if it meant keeping Alex happy.

January 2012

Earth wasn’t his home.

He knew that. He’s known that since he woke up in a glowing alien pod. But it’s only through life’s lessons over the years that he’s really learnt that.

He didn’t belong here, with an inferior species that enjoyed hurting others simply because of who they were. He’d seen it happen in shops and on the street. People targeted for being different. It was such a human response and he shuddered at the thought of what it meant for them if their secret ever came out.

And who was keeping him here? Max and Isobel? Alex?

Him and Isobel were close, but she had her own life. Parents that loved her, a boyfriend she was besotted with. She didn’t need Michael hanging around, bringing her down.

His feelings on Max were like a sliding scale of rage. The other man had been acting like his father for most of his life, telling him what to do and how to live. Max says they should cover up Rosa’s death. Max says they should keep what they are a secret. Max, with his fancy job and respected standing in society. Michael didn’t need his help anymore or his pity.

And then there was Alex. The boy who made him believe there was a place for him on Earth. But now, Michael wasn’t so sure.The last time he had seen Alex in person, things hadn’t ended that great and though they’ve still been writing to each other, something had definitely changed. They had changed.

Michael reminded himself of all this as he climbed down the stairs into the junkyard’s fallout shelter.

He had discovered the hidden bunker one day after slipping away from Sanders during work hours to hunt for some more copper wire. The opening had been covered by a beaten up truck that had been sitting in the junkyard for years, he wasn’t sure if the old man even knew it was down there.

From that day on he had claimed it as his own, making sure it was covered every time he left.

His collection had started off small. A few legit pieces of alien artefact that he had stolen from the Emporium and the odd dark web purchase, but after a few stealthy ventures to the UFO crash site he had begun to discover even more fragments. Considering the people of Roswell had been obsessing over the crash since 1947, Michael was honestly surprised that not every piece of the ship had been excavated already.

Luckily for him, his latest night time search in the desert had proven successful and he had made it back to the bunker with two small glowing pieces.

Building up the secret bunker’s workshop had taken time and a few stolen supplies, but now there were tools and shelves and bulbs in the mismatched lighting decor that had thankfully already been installed.

Littering the worktops were sketches and blueprints of the measurements and calculations he had spent months working on. There were spools of tubing and a portable generator sitting on the shelf. But his prized possession resting on one of the tables was his slowly forming alien spaceship. He was pretty sure what he was building was the console, but maybe one day it would turn into the entire spacecraft.

Covered in alien symbols and shimmering to the touch, it could be his way off of this stupid planet.

Michael gently took the pieces out of his pocket and held them close to the ship. One did nothing, staying stubbornly in his palm, but the other rose into the air and delicately travelled to one of the broken sides, a faint blue glistening the surface as the sharp edges knitted together like they had never been broken.

Placing the remaining piece on the table, Michael sighed. One day he would find all the pieces and finish this. And when that day came, there would be nothing to keep him here.

October 2012

“You’re staying whether you like it or not.” Isobel gave him a pointed look as she rummaged through the crates of decorations piled on the table in front of her.

“Yeah Michael, it’ll be fun.” Max said enthusiastically, holding a fist under his chin and batting his eyelids. A move they had both seen Isobel pull several times when mocking her mother.

She smacked Max on the arm, furious that he would belittle all of her hard work, before shoving a large plastic box into his chest. “The crop circle exhibit needs more bats.”

Her brother took the box with an exaggerated sigh but obliged nevertheless. He had learnt long ago that when Isobel was running things you either got on with it or got the hell out of her way.

With one brother now busy, she moved onto the next. “Right, there’s a few banners that need putting up and then you can go get changed.”

Her demand was met with silence which worried Isobel greatly and when she glanced up from her checklist, she didn’t appreciate the confused look in Michael’s eyes. “Please tell me you have a costume. It’s Halloween Michael!”

“I didn’t exactly plan on staying, Isobel!” he retaliated. He’d been asked to come and fix the glitchy projector in the knock-off Men In Black room, not spend all night with a bunch of people he didn’t know, surrounded by dumb gimmicky aliens. “Why did you choose to have it here anyway? Isn’t it a bit degrading to us as a species?”

“I didn’t choose it. The Emporium wanted a Halloween event and I’m just part of the committee running it.” She ticked off another item on her list, not rising to his provocation. “Now, go help Max.”

Accepting an easy defeat, Michael took the closest pile of decorations and headed to the exhibit. There were several people milling around each room of the Emporium, all engaged in one task or another. A group of middle aged women were rigorously dusting the artefact cabinets and two guys he vaguely recognised from around town were fixing lighting rigs to the ceiling.

His heart skipped a beat as he reached the UFO room, his eyes drawn immediately to the spot where he and Alex shared their first kiss. He had been so nervous that day, tentatively grabbing the other boy’s face before he could talk himself out of it, praying that Alex wouldn’t pull away.

Through the red fabric curtains at the back of the room was the crop circle exhibit. It was completely empty of people save for Max attempting to loop a small fuzzy bat around one of the hanging lights.

Taking pity on him, Michael willed the creature to float the extra few inches and fasten itself around the wire. It had been a while since he’d used his powers in a public setting and it gave him such a rush to get away with it unseen. It was quite embarrassing really. It’s not like he was committing a crime in the middle of a police station. Unless you were looking closely, the fact that some objects floated when he was nearby was actually surprisingly easy to miss.

Max’s head immediately whipped round, eyes wide with trepidation. “Dude, what if someone walks in?”

“Chill, Deputy. We’re safe.” Michael rolled his eyes as he began to stroll around the room. He hadn’t been in here since Alex’s last day and literally nothing had changed. I mean, fair enough, there hadn’t exactly been any more alien encounters since then to add to the exhibition. But they could have put some effort in and switched things up a bit.

As he turned to speak to Max his foot caught something, but without hesitation his telekinesis acted fast to catch the alien statue mid-fall. Settling it back on its two feet with his mind, Michael chuckled to himself as he realised exactly what it was that he had knocked over. Turns out the little guy did still have his head on backwards.

It had been four years since Alex’s last day working the ticket booth, when they had sneaked inside during his lunch break to passionately kiss in the dark corners of the museum. If Michael hadn’t been so distracted that day he would have caught the alien before it had a chance to decapitate itself and ruin his make out session.

They had frantically tried to re-attach it, getting their fingers covered in the glue. But alas, as an excitable eighteen year old, Michael had been too focused on the boy he was with to notice he was putting the head on backwards.

Four years and nobody had dealt with the owl impersonating alien. The Emporium really was going downhill.

“You know, if you don’t want to stay I’ll cover for you with her majesty.” Max interrupted his thoughts as he took a banner from the pile still bunched in Michael’s arms and surveyed the room to decide where best to hang it.

“Nah, it’s alright. Can’t leave you without a wingman, can I?” Michael playfully raised an eyebrow as he dumped the pile on the floor and grabbed the other end of the banner.

“I’m serious Michael. You don’t actually have to do as she says you know.” Max grinned at him, hooking his side onto one of the picture frames hanging on the wall and watching Michael do the same.

Michael looked over at his friend. When the day began he had planned to end it in the airstream, drunk on whiskey and in bed with a beautiful stranger. But standing in front of him was his chance to do something different for a change, to spend some time with the only family he had left and maybe even remember it all in the morning.

“I know. But maybe you’re right. It could be fun.”

March 2013

So it was letters like these that made Michael feel guilty about how he’d been spending his time. Or more specifically who he’d been spending his time with.

For the first time in years he could go entire weeks without thinking of Alex once and the odd drunken hookup definitely helped to keep his mind off the boy who barely wrote to him anymore.

It had become a recurring thing for him, much to the chagrin of Isobel who vehemently disapproved of his life choices. She couldn’t understand why Michael wouldn’t want to find someone special and settle down with them. But he wouldn’t expect any less from the girl who was so head over heels in love with her boyfriend.

Isobel had Noah, and Michael?

Michael had Vicky. Last night.

They met at the Pony, as these stories often started for him, and had enjoyed a very long, very sensual night together within the small confines of the airstream.

She made him coffee in the morning, engaged in an appropriate amount of small talk, then left. A perfect night by all accounts, so why couldn’t the rest of his day be perfect too?

When the mailman loudly interrupted his work on his latest batch of sketches he had been tempted not to answer. When he immediately recognised Alex’s handwriting on the front of the envelope he had been very tempted not to open it.

One day he would stop giving in to his feelings for Alex. Today was not that day.

Dear Michael,

I saw someone die today.

I feel kind of numb right now which doesn’t seem right to me, but it’s like I can’t tell what emotion I should be feeling, so I’m just hoping that getting the words onto paper might help get them out of my head.

I don’t know whether I’m supposed to have been prepared for it or not, I mean it’s an occupational hazard that I signed up for so I should be fine, right? I’ve been in Iraq for almost two months now, on my second deployment, and yet this is the first time I’ve actually seen someone get killed right in front of me. So does that make me lucky to have gone this long without it happening?

I could have saved him. If I had just been closer, if I had gotten there quicker, he probably wouldn’t have died. But then if I was closer I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now so I guess I am the lucky one.

I hadn’t known him long but he was a good kid, always hard at work, always looking out for everyone. He was younger than me.

The guys are so quiet. Nobody knows what to do with themselves and this bit I’m strangely used to. It’s not the first time someone I know has been killed and things can’t come to a stop while we’re out here no matter the circumstances. But for a short while after something like this happens it’s like the light inside of everyone just disappears. Like we’re reminded all over again of how quickly things can change here.

We’ll be okay though, we’ll pick each other up and move on. But we’ll never forget him.

They’ll never forget his service. And I’ll never forget what I saw.

I’m sorry, it’s selfish to burden you with this but I just really needed to tell someone.

Hope everything is okay in Roswell.

Stay safe,

Alex.

And just like that Michael was drawn back into the little Alex loving bubble he had been desperately trying to pop.

Stay safe. He writes an entire letter about seeing someone die and he tells Michael to stay safe. And if that didn’t sum up Alex he didn’t know what did. Always trying to look out for other people, even if it hurts him.

Michael re-read the line about being quicker, being closer and something tightens in his chest. He could still remember how guilty Alex had felt after the incident in the toolshed all those years ago, so Michael knew exactly how much Alex would be putting his colleague’s death on his shoulders right now. And if he had been close enough to help, Michael was well aware of how willingly he would have sacrificed himself to keep his teammates safe.

He didn’t even know that Alex was in Iraq. Their communication had slowed so much recently and this entire time Michael had chalked it up to him no longer wanting to keep in contact but maybe this was why he hadn’t been writing.

It reminded him yet again of how little he really knew about Alex’s job and the things he had to face. As much as he would love it, he could hardly expect constant letters with updates of every little part of Alex’s life.

But he could support him. From the safety of his airstream where there were no bullets flying and people dying around him, he could listen to what Alex had to say no matter how long it took to arrive.

His sleeping around had been a poor attempt of cleansing Alex and the war he was fighting from his mind, but Alex would never get that luxury. Not until he was out of the Air Force and back home at least.

The fear of Alex dying was at the forefront of his thoughts once more, but maybe it was a good thing - the kind of fear that propels you forward and gives you hope that things will change. Habits were hard to break but maybe he would take Isobel’s advice and wait for his someone special to make it home.

August 2013

Friday night at the Wild Pony brought out all manner of locals. Friends reuniting after being away for months, married couples taking the time to cool off after a long week at work, the happy drunks, the racist drunks, and already at the bar being served his first drink of the evening, the lonely cowboy.

Max’s shift didn’t end for another hour, but Michael figured there wouldn’t be any harm in getting to the Pony early. He had a higher tolerance than Max anyway so it was better to get a head start.

As he was lifting his first alcohol filled glass to his lips he heard the voice of someone he hadn’t seen in five years. He barely suppressed a groan as he sneaked a glimpse to his left.

“More tequila’s please, Maria.” The man’s voice dripped with confidence.

Michael watched as he placed a tray of empty shot glasses on the bar top before leaning forward, his forearms dropping heavily onto the wood.

Maria took the tray with a smile and got to work.

“Guerin. Still in Roswell, I see.” He said casually, turning to look at Michael.

“Valenti. Still a dick, I see.” Michael replied, giving his best fake smile.

Kyle’s brow furrowed in surprise at the attitude being directed towards him. He must have remembered Michael’s reputation from school, but he clearly hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of it half a decade later.

“How have you been?” He continued regardless, somewhat optimistic in the face of Michael’s pre-drunk demeanour. Maria unscrewed the bottle cap and Michael could see her watching them carefully as if they were the main feature of her Wild Pony nature documentary.

“Since when do you care?” Michael remarked tightly, smile still plastered on his face and when Kyle scoffed and looked away, Michael was almost disappointed. The guy from high school would have had him on his ass by now.

“Whatever.” Kyle muttered just as Maria filled the last glass. He slapped some money onto the bar, sliding it forward to meet Maria’s waiting hand and she took it gratefully, put it straight in the till.

“See you around.” He spoke to no-one in particular before leaving with the tray, though not fast enough in Michael’s opinion.

Maria rolled her eyes as she put the tequila bottle back on the shelf. “What did Kyle ever do to you?”

“Do you not remember him in high school?” Michael asked, glancing over his shoulder at where Kyle was handing out the shot glasses round the table. It wasn’t a surprise to see that he was still Mr Popular with the big group of friends.

“Oh no, I remember him. I just don’t remember you ever talking to him.”

“Didn’t have to talk to him to know he was an asshole.” Michael muttered as he downed the last of his drink.

He’d witness enough of his taunting to know exactly what kind of person Kyle Valenti was. He was the cliche jock surrounded by a constant posse of football players, using his popularity to get away with bullying innocent kids.

Nerdy kids whose fear of authority and eagerness to please everyone would be taken advantage of.

Poor kids whose worn down shoes and too small clothes would be an instant target on their backs.

Gay kids who did absolutely nothing to deserve the brunt of Kyle’s torment for so many years. Gay kids who could also pack a mean punch when it really came down to it.

Kyle had made it his mission in high school to ruin Alex’s life and Michael would never forgive him for it. Simple as that.

“What is he even doing here anyway?”

Maria picked up the closest bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed at how well she knew his drinking habits.

“He’s been travelling to visit family but now he’s back for a few weeks to see some friends before his next year of med school starts.” Maria answered easily, letting out a huff of laughter as Michael narrowed his eyes in confusion. “When you’re this side of the bar, people tell you everything…like I’m sure you’ll be doing soon enough.”

Michael smirked as he took another swig of whiskey. It burned in his chest before settling uneasily in his stomach. “You love it Deluca, don’t try and deny it.”

Taking another look behind him, Michael watched as Kyle spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms as his words held the attention of everyone circled around him. He looked no different from high school, same dark quiff styled neatly with gel, same bulging muscles on show under his tight fitting top, same punchable face.

Watching Alex take a swing at Kyle during prom had been a very proud moment for Michael - and he had barely even known Alex by that point. If he hadn’t been worried that Alex would get hurt, Michael would have gladly watched him punch Kyle for the rest of the evening.

“I think he’s changed, you know.” Maria interrupted his thoughts as she wiped down the bar top in front of him. Her bracelets jangled noisily with every movement. “College has been good for him.”

Michael watched as she ran her necklace between her fingers and went about collecting the empty beer bottles sitting at the end of the bar. “Kyle Valenti will never change.”

Deep down a tiny part of him would admit that Maria was right. Since leaving high school everyone he’s known has changed in some way or another - normally for the better as they grow out of their ignorant, childish ways. But he just couldn’t imagine golden boy Kyle Valenti turning his life around that much. And even though one day Alex, with his heart of gold, will probably end up forgiving Kyle, Michael never would.

June 2014

“I’m just saying, if Noah expects me to take it easy with this wedding organisation, he’s got another thing coming.” Isobel spoke animatedly as the three of them walked down the street. “I am practically the unofficial Roswell party planning committee after all.”

“Isn’t a committee normally a group of people?” Max quizzed, moving out of the way for a little boy on his bike that was riding towards them.

“Not what you’re supposed to be taking from this conversation, Max.” Isobel glared at him. “I got proposed to guys!”

“Yeah, we got that from the first fifty times you told us.” Michael remarked, righting the cowboy hat that had slipped down on his head.

“Well, I’m allowed to be excited!”

Max gave his sister a fond smile. “Of course you are. But I think any more wedding talk today will literally melt Michael’s brain.”

It had been over a week since Noah had gotten down on one knee and Max and Michael had heard every possible recounting of the evening along with every guest list suggestion, every wedding hairstyle idea, even every floral arrangement possibility. As a couple, they had barely had a chance to set a date, yet Isobel was now firmly stuck in wedding planner mode.

It was Max who had put forward that the three of them meet up. It was his first day off after a busy week of shifts and it was warm out, though the suggestion to make the most of the sun was also a ploy to force Isobel to take a break from her obsessing. But unfortunately the wedding seemed to have followed them.

It didn’t really bother them though as they strolled through town, soaking up the warmth of the rays and enjoying each other’s company. Isobel was happy and in love and it was exactly what she deserved.

As they neared the end of the road, they reached the Crashdown. The cafe was a hubbub of happy, smiling customers and servers in their uniforms and antennae, but it was hard to miss the derogatory, racist words spray painted across the windows. Michael didn’t envy the poor waiter who was desperately scrubbing at them with soapy water.

Every year on the anniversary of Rosa Ortecho’s death the Crashdown was vandalised and every year it hurt more and more to witness.

Arturo Ortecho didn’t deserve the hate he got because of what happened to his daughter. He didn’t deserve for his livelihood, his home to be wrecked every year because of a choice Isobel made. A choice they all made.

After the fateful night six years ago, they had sworn to each other they would not set foot in the Crashdown again, to separate themselves from the Ortecho’s completely. But over the years, whether it be from guilt or concern, they had never been able to keep that promise.

“Let’s go in,” Max said after a moment of staring inside.

“Max-” Michael warned. He was all for keeping up appearances but today of all days they ought to be keeping a low profile when it came to the Crashdown.

“We should show our support. It’s the least we can do.” Max turned to look at him pointedly. And as much as Michael hated it, he was right. They had managed to keep the events of that night a secret for so long now. Avoiding the place once a year wasn’t really going to have as big an impact as they liked to think it would.

And being the cause of Mr Ortecho’s suffering, it was the least they could do.

Entering with a smile, they found a booth in the corner and Michael was made designated ‘seat saver’ as Max and Isobel went up to the counter. They all knew each other’s orders off by heart, but neither sibling wanted to run the risk of potentially running into Arturo alone for fear of not knowing what to say.

Michael watched as the waiter outside finished with one window and moved onto the next.

He was lucky in a way. He could go months without thinking about what they chose to do to those three girls. How they covered up the murders and framed an innocent for it. He doubted Arturo ever had the pleasure of forgetting about the death of his eldest daughter.

And now, as he tried to forget once more about certain events of that night, his mind was drawn to the other life changing incident and his worry for Alex reignited all over again. He had been able to protect Alex from his father back then, but whilst they were on two separate continents, Michael was powerless.

Not that he thought Alex needed his protection. Michael knew just how strong he was, but the job of an airman was unpredictable.

In an attempt to calm his mind, he thought back to the letter he had received yesterday and tried to recall the words it contained.

Dear Michael,

I can’t believe you managed to find work on Mr Anderson’s ranch! Or more specifically, I can’t believe he willingly hired you after the amount of trouble you caused him. I’m guessing you didn’t tell him that it was you that drove straight through his crop field or let all those horses out when we were younger? Because you know as well as I do, that man holds a grudge.

I’m glad you’re finding all this work. I used to worry that you wouldn’t realise how skilled you were so it’s nice to hear that people are actually appreciating your hard work.

I’ve spent the past week updating security measures here and the all-nighters are reminding me of high school before a math test or something. I think I actually used to go days without sleeping sometimes if I was trying to cram in revision and I honestly don’t know how I managed it back then. Teenage me was obviously a lot stronger.

There’s rumours that we could be heading back to North Dakota next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. Germany’s not too bad, the people have been great and the food is delicious. On our down days we’ve been going to this cafe just outside of base. They have this type of iced coffee that tastes amazing and I’ve definitely had it far too much judging by the amount of teasing I get from my team every time I order it.

As nice as it is here though, it would be good to be back on home soil. I feel like I’ve been away from America for so long.

I’ll let you know if we do end up moving bases and maybe I’ll visit Roswell again soon.

Hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

Michael was pulled out of his thoughts as Max and Isobel took their seats. They were bickering about something or other and the familiarity forced all his worries to the back of his mind.

Alex would be home soon and Michael would be able to hold him in his arms and everything would be alright. And for now, he would make the most of his time with the rest of his family.

October 2014

Michael was warming himself by the fire when a car pulled up by the airstream. He had managed to find the old burn barrel at the junkyard a few months ago along with some mismatched chairs and lighting the fire had become a calming night time occurrence for him.

He brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a sip, wordlessly watching as Alex stepped out of the car and wandered over to him. He wasn’t sure why Alex was even here. The letters had been getting infrequent again, the enthusiasm dwindling, and Michael had been starting to suspect that their hearts were just no longer in it.

Alex had informed him that he was on leave for a few days and Michael had been happy, excited even. But at some point between this morning - where he had been frantically trying to calm his nerves as he tided up the place - to this evening, something had changed. He’d managed to overthink everything he’d been wanting to say to Alex for a long time now.

“Hey.” Alex smiled politely as he came to a stop by the fire. If he thought it strange that Michael hadn’t greeted him he didn’t mention it, but he did pause, hands clasped behind his back, almost waiting for permission to take a seat.

Michael took another gulp of beer, watching Alex carefully. “You can sit down you know.”

Alex didn’t need to be told twice, dropping into the seat closest to him. He looked older, the years of service catching up on him, hardening him against all that he had seen.

“How have you been?” He asked. His voice was calm but Michael could see the wariness in his eyes. So he had noticed Michael’s rather frosty welcoming.

“Same as always.” Michael muttered, looking off into the distance.

“Are you okay-”

“What are you doing here, Alex?” Michael blurted out before he lost the nerve.

Alex’s eyes widened at the outburst, “Sorry, I thought you said I could drop by when I got back.”

“Okay fine, what are we doing here?” Michael rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “I mean this thing we’re doing, is it real or just some hookup for when you come home?”

Alex recoiled at the accusation and Michael could feel the guilt creeping in once more at the hurt in Alex’s eyes. Okay so maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was no point dragging out this conversation for the next three days. Plus, he suspected his veins were filled more of alcohol than blood right now and when he was on a roll there was no stopping him.

“Last time you were here I tried to have this conversation with you and we got nowhere. That was years ago and we’re still dancing around it.”

“You know it’s not like that. The sex I mean. I don’t come here just to sleep with you, I come to see you.” The fire crackled loudly, the flames casting an orange glow over Alex as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much lately. Your letters mean everything to me and I like doing this with you, but I just…”

“Just what?” Michael demanded. He could see Alex take a breath as he tried to word the next sentence correctly in his head.

“Anything could happen while I’m in the Air Force and I just don’t think you should pin your hopes on this.”

If Michael could stop with the tunnel vision for two seconds he would realise that Alex was trying to protect him, but all he heard was that Alex didn’t want to be with him, not properly at least. Not as his boyfriend, his partner, his other half.

Michael didn’t have an answer and Alex had no more to add.

They had barely spent five minutes in each other’s company after years apart and they’d already been rendered quiet. It isn’t how either of them had expected it to go. They sat in the uncomfortable silence, their gazes fixed on the fire but barely registering the flames licking the air. Neither wanted to make the first move.

The beautiful boy he had been in love with since they were seventeen had practically just told him that they would never be together and instead of feeling sad or desperate, Michael fell back to his default emotion. He was filled with so much anger he could practically feel it burning under his skin.

The moment he kissed Alex in the museum all those years ago he had seen the future they could have together, but now, in the cool autumn evening as he watched the tips of the flames reaching up to the sky, that dream was crumbling.

“Do you want me to go?” Alex asked faintly after a few minutes.

Yes! If you walk away now then I’ll have my final answer and it will make all of this so much easier.

“No.”

Alex had only just gotten there and as pissed off as Michael felt, the thought of him leaving again suddenly hurt like hell. “I miss you.” He whispered, struggling to make eye contact at the admission.

In his peripheral vision he could see Alex pause uneasily, almost waiting for another outburst, and when none came the airman replied with a wary smile. “Me too.”

May 2015

Another soda can went flying into the air and Max shot it down with trained precision. It almost hit Isobel on the way down who couldn’t hold back a squeal as she moved out of the way.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this.” She huffed at the boys as she righted herself in the chair. Her plans for the weekend had involved shopping, TV and sleeping. It had been a long week and it was what she deserved. Instead, she was getting sand in her shoes and cans flung towards her face.

“You’re the one who said we should practice using our powers more.” Michael smirked, concentrating on the unopened can sitting on the desk inside the airstream. With barely any effort, he watched as it floated through the doorway and over towards Isobel.

“That was an excuse to get into Old Man Simmons’ head and you know it.” She narrowed his eyes at him but grabbed the can anyway. “Besides, isn’t there a more productive way to train?”

“What are you talking about? We used to do this all the time.” Max lifted the gun and signalled for Michael to throw the next can into the air.

“Yeah, when we were like seventeen. Don’t know if you noticed but we’re not kids anymore.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know Sheriff Valenti let me assist on another murder case last week. She said I’m showing potential.”

“Bit of a morbid thing to brag about there, Deputy.” Michael grinned as he used his power to send the next can flying, trying to catch Max off guard with its speed. Max was too slow to hit it during its ascent, but before it touched the ground he had sent a bullet clean through it.

Michael whistled in amazement and clapped Max on the back. They may be adults now but hitting a target was just as exciting as when they were kids.

Isobel was less than impressed if the furrowed brow was anything to go by. She honestly couldn’t understand the desire to shoot things. “Great, you hit it. Can I go now?”

She made a point of checking the time on her phone with a sigh and Max gave Michael such a sibling look. The kind of look that clearly conveyed annoyance, irritation and the simple question of will she ever stop complaining.

“Will you lighten up Iz, it’s just a bit of fun.” Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “Now hurry up and drink that, we’re gonna need it soon.”

He was about the throw another can when he noticed a white van driving up the path, recognising it immediately. He felt bad for the guy, having to come out to the middle of nowhere every month or so just to drop off a single letter.

He walked over to meet the mailman as he parked in front of them and gratefully took the letter passed to him through the open window.

“Who the hell is sending you mail?” Isobel leaned forward in her chair as the van drove off and Michael was worried for a second that she would get up and take it from him before he could stop her. She never did have good impulse control.

“It’s probably just junk.” He said dismissively, staring down at his name and address. He didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. He had literally never received a single letter from anyone else in his life.

He tried to plaster on his best nonchalant face as he jogged over to the airstream and prayed that the others wouldn’t ask questions. “It’s fine, I’ll check it later.”

Bypassing every surface entirely, knowing full well that if Isobel saw it on the desk she would open it, he opened the compartment above his bed. The cupboard had gotten more crowded over the years, but the shoebox still had its special little place inside. He looked down at the letter in his hand one more time, debating whether to just rip it open then and there, before sliding it on top of the box.

He’d read it later when he wasn’t busy.

September 2015

“Ahh Deluca. It’s been while.” Michael grinned as he took a seat at the bar. It was early evening on a Friday so the place was pretty packed, but luckily for him there was always a stool empty.

Maria grabbed a glass from the rack and the bottle of whiskey from behind her and began pouring. There were other servers behind the bar so she could afford to take her time conversing with this particular regular.

“Yes, surprisingly I did notice your absence from my bar recently and honestly I’m not sure who that looks worse for.”

“You. Definitely you.” Michael said dryly as he picked up the nearest coaster and began to twirl it between his fingers. “Besides if you were that desperate to see my ruggedly handsome face you wouldn’t have skipped your shift last Friday.”

“The fact that you know my shift pattern is not a good look for you Guerin.” Maria raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Besides, I’m allowed a night off every now and then.”

“Oh yeah? To do what? Paint your nails? Have a nice little bubble bath? Some other girl related activity?”

“To see a friend actually. Because I have those.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He muttered playfully and she moved forward to dramatically knock the coaster out of his hand.

“We had a lovely time, thank you for asking. He hasn’t been back home in ages so we decided to make a weekend of it.”

Michael froze at her words. There was really only one person she could be talking about but he asked the question anyway. “What friend is this?”

“Alex? Manes? He went to school with us. Former emo kid turned airman.”

Michael’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he couldn’t get his words out. He grabbed the drink that Maria had poured and took a large gulp. “Alex was here?”

“Yeah he had a few days leave so he came to see me. It was really sweet of him, I mean he’s worked hard for that time off and he could literally do anything with it but he chose to come here. I think he was missing home a bit actually.”

Michael bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood. He was suddenly filled with so much hurt he didn’t know what to do with it. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah. I think his work has been a bit tough recently but he seemed happy.” Maria smiled gently.

Seemed happy? Did that mean Alex was happy because he was home? Or because he was spending his time with someone other than Michael?

Michael was glad he was happy, of course he was glad. Alex’s happiness is all he’s ever wanted. And of course, he has a right to visit other friends, it was never Michael’s place to tell him not to. Even when he had stayed with Michael in the past, he had always made time to say hello to other friends before he had to leave again.

But this time he hadn’t even mentioned to Michael that he was coming home. Not a single word in any of the intermittent letters.

And maybe Michael was to blame. The last time they had seen each other hadn’t exactly been perfect. And recently he’d been putting off replying for weeks which Alex must have noticed. But he still always replied in the end! So that must have meant something, right? It must have proven to Alex that he still cared, that he would still want to spend time with him.

There was no way Alex could have known that he would find out. Michael had never properly mentioned the little love-hate friendship he had struck up with Maria over the years, so really Alex could never have predicted this. And that’s probably what he had wanted, to spend time in Roswell under the radar, away from Michael.

Should he be angry about this? Was he angry? Yes. He was probably being overdramatic but this seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their unspoken relationship.

Suddenly, he had the desperate urge to take his mind off everything he’d just heard so without thinking he turned to what he did best. Paying Maria half of what he owed for the drink, he locked eyes with a cute girl at the other end of the bar and eagerly slid off the stool, ready to make a night of it.

January 2016

Isobel grabbed his face and kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her. The fireworks exploding into a hundred sparks above their heads were loud, but the cheering from the mass of people crowded outside of the Pony seemed louder.

“Happy New Year!!” Isobel practically screamed in his ear before turning to plant an overly enthusiastic kiss on Noah’s lips. This was probably the most drunk he had ever seen Isobel and every second of it was brilliant.

Max clapped a hand on Michael’s back and they tapped glasses in a less enthusiastic celebration. When Michael had suggested that the four of them go to the Wild Pony for New Year’s he had expected to be shot down instantly, but now that they were here he was glad they had actually agreed.

It had been a good night. There was plenty of alcohol, loud music and he’d won several games of pool - all without using his powers! Even Deluca had seemed almost happy to see him but he put that down to the Christmas spirit she’d been radiating for the past week.

Watching the fireworks felt like such a cliche way to end it. It was perfect. The colours lit up the sky, the bright blues and pinks of the explosions reminding him of the alien console that was slowly coming together beneath the earth of the junkyard and the booms were so powerful he could practically feel them reverberating in his chest.

He had drunk far too much to be able to quite remember how he made it home, but closing the door behind him, he noticed how lonely the airstream felt after spending the evening in a crowd of people.

He threw his hat onto the desk and his shoes into the nearest corner and dropped onto the bed with a sigh. He clenched his left fist a few times as the ache became noticeable again. Even after all these years, the cold weather still wreaked havoc with his injury, making it cramp or stiffen up at the worst times.

As he stared up at the ceiling he had an idea. A truly terrible idea. And if he was sober he would have realised that, but sensible Michael had taken a break for the night.

He rolled off the bed and stumbled the short distance to his desk. For a messy person, his supplies were surprisingly organised with the paper stacked in one draw and a few envelopes scattered in another. He grabbed the closest pen to him and tested it worked on a scrap design that he hadn’t had the heart to throw away yet.

His uneven lettering would probably give away his drunken state but he didn’t care. This was probably the most honest he would ever be with Alex so why not take advantage of that.

Dear Alex,

I guess I should wish you a happy new year.

You know we’ve never spent a new years together? I know you’re really busy in your super important job but it would have been nice for you to celebrate it at home one year. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t tell me.

I’ve been thinking about leaving Roswell. 2016 has officially begun and I’m stuck doing the same thing I’ve been doing my entire life, living in some tiny metal box and getting paid a measly amount at a job I only half show up to.

So maybe I should just leave. Get out of the town that’s filled with heaps of bad memories. Like all the shit that happened with Max and Isobel, all the stuff with your dad. Everywhere I look in this town has been tainted by bad people and bad choices.

So you know what they say, new year, new start.

I might go to Vegas and try my luck there. Or Texas. It’s not as far but at least I’d fit in. Or maybe I’ll just leave America completely! Europe sounds nice and I bet it isn’t just miles of sand.

I used to wish we could leave together. I’d save up enough money and as soon as you got out of the Air Force we’d just leave. It wouldn’t matter where, just anywhere away from this town. And we’d probably run out of money and it would be an absolute disaster but that would be okay because at least we’d be together.

I don’t think you want that though Alex, I think you’ve already moved on and that really hurts. So maybe I should just move on too.

Enjoy the new year with your boys.

Michael

Without reading it over, he folded the paper into an envelope and sealed it before he could second guess anything.

In the morning he wouldn’t remember what the letter said, but he’d post it anyway.

November 2016

Roswell always did go all out for Veterans Day. There were banners hung in every building, flags flying proudly from every window and it was as though every Roswell born member of the Armed Forces - past and present - had returned for the annual celebration. All except one.

The evening’s event was held at the drive in, organised by the one and only Isobel Evans-Bracken and that was the only reason Michael was there. To support Isobel and that’s it.

This day was hard most years. The constant reminders of Alex everywhere he’d go, the odd sighting of Jesse Manes being thanked for his service when that man was the entire reason for Alex’s absence.

He had always believed that he would get used to it the longer Alex was away. The town was very pro-military and there always seemed to be some parade or other so the constant reminders should have made him accustomed to the feelings it brought up.

But wishful thinking strikes again.

And this year seemed to be the worst of the lot.

He and Alex had hardly spoken all year and the letters he did receive sounded like Alex was just checking if he was still in Roswell more than anything else. He never quite worked out what gave the airman the impression that he would be leaving anytime soon.

To be fair though, all of his replies had been short and vague with a rather blunt tone that he couldn’t help. A small part of him knew that he was pushing Alex away and it was screaming at him, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen. Unfortunately, when he was hurt his self preservation kicked in big time.

Grabbing another beer from the cooler, he took a seat next to Max on the back of the truck and watched as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes took to the stage to give a speech about duty and sacrifice and how those who had lost their lives had done so proudly in the service of their country.

It made him wonder if Alex would feel proud in his last moments. If the worst happened, would he be glad to die for his country or would he be afraid? Would he be filled with fear as he lay in the dirt, cold and bleeding, waiting for help that wasn’t going to arrive on time? Would he be with his team, surrounded by love and friendship and people begging him to be okay or would he be alone?

Or maybe it would be quick. A swift bullet to the head or heart. A nice clean shot and a point to the enemy. There one minute and gone the next.

Would Alex even feel it?

Would Michael?

As the townsfolk and various uniformed men and women began clapping loudly around him, his mind was brought back to the present. Manes gave a wave to the crowd as he ended his speech and passed the microphone over to Isobel to announce the evening’s agenda.

As she listed the live music and entertainment that was in store, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on her words instead of the thoughts circling his head. He didn’t know why he still cared so much. Alex wasn’t Michael’s to protect or worry about. Not anymore.

Michael had moved on and maybe if he drunk enough tonight, his heart would finally believe that and his mind would stop reciting the latest letter that had arrived at his door.

Dear Michael,

We were shipped off to Baghdad two months ago.

I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t want you to worry and it’s not fair for me to force this onto you when you’re off living your own life now. It’s just a lot has happened on this tour already and I’ve been getting this feeling that I should probably let you know that I’m here.

All things considered, I’m actually quite lucky that this is only my third deployment bearing in mind how many years I’ve been serving. I’ve heard stories about some people who are on tour after tour and I don’t think I’d be able to handle the never ending missions.

It turns out I must be quite good at my job though because the team I’m with requested me. They needed someone with my specialist skillset so I guess its rather flattering but it makes me think that this job is going to be harder than the others.

It’s crazy to think about how much I’ve accomplished since I first joined. Seventeen year old Alex would hate that I’m still here but I guess he didn’t know the world like I do now. I still think about him sometimes though, the rebellious kid who wore too much eyeliner.

I know I don’t say it much but I’m really grateful for the time we spent together back then. And since then. They’re some of my favourite memories.

But I’m glad you’ve found your own path in life. You have a job that you love, a place to live that you can call your own and friends and family that you can always turn to.

I hope everyone is okay back home. I hope you’re okay.

And more than anything, I hope that you’re happy. It’s what you deserve and I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who sees that and makes you even happier.

From,

Alex.

He hated that Alex was back there.

And he hated that the letter sounded like a goodbye.

February 2017

Dear Alex,

I know it’s taken me a while to reply. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I’ve just been thinking about everything that’s happened and I didn’t want to say something I would regret. You’d probably tell me that I was overthinking and I’d dramatically disagree of course. But you would be right.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where you are right now and all of the bad things that could happen. I’m not going to go into how many soldiers have died over there because I’m sure you know more about it than me, just make sure you’re not added to that list, okay? I haven’t acted like it recently but it worries me that you’re somewhere so dangerous, so please be careful.

I know we’ve drifted but I still care about you Alex so I need you to be okay. I’ve been distancing myself from you these past few years and I’m sorry for that. I thought you were pushing me away so I did all I could to push you away first. I know I can’t change that now but maybe it can be different going forward.

It’s been almost three years since I last saw you in person and in a weird way it feels like yesterday. Three years sounds like a long time but looking back, it’s flown past way too quickly. So much has changed since then. I see Sanders occasionally but I haven’t worked at the junkyard in years, Isobel is married, the Wild Pony has starting having open mic nights and the Crashdown has gained about ten new milkshakes.

But I suppose the one constant is that you haven’t been here. You’ve been off being an American hero and that’s such an incredible achievement. You’ve travelled to places that I will never go, accomplished things I will probably never understand and been involved in so much that I can never know about.

I’m sure it hasn’t always been the positive experience that people make it out to be, but I’m so happy you’ve been able to make something of your life.

You’re probably on some super secret mission right now with your little carefully selected team, but if you’ve got a minute, let me know that you’re okay.

Michael

July 2017

Alex hadn't answered. Five months and four goddamn letters and Alex hadn't answered a single one. And Michael was pissed.

Well, first he was terrified. He had made up all manner of excuses. Maybe the letters got lost in the post. Maybe Alex was too busy to reply. But the never ending weeks of radio silence soon left Michael thinking the worst.

He had scoured the news headlines for any reports of American deaths in Iraq, he checked the obituary lists for any updates and he kept an ear out for any locals discussing the untimely death of Alex Manes.

He didn’t want to find out but he needed to know the truth.

Maria hadn’t mentioned anything in the many nights he had spent drowning his sorrows at the bar, so he took that as a good sign but then again she could just be as in the dark as he was.

After a while though, when no bad news had surfaced, he accepted the sad fact that Alex had chosen not to reply.

That the man he once loved had read his letters and hadn’t cared enough to respond. That he’d read the carefully selected words that conveyed Michael’s love and gratitude and worry. That he’d held the paper in his hands, each letter more honest than the last, and had decided to leave Michael hanging.

And if it proved one thing, it’s that he was right to stop waiting for Alex.

He had woken up that morning missing Alex desperately. Missing his face, his voice, his laugh, his words. But when, once again, no letter arrived, his anger tore through as he finally decided to face the cold hard truth that had been waiting in the back of his mind for weeks.

Their relationship had been going downhill for a long time and now the airman had clearly made the choice for the both of them. Alex had ended whatever it was they had going on and so now Michael would do the same.

That night he went to sleep, vowing to never think of Alex again, so painfully unaware that Alex, now with half a limb cruelly taken from him, had read the letters. In fact he'd read over every letter in his metal box, mourning the end of their relationship with each one.

Waking up in the hospital bed five months ago he'd seen his future. The future filled with therapy, physio, phantom pains, decreased mobility, the constant awkwardness from other people. And he refused to burden Michael with that. His beautiful cowboy deserved so much better.

Soon the letters would stop completely and Alex would accept that because why would Michael keep trying when he was receiving nothing in return? And maybe they’ll never see each other again and maybe they’ll never reconcile, but that would be okay because at least this way, Michael would be free.

December 2017

It was two weeks until Christmas and Isobel was on his case about a present. Why do you have to make my life difficult, Michael? You’re the only person I haven’t bought for, Michael. Can you find some actual hobbies so that I know what to get you, Michael?

The queen of organisation was getting very stressed at the mere thought of having to do any last minute shopping but how would Michael tell her what he really wanted for Christmas when obtaining it was impossible?

And yeah, yeah, he said he was going to stop thinking about him. But let’s be real, that was never going to happen.

Instead he drank. A lot. And gambled and hooked up with pretty girls and committed enough petty crime to make Max consider a very early retirement.

Anything to get his mind off Alex. But as blissful as the forgetting was in the night, it always came flooding back in the morning. Because every morning he woke up and stared at the compartment where the box was stored and every morning it reminded him of Alex. Well, no more.

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he tried to ignore the cold winter wind raging outside, he made the decision to move it. If he hid it away and promised himself that he would never look inside again then maybe, just maybe, he would finally move on.

Standing up was a choice he instantly regretted as the room spun slightly and the sun blaring in through the newspaper covered window immediately fuelled the hangover burning behind his eyes. But as soon as everything settled he wasted no time in opening the compartment and taking out the box.

His fingers were itching to lift up the lid and peek inside but that would only make it harder. Instead he clamped the sides tightly in his grip and headed straight for the closet.

It was ironic really, hiding Alex in the closet - a thought that only came to him as he was opening the door - but it was the only place in the tiny hamster cage of a home where it would be safe from prying eyes, Michael’s included.

There were a pair of boots at the bottom alongside some old clothes Max had given him years ago and a cardboard box of blueprints, photos and spaceship pieces he had yet to take to the junkyard.

He lifted them out easily and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor next to where he was kneeling - they had been shoved in the bottom of a closet for god knows how long, they could manage a bit of manhandling.

With the space now empty, the shoebox went in first, being pushed as far into the corner as possible before he gave himself the chance to change his mind. The larger box went back in next, taking up the remaining floor space, then the boots and bag of clothes were thrown in afterwards. As long as they didn’t fall out, he didn’t care where they landed.

As he closed the door his phone rang and looking at the caller ID the timing couldn’t have been more perfect as he’d finally thought of an idea for what Isobel could buy him.

Because why spend your own money to fuel your drinking habit when someone else could do it for you.

March 2018

Michael was shocked awake by a loud thump. Sitting up too quickly, scrambling to get his brain in gear, he noticed Max standing on the other side of the cage with a large pile of files on the desk in front of him. That explains what caused the rude awakening then.

“Thanks.” He groaned, lying back down on the metal bench. His head was thumping and he was not in the mood for the conversation that was bound to follow.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with you?” Max asked as he took a seat at the desk. The chair scraped horribly on the floor and it made Michael wince.

He stared up at the ceiling and took a few breaths before talking. He didn’t normally feel this bad after drinking but he’d forgotten to grab a bottle of acetone before heading to the Pony and it had been a long night.

“I thought you wanted to spend more time together.” He replied impudently after a moment.

He heard Max sigh and could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“It’s not funny, Michael.”

“It’s a little funny.” He smirked, attempting to sit up again, groaning as it became clear how much his back hadn’t appreciated his drunk tank sleeping arrangements. Max didn’t even glance up at him from the file he was reading. “Right, are you gonna let me out or not?”

“Nope. Valenti’s just outside and she’ll know if I go easy on you.”

Michael scoffed and debated just lifting the keys from the desk with his powers. Why did Max have to be such a rule-following little Deputy? It was as if Max was the mind reader of the trio though as he grabbed the keys without looking and put them straight into his pocket.

“I’m just trying to help you.” Max gave him a pointed look that Michael just wanted to punch right off his face sometimes.

“Like always…” Michael muttered under his breath.

“I’m surprised Maria hasn’t barred you yet. You cause her more trouble than it’s worth.”

“The fight wasn’t even that bad, everyone just overreacted. Besides, the other guy totally started it.”

Max shook his head as he got back to his work. Michael wasn’t lying, he hadn’t started the fight, he had just been rather eager to join in. Sometimes punching things felt good.

Max was clearly not letting him out anytime soon and it was well before noon so no-one was expecting him to be at work for a good couple of hours. He could try to negotiate his freedom but Max had this whole save Michael from himself agenda going on recently so it would probably just be a waste of breath.

Instead he could take the easy route and catch up with a bit more sleep.

June 2018

“Quick Alex, run and tell your daddy.”

Michael instantly regretted his words the second the door had closed behind him.

But he hadn’t seen Alex in four years, hadn’t heard from him in months. He had every right to be angry. Right?

Except he wasn’t angry, not really, that was just a façade he was forcing forward to help protect himself from the heartache threatening to break through. He never could stay angry at Alex for long.

Looking through the shoebox filled him with a cautious kind of hope. Just because Alex was back didn’t mean anything was going to change between them but Michael just couldn’t help it.

He sat on the floor for a while as he read over some of the letters, his legs getting cramped in the small gap between the bed and the closet. He had forgotten how happy the earlier letters were, the ones sent before Alex had had a chance to experience combat. They had both been so young back then, so unaware of how life would turn out.

Once he was finished, he left the shoebox on his desk, feeling too nostalgic to put it back in the closet but not yet ready to commit to the overhead compartment again. Thoughts of Alex followed him well into the afternoon of the next day and they didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Twenty-four hours since Alex had been standing right in front of him and he had completely fallen for the airman all over again.

But that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let Alex in again. Not if it was just going to end the same way.

So when Alex approached him at the reunion, suggesting that he had turned his trailer into a meth lab, Michael did all he could to put the wall back up again. He was sarcastic and aggrieved and did his best to rile Alex up. You trying to hold my hand, Private?

And when he shoved past Alex he pretended to himself that it felt good.

But the heart wants what the hearts wants and all evening his eyes kept being drawn back to Alex. He barely noticed the girl at his side as he watched Alex smile politely and engage in conversation with people they had both gone to school with and when Alex ducked into a side room, he couldn’t stop his feet from following.

Watching Alex check his prosthetic broke Michael’s heart. He wanted to ask a million questions, how did it happen? When did it happen? Does it hurt? Are you okay? Alex was walking on it, albeit with a crutch, so it must have been at least a year since he was injured and Michael had been oblivious to it all. Although an entire year of unanswered letters were suddenly provided with a devastating explanation.

To lose a limb must be unimaginable, but whatever had caused it, Michael was just so glad that it hadn’t taken all of him.

He leaned against the doorway as his eyes roamed over every part of the man in front of him, taking him in completely. His beautiful face that Michael was desperate to put a smile on, his soft hair that had grown since he had last been home, the checkered shirt that looked so much more Alex than the uniform, the way he glowed under the coloured lights.

They had both been through so much this past decade but Alex was back, potentially for good this time, and Michael was about to dive headfirst into the possibility of them rekindling whatever it was they once had.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch, huh?” He spoke up, hoping beyond anything that Alex wouldn’t walk away. He allowed a gentle smile and when Alex dropped his leg to the floor and faced him properly, he felt his heartbeat quicken.

Alex took a moment to reply and when he did his face gave no hints as to whether he was happy to see Michael or not. “I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq you would be long gone.”

“Is that what you want?” Michael avoided eye contact, suddenly not wanting to witness the moment Alex turned him away but still, he walked closer.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Alex whispered, the words catching in his throat, and still Michael kept walking. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

They were so close to each other now, barely an arm’s length away from touching and the close proximity gave Michael all the courage he needed. He drew his longing gaze away from Alex’s eyes to his soft lips and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

One moment they were two separate people and the next they were crashing together like waves that had been parted for an eternity.

Michael’s entire body tingled, the feeling of Alex’s palm on his back, Alex’s lips against his own. He was hardly aware of what his hands were doing, cupping Alex’s face and pulling him closer, hungry and intense and desperate to reclaim what they had lost. He barely breathed as the rest of the world fell away until it was just them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

His anger at Alex and his year long desire to banish any thought of him was long forgotten. He was back, he was here and Michael didn’t ever want to let go.

As they parted, foreheads still touching, Michael couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the man in front of him, convinced that if he closed his eyes for even a second it would all disappear. The moment was so perfect, part of him felt like he was dreaming.

Their relationship over the past decade had been a complete rollercoaster but now, feeling Alex pressed against him, Michael was convinced that things would be different now.

And maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

The End.

Thank you for reading ❤️✨

#malexsanta #malexsanta2020 #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #michael guerin fic #malex fic #my fic

44 notes · View notes

therestismutlol · 4 years

Text

Leverage • Xiaojun x Reader (Part 3)

This chapter contains explicit content on the lower half. If you are uncomfortable with such themes, there would be a warning which would prompt you to skip to the next chapter. Anyhow, thanks for waiting for the update! Happy reading.

<- Part 2

***

“How could I even like someone who barely had the guts to confess?”

“Did you think I kissed you because we share the same feelings?”

“It was charity work—I pitied you.”

Charity work? Bullshit.

“Stop doing that.”

“…doing what?” you respond to Kun in a muffled voice.

“Banging your head on the table. I can’t concentrate.”

You lift up your head to look at your roommate sitting at the chair across you. He had his eyes narrowed at you, finding your actions extremely distracting.

“I’m sorry.”

You knew he was sizing you up at that very moment, and then he sighs and closes his book, before setting it down at the table.

“Alright. Mind telling me what’s up?”

Psych Major Kun never fails to remind you of your mom.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Nice try. Tell me, and I might probably help you with it.”

“I said it’s nothing. You’re too annoying.”

“Wow, okay. I get out of my way to ask how you are and you just call me annoying?”

“Because I’m not in the mood, and besides, it’s a ‘girl problem’ and you’re clearly a male, so you wouldn’t understand.”

“Just because I’m of different sex that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of—"

“Okay then. Tell me, do you bleed?”

Kun blinked. He then widened his eyes.

“O, so it’s menstruation…”

You roll your eyes at him, and he scratches the back of his neck before standing up and turning his back on you.

“I’ll just… get you some hot packs.”

You watch his figure go around the room in search for hot packs. You sighed once again, feeling bad for lying to him. But can you help it?

It’s his friend you’re having issues with.

Just because he’s really nice to you it doesn’t mean it’s okay to talk negatively about his friend.

It’s been just two days, but you’re already worried about your rejection of Xiaojun’s feelings.

You constantly remind yourself that his feelings shouldn’t be your responsibility, but you still can’t help but feel guilty about what you did.

Maybe you really were an asshole about it.

“Maybe I should apologize..?” you mumbled quietly to yourself.

“Apologize to what?” Kun asked, and it was then when you noticed him standing beside you, holding out a heated hot pack.

“It’s a who, and it’s you,” you lied casually once again.

“Why would you want to apologize to me?” he frowned, confused.

“Because I snapped at you earlier.”

“You always do. Why apologize now…”

***

The entire day, you just wanted the rest of your classes to end, and go straight to public speaking class. It’s been a long weekend, and you haven’t really had the chance to talk to your best friend Dahyun after the incident with Xiaojun in the café. She was flooded with deadlines that she had to finish, so you thought it’d just be better to talk about it today, in person.

You sat on your usual seat, growing impatient as time passed. Lecture Hall C was almost full, but Dahyun still hasn’t arrived yet.

‘Where is she? Is she going to stay in today?’

You took your eyes off the door and searched in the sea of heads in class. Maybe she’s already sitting somewhere..?

After a minute of searching, you finally found Dahyun’s head. She’s your bestfriend, of course you’d recognize it.

But your frown only got deeper when you saw her. It’s because today, she was sitting beside Xiaojun.

“What the hell?”

Why is she sitting there?

Since when did they start to get close?

As much as you’d want to know the answer to these questions, class has already started, and it’d cause a commotion if you were to go to where they’re currently sitting.

So you waited for the class to end. And when it did, the first thing that came to your mind was to approach Dahyun.

You struggled to put your things back in your bag before turning to look at them. But they were already gone.

So you’ve decided to sprint out of the room in hopes of catching up, only to find it meaningless when you already saw her at the other end of the field, with Xiaojun beside her.

They seem to be talking about something really seriously.

Just what in the hell are they talking about?

You’ve texted Dahyun later that night.

To: Dahyun

Why did you sit next to Xiaojun earlier?

You were relieved that she answered almost immediately.

Dahyun

Why? U jealous?

Damn it. You knew Dahyun was going to pull shit like this.

To: Dahyun

What the fuck lol. I was just asking okay, since you didn’t sit next to me and sat next to him out of all people

Dahyun

woah chill, don’t need to be so defensive

You emit an exasperated groan as you tossed your phone angrily to Kun’s bed. Kun had noticed this from the dining table, but didn’t mention it.

You were riled up, but for no apparent reason. And this took a solid minute to realize.

Why were you so irritated?

“I’m not. I’m just stressed, that was it…”

Kun watched you talk to yourself as you picked up your phone from his bed and then climbed in your own bed.

Women on their periods really are something.

***

The next day, you decided to preheat the fried chicken that you and Kun had last night for breakfast. As you were doing so, you heard a knock on your door.

“Who is it?” you had asked, turning the knob.

Only to reveal Xiaojun in sweats and a plain black sweatshirt. He was also holding a bouquet of (your favorite flower).

“What… what’s this?” you looked back at him, eyes wide in surprise. You definitely didn’t expect him to be here this early morning.

“I was told that this was your favorite flower?”

Ah.

So that was what yesterday was all about. Dahyun, that woman..!

“Yeah, and…?” “I just thought that it’d make your day.”

In all honesty, you were the one embarrassed for him. What’s with this cheesy gesture?

“I’m not taking it. Go home.”

And you shut the door on his face.

You stood there for a while with your back on the door, and sighed in relief when you heard his footsteps move away.

What the hell?

“What’s wrong with him?” you shook your head, and then resumed to put the cold chicken in the microwave.

You thought that was the end of it, but then, it wasn’t.

Later in class, you noticed that he kept glancing at your way. It wasn’t just your imagination, since Chaeyeon also noticed this and threw a fit, ultimately settling on glaring at you the second her eyes landed on your face.

“Look at what you’ve done,”you angrily whispered to Dahyun, who just gave a shit-eating grin.

You’ve told Dahyun what happened earlier, and she snorted, saying that Xiaojun had acted upon her orders. This lead to her spilling the beans about the conversations that she had with him yesterday, and the reason why she sat beside him.

They were talking about you.

Your favorite flowers, food, clothes, interest, everything that he could use to at least appeal to you. It’s because after hearing about the way you heartlessly turned him down in the café, Dahyun decided to help him.

“Well, what if you gave him a chance.”

“What if I don’t.” you glare at her, before sparing Xiaojun a glance. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead, he was talking to Chaeyeon who was now sitting beside him. You scoffed. She’s so possessive of him.

***

Thankfully, you haven’t encountered Xiaojun after class. You weren’t in the mood to go back to the café, nor go study in the library. You just wanted to be home.

But once you got in the room, your sight met Kun who was pacing back and forth with an anxious expression on his face. He felt your presence after a while, and it was then when he seized both of your shoulders. He looked troubled.

“(Y/n), you knew that Xiaojun—”

“Yeah, you two were clumsy at keeping secrets.”

Kun stared back at your taunting eyes, before sighing in defeat. How the hell did they let this slip?

He crossed his arms, and you took this as a cue to take off your shoes.

“So he finally told you huh.” You say as you set them down at the side of the doorway, before walking past him. Kun followed you closely behind.

“Yeah, and how you played him. You’re horrible.”

“Is that the reason why you’re waiting for me? To give me an earful?” you say as you went to open the fridge to get a pitcher of cold water.

“No. I’m here to give you this,” Kun had blocked your way, making you stop in your tracks.

He fished a small box from his pocket, and held it out in front of you.

“What’s…”

“Dejun told me to give this to you.”

Xiaojun?

“No, I don’t—”

“Please, accept it.” Kun cuts you off. You look at him and saw that his eyes were that of a sad doe’s.

“I know that you probably are annoyed with him now, but can you at least pretend to be okay with him? Just like before.”

You gave him a look, and this only made him want to explain even more.

“I don’t know what made you dislike him so much, but if you just give him a chance, he’d make you really happy. He’s soft-spoken, sensitive. I’m not saying this just because I’m his friend. I genuinely want the best for him because you don’t know how he put everyone else before himself everytime. Dejun is a good guy.”

“…I know. That’s why I don’t like him.”

Kun hadn’t expected you to give him a pained expression as you finally took the box and walked past him.

What was going on inside that pretty head of yours?

Kun initially thought that you would be pretty chill about Dejun’s confession, whenever the time came. Never did he think that you’d be pretty pissed about it.

While Kun was your friend, he was a friend of Dejun as well, even more so. It is only right for him to try to sort things out between the two of you, but if you really would be just an asshole to Dejun, then he’d probably won’t bite his tongue, and say that Dejun would be better off with a girl that wasn’t you.

Why was she even pissed at Dejun in the first place? Kun was left to wonder to himself.

***

“A necklace…” you murmured to yourself as you held the thin gold material in front of your face.

It was twelve midnight, but you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was because you actually wanted to know what Xiaojun gave you.

And so once you sensed Kun in deep sleep, you brought out the small box from under your pillow and opened it.

It was a really pretty necklace. Very minimalistic, but classy enough. It was to your style.

You hated to admit it, but Xiaojun did a great job on finding one to your taste.

***

To say that Xiaojun was anxious would be an understatement.

Did Kun give it to her? Did she accept it, or throw it away? Did she hate it? Was she mad now?

Dahyun told him that you like simple things. He thought that the necklace that he got for you was okay-looking. Did you too?

Or maybe you’re really annoyed at him now. Well, he had a fair share of experiencing the receiving of unwanted gifts (from Chaeyeon), and he knows for a fact that it could be a bit bothersome. Okay, maybe now you hate him. Did he really think that gift-giving would be a good idea?! He was so goddamn stupid.

A lot of thoughts ran in his mind. He couldn’t focus on anything at all.

But he did regain his senses, however, when he arrived at the one and only class that the two of you shared. He looked around for you, with each passing time making his shoulders weigh.

“Hello loverboy,” Dahyun approaches him, and he felt his face grew hot at the comment.

“Waiting for Ms. Right?”

“Ah, yes…”he said meekly, looking behind Dahyun in hopes to see (Y/n), only to be disappointed.

“Why the long face?” Dahyun laughs. “She’s at the bathroom. She’ll be here in a second,”

Xiaojun couldn’t sit just yet. He wanted to see you. Say he’s sorry for bothering you with his gifts. Say he knew this probably wasn’t a good idea, but an uncomfortable one. Apologize—

“Dejuuuuun,”

Chaeyeon exclaimed in glee when she saw him first thing in class.

She ran to him, and then stood in his front. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, as she felt her ears redden.

This was the first time she saw him near the door of the classroom.

“Were you waiting for me?”

Was this it? The day he finally recognizes his feelings for her? She didn’t expect it too be sooner!

Xiaojun was about to answer no, but then from the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of the person he was waiting for.

“(Y/n)!” he called out your name and went to block your path.

Chaeyeon was left dumbfounded. She turned and saw him smiling at you with a gaze she never knew existed.

‘This… this bitch!’

You blinked at Xiaojun.

“What?”

“You’re wearing it.”

Ah. He was talking about the necklace.

Your hand unconsciously touched that thing that was holding on to your neck.

“Yeah. I liked it,”you gave him a small smile. “Now if you’d excuse me.”

You then walked past him and then Chaeyeon, unto your usual seat beside your bestfriend.

Chaeyeon was fuming. What the hell? Did Dejun give that necklace to her? To that woman, who was probably no one? Chaeyeon never got anything from Dejun, yet she was the one who spent the most time in appealing to him! Why did that woman get her necklace!?

She felt her blood boil. That (Y/n) really is fucking irritating!

You knew someone was burning holes at the back of your head. You can’t say that you weren’t satisfied at Chaeyeon’s anger, but you weren’t particularly happy either.

As usual, Xiaojun was there to guilt-trip you. The way his eyes visibly shone when his eyes met yours, and how he gave you a boyish grin. Was he really that happy on seeing you wear something that he gave?

People who’re smitten really are weird.

You thought that if it’d be like this every day, then maybe you wouldn’t mind the first few weeks at all.

Or so you thought.

***

“Wake up. Wake up.”

You stirred in your sleep. You were sure that you were about to slip back to dreamland, but the person shaking your form didn’t stop. You snapped open your eyes to glare at Kun.

“What?” you hissed at him.

As he scrambled for his phone, you took yours and saw that it was just two am.

“What the fuck?” you angrily snapped at him for ruining your sleep. And here you thought you’d get your longest sleep since weeks!

“You have to see this.”

Kun showed you his phone. The sudden bright light startled you for a bit, but after a while, your eyes had adjusted to see your school’s anonymous inquiries from the website.

And then you saw your photo. While at first it seemed to be a harmless one since it was just you and your professor talking in the parking lot, the message begged to differ.

‘The student that professor Kim was seeing is (Y/n) from his biology class. I saw them earlier sneaking out. Can you believe it?’

You suddenly couldn’t breathe.

You snatched the phone from Kun’s hands, and scrolled for the comments.

‘What the?’

‘So that’s the girl’

‘She’s my classmate from public speaking class’

‘The discreet ones were always the sluttiest.’

‘What the fuck lol they should fire him and kick her out’

‘This isn’t right’

‘Maybe that’s why she’s doing good in his classes. Damn’

“This isn’t true.” You turned to Kun. “You know this. I’m sleeping. I never got up until you woke me up.”

“I know.” Kun nodded. “I was awake throughout because I’m reviewing for our exams. I’d know if you snuck out last night.”

Even just for a little bit, you were relieved. Kun believes you.

But then, the dread didn’t disappear.

Professor Kim was rumored to be going out with a student for quite sometime now. Everyone knows that it’s forbidden for professors to have a relationship with their students, but since he was an excellent teacher, the university didn’t fire him just yet, not until there was evidence. But now there this is.

But the problem was, you’d also be kicked out.

“I can’t afford to be expelled,” tears started to form in your eyes. “I need to finish college,”

It would be the end of you if you were to be kicked out. You’re one step closer to having a good job for a good life, you worked so hard for a scholarship since you don’t have the money for college.

While it was also equally damning, it didn’t matter what others thought of you at the moment. What matters most is your scholarship.

“We need to talk to the dean later.”

“Oh, they would talk to me,” you choked out, as the tears started to fall.

“I’d be the witness.” Kun’s arms wrapped around your frame, and at this, you started to sob.

“Don’t cry.” Kun murmurs to your hair as his hand made soothing circles on your back.

“You don’t have to worry. And we have a camera here, remember? I installed one. We’ll show the surveillance clips. All of them. You won’t get expelled.”

Kun was so warm. His voice and his embrace, you were safe at that moment. Like always, you trusted him.

He really was good at being a psych major.

***

Everyone didn’t expect what happened in public speaking class later that afternoon.

Xiaojun had looked around expectantly for (Y/n), but to no avail. Was she sick?

“Dejun, what are you thinking of?”

He snapped out of his reverie and looked at the person sitting beside him.

“Oh, Chaeyeon.” He forced a chuckle. “Sorry, I was looking for someone.”

At this, she frowned. It was after a second when she spoke again. “Is it (Y/n)?”

At the mention of her name, Xiaojun’s chest tightened.

“W-well… yeah. But it seems like she’s absent.”

Chaeyeon rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, and probably will be forever.”

Xiaojun frowned at her words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, get used to it.” She said irritably. “You won’t be looking for her everyday for the rest of your life, would you?”

Xiaojun looked down. Well, she was probably right. But still, he couldn’t lose hope.

“You!”

Attention was drawn from the professor and to the late-comer who shouted from the door.

It was Dahyun.

She went nearer to where Xiaojun was sitting, with a terrifying expression on her face.

“You were the one who posted that picture!”she shouts as she pointed at Chaeyeon.

What picture? Xiaojun frowns.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chaeyeon said coolly, which seemed to struck a chord in Dahyun, as she apparently grew angrier than ever.

She went in to physically attack Chaeyeon, but thankfully Xiaojun was in between them, and so he held Dahyun.

“You spread the rumor about (Y/n)!” Dahyun accused. “Are you happy? Now that she’s in trouble?!

“Everybody, this girl is a liar! Whatever you read about (Y/n) is not true, and was just made up bullshit. This bitch wanted to slander her!”

“And what proof do you have?”Chaeyeon finally stood up, levelling her eyes to hers.

“Ms. Kim, calm down!” The professor shouted from the front, but Dahyun didn’t give two shits.

“We all know that you hated (Y/n) from the very start! You fucking psycho! Evil bitch!”

As Dahyun struggled to get out of Xiaojun’s grip, another three students gathered to help him hold her away from Chaeyeon.

“Let go of me!” Dahyun sobbed. “You bitch, were you not happy about the things you already did to her?! You stoop lower for spreading rumors that could damage her and her image! Evil bitch! Maybe that’s why Xiaojun likes her better than you!”

“What did you say?!” Chaeyeon finally lost her cool and went to attack her, but another group of students went and held her.

“The two of you! Come with me!” The professor now arrived in between the two of them and growled.

***

Three days later, the commotion about your alleged ‘scandal’ eased down. Professor Kim was droved out, but you weren’t, as it was proved to be not you who he was seeing. After Kun’s testimony and the camera’s footages, it was proven that somebody had just spread a rumor about you, whose identity was yet to be discovered. The recent events make you just want to rest, good thing the weekend existed.

But rest isn’t forever, and now you’re going to attend classes.

While you still weren’t okay, you weren’t going to waste away the opportunity the university has given you. You’re still going to do well, and prove that you were a just student.

You were relieved after hearing Chaeyeon got suspended for two weeks after picking a fight with Dahyun, but that also meant that your bestfriend was suspended too.

You sighed. This all happened because of Chaeyeon.

She really was batshit crazy. To be that mentally not okay to stoop that low as to take a picture where you and your professor met by chance and label it as “secret lovers sneaking out” for slander.

You were no fool. You knew it was Chaeyeon’s doing, who else would it be?

You entered and had class at Lecture Hall C that afternoon, and your classmates’ looks didn’t go unnoticed. They were either pitying you, or mocking you. While they didn’t vocalize it, you were still the talk of the university.

This humiliation.

Do you really deserve this?

“(Y/n)…?”

You looked up, and saw Xiaojun’s inquiring face.

Everyone was preparing to head out now. Time really flew fast, you hadn’t noticed class had ended as you spaced out.

Xiaojun…

He was giving you a look of pity. Was it the reason why he came up to talk to you?

No. You don’t deserve this humiliation.

You spontaneously grabbed his hand after slinging your backpack onto your shoulder, and headed out with him in tow.

“Where are we going?” he frowned, confused, but you didn’t answer him. Instead, you walked faster, so his legs moved to keep up with your pace.

As you two moved further from the university’s second building, he saw that the two of you were nearing your dorm.

“What…?”

When the two of you finally climbed up to your floor and are now in front of your dorm room, you let go of his hand and fumbled for your room keys in your pocket.

Xiaojun was really confused. He has no idea what he was doing here. Kun didn’t even message him to come over.

He was once again caught off-guard when you reached for his arm and forcibly pulled him inside.

“What are we doing here?” Xiaojun asked, and once again, you didn’t answer and just turned to lock the door behind you. He looked around the room, and Kun was nowhere to be found. So it was obvious that he wasn’t a visitor of his friend.

“(Y/n)—”

He was cut off short when he was pulled down by the collar for his lips to collide with yours.

Xiaojun’s eyes were swirling in an endless array of emotion. He was surprised and confused, but that didn’t mean that his eyes weren’t also clouded with an emotion familiar to him, an emotion which he tried so hard not to explore.

Mouths worked together like clockwork, pausing only briefly as tongues raced out to meet. He was vaguely aware of the soft noises that were leaving his throat. This somehow struck something in you, for you didn’t stop with your ministrations as you slowly but carefully pushed the man behind him. The both of you were sinking quickly, heavily, into a world that was both familiar and utterly foreign.

You pulled away and gasped for air exactly when you made Xiaojun sit on the sofa, with you seated on his lap, and Xiaojun seemed to be breathing heavily as well. He looked at you with lidded eyes, red tinting his pale ears and cheeks.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“N-No, I—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” You hissed at him as you rocked your hips, feeling the friction down there from his erection. He flinched.

“You followed me around, trying so hard for me to like you.”

Xiaojun suppressed a moan when you moved your mouth to other parts of him, trailing down his neck and nipping at his tender skin. Your hands moved against his chest under his shirt, tracing the faint toned muscle he formed from moderate exercise.

He wasn’t bound, but his hands didn’t made any efforts of stopping you, opting instead to rest on your hips, holding you in place. You scoffed.

“You’re so fucking pathetic. This was supposed to be your job, yet here you are, letting me do it.”

He wasn’t even given a chance to speak as your mouth searched his again, and your fingers pinched his erect nipples from beneath. His mind was hazy, rendering him the ability to comprehend words. He could only think of how your tongue moved against his, and how ticklish you made him feel from under his shirt.

You felt his hand start to crawl inside your shirt, and you frowned in dismay. You bit his lip, before pulling away and slapping his hands. He pulled them away and to himself in shock.

“Just what in the world are you doing?”

“I was just—”

“I didn’t give you permission to do so.”

Your cold demeanor honestly sent a chill down his spine. He looked down, afraid to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You laughed.

“Come to think of it, this is all your fucking fault.”

What was? He wasn’t quite sure, but he was convinced that whatever it is, it was his fault, and he needed to repent.

“I’m sorry.” he says once again.

You stare down at him.

You were really angry. All the pent up frustration you had, whether it related to him or not, it was all bursting out, and you just wanted someone or something to direct it to. And here he was.

Here his gullible and dewy-eyed self was.

You held his face with your hand and forced him to look at your eyes.

You gave him a wet kiss on the lips, before going down and undoing his belt.

At this, he widened his eyes and held your hands.

“Don’t..!”

“What?” you groaned at him.

“I just…”

“You don’t want it?”

“It’s not that I don’t want it… it’s just… do you really want to do this? Because I don’t want you doing something you don’t want.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He gulped. Your inspecting stare seemed to scan him as if you could see his soul.

“You’re so annoying.” you say flatly, before finally unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans.

!!!!!!!CAUTION: EXPLICIT SCENE AHEAD, WITH SUB XIAOJUN. IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH SUCH THEMES, SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER. !!!!!!!!!!!

His stiff member strained against his boxers, the outline of his shaft prominent against the fabric.

Xiaojun’s breathing hitched when you slowly dragged your nails along the skin of his abdomen, teasingly close to his crotch and his cock twitched in response. You finally hooked your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down enough to set free his member, letting it flop heavily against his belly with a slap.

You didn’t expect his to be thick and plump. The soft pink tip was already forming beads of precum, and this made your mouth water. You wanted to taste him.

You gripped his length, tongue flat as you moved forward, smearing Xiaojun’s precum on your tongue. Tasting the salty slit, you cast your eyes up to meet his gaze. He was panting, and he looked so helpless. At the sight, you couldn’t help but be encouraged.

You held his cock up, licking from base to tip, getting his cock nice and wet. His mouth hung open as your lips wrapped around the tip, your tongue sharp as you swiped across the head of his cock, making Xiaojun squirm.

“(Y/n).” he groans out.

You smirked around him, before you took him deeper and deeper, slowly beginning to bob your head.

You worked what you couldn’t fit into your hands, twisting and jerking his cock as you sucked, your tongue switching between licking at the vein on the underside of his shaft and playing with his tip.

Xiaojun drinks in the sight of you hallowing your cheeks and sucking him faster. He was feeling dizzy, intoxicated at the way you make him feel. While he wasn’t new to porn and sexual activities in general, this was his first time getting head. The sensation that he got from you was beyond comprehension. While the way you suck him hard was hard, the cherry on top would be you placing a kiss on every inch of his cock. Weirdly enough, he felt like you took care of him in some way, like you actually reciprocate his feelings.

Xiaojun couldn’t bear it any longer. His moans and grunting got louder, and you look up to saw him a panting mess. You smiled, releasing him from your mouth, but continued to lick along the shaft.

“Are you coming?” you asked him in a sweet tone, which sent shivers down his spine.

“Yes…”

“Would you like me to help you, or would you like to do it yourself?”

At the question, he turned even redder, and you felt his strained cock twitch against your tongue.

“Help me…”He said in a hushed tone.

“What? I can’t hear you.” You say as you timed it with a pump to his shaft.

“Help me,” he said meekly, but louder than the last time. You smile.

“But you need to do something afterwards. Would you do anything?”

“Yes!” he said with much more conviction, and you couldn’t help but be amused at his impatience.

Xiaojun saw you glower at him before enveloping his cock with your mouth, all the way. He was shaking, close to orgasming. The sucking increased and he had to grab on the couch as you did what you just had to do to get him bucking his hips. You pushed him over the edge once you buried his cock all the way to your throat, nose buried to the hair on his base.

He finally shoots his load in the cave of your mouth, down to your throat. The warm liquid was a shock to your senses, and tears prickled your eyes. You released his shaft with a loud ‘pop’ and you looked up at him, with his cum in your mouth.

Xiaojun looks down at you, and couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter dangerously.

You were both not in an appropriate scenario for him to think of this, but at the moment, he thought you were ethereal. The way you looked at him with those pair of lidded eyes, and hair clinging to your wet skin, sweat hanging at the end of your lashes— was it even possible to stop himself from falling deeper into your hole?

You climbed up once again to his lap and crashed your mouth to his. He widened his eyes, but you were forceful. You cupped his face and forced his mouth open, and your tongue assisted. You two exchanged a sensual kiss, with you transferring the remaining cum from your mouth to his mouth.

“You said you’d do anything once I help you.” You breathed, then kissed his cheek before leaning to his ear.

“Drink it. Drink your own cum.”

Xiaojun thought it was disgusting--maybe even humiliating. Never would he have imagined that he would one day taste himself, but he remembered the promise he made with you earlier. If he didn’t gulp it down, you’d be mad. You might never want to see him ever again. The thought disturbed him, and so he gulped down the thick, salty substance.

Since you had placed a hand lightly on his bobbing Adam’s apple, you knew right away when he did. At this, you smiled.

“Good boy.”

You then gave him a kiss on the lips once again, before you put your forehead on to his, and stared at the chestnut pools of his eyes.

He was lost in yours, but you, on the other hand, found yourself in his.

Xiaojun was perfect. Vulnerable, pure, and non-domineering. Like an angel. While he probably doesn’t deserve the thoughts of him that you were currently having, there was no other way.

You need to get your revenge. And to whom would it be great to get it from?

“It could only be you.” You whispered to him, before kissing him full on the lips.

Part 4 ->

348 notes · View notes

wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

Photo

Wonderland by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Or on FF

Tagging: @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

Chapter 2: Emma Swan

Emma sat on the plane with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. She had never felt so trapped in her entire life. She bit the inside of her cheek and her knee began to bounce nervously.

“Emma, everything is going to be alright.”

Emma glared at her mother. “Easy for you to say, you aren’t about to be a prisoner in the middle of the fucking ocean.”

“Don’t you dare talk to your mother with that language.”

Emma narrowed her eyes in her father’s direction. “Apologizes Mother.” The woman smiled sadly. “Happy now, Dave?” She added icily.

“Emma Grace Nolan!” She smirked; her father hated that she had begun calling him by his first name. A fact she took great pleasure in.

The pilot announced that they would be landing, and she turned toward the window, avoiding further conversation with her parents.

Growing up the heiress to the Nolan empire would have been a gift to anyone else, but Emma had always considered it a curse. Her entire life she had been expected to dress to perfection, act like royalty, and most importantly, never soil the family name.

“What’s your name?” “Wouldn’t you like to know!” “Girl, you are in a lot of trouble right now. You can tell me your name or not, either way I’m going to find out.” “Go to hell, officer.” “Have it your way.”

The jolt of the wheels touching down tore her from her thoughts. She closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but here.

“I can do this on my own.” She said defiantly as her parents followed her to the waiting limo.

“Not happening.” Her father nodded at the driver and opened the door, waiting for Emma to enter the car before sitting down beside her.

“This is ridiculous, I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“David.” Her mother scolded.

They rode the rest of the way in awkward silence. When Emma stepped out of the limo, she grabbed her mother by the arm. “If I have to do this the least you can do is let me go in alone.”

Her mother stared at her, and her face softened.

“Emma we just want you to get better. You’re sick.”

“Yeah, well I’m here right? I’m on an island I can’t escape from. What is the harm in letting me walk in there on my own?”

Her father grabbed her bags and started walking up the path to the center. “David.” He turned around, making his annoyance clear. “I think Emma can do the rest on her own.” He paused, looking between them both and then setting her bag down.

“Fine.”

She bent down and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Well, I’m off to prison.”

“Don’t think of it that way, Emma.” Her mother pleaded.

“Whatever.” She turned and walked away, not bothering to look back, choosing to ignore the pain on her mother’s face or the anger on her father’s that she knew was the mask he used to hide his concern.

She swung open the door to the center and walked up to the front desk. The man dressed in a security uniform looked up at her. He was gorgeous, but not the type of gorgeous she was used to seeing. Men in her circle knew they were good looking and with that brought the attitude and money to get any woman they wanted. He had a more down to earth sexy look that she didn’t see in the men she knew.

“Name, please.” He didn’t even bother to hold her gaze, he looked away and frowned.

“Emma Swan.”

“Say’s Nolan in my logbook.” He glanced at her and shrugged.

Emma groaned, ok gorgeous but annoying.

“Listen asshole, it’s Emma Swan. Update your damn records.”

She looked around anxiously as the man typed into his computer. Across the hall her gaze landed on the bluest eyes she had ever seen, staring holes into her. The corner of his lip turned upward into a cocky smirk. “Take a picture, it will last longer.” She cursed under her breath.

He strolled across the room toward her, her breath catching in her throat at the intensity of his stare. “Haven’t met Regina yet, have you lass? No phones allowed; thus, I am forced to burn every naughty detail of you into my brain so that I may use it later...” He leaned closer to her ear; his breath hot against her skin. “for personal reasons.”

The guard at the desk cleared his throat. “Jones, I know it’s your first day, but rule #3 makes this entire exchange completely pointless.”

“Aye, but I still have one hand left to take care of matters myself.” He held up his hand, gesturing with his middle finger toward the guard. Only then did Emma notice the missing appendage on his left side, forcing her eyes to return to man who was drawing her ire.

“What’s rule #3?”

The man smirked and walked away from her. “Good luck, Miss Swan.”

The guard stood, “Ignore him, he’s still adjusting to his first day.” He walked out from behind the desk, Emma was quick to notice that this man obviously worked out. Wonderland certainly didn’t seem to be short on attractive men, no matter how aggravating they were, at least it had great scenery. “Let me take you to Regina, this way.”

“Regina?”

“She’s the manager of WRC. She’ll go over the rules with you.”

“Like rule #3?”

“Ah yes, the no sex rule.”

Emma’s eyes widened, before she was ushered into the large office.

“Regina, I have a new patient. Emma Nolan.”

“Swan. Emma Swan.” She corrected. At least the annoying jerk with the amazing blue eyes and sexy swagger got her name right, even if he was mocking her while using it correctly.

“Please sit.” The woman spoke, gesturing her to the seat across from her. “Thank you, Graham.” The guard left the room and closed the door behind him.

“Miss Nolan, welcome to Wonderland.”

“Look, I prefer Swan, but just call me Emma, since no one seems to listen to my requests around here.”

“I don’t care what you want to be called. Honestly, my job is to ensure your recovery, Emma. That’s all.” She opened her file and began reading. “Born Emma Nolan.” She looked up at her and smiled. “Daughter of David and Mary Margaret Nolan of the Nolan Empire.” She sat down the binder. “Your father owns all those hotels across the world, is that correct?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, boring.”

“Ah, not impressed with daddy’s money but more than happy to spend it, I’m sure.”

“Don’t pretend you know me.”

“Oh Emma, I don’t have to know you, I know your type. Born with more luxury than most people could ever dream to afford yet so deeply afflicted that you are afraid you’ll never get the one thing you desire the most.”

“And what would that be?”

“Being worthy of the family name.”

“I already told you, I don’t even want that name. I don’t give a fuck about being a Nolan.” The woman smiled and Emma looked away angrily. “Aren’t you supposed to give me the rules or some bullshit, or are we done now?”

“Of course, lets talk rules. You will have individual sessions with Dr. Hopper three times a week as well as group therapy once a week.”

“Can’t wait.” She mumbled and the woman grunted angrily before continuing.

“You’re to be in you room with lights out at 10pm each night.”

“I’m 20, not 12”

“You’re also not in a hotel and you will obey my rules or there will be consequences. There will also be no sex on these grounds.”

“So, I’ve heard. This place is a real downer.”

“Dr. Whale will provide you all of your mediation.” She picked up her file again and glanced through it until she found the information she needed. ��Anxiety medication, as needed, as well as Birth Control medication, it appears.”

“Not sure why I need that here.” She scoffed.

“We allow our female patients to continue with their usual regimen since most have plans to leave and return to their lives. If you have plans to stay longer, I can let your Dr. know you won’t be needing it.”

“I never said that.”

“In that case, let me continue, there is a gym on site, as well as a registered dietician to use as needed. So now that we got that out of the way, we just need to sign the paperwork and I’ll need your cell phone.”

Emma yanked her phone out of her pocket and tossed it on the table. “Just give me the papers.”

She passed them toward her, “Please sign, Emma Nolan, that is your legal name.”

Emma grumbled as she took pen to paper, signing her name.

“You can make a phone call to mom and dad after you complete the first 14 days of your treatment.”

“Yeah right.”

“In any case, it will be available if you have changed your mind by then. Now let’s go meet your roommate before your first session with Dr. Hopper.”

“So much excitement, I can hardly contain myself.”

The woman did not hide her contempt toward her as they walked out of the office. Emma knew Regina’s type. She had seen it plenty of times before from the women who looked down their noses at Emma even as they attended her parent’s fancy parties. Those were the women who thought Emma was undeserving of her life. She hated women like Regina Mills. Eventually she would have to find a way to convince this lady to let her go home. She studied her cautiously as they walked. She would do what she always did, find a crack, and expose it.

“Ruby, I have your new roommate, Emma.”

Emma eyed the girl lying on her bed, engrossed in a magazine. “Bed’s over there.” The girl pointed to the other side of the room and the empty bed.

“Dr. Hopper should be ready to see you as soon as you unpack.” Regina nodded to the women and exited quickly.

“She’s a real piece of work.” Emma whispered under her breath.

“The word you’re looking for is bitch.” The tall dark-haired girl added.

“Glad it wasn’t just me thinking that.”

“You won’t have to deal with her much unless you break the rules, so obviously I see her at least once or twice a week.” She grinned.

Maybe she might actually like her roommate.

“I don’t know how you could even walk around here without breaking rule #3 at least once or twice a day.”

“You mean the eye candy?” Ruby mused. “It’s like they’re asking us to break that rule.”

Emma laughed heartily. “That security guard sure is nice to look at.”

“Graham, yeah he’s a bit of a straight arrow. He’ll flirt but I’ve never so much as even been able to convince him of a blow job. And he reports everything back to Regina, so I would tread lightly there.”

“Shame, he’s easy on the eyes.”

“Trust me, wait til you meet the men in our group session. They’ll have you wet and ready before you even leave your seat, I spend most of the session squirming in my chair, but then I’m also a sex addict so maybe it’s just me.”

“You can actually be addicted to sex?”

Ruby shrugged, “Yeah it’s a thing. Hop says I spend too much time worrying about my other vices and not enough looking at the reasons behind why I feel like I need sex all the time.”

Emma had never really enjoyed sex. But then she’d only ever been with Neal, so she didn’t have a lot of experience to compare it to. “So, what’s this Dr. Hopper like? Anything I should know?”

“He’s a nice guy, but not much gets by him. He asks more questions than you’ll be ready for. Best just to answer and move on.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Twenty minutes later, seated across from the curly haired doc and Emma understood what Ruby meant about his number of intrusive questions.

“So why do you think you are here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? My dad is pissed at me and sent me here for punishment.”

“Why do you think your dad is mad at you?”

“Embarrassment, not obeying him, and three thousand other stupid reasons he gets mad at me every day.”

“Why do you think he would be embarrassed?

“Why would you do this Emma?” “Why do you care?” “Emma, I’m your father, I just want to understand why you would get involved in any of this? You knew how bad this would look if you got caught.” “Ah yes, what you actually mean is how bad it would look for you.” “Drugs, breaking and entering, stealing…Emma? Why? Why didn’t you talk to us?” “Don’t start acting like you give a damn now. This is the first time I’ve seen you in three months.”

“He’s David fucking Nolan. Do you know how much money he paid just to keep my arrest out of the news?”

“Do you think he might have been protecting you?”

She laughed loudly, thinking about how absurd it sounded to her. “His business is his number one priority. Trust me, he doesn’t want anyone to find out about my…” She stiffened. “My uh, arrest.”

“You were arrested for breaking and entering, as well as possession of a schedule 2 substance, is that correct?”

She laughed. “It was a joke. We broke into a hotel of one of my dad’s competitors. Stole some cash.”

“We?”

“Um, a friend.”

“Were you also doing drugs with this friend?”

“Well, he wouldn’t be a friend if he didn’t share his drugs.” The joke fell flat as the man stared at her, making a note in his book. “Look it wasn’t a big deal.”

He flipped through the pages of her file. “You were high on cocaine the night you were arrested, is that correct?”

“I know, what a cliché, rich kid arrested doing coke.”

“It says in the report that you were the only one arrested. Where was your friend?”

“Took off. Gotta look out for yourself, right?” Emma chewed on her nails uncomfortably.

He paused and she braced for more questions about her friend but was surprised when he moved on. “How long had you been doing cocaine?”

“I dunno, a few years. Everyone was doing it at parties, its not a big deal.”

“You spent 11 months in jail, isn’t that correct?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Did something bad happen in jail?”

Emma flinched.

“Emma you can do it. One more push.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” She yelled, crossing her arms, and staring out the window. “Actually, I’m done talking at all today.”

When he became resigned to the fact that she had no intention of answering any more of his questions, he released her from the session. She stormed back to her room, unsure how she was going to survive this place. She hated being drilled and questioned by someone she didn’t even know.

God, she needed a drink.

She threw herself on her bed and groaned loudly.

“Told you the questions were brutal.”

Emma looked over at her new roommate. “What do you do around here for fun?”

The girl grinned. “Wanna get your heart rate up?”

She leaned onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow, her head cradling into her hand. “Somehow I don’t think you mean that in a way that is actually interesting or fun.”

“Come on. Trust me.”

She begrudgingly followed the girl through the hallways until she yanked open the double doors and paraded into the large gym.

“Ok you definitely lost me at physical exertion.”

“I said to trust me.”

She grumbled as they both walked over to the treadmills. “I don’t understand how exercise equates to…”

She gestured toward the opposite corner of the gym. “Nothing beats a good work out when you have something like that to look at.”

Emma watched the man remove his shirt and she grinned in the direction of her roommate. “Ok I’ve learned to trust you. You do know where all the fun is around here.”

“That’s Jefferson. Hot as hell, great in bed.” Emma stared at her, mouth standing open.

“You’ve had sex with him? Here?”

“Oh yeah, got a week of solitary for it but it was worth it.”

Emma increased the speed on her treadmill when two other men entered the room. The one Graham had called Jones with the blue eyes and smug attitude and a shorter man striding beside him.

“Oh, he’s new.” The girl sang beside her.

“Apparently it’s his first day. Graham called him Jones. Real asshole though.”

“Oh, even better, those are the best ones in bed.” She pointed to the guy next to him. “That’s Will. He’s hilarious, only got him to kiss me once, he has a fiancé waiting for him at home. Boring. Just don’t listen to a thing he says.” She laughs. “Compulsive liar.”

Emma watched as Jefferson greeted the two men. He lifted his shirt above his head and Emma felt her mouth go dry staring at his chest, a patch of dark hair trailing down into the waistband of his sweats.

“One hand, never done anyone in that situation before.” Ruby whispered.

The man stood in the corner, lifting one of the weights with his right arm, glancing in their direction. Emma increased the speed on her bike again, feeling the sweat starting to roll down her back. She swore she saw him smirk in her direction and she felt the fire between her legs start to burn. She broke eye contact with him, focusing on the numbers moving in front of her.

“Hello ladies.” She turned to see the one Ruby called Will approaching them.

“William. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Ruby Red, baby, glad to see you are back in general. Who’s your friend?”

“Will, Emma. Emma, Will.” Ruby introduced them, her voice coming out in strained breathes as she ran next to her.

“Lovely to meet you, I’m Will. Though you may have seen me on television.”

“Sorry, don’t watch a lot of television.”

He frowned and Jones approached them. “We meet again, Swan.”

“How unlucky for me.” She punched the stop button on her treadmill and slowed her pace as the machine came to a crawl.

“Was it something I said?” He laughed as she grabbed a towel and slung it over her neck.

“You breathed.” She groaned.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Her roommate stepped off her treadmill and held out her hand to Jones. “Ruby.”

“Pleasure is all mine, lass. Killian Jones.” He greeted.

“Aren’t you that pirate?”

“Aye, busted.”

“I knew it! Did you know that was him, Emma?” She squealed.

Emma stared at the two of them. Pirate? She squinted her eyes, staring at the man. She had no idea who he was. “Sorry, no idea, don’t care, honestly.”

He sauntered up beside her, dropping an arm around her shoulder. “Perhaps you know me by my more colorful moniker, Hook. Captain Hook?”

She grabbed his hand and plucked it off her shoulder. “Delightful and also ridiculous, but Sorry haven’t a clue who you are, don’t care for fairytales.”

“Never wanted to be a princess then, love?” His arm now sliding down around her waist.

She grabbed him by the hand, twisted in his grasp and pushed him to the ground, whipping his wrist behind his back. “I told you, I’m not interested.”

He laughed. “You sure about that, love.”

She leaned closer to his ear. “You couldn’t handle it.” With one sweep he wrapped his leg around her and flipped them over, his body pressing into hers.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” His tongue clicking in her ear. In an instant her body caught fire at the tone of his voice, and the feel of his body on hers.

Asshole.

Her knee met his groin in a fury, and she felt him tense above her, rolling to his side with a loud groan. “Bloody minx.”

She stood up and peered down at him. “You deserved that.” She looked back at Ruby who was in the midst of a giggling fit. “Let’s get out of here.”

The girl wrapped her arm around Emma’s waist. “You are going to be so fun to hang around.” She laughed. “I bet you are amazing in bed.” Emma glanced sideways at her, not sure if she was hitting on her or just making a remark. “Would be worth a week in solitary to find out.”

Yep, definitely flirting with her. This place was going to be interesting.

#wonderland #my fics #stacy's fics #emma x killian #killian jones #emma x hook #emma swan #captainswan #captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fics #captain swan modern au

12 notes · View notes

starrynite7114 · 4 years

Text

two sides of reality: three

A/N: Good morning everyone! So happy to finally update this story as well! I’m trying to make my way through my stories and requests, so bear with me. I’m trying my best to update all of them as much as I can. Hope you all are having a happy Monday so far!

Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Previous chapters

One : Two

Masterlist

If you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic ; @iambabyharry ; @thegirlwhowritesfics ; @carlaangel86 : @briannab1234 : @trulysuccubus : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @chibsytelford : @marvelmaree

Rhian sat in the clubhouse, waiting for Templo to adjourn. She wasn’t exactly ecstatic to say her piece, but Bishop wasn’t going to keep this from her tio and she understood that. Though, she couldn’t help but wish he kept this from him.

“You okay?” She heard EZ question her.

Rhian nodded her head. “I’m good, what are you doing here?” She didn’t even notice that EZ was there, but she had plenty on her mind.

“Kind of live here.” EZ pointed out.

“At the trailer?” Rhian chuckled. “Wow, Stanford to a trailer, you might as well have gone to a local college.” She bit her lip then, scolding herself for being so insensitive. “Ezekiel, I’m sorry.” She was sad for Ezekiel, the golden boy made it out of town only to be sent to prison. What happened with their mother, it was awful, she couldn’t imagine how devastating it was for both him and Angel, especially Mr. Reyes.

“It’s okay, shit happens.” EZ offered her a smile. “So what did you get yourself into?”

“I work for the cartel.”

“You do what now?” EZ’s eyes widened at her admission. The cartel? As in Miguel Galindo? He couldn’t believe it. Emily was married to Miguel and now his former best friend worked for the cartel.

The templo door opened and her Tio Taza came out, sitting beside her at the table she was currently seated at.

He didn’t appear angry, he just appeared disappointed. But he was always calm, till he started talking.

“How long?” He questioned, straight to the point.

“It’s been four years,” she felt that honesty was the best policy at this point. She always wanted to tell him, but she didn’t want to cause conflict with the cartel and the MC. “Tio, I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t want to worry you.”

“And you think this is better?” His raspy voice slightly raised, but he took a deep breath, shaking his head. “You could have gotten hurt. How can you be so stupid?” His word stung, he never told her that before. She was the favorite, it was rare for Taza to direct any feeling of disappointment towards her. But she couldn’t blame him. She fucked up.

“I know,” Rhian looked down at her lap where her hands were folded, her fingers fidgeting.

“Why are you in this mess? You’ve never even crossed paths with the cartel.” Taza was disappointed that she didn’t come to her. He always assured her that he could reach out to him, that she could trust him. “There is no reason for you to even be involved with the cartel.”

“It was Bryan.” Rhian sighed. She looked up, seeing all the members including EZ looking at her, waiting for her explanation. “Bryan was addicted to gambling, he moved heroin for Galindo to fund his addiction. One of his runs, he decided to sell a block of heroin, didn’t get caught so he started doing it and Galindo finally caught on. He was able to escape death and left the state.” She hated talking about this whole situation. Every time she did, she just thought about how stupid she sounded. “So Miguel gave me a choice, to pay out his debt to him or he would hurt his family.”

“Rhian,” Taza groaned.

“I know, it was stupid and none of my business, but I couldn’t let him harm his family.” Rhian really hated this story. “I don’t owe his family anything, but you know why I had to do it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Does Daniel know?” Taza didn’t understand her loyalty to Bryan, the same man who left her at a rest stop at fucking Barstow.

“He doesn’t. I just didn’t want to involve the MC, I know how involved you already were with the cartel. It’s not an excuse, but I didn’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Rhian explained. “I’m almost done, two more months then I’m done.”

“Galindo seems fond of you, I don’t think you will be done.” It didn’t sit well with Angel that she was on a first name basis with Galindo. The whole situation was just peculiar for him. Galindo seemed to really admire her and that was never a good thing, well, depending on the situation of course.

“How much did he owe?” Bishop questioned, which Rhian was thankful for since she didn’t want to address Angel’s comment.

“A hundred grand.”

“What?!” She felt that everyone said it in unison and she looked around in the room, shaking her head.

“The fuck, how did that even happen?” Coco couldn’t wrap his head around this whole situation. He met Bryan, wasn’t the best guy, but he was decent enough. Meeting him, he would have never thought that Bryan would be that type of guy, an addict.

“He stole a whole shipment, just never showed his face again. When he broke up with me, he dropped me off at a rest stop at Barstow, he told me he had to hide.” Rhian grimaced then, remembering that night. She was heartbroken, but at the same time, she was relieved. Her relationship with Bryan at that point was on the rocks, but she stayed with him since at that point, it was out of habit. He became a part of her routine and he was easy on the eyes. Shallow, she knew that, but she had her needs as well.

“You should have told us.” Bishop looked as disappointed at Taza and that made her heart clench. She grew up with these two men making sure she would never go down a bad path and here she was, running shipment for the cartel.

“With all due respect Tio Bishop, I just didn’t want to trouble you guys. I made my decision to get in this, I wasn’t going to include you all.” Rhian knew no reason would suffice for them, but if she at least got it out, maybe they would see that it wasn’t as stupid as they believe it to be.

“But that’s the thing conejo, your family, this is our business.” Taza ran his fingers through his hair, looking at Bishop and the rest of his brothers. “You said two more months?”

“Yes, and that’s it.”

“Angel and Coco will go with you.” Bishop made the decision after Angel immediately volunteered to accompany her, which surprised him. Coco was his initial pick along with Gilly, but if Angel volunteered, he wouldn’t take it away from him. He trusted Angel to keep her safe.

Rhian bit her tongue. Arguing was a moot point. She nodded her head and sighed. “Two months, that’s it and this is done.”

“Oh, it will be. There’s no way you’re going to be further involved with this.” Bishop stated.

“Believe me, I have no intentions of being involved after the debt is paid.” Rhian agreed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you. I know you’re disappointed, but I did what I had to do.”

“Does Bryan know you’re doing this for him?” Taza never liked Bryan, but he was the only one who was able to bypass Sergio and Daniel, he figured that he was a decent guy. After this, Bryan had to pay for putting his niece in harm's way.

“No, he doesn’t need to know.” She was still in contact with Bryan. After Bryan got word that Rhian was helping out a family member of his, he reached out to her. Every few days, he’d check in, make sure she was okay and disappear again. Rhian didn’t care much for their weekly conversations, but he was at least showing himself to his family in Seattle. She figured he was in Canada somewhere. Didn’t matter to her, as long as he stayed the fuck away from Santo Padre.

“The fuck you mean he doesn’t need to know? Don’t be stupid.” Angel burst, not happy with the way she was putting herself on the line for some asshole who obviously didn’t care about her. “You’re better than this, how can you just keep this from him? This is his fucking mess.”

Rhian wasn’t sure how to reply to Angel. He felt very strongly about a situation he couldn’t even begin to understand. Furthermore, he was no one in her life to even say anything.

“Angel,” Taza hissed.

“No, this is ridiculous. You can’t possibly stick up for someone who indirectly put you in this situation.” Angel waited for Rhian to reply, but she appeared shocked by his sudden outburst.

“Um,” she pursued her lips, mildly shaking her head. “I don’t expect you to understand why I’m doing what I’m doing nor do I need your approval. You all should know that the cartel is unforgiving and Bryan made a mistake. There’s no need to involve him.”

“But there is, this is his debt, not yours.” Angel’s voice slightly raised, the frustration obviously getting the better of him.

“Look, I’m tired, I have to leave early tomorrow morning. If you have a problem with this whole deal, then you can stay in Santo Padre. I don’t understand why you’re so involved. You haven’t spoken to me since high school, why won’t we just keep it that way?” Rhian stood up. She didn’t need this bullshit from Angel. “Can I go Tio Taza?”

“I’ll follow you, we still need to talk.” Taza stood up with her. “I don’t care which one of you goes, if you’re going to give her grief, you don’t need to go Angel.”

They walked out leaving the other members looking at Angel who were also surprised by his outburst.

“Am I missing something here?” Bishop questioned. He wasn’t aware that something occurred between Rhian and Angel in high school. He knew that Rhian and EZ were friends, but nothing about Angel. He also knew that Angel dated Erica, but otherwise, nothing about Rhian and Angel.

“Angel was a dumbass.” Coco didn’t want to go into details.

“Yes, and he still is.” Bishop didn’t want to open that can of worms. “Is this gonna be a problem?” He directed his question at Angel who shook his head.

“Not at all Bish, it just doesn’t sit well with me that she’s doing this for someone who doesn’t deserve this kind of loyalty.”

“Doesn’t matter whether or not Bryan knows, the point of the matter is, she’s in this shit. We can handle Bryan later, our main concern right now is getting her out of this unscathed.”

“Sergio knew about this,” Angel realized then, remembering that Rhian had mentioned him earlier. Why would Sergio hide this from Daniel? They were best friends, his sister was in danger, he should have told Daniel or Taza about this. “Sergio got a thing for Rhian?”

Coco chuckled, shaking his head. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he doesn’t. Why not talk to your cousin and ask him?”

“We both know Sergio would rather see me six feet under.”

“I wouldn’t go to that extreme.” Gilly rolled his eyes at Angel’s dramaticness. “You just had to fuck his girlfriend.”

“Erica was not his fucking girlfriend.” Angel defended. “Is it my fault that I’m better looking than the fucker?”

EZ shook his head at his brother. He was definitely shocked to hear all of the information. One of Ezekiel’s regrets in his life was not fixing things between himself and Rhian. He was young and naive. He thought she would get over it and eventually mend the fences during his birthday or something, but she never did. After everything went down, she became indifferent to him and Angel. It was like they existed, but they didn’t. She was cordial, made small talk, but if he even tried to get any deeper, she quickly exits the conversation. He couldn’t blame her, but he wished she would give him a chance to make it up to her.

“It always goes back to his looks.” Gilly just shook his head. “Why did you two even fall out?”

“Couldn’t even tell you, he just fucking punched me on the face one day and that was that.” Angel knew why Sergio punched him on the face, but he was never angry about it. He understood why he did it.

“Pretty sure you deserved it.” Coco commented.

“I second that.” Gilly added.

“I think we’re all in agreement with that.” Riz gave his two cents as well as he sat by the bar with EZ.

“So is this going to be a problem Angel? She has enough shit on her shoulders, she doesn’t need you pestering her the whole trip up.” Bishop hoped that if Angel did agree to keep his mouth shut, they would work it out.

“Naw Prez, won’t be a problem at all.”

=============

Rhian yawned as she zipped up her jacket. She just finished her final and she would be heading to Seattle soon. She turned her car off and saw the two Mayans motorcycles. If she was lucky, they would be riding their motorcycles and she has the car all to herself.

Walking in, she found Nestor with Coco and Angel.

“Preciosa,” he greeted her. Much like Miguel, he admired her loyalty and before this whole ordeal they ran in the same circles as his older brother knew hers.

Angel frowned at the greeting. Like he said before, it didn’t sit well with him that she was so familiar with the cartel. She could even be family for all he knew, but he knew she wasn’t. Their brothers ran in the same circle from what he could remember.

“The usual, your itinerary is in the car along with the keys to the rest house in Sacramento and Seattle.” Nestor unformed her. “There are twenty keys, just drop it off at the warehouse to Lonnie and you’re good to go.” He nodded his head to Coco and Angel. “You going to be okay?”

Rhian nodded her head. “I’ve dealt with worse assholes than these two.” She laughed. “I can handle them.”

“Good, see you when you get back.” Nestor and his men left, leaving her with Coco and Angel.

“No more outburst?” Rhian looked at Angel. It didn’t sit well with her that he had to call her out. She understood why he did and why he was upset to some extent but it was none of his business.

“Depends, no promises though.” It was the best Angel could offer and at this point, there’s nothing she could do. He was already here and if she even tried to fight having Angel here, they would make it a big deal.

Rhian looked over at Coco who held his hands up. “You get shotgun.”

“Fuck no, I’m driving.” Angel held his hand out so she could hand her keys over.

“Don’t trust you with my car, pretty boy.” Even though the car was technically the cartels, she worked on that car, Angel didn’t need to touch the damn car.

Angel laughed. “You’ve never even driven with me.”

“More of a reason why you’re not driving.” Rhian grabbed one of the bags, but Angel took them from her. “Look, I’ve done this before, I don’t need you to carry anything for me, or do anything for me. I only agreed to this so that I don’t argue with Miguel, Tio Taza or Tio Bishop. I appreciate it Angel, but I got it.” She walked out then, leaving Angel to his own thoughts. He forgot how hard headed Rhian could be.

“This is going to be a long ass fucking trip.” Coco groaned as he followed Angel out.

=============

They’ve been on the road for nearly 8 hours and both Coco and Angel were impressed how Rhian could drive straight with no problems. They had to force her to stop and eat. She was fine with it, but she ran a tight schedule. They had to be at the rest house by 9 so Rhian could rest and drive the last 12 hours. Angel and Coco couldn’t believe she did this run once every two weeks. It kind of irked both men, wanting to hurt Bryan even more. How could she make such a great sacrifice for this asshole?

“You’ve been doing this for four years? That’s a tolling trip Rhi,” Coco was seated at the back seat while Angel sat beside Rhian. She personally wanted Coco at shotgun, but Angel was tall as fuck and would be uncomfortable in the back.

“I don’t only go to Seattle. I go to Texas and Arizona every once in a while. You guys can’t always make the trip.” Rhian kept her eyes trained on the road, it was a force of habit. She knew a second away could be life altering. “And sometimes Sonora.”

“You go to fucking Mexico? He uses the fucking tunnels for that.” Angel was back to annoyed, but he’s been biting his tongue, trying to play nice.

“I don’t only move heroin Reyes, it’s what I move the most, but at times he has me doing other things for him. Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy. He just asks me to drive his mother and Emily to Mexico.”

“You're like his personal chauffeur.” Angel scoffed.

“Whatever gets this debt paid quicker.”

“You honestly think he’ll absolve Bryan for all of his sins?”

“No, but I’m not doing this for him, it’s for his family. I could give two shits what he does to Bryan.”

Angel was confused. If she wasn’t doing this for Bryan, then why protect his family? From what Angel knew of Bryan, he was the youngest, with two older sisters. His mother and father were still around, but they lived in Murrieta, while one of his sisters lived in Lake Elsinore. His eldest sister, Angie, was the only one left at Santo Padre. From what he knew of her, she was a fucking snooty ass bitch.

“You owe his family or something?” Angel questioned.

“No, but why let innocent people be harmed by the stupidity of others.”

That was admirable. Rhian reminded him of Adelita in some ways. It clicked for Angel then. With this whole thing with the cartel, he could absolve Bryan once they took the cartel down and he could kill Bryan with his own damn hands.

“Very admirable of you to put your life on the line for people that I’m sure wouldn’t do the same for you.” It just didn’t sit right with Angel. He had to find that motherfucker. He’d put the bullet in between his eyes.

“Don’t expect someone with your ego to understand that, but there are good people in the world who are willing to do things without anything in return.” Rhian pressed her foot down on the gas pedal, wanting to reach the rest house that much quicker. She hated being on this trip with Angel. It’s not like what occurred in high school was still bugging her, it’s just Angel was annoying. He always stuck his nose at things that didn’t need his involvement.

“My ego? You don’t even fucking know me, so don’t pretend like you do.” Angel was tired of her snide remarks toward him. Coco was mistaken if he thought that she no longer cared about what occurred in high school.

“Thank god for that.” Rhian murmured under her breath.

The rest of the ride was silent between her and Angel. They only spoke to Coco, but otherwise it was icy between her and Angel. Once they arrived to the safe house, coco asked if he could borrow her car so he could get food. She gave him the car keys and pleaded for him to bring Angel, which he did.

“Hermano, if it’s going to be like this all the time, I don’t want you going with us.” Coco told Angel.

“I didn’t do shit! She’s the one being a bitch cause I’m asking her a rational question.” Angel scoffed, lighting up the cigarette in his mouth. He smoked so much today, Rhian made him fucking anxious.

“Look, she doesn’t owe you an explanation. Some times, you just have to take things at face value and go from there.” Coco ordered the food for the three of them, going to McDonald’s since no one could truly beat McDonald’s when it comes to being quick.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you smoke, but you can’t possibly be okay with everything she’s doing for this motherfucker?”

Coco quickly paid for the food and handed it over to Angel.

“I’m not. But you don’t know the full story and before you ask, it ain’t my story to tell.” Coco knew Angel’s curiosity could get the better of him and he was going to keep poking. As much as he wanted to share her story with Angel, it just wasn’t his scene. “Why are you trying now Angel?”

Why was he trying now?

It’s been years, but Angel only decided to come near her now because for once, no one was truly there to block him. Sergio hung onto Rhian and made sure Angel could never go near her. Daniel never cared, he didn’t know enough Angel was guessing. Erica didn’t either. But maybe he shouldn’t have used Erica to try and get close to Rhian again. The more time he let pass, the harder it became to do anything. Angel wasn’t perfect, but he wanted to make things up to her.

“It became harder and harder for me to make it up to her when more time passed.” Angel threw his cigarette out of the window. “She was important to both myself and Ezekiel, we let too much time pass and you know, just never worked out.”

“And you weren’t thinking and decided to sleep with her sister as a way of making your way back in her life?” Coco chuckled, shaking his head at this best friend’s way of thinking.

“Fuck you, I did what I had to do.” Angel wasn’t going to make up reasons why he had a relationship with Erica for six months. It wasn’t even a relationship, they just benefited one another’s sexual needs. No feelings whatsoever. Their relationship was the type people wanted if all they wanted was sexual gratification.

But no one also had to know that he dated Rhian for a year and a half during her freshman to sophomore year and when he made it to the football team, he dropped her quicker than he dropped a fumble.

Coco didn’t reply and parked the car up the driveway of the house. They both slid out of the car and made their way inside. When they got in, Rhian was already knocked out on the couch. Coco moved to wake up Rhian, but Angel stopped him.

“Let her sleep, she needs that more than food.”

Coco nodded his head, letting Rhian sleep. Angel and Coco ate quickly before heading to bed as well. Coco took one of the bedrooms down the hall. Angel sat at the armchair, pulling the leg rest closer so he could have a makeshift bed. He remembered how Rhian hated waking up alone and he was certain it still remained that way.

Once upon a time, he was her knight and shining armor, but now, she wouldn’t even give him a second glance.

But he was going to make it up to her. She would have to get used to him because he was here to stay.

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic #tsor

52 notes · View notes

backtothestart02 · 4 years

Text

Hot to the Touch - 4/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Y’all do not even know the pain and suffering I went through trying to get tumblr to cooperate with me and open a text post. Oy. Anyway, here’s my next commission made by @jennlee44 AND the next fic in my fics-for-icons arrangement with @izzyllewis. I hope you both - and everyone else! - enjoys this update. I had a lot of fun with it. :)

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Chapter 4 -

She didn’t understand. It had been a long time since she’d had sex, sure, and this time had been good – really good. But not so good that she couldn’t get a hold of herself. Or maybe it was just the thrill of public sex and the discomfort that came from fucking somewhere other than a bed.

She cleared her throat and looked over at him when she felt put together enough to put some snap back into her voice.

“That was…uh…”

“Good?” he asked, a smirk she could only think to call aggravatingly adorable on his lips.

Really good, she thought again but decided not to give him too much of a boost to his ego.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, nodding and screwing up any chance of keeping him humble.

His smile was wide and smug and gorgeous, and she felt her cheeks heat up as she rolled her eyes, dipping her head down so their gaze didn’t meet. Her heart was bursting, and she was starting to smile too, and she couldn’t help but feel this very familiar crush-like feeling blossoming inside of her.

Stop it. It was just good sex. That’s all.

Really good.

Was it possible to be starstruck by really good sex?

“So…” She licked her lips, hesitant to look him in the eyes again lest she melt. “I should go.”

He looked at her curiously.

“I have a class,” she explained, glad that he didn’t know that said class was about to be let out in roughly five minutes.

He nodded once, still smiling, though now with closed lips, no brilliant teeth shining back at her. He didn’t ask any questions, and he let her skirt by him so she could get to the end of the aisle.

She paused briefly, then turned to look at him, feeling as flustered as he must have felt yesterday morning.

“Thanks,” she said lamely, lingering a second longer than necessary in case he said anything else.

His amused laugh was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard in her life.

“Any time, Iris.”

She swallowed her gasp with the smallest gulp she could manage and fled the scene, her heart still thudding away in her ears as she made her way down the back stairway and out the alley door. She was too embarrassed to look back and see if he was standing by the window watching her the way she had done the day before.

At least she wasn’t running like he had been; now she was more like power walking. She was power walking with purpose, and her arms definitely weren’t flailing about.

It wasn’t until after she turned the corner that she realized she wasn’t carrying any books or a backpack or even a purse. She’d gone to the bookstore solely with the purpose of getting herself off, so Barry probably knew by now that her excuse of going to class was complete bullshit and just used to get away from him.

Not that she wanted to get away from him. God, she wanted anything but.

She had to be careful though. All she’d wanted was a one-night stand, and that was definitely what she got. There was no need to even see him again. At least not for anything but sex.

Anything but sex…

She bit her bottom lip, imagining a ‘next time’ with Barry. She wasn’t sure, but she could’ve sworn her panties were getting wet again.

“God dammit,” she muttered under her breath. How could he have this effect on her?

She needed to talk to Linda, and she needed to do it fast. She had to figure out what her next move would be, because right now all she wanted to do was run back to that bookstore, hope Barry was still there, and jump his bones again. She wanted to spend the whole day doing nothing but having sex with him. It would be pure ecstasy, and she would relish in it.

But what kind of impression would that leave him with?

That she wanted to be with him? That she wanted to date him?

That was absolutely not something she wanted to ever do. At least not right now.

No. Never.

She was not going to date ever again, and if she did, it wasn’t going to be with this nerd she’d spontaneously hooked up with.

But why not?

She couldn’t answer that, so instead she trudged onward, back to hers and Linda’s tiny apartment. She put the key in the lock and opened the door, shutting it quickly behind her.

“Lin!” she called out. “Linda!”

No sound greeted her. She frowned and pulled out her phone. She saw she’d missed a call from Linda when she was… Well, when she was otherwise occupied. Heat rose in her cheeks again.

She put the phone to her ear and listened to the message.

“Hey, Iris, so I thought it might be fun if we stayed in my parents’ place all weekend! No more parties, I promise. Just us. I’m sure my folks won’t mind. Let me know what you think. I’ll be back at the apartment around noon. See you then!”

Iris lowered the phone from her ear and checked the time. 10 a.m.

Linda had an early morning Saturday class too, but hers started an hour later than Iris’ at nine, so she had no reason to be suspicious. Yet.

She didn’t know why Linda was going to take two more hours to get back to their place when her class would be over at 10:30, but Iris supposed it didn’t matter. Maybe she was running errands, maybe she was relaxing in the park, maybe she was settling in at her parents’ place after assuming she’d convince Iris to go with her. Regardless, she wasn’t home, and Iris was alone.

She kicked off her shoes, moved from the room to the even smaller room at the end of the short hall and fell back on her bed.

She sighed loudly and closed her eyes.

“I had sex with Barry Allen.”

…

Barry had watched Iris “power walk” away from the bookstore from the window where they’d fucked.

He’d stayed there a while too, smiling to himself, reliving the feel of his dream girl inside his mind over and over, wondering how she knew his name too, because he definitely hadn’t told her. Not that it mattered how she knew. All that mattered was she knew, and she’d cried it out as he thrust up into her, and wow, that sex had been good. It’d been a while for him, but he couldn’t remember sex being that good before.

After a good half hour, he left the bookstore the same way Iris had and grabbed himself a coffee at the local coffee shop before heading back to his and Cisco’s apartment.

He could not stop smiling.

The sex had been great, but what really made him beam was how easy it had been to convince her. Just cut her off and kiss her? Who would’ve thought? Caitlin was definitely right in that all he needed to do was keep pursuing her. In the back of his mind, he did worry if Iris would keep her distance now that they’d had sex once, but he hoped not. He hoped he could win her over again. He wanted to see her, be with her. He still wanted more than just sex, even though he hardly knew her.

But he knew her name, and he knew what her body wanted, and he knew where her secret hideaway was, and for right now that was all he needed to know.

The cry of “Damn it!” was heard just as he put the key into the lock of his and Cisco’s apartment door. The voice was most definitely Cisco’s, and the bleating that immediately followed definitely belonged to his goat.

Barry couldn’t help but chuckle before turning the knob and stepping inside.

“So, are you going to name it?” he asked, beaming as the baby goat trotted across the room, toilet paper dragging under one hoof, and Cisco sitting on the couch looking about ready to pull his hair out.

Cisco lifted his head up slowly and glared at his roommate.

“You left early,” he accused, his voice low and gravelly.

Barry shrugged nonchalantly, nothing able to get him into a bad mood this morning.

“I had somewhere I had to be.”

Cisco started walking towards him, daggers in his eyes, so Barry held up his hands in surrender.

“It was Caitlin’s idea,” he insisted.

Cisco paused, grimacing as he stepped into a tiny pile of goat poop. He was shoeless and sockless and looked about to scream.

“Here, okay, let’s just-”

Cisco’s groan turned high-pitched.

“This stupid goat!”

The bleating turned cheerful and then quieted as the goat turned to go into Cisco’s room.

“Oh, no you don’t! You don’t get to poop in my room, you little…shit!”

“Cisco!” Barry went after him with some paper towels, but Cisco just limped around, trying to ignore the squish of his foot every time he walked until he made it to the doorway of his room.

Cisco was fuming, his hands braced on each side of the doorway. Barry had to slowly unclench his hands and turn him aside as his gaze turned deadly. He handed him the paper towels for his foot and went into his room, fetching the goat who bleated happily again.

“I’ll put him in my room. If he poops, he poops.”

Cisco scoffed, wiping his foot clean and then hobbling back into the kitchen to disinfect it with soap and water and a real towel. He shuddered as he tossed the paper towels away and threw the towel into the laundry basket.

“You must be in a real good mood to be fine with a goat pooping in your room,” he said sarcastically as he made his way to the couch again and took a seat.

“Nothing a little disinfectant can’t fix. We just have to potty train him is all. I’ll pick up a litterbox when I’m out later today.”

Cisco stared up at him in disbelief, a million questions running through his head, but only one blatant fact emerged.

“We’re not keeping it!”

Barry’s grin faltered slightly.

“You better find out who it belongs to, then,” he teased, coming to sit beside him after wiping up the floor and washing his hands.

“I don’t understand,” Cisco whined. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

Barry shrugged. “Can’t I be in a good mood every once in a while?”

“You wouldn’t even speak to me when I came home last night.”

“That’s because it was three in the morning, and I’d been sleeping for four hours already.”

“Nah, there was more to it. Something happened at the party, didn’t it? Something bad. Something that upset you.” Barry was silent for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shook his head, then smiled cheerfully again.

“It doesn’t matter now. Everything is right in the world.”

“Everything is not right,” Cisco said. “That goat is out to get me.”

Barry chuckled. “Well, everything is right in my world at least.”

“And why is tha-” The dots fused together in his mind. “No.”

“Yep.”

“You. You and-”

“Uh huh.”

“But last night…?”

Barry sighed, realizing he’d have to tell the whole story.

“Last night, she jumped me in a bedroom at the party and I ruined it by not wanting a one-night stand.”

“Dude.”

“I know, I know.” He waved him off. “But I called Caitlin to drive me home, and she told me that Iris was probably just playing hard to get, and I should just keep pursuing her.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out she was right!” He grinned gleefully. “I went to the bookstore this morning and turned the tables on her. She gave in instantly.”

“So, you had sex.”

“Well, yeah!”

“And…are you going out?”

Barry’s smile slipped.

“Well…no. I mean, we didn’t discuss that. She just…she said she had to leave to go to a class…”

“Oh, Barry.”

“She said the sex was great though!” More or less.

“That only makes it a one-night stand.”

Now Barry frowned.

“You gave her what she wanted, Barry. She’s not going to want anything to do with you now.”

His brows furrowed.

“Why do you have to be so negative? You don’t know that for sure.”

He shrugged in a ‘maybe I’m wrong’ way, but it didn’t make Barry feel any better.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Cisco said, heading for his room. “The goat’s doo-doo is on you.”

He closed the door behind him, and Barry sunk back into the couch, as his heart plummeted in his chest.

Had he really seen the last of Iris West?

…

At half-past one Iris decided Linda had to have gotten settled in at her parents’ place and headed over. It was a half hour walk, but she could use the additional time to try and sort her feelings out – as if she hadn’t already been doing that for the past two hours…

Regardless, the time was well spent, and when she knocked on the door to the mansion half an hour later and Linda appeared on the other side, she knew it was well worth the wait.

“I slept with Barry.”

Linda’s jaw dropped.

“Thanks for finding out his name at the party for me by the way,” she said, moving past her into the house. “It would’ve been awkward to cry out ‘book boy’ into his ear as he fucked me.”

“Well.” Linda shut the door and spun around. “You’ve had quite the morning.”

“Yeah…I skipped class, went to the bookstore, and…he showed up. Then, we-”

“I think I got it, Iris.” Linda grinned.

“I wanted to tell you right away, but you weren’t home. Then you weren’t at noon when you said you’d be, so I waited a little bit longer, and-”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I caught up with stuff here. You good with staying here over the weekend? I called the folks. They’d love to have you staying here with me while they’re gone. In fact, they want us to stay to look over the house! Isn’t that great?”

“Fantastic,” she said on a sigh.

“Oh, what’s wrong, honey? You don’t want to stay?”

“No, it’s not that…” She shook her head. “It’ll be fun to stay here a few more days. I’d love to.”

“Then what?” She folded her arms.

“What do I do now?”

“What? With Barry?”

She nodded.

“Well, you got your one-night stand, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“And that’s all you wanted, right?”

She was silent.

“Right?”

“Right,” Iris said, after hesitating a bit too long. “Of course. I don’t need any entanglements right now. I need to take care of me, and that means not jumping into a relationship. I mean, that scares me. I don’t want it. I don’t want to risk anything. I need to protect myself before I go thinking there’s a guy out there that could actually-”

“Hey, hey.” Linda closed the distance between them and grabbed Iris’ shoulders. “The choice is yours. No one is forcing you to do anything. Okay?”

Iris nodded slowly.

“I’m just not ready.”

“Then don’t jump into anything.”

“Okay.” She forced a smile. “Thanks, Lin.”

“Any time,” she said, reminding Iris of Barry’s last words to her. A chill ran down her spine. “How about I put a movie on and we just relax for a whi-”

“Actually-”

Linda frowned. “Yeah?”

“Could you get me Barry’s number?”

Linda blanched.

“You got me his name. Why can’t you get me his number?”

“Iris. You just said-”

“Every girl needs a booty call, right?” she said, avoiding her friend’s gaze.

Linda laughed. “Sure.” She shook her head. “Why don’t you get the movie set up, and I’ll do some digging.”

Iris couldn’t be 100% certain, but she was fairly sure she heard Linda mutter something on the way to another room, something about how good the sex must’ve been for her to want him as a booty call.

She probably should’ve kept the information to herself, but she couldn’t help it. How was she going to see Barry again? Just wait in the bookstore and hope he showed up?

Because yeah, she’d decided this was not going to be a one-time thing. Today had been euphoric, heavenly even. She’d felt alive in Barry Allen’s arms, as rough as that fuck had been. She missed his arms around her, his lips on hers, his tongue swirling her nipple, his hard cock thrusting up into her core, his hot breath in her ear. She missed it all.

And why should she be deprived of really good sex just because she wasn’t ready for a relationship? Why couldn’t this be just one really epic fling before she was ready for the real thing? It didn’t even have to mean the real thing would end up being with Barry. If she made the rules clear, and he agreed, then…well, she deserved this. After everything Eddie put her through, she deserved to feel alive every day. Multiple times a day. Multiple times an hour sometimes.

Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of it.

She wanted to see him again. She wanted him to want her. She wanted to see his eyes roving over her body, taking her apart piece by piece. She wanted him inside her, all day, all night. She wanted to forget her fear of heartbreak and just enjoy the heat of his flesh against hers.

The very thought made her shiver.

“Okay, I texted you,” Linda said, re-entering the room.

Iris felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and quickly took it out to put Barry into her contacts.

“But Iris.” She put her hand over Iris’ phone to draw her attention back to her. “Be careful with this, okay? You don’t want to get caught up into something you can’t get out of. Sex is exhilarating, but it shouldn’t become an addiction.”

“Lin-”

“And it shouldn’t be used as coping mechanism to deal with heartbreak.”

Iris sighed, slightly aggravated.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” she said sincerely, then threw all caution to the wind and excused herself to go to the bathroom…and text Barry Allen.

…

Late that night, after movies and dinner and painting nails and prank calls and gushing about the good ol’ days of high school gossip and homecoming after parties, Iris and Linda fell asleep on the couch in the huge living room in the center of the Park mansion.

Or at least, Linda did. Iris pretended to and then snuck out of the house where a cab was waiting for her. She had the driver let her off across the street from the bookstore, and then walked over to the back entrance in the alley, hoping her risqué suggestion wouldn’t be shot down at the last minute.

She needn’t have worried.

“You came,” she said, relieved when the tall shadow coming out of the alley was Barry and not some guy trying to kill or rob her.

“You asked me to,” he said easily.

She smiled brightly, then pulled a hair pin out of her pocket.

“C’mon.”

Once inside the rickety old door, Iris took Barry’s hand and led him up the stairwell in the dark. Moonlight shown through the windows on the second floor. It was deadly quiet, and the floor squeaked a little when they walked, but once they reached the center of the room and were in complete darkness again, Iris came to a stop, and so did Barry.

“You’re beautiful, Iris,” he said, smoothing some of her frizzed hair out of her face.

The compliment made her heart flutter and drop at the same time. It scared her and made her feel alive.

“Do you want me, Barry? Like you did this morning?”

His voice was rough when he answered.

“Yes.”

“I want you, too.”

“Iris.”

“This can be our spot, Barry. Every day…or a couple times a week…however often you want to do this.”

“Every day,” he said instantly, and her smile turned into a laugh.

“I missed you today,” she said, rising up on her tip toes to kiss him. “I missed your hands and your lips…” She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. “I missed your arms and your tongue.” She unbuttoned his shirt and spread her hands beneath his t-shirt. “I missed your breath in my ear and your eyes on my body.”

She met his eyes in the darkness.

“I missed you, too.” He gulped.

“But Barry?”

“Yeah?” he rasped.

“I’m not interested in a relationship. It’s just sex or nothing at all. That means no dates, no compliments – unless they’re sexual in nature, no being seen together. Hell, we have to keep us a secret just for good measure. Can you do that, Barry? Because if you can’t…”

He put a finger over her lips.

“I don’t like option two,” he said. “Anything is better than nothing at all.”

Happiness and heat exploded inside of her.

“I’m glad you think so.”

She dragged him down for a kiss, and he started to undress her. Moments later her clothes and his were piled into a heap, and Barry was lowering them down onto the soft carpet they’d stepped onto in the center of the room.

Iris sifted her fingers through his hair and drew her hands down his naked body. Her nailed traced the lines of his arms and face.

Feeling insecure in front of her perfection, Barry pinned Iris’ hands by her head, positioned himself at her core, using his knees to push her legs apart and leaned down to kiss her. Then he released her to slide on a condom and thrust into her soaking pussy.

She arched up and clung to him, digging her nails into his back as his teeth sucked on her neck. In and out he moved, his chest brushing her breasts and her mouth occupied, always occupied with his skin or his lips.

And so they moved in almost silence, exhilarated in the pleasure of their bodies winding around each other and writhing in the darkness, just shy of the moonlight seeping into the windows a few aisles away.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

#westallen #fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #hot to the touch #chapter 4 #fic commission #fics for icons #for jennlee44 #for izzyllewis #westallen fanfiction

52 notes · View notes

lannisterdaddyissues · 4 years

Text

The Last Kingdom High School AU - Chapter One

Hey y’all,,, so I finally decided to make this a thing after like 100 years! Anyone remember this post? It’s a thing now!! All my friends in the discord finally convinced me to share my writings with the world so here it is! This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, I will update it during the summer but I have a job so idk if updates will be regular. Anyway here is chapter one aaah!!

Chapter One

TLK High School AU

Word Count: 4.1k

“Oi! Arseling! Get your sorry arse to the principal’s office, now!” Leofric shouted as he slammed the gymnasium’s phone back onto its receiver. Uhtred’s classmates all turned to stare at him with round eyes, like a bunch of identical creepy owls. Uhtred hated those looks. He’d been getting them a lot in the past two years.

“Thank you for coming to see me, Uhtred,” the principal Odda greeted him, smoothing some papers out on his desk as Uhtred shuffled into his office. A steaming hot coffee mug sat to the side, untouched, and a bagel with a single bite mark in it lay on a napkin near the corner of his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about your behavior lately.” Uhtred blinked slowly but said nothing, leaving the ball in Odda’s court. Odda sighed. “You’ve been starting fights a lot lately in the past few months...the most recent one, three days ago, I believe, you sent my son home with a bloody nose and a black eye.”

“He called me names,” Uhtred said tonelessly, “And he’s an arsehole.” Odda grimaced and sucked air through his teeth. “See, Uhtred, that’s just more of what I’m talking about. You cannot just go around speaking like that to adults. You need to respect your elders. Otherwise, you’ll just keep getting in trouble and getting sent to detention. You know these are put on your permanent record.”

“...Fine.” Odda nodded, as though satisfied, and shuffled his papers. The reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose drooped a little and he pushed them back up towards his face.

“I also wanted to talk about your grades this semester.”

“What about them?” Uhtred stated more than inquired, hair falling over his shoulder as he tilted his head to the side. The old man never said anything of interest to him, just that he needed to stay on track if he wanted to be successful in life and that he had to watch his words in his essays. So what. He scanned the rest of the principal’s office nonchalantly, searching for an item to fixate on so he didn’t have to meet Odda’s eyes.

“They were just fine in your freshman year, perfectly average and acceptable for you to graduate, but halfway through your sophomore year they took a turn for the worse. Last year you failed both your English class and your maths class, barely passing your science class with a C-minus.”

“And what about it?” Uhtred repeated, twiddling his thumbs. His eyes alighted upon the globe in the back of the room on top of Odda’s filing cabinet and he exhaled deeply, wondering if he could get it to spin with his breath alone all the way from across the room. It didn’t move and he felt his mood blacken a bit more for no reason whatsoever.

“See here, Uhtred,” Odda said, leaning forward and turning the paper so he could see it, “you’ve got this red letter here. What letter is this?” Uhtred rolled his eyes.

“An F, sir,” he said, turning the honorific into more of a mocking title.

“Yes, I see, and do you know what happens when you fail your core classes, Uhtred?” There was a pointed gleam in Odda’s eye.

“What, sir?”

“It means you fail. You fail the entire year. And when you fail the entire year, do you know what that means, hmm? Let me tell you. You have to retake all of these classes.” Uhtred shot out of his chair, outraged. “I most certainly do not!” he shouted. “I’m not taking these bullshit courses again! I could pass these in my sleep, this is fucked up!”

“Life isn’t always fair, Uhtred,” Odda gave Uhtred another pointed look for his language and Uhtred sat down again, chastised. He sighed. “I know you‘ve had a tough time these past couple years.” Uhtred scoffed and whipped his head to the side.

That was a bit of an understatement, he thought. Uhtred had never known his birth parents. All he had ever known was his adoptive brother Ragnar’s father, who was also named Ragnar. He had grown up alongside Ragnar, Ragnar’s sister Thyra, and Brida, his best friend, and together the four of them were inseparable. Two years ago, Ragnar’s father had died in an accident, leaving Uhtred and his adoptive family to Kjartan, Ragnar’s uncle. Kjartan was neglectful and ignorant; he mostly left them to their own devices since he couldn’t be brought to care enough about them to hurt them. His son Sven was an abusive arseole whenever he visited, though.

“I don’t want your pity. It’s fine.”

“Since I know there are extenuating circumstances involved, I’ll give you an ultimatum,” Odda said. “I’ve asked a boy in your class to tutor you in all four of your core classes. He’s agreed to do it - don’t give me that look - in exchange for community service hours. You don’t have to pay him a dime.” The chair Uhtred was sitting in squeaked as he uncrossed his legs and recrossed them.

“And who am I tutoring with, sir?” Uhtred mocked, thinking his day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“His name is Alfred Rex, I believe he’s in your class-”

Ohhhhhhhh, fuck that.

“No!” Uhtred yelled, “I am not working with that pain in my arse!” Odda gave him a pointed look over his reading glasses.

“I believe he’s in your class, and you should be grateful that he’s agreed to do this for so little. He’s the brightest student in the school. Surely you won’t be able to fail any of your classes with his help.” Taking a sip of his coffee, Odda leaned back in his chair, looking satisfied. Uhtred was glad one of them was.

“You must have missed the part where I said he was a pain in my arse,” Uhtred seethed, fingers itching to strangle the principal - and maybe a particular student - to death, “We absolutely hate each other! This will be a fucking disaster! He doesn’t want to teach me shit, he just wants to lord over me like he always has!”

“Now I am just disappointed in you. Alfred wants to help, truly he does! And he’s all you’ve got right now, so you’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it, won’t you?”

“How much time do I have to spend with him anyways?” he spat. Odda met his eyes over his reading glasses and pursed his lips.

“You’ll be tutoring with him four days a week. One day for language arts, one day for maths, one day for science, and one day for history. At the end of the week he’ll give you a report of your progress. Really, you should count yourself lucky that he’s taking so much time out of his busy schedule to tutor you.”

I have to spend four days out of every week with him?!

“That’s not going to work, no way, I can’t spend four days out of every week with him. Give me anybody else and I swear to whatever god you worship that I’ll do it. Not him.”

“Uhtred, I already told you,” Odda’s voice grew firm, “You can take it or leave it. You’re not getting tutoring from anyone but Alfred. This is the last straw.”

“Whatever,” Uhtred hissed, “I’m leaving, and I’m not getting any tutoring if it’s from him! Alfred can screw his perfect self as many times as he likes, see where that gets him.”

“Uhtred! Wait!” Odda called after him. Shutting the door to Odda’s office, Uhtred pulled a cigarette out of his backpack and lit it, ignoring the multiple shouts of his name that followed the trail of smoke he left down the hall.

Uhtred slammed the door to his car shut, seething as he aggressively turned the ignition key and cranked the volume on the radio up high. He plugged his phone into the charger cord and hit call on the pre-existing groupchat he had with his best friends, Finan Agil, Sihtric Elflaedsson - his name was actually Kjartanson, but he legally changed it a few years ago when he moved in with his mom - and Osferth Heahengel. “Hey,” Uhtred said as the line clicked and they all greeted him. Gym class with Coach Leofric had just ended, so they were still in the locker room changing their clothes.

“The hell was that all about earlier?” Finan asked on the other side of the line. “You get sent to the office again? What’d he tell you?” The others voiced similar questions.

“You want to know what he told me? I’m fucking failing my classes. I have to get a tutor. I have to see him four times a week. That’s bullshit!” Uhtred ranted. “I’m going to have to repeat a year if I can’t bring my grades up. This is by far the worst fucking shit that has happened to me, ever.” Feeling his temper worsen, Uhtred made a right turn far more violently than he normally did and grunted as the tires squealed.

“What the hell?!” Sihtric yelled on the other end of the line. “You have to get tutoring?! That sucks!” Uhtred nodded his agreement even though they couldn’t see him.

“Do you know who your tutor is?” asked Osferth. “Maybe you won’t actually mind them. I mean if they said yes, they can’t be that bad, can they?” Uhtred gave a mocking laugh.

“Oh, dear Osferth, why don’t you just go on and ask me who it is?” The line went silent for a moment as all the friends considered how bad the news was going to be, and then Osferth spoke again.

“Uh...who is it?”

“Oh, only Alfred fucking Rex, the hugest prick in our grade.”

“You’re fucking kidding me!” “You have to tutor with Alfred?!” “But you two hate each other’s guts!” They all exclaimed simultaneously.

That fucking bastard, Uhtred thought, I know he’s just doing this to get one over me. He’s always bossing me around and acting like he owns the entire school. I fucking hate pricks like him.

“That’s just the worst,” Sihtric said sympathetically. The sound of a door opening on the other side of the line roused Uhtred from his bitter thoughts. They must have finished changing and were now heading to their next classes.

“I know, but Odda doesn’t even care,” Uhtred spat, “He says this is all I get! I can’t believe his audacity! You and I both know that Alfred wants to boss me around and that’s that!”

“I don’t know, Uhtred, maybe give him a chance,” Finan said doubtfully, “At least you’ve got a tutor, and Alfred’s the smartest kid in the school. You’ve got an advantage here.”

“Well, whatever, I’m home now so I’ll talk to you guys later,” Uhtred said, pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Wait, you went home?!” Osferth exclaimed.

“Uhtred, you’re going to get caught. That’ll just be another detention for you. Maybe you should come back.” Uhtred turned the key in his car’s ignition and slid it into his pocket, ignoring Finan’s words.

“Right now, I couldn’t care less about detentions,” Uhtred said. “See you guys later.” Finan protested with a “wait, you bastard—!!”, but Sihtric and Osferth bid him goodbye and he hit the end call button with little remorse before shutting his car door and making his way to the front door.

“I’m home,” Uhtred called out as he shut the door behind him. A chorus of ‘hey’s greeted him and Uhtred left his bag on a chair before walking into the living room. Ragnar - Uhtred’s adoptive older brother - and his childhood-friend-turned-girlfriend Brida were cuddling together on the couch. Some movie Uhtred didn’t recognize was paused on the screen. “Uhtred, what are you doing home so early?” Ragnar frowned at him as he sat up and pushed the blanket off his legs. Uhtred exhaled deeply and plopped on the couch like a deadweight, causing Brida to shove him with her foot.

“Didn’t feel like staying at school,” he muttered. “Left after gym class.” Brida sat up at that and she exchanged a glance with Ragnar, looking concerned.

“Hey, well,” Ragnar began, “Speaking of school, I have something I need to talk to you about.” Uhtred frowned.

Gee, how could this day possibly get any worse? I can’t wait.

“The principal called us a couple days ago and told us that...you’re failing this year, Uhtred,” Ragnar said seriously. Brida nodded alongside him.

“He said you’re going to have to repeat a year if you can’t hack it,” she added. “So Ragnar talked to him and the principal arranged for you to get tutoring with—“

“—With Alfred,” Uhtred interrupted, balling his fists, “Yeah, I already fucking heard.” Ragnar’s eyes widened.

“Oh, fuck,” he said.

“Yeah, oh fuck! I can’t believe you! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could have said no sooner!” Ragnar shrugged and laid back against the couch, crossing his arms behind his head. “I forgot,” he said honestly, smirking.

“Are you kidding me?! You know how much I hate Alfred! Why are you laughing at this?!”

“I’m not,” he said, “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Ragnar, please, tell me there is another option besides getting tutoring from Alfred of all people,” Uhtred begged.

“Sorry, Uhtred, but there’s no negotiation on this one. You need to get out of this house and away from Kjartan. You can’t do that if you fail your last year of high school. You need to go to college and, well, your principal gave you a stellar opportunity. Besides, you guys have never really spent any time together outside of class. Maybe you could find some common ground and we can finally be free of your constant complaining.” Uhtred dug his nails into his palms.

“How,” he growled, “Could this possibly be a good thing? Stop acting like my dad, Ragnar, you’re only a year older than me. I thought you were on my side about him.”

“Is that what this is about, Uhtred? That you don’t need help?” Ragnar rounded his eyes pleadingly. “Come on, Uhtred, do it for your future. Not because I think you’re going to be some great brilliant fucking Einstein, but you need to get out of here. Don’t be like this. You’re doing it whether you like it or not. I will call Alfred and have him come to our house for tutoring. You can do this on your terms or on ours.” Uhtred growled and reached for his phone, standing up from the couch to head upstairs.

“Give him a chance,” Ragnar said again. “One chance.”

“Fine,” he hissed, “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’m going to hate every fucking minute of this and you’re going to feel extremely guilty whenever you think about it!”

“Where do you think you’re going?! Your first session is at three,” Ragnar called after him. Uhtred just yelled in response and slammed his door shut, the little bells on his door handle jingling.

As he lay on his bed in his room, the door locked, Uhtred took the time to reflect about the day’s events so far.

Alfred Rex...he’s a total fucking prick.

Uhtred had met Alfred in his freshman year of high school. Alfred had gone to a different elementary and middle school than he had, but Winchester High was the only high school in the area. They’d immediately gotten off on the wrong foot and had been bitter enemies ever since. Uhtred thought Alfred was an officious, sickly, annoying pain in his arse and Alfred thought he was a stupid child that needed to be told what to do. Hate at first sight, truly.

Uhtred sighed. His sister Aethelflaed was so much nicer. She was a freshman, so he’d only met her this year, but he had no idea how the two of them were related. Aethelflaed was a social butterfly and tried to include everyone in everything she did, while Alfred was just a complete arseole. Dammit, why was he stuck with him?!

Growling, Uhtred threw his phone at the wall.

3:02 pm. He was past the point of no return. Pushing open the library doors reluctantly, Uhtred poked his head in, scanning the area. A couple of students he recognized were perusing the library’s faculties. Aldhelm Sawyer - an extremely tall brunet who had a bag of wet dicks for a personality - lounged on one of the couches with a science textbook propped on his lap, one leg crossed over the other. A pretty ginger girl whose name he thought was Eadith sat at a table by one of the windows across from a guy with dark hair; Eardwulf was his name, if Uhtred remembered correctly. Aethelflaed, Alfred’s younger sister, was using one of the computers. When he walked in, she turned around and smiled at him and he felt his heart flutter a bit. Something about her had that effect on people. On the other side of the room in the tutoring section, Odda - the principal’s little shit of a son - was giving a freshman tutoring session at one of the whiteboards. Alfred was nowhere in sight so Uhtred headed towards one of the open tables and plopped into a chair, checking his phone.

“You shouldn’t be on your phone if you’re here to learn,” a voice behind him said. Uhtred whipped around, hissing.

“What do you want,” he bit out, before thinking better of it when he recognized the owner of the voice as his tutor, Alfred. Alfred was...how did Uhtred describe him? He was tiny and slender, shorter than Uhtred by about half a foot. The first time they met, Uhtred mistook him for a twelve-year-old, even though they’d both been fourteen. His wispy brown hair fell just below his ears and he had a pair of bright blue eyes that were so intense they always made Uhtred feel uncomfortable, framed by a pair of silver wire lens glasses. In essence, he looked like a nerd, which was another reason why Uhtred hated him. Nerds were annoying.

Uhtred scoffed and pocketed his phone, leering up at Alfred balefully. “Whatever you say, Lord. I’m here for your blessings and guidance, so let’s get this started, shall we?” Alfred sat down and the two of them unpacked their belongings in silence.

“We’re going over English today, as per Odda’s suggestion, so why don’t you show me where you’re at?” Alfred asked, putting his chin in his palm.

“Yeah, go on, teach me stuff...English. I bet you’re fucking great at it.” Uhtred crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair until the front legs were off the ground, hoping to provoke a reaction. He was disappointed; Alfred merely ignored his blatantly disrespectful behavior, instead ducking his head to flip through his English textbook.

“Feel free to disrespect me,” he murmured, “But rest assured that Principal Odda will hear about it, and my reports are extremely thorough. I don’t care what you say to me, but just know that it will reflect badly on you.”

Oh my gods, I fucking hate this guy so much!

“Yes, my Lord, I live only to serve you,” Uhtred snarked, clenching and unclenching his fists under the table. Leaning over, Uhtred pulled his folder out of his backpack and slid a paper out. “We’re reading Of Mice And Men. You might think that’s a bit below your skill set, but here you are.” Alfred snatched the paper from his hand, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t be facetious, Uhtred. Just shut up and let me read this. That’s what I’m here for, as you said.” Never having been one to follow orders, Uhtred opened his mouth to snark again, but Alfred snapped his fingers to grab his attention and glared at him.

“I said shut up. I’m reading,” he repeated, his eyes moving back and forth like the spool of a typewriter. After a couple of minutes, he set the paper flat on the table and bit his lip, looking a bit uncertain of what to do.

“Well, Lord? Does it meet your lofty expectations?”

“Can you not?” Alfred asked sharply, “And no, I’m sorry to say, it does not. What were you even trying to write? The subject of your analysis seems to jump to and fro. And while you are summarizing the story in your analysis, that’s all you’re doing. Summarizing. You’re not explaining why it’s important or what it means. Here, let me show you mine…”

“‘Bye, nerd,” Uhtred sneered, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Alfred stood a bit more slowly, organizing all of his supplies into a neat pile before picking them all up and sliding them into his bookbag.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Alfred inquired, not appearing bothered by the epithet apart from his clenched jaw. Good. “Make sure you incorporate what I told you today into your essay. I don’t want you to get a poor grade. And do keep in mind that I am reporting all of this to Principal Odda.”

Sure, whatever, Assfred! Feel free to slit your throat when you get home today! “...Yeah,” Uhtred said, before standing up and leaving without a word of thanks. Aethelflaed waved at him on his way out and he grinned back at her as he opened the doors.

“Welcome home, Uhtred,” Thyra greeted Uhtred as he stomped inside. The smell of spaghetti assaulted his senses and all of a sudden he felt much calmer than he had been a moment ago. “How was your first tutoring session?”

“Yeah, how was it?” Ragnar called from the living room, where he and Brida were cuddling yet again. The same movie as yesterday was paused on the TV and Uhtred had a feeling they hadn’t actually watched any of it and were just using it as an excuse to cuddle. A bowl of popcorn soaked in butter lay on Brida’s lap and the table was littered with empty beer cans, another in Ragnar’s hand.

“It fucking sucked. Alfred is even more of a bastard than I remember. Feel free to regret your decision completely,” Uhtred sniffed. Ragnar grimaced sympathetically.

“Is he seriously that bad?” he asked, snorting. “All I know about him is from your complaining.”

“He’s a fucking midget, but he tries to talk to me like he’s better than me! I fucking hate that, you know I do!” Uhtred threw his hands up. “He treats me like a stupid child and what’s more, he’s telling Odda everything that happens! Like some kind of probation officer! ‘Don’t disrespect me, Uhtred,’ ‘don’t use your phone when you’re supposed to be learning, Uhtred,’ ‘don’t breathe oxygen, Uhtred!’ He’s so annoying!”

“Sounds like a cunt,” Brida said.

“He is!!”

“Well, I’m sorry Uhtred, but if you want to pass your classes, your best bet is tutoring with him. You’re going to have to suck it up. Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot,” he suggested, playing peacemaker.

“Not true,” Uhtred declared, “He just sucks at being a person.” He kicked Brida’s feet off the table so he could prop his own up and stole a popcorn kernel from her bowl. She flipped him off. “I’m just going to try to pass my classes this year and as soon as I do I’ll be totally done with him forever. Damn, that’ll be a good time.” Ragnar lifted his beer can in a toast.

“To the cunt who’s helping you pass your classes,” he said, and they echoed his toast as he downed his beer can and tossed it on the table.

“Ragnar, throw that empty beer can in the trash right now, you pig!” Thyra shouted from the kitchen. Ragnar shrugged and lazily kicked it onto the floor. “Ragnar!!” Giving Uhtred a ‘what-can-you-do’ expression, he stood up from the couch with a loud, obnoxious groan, plucking the beer can from the floor before lumbering to the kitchen.

“Hey, is dinner ready yet—”

“No! And stop asking, you animal, it’ll be ready when I say it is.”

“Geez, old woman, I was only asking, don’t hit me!”

Uhtred sat back against the couch and lifted the remote, clicking it until the TV changed to an acceptable channel. As the TV faded into background noise, he lifted his head to the ceiling and thought about what had happened that day.

Well, overall today sucked. I’m failing my classes and I’m getting tutored by Alfred, who’s a privileged arseole and also a complete tool. This whole year is going to be absolute bullshit with him around.

One chance, my arse. This year can’t end soon enough.

Art posts: @lauwrite1225‘s sketches of the high school!Coccham squad, @seaberrycloudberry‘s sketches of high school!Uhtred and Alfred, and @seaberrycloudberry‘s sketches of the characters in high school + sketches of Alfred, Aethelflaed, and Edward!!! THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH. THEY’RE PERFECT. Tagging @bellamehblake, @lonelyislanddaydreamer, @caleb-16charisma-widogast, @ucancallmechlo, @cocchamscrew, @myenglandmylove, @nightskyfangirl, @morganology, @tsukkinami @pokeasleepingsmaug here it is you guys!! I finally posted something!!!

#tlk #tlk uhtred #tlk alfred #tlk hs au #tlk high school au #my fics #fanfic #I HAVE NEVER PUBLISHED A FIC BEFORE IN MY LIFE AAAAAA #pls be gentle #my writing #:(#edited bc copy paste does NOT know what italics are???? apparently???

50 notes · View notes

dat-fandom-losertown · 4 years

Text

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 8: The Search

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor, Gavin x RK900 (Ritch)

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: Inaccurate/Unfair representation of a therapist (for only 1 paragraph), A physical fight, and I think that’s all?

Word Count: 12,273

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Hey guys, I normally don’t like putting notes before a fic, but I just wanted to apologize for this update taking literal months, and I wanted to thank anyone who’s still around and is still wanting to read this. On with the long-awaited chapter!

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

After Ritch hesitantly peeks through Connor’s journal (which turns out to be admittedly helpful, if not surprising because of the specific note that Ritch is more compatible with Gavin despite the fact Ritch had always made sure Connor wasn’t in the area when they started picking at each other, the one exception being during the Alex fiasco) and adds his own information to it, he goes to lunch.

He ends up spending most of his meal time talking with the Jericho Squad (and he doubts he’ll ever not internally cringe whenever they unironically call themselves that) about therapy and what generally makes a good therapist and a bad one. It’s actually quite helpful. Helpful enough, in fact, that after he and Connor take two written evaluations directly after lunch– with the second one having significantly harder and oddly specific questions that he’s sure they both got some wrong– he initiates a relatively unstressful talk with his brother about general types of therapists.

They end up agreeing that they absolutely don’t trust strangers with anything personal, which will make this entire endeavor harder than it probably should be since the therapist will be a stranger. They also surprisingly agree on what type of therapist they think they’d prefer to have, despite their very different personalities. Neither twin mention that this may be because the warm, casual nature of the person they’re both hoping for is nearly the opposite of how Amanda always treated them, but it does vaguely show up in Ritch’s unsettling dreams that night.

The next morning, on his way to breakfast, Ritch almost predictably runs into Gavin. However, instead of immediately getting into another round of gibes, Gavin is so wrapped up in whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t acknowledge Ritch at all. He supposes that even the pilots with shorter tempers have actual work to be done, so the trainee doesn’t question it and moves on. Ritch refuses to believe that the negative emotion he feels because of the lack of attention from Reed is disappointment. Just another thing to shove away and forcibly forget about for the preferably indefinite future.

The strength tests after breakfast definitely help with keeping him distracted from therapists and Gavin and anything else he’s shoved away from his mind so well that he can no longer recall what they are (but he knows they’re there. He can feel them trying to cause him more stress and uncertainty, but all he has to do is pointedly not think about that vague feeling and they can’t bother him). Chloe doesn’t show a reaction or share their results during the strength evaluations, so he doesn’t know if they’re just average or if they scored close enough to what they had before that no input is needed. Yet another thing to add to the “don’t think or worry about it right now” pile.

Thankfully, or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, he forgets about everything in that mental pile except for one thing after he finishes dinner. The therapist search. He and Connor have separate people they’re going to check out, since Marshal Fowler said it would be better for them to not have the same therapist. Both he and Connor readily agreed.

When Ritch arrives at his appointment, the older man only greets him and introduces himself as Dr. Johnson before getting right down to business. That isn’t anything more than a rub in the wrong direction, but when Ritch gives an honest but simple request, “I’d rather not give any personal information before I know you’re right for me,” the man starts assuming possible situations that could be the reason why Ritch is here without letting him properly speak. Again, Ritch doesn’t have a particular problem with this– he certainly won’t be choosing this man– but Mr. Johnson then ignores Ritch when he requests that they get back on topic and instead takes that as a “clue” that he is “getting close” to the “real reason” and starts spewing even more ridiculous bullshit.

(As if he, of all people, would have had any time or desire at all for a romantic relationship growing up, and that he would’ve been be vengeful, of all emotions, if “she” died in what would be considered a freak accident. As if he even knows if he’s interested in women exclusively or at all. It’s not like he’s had the time or desire to experiment with relationships or even the idea of them.)

Ritch ends up so tense with frustration that he gets up and leaves long before the session is supposed to end, ignoring the calls behind him. He will not put up with someone who won’t listen to him, not again. Not if he has any control over it, and Marshal Fowler and Chloe had guaranteed that he does.

After those short 15 minutes, he reluctantly decides to get some outside help, and there’s only one person he can think of that would have both the information he’s looking for and the potential willingness to help– even if it’s only for Connor’s sake.

He’s surprised to see the man he planned on looking for during breakfast. After a beat of hesitation, he figures that the sooner he asks the better, and heads over to a table with only one, familiar figure sitting at it.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

The ex-pilot doesn’t turn around to face Ritch or sit up from being hunched over his food, and huffs in lieu of a greeting. That isn’t unexpected, though, since it is a well-known fact that Mr. Anderson normally doesn’t get out of bed until lunch is already being served. It would almost make Ritch feel guilty for bothering the exhausted man if he weren’t also concerned about himself and Connor being eaten alive by strangers who claim they want to help.

Mr. Anderson suddenly turns his head towards Ritch, as if just realizing something. “I thought I told you to call me–”

Ritch sees the shock on his face when he registers his blue eyes instead of Connor’s brown ones. He probably should have waited to call out to him until he was seen and couldn’t be mistaken for his twin, but he didn’t want to spook the older man by appearing in front of him without warning. There’s nothing to do about it now, though, so Ritch tries his best to offer what could be an apologetic smile, but could also very well look like an awkward grimace.

He’s not well versed in showing proper emotions yet since he’s only had a day or so of practice. Simon and Josh are trying their best to teach him so he doesn’t look angry at the press if/when he’s announced as a new jaeger pilot, but so far it’s been an uphill battle.

He doesn’t voice any of those thoughts when he addresses Mr. Anderson again. He is not like his twin, who gets nervous and overshares and rambles as a result. He has more self-control.

“I apologize for interrupting your meal, but may I ask you for a favor? Or rather, offer to owe you one in exchange?”

Something curious yet cautious glints in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. “What kind of favors?”

“The kind of equivalent exchange. I may be out of line to ask this, but you do have experience with the therapists and such here, yes?”

“Why the hell do you want to know.” Mr. Anderson snaps and sits up defensively, but it doesn’t bother Ritch. He was expecting this and more to come.

“I would like to know which ones Connor and I should avoid.” Seeing Mr. Anderson’s blatant confusion, Ritch figures Connor hadn’t mentioned these trial meetings to him and explains further. “We started mandatory therapist jumping yesterday and the one I started with was pushy, impatient…” He purses his lips and looks to the side. “I generally try to avoid using words like “unpleasant” when describing people, but that’s the most accurate word I can use for him.” Ritch pauses long enough to look him in the eye. “Of course, if you do trust me enough to tell me these things, then I’ll let you cash in a single favor from me whenever you’d like.”

Mr. Anderson snorts and turns to his food again, trying and failing to not let his surprise show. Is he surprised because Ritch wants his help, even though he can count their interactions on one hand? He can’t imagine it being anything else, especially since he knows of some of their issues from Connor apparently mentioning and/or actually talking about them with the older man. Maybe his twin downplayed their experiences again despite being much more anxious than usual recently?

God, this is way too much thinking for someone who’s been actively trying to not think for the past several weeks, years even.

“Lemme guess, a favor within reason, right?” Mr. Anderson jokes sarcastically after a few moments.

“I am not my brother or your old partner.” Ritch states.

Mr.Anderson looks up at him at that, very still with slightly raised eyebrows, probably asking “Does that mean what I think it does?” silently. Ritch answers the assumed question with a slight upwards tilt of his head, “Yes.”

Ritch has far less of an issue than Connor does with doing things that don’t exactly follow the rules. Not that his brother has any particular issue with breaking the rules, he just doesn’t like to anger people because he seems to have trouble making them not angry anymore. Ritch, on the other hand, usually knows exactly how to placate and bargain with most types of people, and thus he has very little apprehension of doing things against the rules.

Mr. Anderson hesitates for a moment before nodding his head to the chair in front of him, saying, “Go and sit down. Should I wait for Connor before I start or–”

“Wait for me to start what?” Ritch’s shoulders stiffen in surprise, but he quickly relaxes them again. He didn’t hear Connor behind him over the white noise of the food court. ”If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Ritch turns to his twin. “Mr. Anderson has agreed to tell us about some of the therapists here so we can narrow our search. Did you have a pleasant experience with yours yesterday evening, Connor?”

He knows Connor catches the silent apology in his tone for ignoring him yesterday when his brother wanted to “compare results”, as he called it. Ritch needed to focus on how to get the tight-lipped Anderson to talk about something he likely would rather not. This is all rather straightforward and easy compared to what Ritch thought he was going to have to do.

Connor answers as he sits down in the chair to the left of Ritch and places a steaming cup near Mr. Anderson’s tray, “I wouldn’t call it pleasant, but I wouldn’t call it unpleasant either. I believe Dr. Amelia Johan would be suitable enough if there were few or no other options. What about yours?”

Ritch feels his expression darken slightly and has to stop himself before he clears it, then he ignores how vulnerable and awkward he feels in order to exaggerate the emotion. According to Josh and Simon, not immediately returning his face back to neutral makes him seem more human, as mildly insulting as it was to insinuate that he wasn’t human for keeping his thoughts more private. It’s one of the things they insisted he work on, though.

“Avoid appointments with Mr. Johnson.” Ritch states plainly, pretending he doesn’t see Connor’s concerned look and body language out of the corner of his eye.

Hank snorts in agreement. “You were right to call that man pushy. Pushy and he never lets the conversation be turned to himself or give you a break for even a second. It’s like talking to a wall that always insists you got mental work to be doin’.” He shakes his head, “I guess it works for some people… From what I heard, the roughest appointment with him is the first one, especially if you don’t work with him, but I wouldn’t know.” he finishes with a shrug.

Connor frowns. “That’s pretty much the opposite of what we’re looking for.”

That visibly grabs Mr. Anderson’s attention. “You’re both wantin’ the same kind of shrink?”

Connor nods with what looks like amusement in his eyes, “It was a surprise to us as well.”

“We’d prefer someone who is kind and more casual rather than always controlling where the conversation goes.” Ritch finishes.

“You’d probably like Alicia Steinfield or Alexander White, then,” the older man informs immediately. “If they even still work here, that is. And avoid Johnson–” he gestures to Ritch “–obviously, and Dustin Payne and Felix Antúnez. They’re pretty strict and prefer to follow the ‘therapy is only about work’ policy. I didn’t like them much, either.”

The ex-pilot takes a slower, almost exaggerated bite of what’s left of his breakfast. Ritch wonders if that’s a normal thing for him and Connor, because his brother, without seemingly realizing it, starts eating his own previously ignored breakfast. Interesting.

“Dr. Steinfield and Dr. White.” Ritch forces himself to nod as he commits the names to memory because that’s apparently a normal, human thing to do according to Markus.

Connor turns to face Ritch. “Do you think we could request to change our schedules so we can meet them this afternoon instead of the ones we had previously?”

“I’m willing to try. After we finish breakfast.” Ritch adds as Connor moves to get up. “I’m sure they’ll at least let us skip anyone with a similar... technique as Dr. Johnson.”

Connor nods, settles back in his seat, and starts shoveling food in his mouth in a way that Amanda would definitely disapprove of. Ritch simply sighs and turns to finish his own food in a more respectable-sized bites. He and Mr. Anderson end up making eye contact for a moment, just long enough for the older man to nod at him, and for him to return it.

Getting this information was much easier than he thought it would have been, indeed.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Once Ritch finishes his own food and leaves with the message that he’ll be going to the training room after requesting a meeting with whoever’s in charge of setting up their appointments, Connor quickly swallows his large bite of food. Speaking with a full mouth isn’t a habit he particularly cares about if other people do it (he’s had to sit through too many meals with too many “important” people who do that to truly care anymore), but he hates doing it to others. Besides, Hank may put up with his weird eating habits (some days, like today, he’ll shovel his food in his mouth because he can’t get enough, and other days he’s barely able to force down several nibbles), but he's pretty positive the ex-pilot draws the line at seeing what he’s chewing.

“Thank you.” Connor says, not hiding any of his sincerity or gratitude.

Hank harrumphs and looks away. “I did that for more selfish reasons than you think, Connor. You don’t need to thank me.”

Connor simply raises an eyebrow. “If I know you as much as I’d like to think I know you, I know that if you didn’t really want to surrender that information, no amount of bribing from Ritch would have gotten you to tell us.” Hank’s head snaps up at that, but Connor pushes on. “And considering that I wasn’t far behind Ritch when coming to the food court, he didn’t have to barter with you very much to get you to agree.”

He doesn’t explicitly say how he’s almost positive that means Hank actually care about people and things, even if he doesn’t realize or want to admit it himself. Hank hates even the mention of himself having any positive emotions for whatever reason. Connor doesn’t understand it, but he hopes to learn at some point in the future when Hank is ready. If he becomes ready.

He almost expects Hank to get grumpy or irritated at him for even insinuating he may secretly be a caring person, but he just sits there and stares at Connor for a few moments. Connor decides against continuing the eye contact, since it usually make things more awkward for Hank when he snaps out of whatever it is that makes him zone out like this occasionally. He turns back to his food. Just as he raises his second bite to his mouth, Hank speaks up with a cautious tone.

“How did you know he offered me something for the information?”

Connor answers easily and nonchalantly, “That’s his tactic for getting something he wants.”

“Huh?”

Connor sets down his fork of food and looks up to study Hank’s confused– and concerned?– face. He figures the full truth of Ritch and Connor having to train themselves to be successful manipulators so they could get nice things while growing up would ruin everything he’s trying to do and be with Hank, will invalidate every single thing Connor has ever done or said to gain the fragile, unsteady trust he’s gotten from him, so he only tells a gross understatement.

“When Ritch wants or needs something from someone he doesn’t know well but trusts enough to not be purposefully difficult or cruel, he offers a favor because he doesn’t know which specific thing that person may want. It’s nice to know that he trusts you enough to not purposefully send him into a situation that will get him hurt in huge trouble.” Connor smiles lightly and takes another bite of food, believing the conversation is over.

“What about you?” Hank’s question pulls him out of his head.

Connor snaps his head up in surprise. “Me? What about me?”

Hank huffs in what sounds like amusement, and the assumption is proven right when Connor catches the slight uplift at the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.

“How do you get what you want from people?”

Connor only hesitates in his answer because he has a feeling that Hank will not like it.

“I like to do most things on my own without needing to ask for anything because I like the sense of accomplishment, so I usually only needed to pull little tricks when Amanda needed sponsors for something and Ritch and I decided to split up. In those cases...” Connor glances away.

“People like giving things to people and creatures that look innocent, helpless, and fragile, like small children or puppies or kittens. Even on a subconscious level, people like having something to temporarily protect, whether it’s because of the ego boost or just because they’re a nice person and like to help. Even if everyone knows that I am the opposite of fragile and I’m certainly not helpless or childish, I tend to appear so when in uncomfortable situations, so it helped me gain pity points when making the rounds for sponsors.”

“Is that part of why you get anxious if people don’t like you? The sponsorship stuff?” Hank’s winces, like he didn’t mean to say it, probably knowing how quickly this question could make things go wrong, but did anyway.

But Connor doesn’t feel the same suffocating pressure he knows he’d feel if anyone else– even Ritch– had asked this same question. He knows Hank hates people, and that he hates gossip even more. He knows Hank isn’t asking him this to judge him or anything of the sort. If anything, he’s asking out of curiosity that has mixed with the same protectiveness that he showed when he gave him the weighted blanket and the stress ball, that leaked in his voice when he asked how old Connor was that same day.

As much as he has been subtly pushing to get closer to Hank, Connor is only now realizing how safe and calm he feels around him compared to how he feels around the people closer to his age. It’s not logical by any means for someone who is unstable (hopefully only temporarily) to get along with someone who is easy to anger and snap– Ritch has made that beyond clear since the very beginning– but for some reason, it’s working for them. He doesn’t know how or why, but it is, and he’d really rather not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Hey, Connor, you don’t have to–”

“I don’t know.” Connor quickly says, needing to interrupt Hank’s obvious attempt to take back the question.

After a short moment of pondering, though, he sets his elbow on the table and his head in his palm, continuing in a casual tone, “I don’t actually know, I’ve never thought about any of it before.” He huffs a laugh that lacks humor, lowering his hand and turning back to his food. “That’s probably why I have to find a mandatory shrink, huh? To get me to analyze this with this stuff?” He shakes his head. “Ritch is not going to like this one bit, and it’s going to get much worse before it gets any better.”

“Yea.” Hank says with obvious discomfort. It snaps Connor’s attention back on him. “Yea, it probably will be. You uh, you even okay enough for the shit that’s about to pile on ya? Especially 'cause you’re apparently going straight into a jaeger once you’re declared ready for it. Skipping training and all.” he asks with false nonchalance. Connor has no clue why Hank is asking these questions when he usually avoids this kind of thing like the plague, but he answers anyway.

“I know I’ve been a nervous wreck since we first got here, but that’s mainly because Ritch and I have never been anywhere near as busy and overwhelming as this place can be. And it certainly didn’t help that we were trying our best to blend in with the herd and not stand out when we’ve spent the last decade learning how to do the exact opposite. Now that we’re slowly getting used to this place and not having to worry about holding back anymore, we’ll be able to show everyone exactly why we were able to graduate from this program so young.” he finishes confidently, head up and back straight.

Hank just looks at him for a moment. Right as it starts making Connor unsure about his answer and has him coming up with things to distract from his bold statement, Hank nods and starts clearing his area. The ex-pilot makes eye contact with him with a strange, earnest look he doesn’t think he’s seen from the older man before.

“I hope you will, Connor. Show ‘em what ya got.”

Hank turns and leaves, leaving Connor with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

The first thought that comes to mind after his thoughts have slowed down enough is man, I wish I had someone to tell about this. Of course, he’s sure that Simon, Markus, and Josh would listen (not North, though), but they wouldn’t understand why this is a big deal, especially since they still don’t seem to like Hank very much. For that same reason, Connor certainly can’t go to Ritch about this either, even with the fact that Ritch now voluntarily owes Hank a favor. Owing something to someone is different than tolerating them enough to listen to a twin get excited over the tiniest bit of encouragement and support from them.

Connor quickly finishes his meal and cleans up before heading to the training area. If he’s going to prove to everyone that he deserves to stay here even though he and Ritch have lied multiple times on things that definitely should have gotten them thrown out, then he’s going to need a good partner.

Traci is a good choice– and Connor’s first on his list– but she and Ritch get along easier with one another than she does with Connor. He doesn’t know exactly why, but she’s very hesitant around him and the atmosphere between them is awkward more often than not, so that’s probably a no-go. Jeremy could possibly work too, but his combat skill is too far behind for Connor to feel comfortable approaching him with something like offering a partnership. Plus, he doesn’t know much about his personality beyond “quiet” and “reserved”, so that is a bit of an issue. He’ll have to start some conversations with the other people on his list before he can properly narrow down–

“Connor! Hey!”

Unbothered by the interruption, he spins to greet Markus, then waves to Simon, North, and Josh who are close behind him. He pauses to let the four of them catch up before continuing on or saying anything.

“I don’t think we’ve actually talked since the morning after the party. How have you guys been holding up with the training regime?” Connor asks with a smile.

“It’s been hell,” North immediately complains, “and I know we haven’t even started the hard-core stuff yet. We’re just getting into shape and learning basics.”

Markus nods in agreement, “You and Ritch are lucky you get to skip this.”

“Maybe not so lucky…” Simon interjects, “That just means they’ve done all of this at an earlier age.”

Don’t panic, don’t panic. They mean nothing by it, just don’t panic and make things weird, Connor chants to himself as he forces himself to answer aloud calmly with a shrug.

“It wasn’t too bad. We were children with lots of energy when we started doing what you guys are doing now.”

North and Josh nod together. It’s the first time he’s ever seen the two agree on something before. It’s almost frightening.

“Traci started her self-defense and karate lessons when she was young, so it makes sense.”

There’s a silence that Connor would describe as calm or peaceful that lasts for a few moments. He counts it as a win that he has managed to not visibly freak out like he is internally. He messes with his hair for a second to give his hands something to do in the hopes that maybe they’ll stop shaking if he does. Markus must catch the nervous movement for what it is, though.

“You alright, Connor?”

“Yea, I’m fine.” He plans on stopping there, but then he realizes that these four people are probably the best people he can go to for advice on making friends and finding potential partners. “I’m just worried about finding a partner, I guess. As you could probably tell, I normally don’t do too well around people I don’t know well.” Connor chuckles softly, but even he can tell that it’s somewhat off.

“Any chance we could help with that?”

Connor mentally blesses Simon as he says, “If you don’t mind, that would be amazing.”

Josh smiles and comes around to Connor’s other side. “So what do you need help with?”

He barely stops himself from saying everything short of learning the English language.

“How did you guys know you could be compatible with one another? Because Ritch and I are technically compatible, but in reality we aren’t.”

“So the difference between working well with another person and being drift compatible, you mean?” Simon clarifies, and Connor nods graciously. “I guess you wouldn’t have to learn too much about that since you were supposed to pair up with Ritch all along, huh?

When Connor nods once more– again very thankful that Simon is insightful enough to figure this out without having to make Connor struggle to get a proper explanation out– Markus begins the explanation.

“Well, I guess one difference is how well you know a person. Obviously, people who have known each other for longer are naturally going to be more compatible because they can be more in sync, but what we’re learning now in class is that that alone just isn’t enough to become jaeger pilots. Skill and mindset play huge roles in it too.”

“Like the Hallowitts.” North offers. “They get along great and are as close as siblings can realistically be, but they are, by far, the least compatible pair in that room. I’d be surprised if they last another week here.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” North snorts and Markus smiles at Connor’s wording, but he forces himself to pay it no mind. “As much as I’d like to think that everyone has an equal chance here, they just don’t. There’s a reason passing rates of the jaeger training are so low, and even those who pass aren’t guaranteed to become pilots.”

Josh nods, “Exactly. Now, that being said, there are rare cases of two people who have never met being perfectly compatible.”

“I guess the difference is how you mentally click with a person,” Simon jumps in, “Like you and Ritch don’t dislike one another, but you also don’t really get along or understand each other, right? Maybe at one point you did, but not anymore. You guys aren’t drift compatible because your mentalities and coping mechanisms are just too different, even though you both grew up in the exact same circumstances and have complimenting skill sets.”

“So I find someone who understands the crazy things I do in certain situations and why I do it?” Connor asks dubiously.

“And someone that can keep up with you, because damn, Connor, you and Ritch whooped each other’s asses on that first day.”

Connor sighs heavily. He still has the aches from a couple of the worse bruises left over when he touches them, even though there are no more marks, because there hasn’t been any other training or exercises that have given him new bruises and scrapes so he can ignore the old ones. Don’t get him wrong, it’s nice to not have something he needs to actively ignore, but it’s yet another difference from what he grew up with and more proof that he’s in a completely different world now.

Connor sighs again, with this one coming out as more of a groan than a true sigh. Where the ever loving hell is he supposed to find someone who can not only keep up with him in skill and not drag him down constantly, but also understand him and his trauma (if what Dr. Johan was going on about in their meeting yesterday is actually true for him, anyway) enough to know when to leave Connor alone and let him to his thing and when to step in to help.

Ritch is relatively good at doing so, mainly because Connor usually likes being left alone, and Ritch always leaves him alone, but he doesn’t seem to understand Connor at all or care to learn the intricacies of him. He also doesn’t seem interested in letting Connor see any side of him that isn’t practically programmed by Amanda (the level of shock he felt when he saw and heard Ritch actually bantering with none other than Gavin Reed during the “Alex knifing” almost hurt. Why did it take such a publicly known asshole to bring out any kind of personality in Ritch? Why couldn’t Connor after his years of trying?).

If his own brother can’t understand, then how can he expect anyone else to understand when they won’t have a clue of what he’s been through until it’s too late. He already opens old wounds over and over again with god-awful memories whenever he gets into a mood dip, he doesn’t want to scar anyone else who wouldn't even know what to expect, or worse, they think they do know what to expect. Although, how can they when he can barely think about it in his own head without going into panic-and-shutdown mode?

“Hey,” Markus brushes his hand against Connor’s arm, gently bringing him out of his thoughts. He gets too lost in them too often.

He nudges Markus’ hand kindly and says in a tone much more tranquil than he feels, “I’m alright. Just thinking of possible candidates.”

“And?” North smirks. Count on her to try to lighten dark or awkward moods.

“I’ve got pretty much nothing.” Connor chuckles much more genuinely than last time. If it has a tad bit of hysteria mixed in like he feels like it might, then no one reacts to it.

At the four’s light insistence, he agrees to tell them why he believes he won’t match with anyone. He can’t look up from the floor at all. He tries to for half a second, but that makes everything so much worse about this situation, so he stares at his boots. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can forget that trying to explain this exact thing just a few weeks ago is what left him self-bedridden for a couple of days; maybe if he ignores hard enough, he can pretend that he’s talking to himself and there are only his footsteps instead of five sets in total. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he stops so the other four have to stop too if they want to listen. No more footsteps, problem partially solved.

He can’t procrastinate that answer anymore.

“I don’t know if you’ve been told this already, or if it’s just common sense to people, but in the drift, you share every single memory with person you’re pairing with. Certain events get more attention than others, obviously, and there is no known way to control what they both see or for how long. You just live through the other person’s memories as if you’re looking back on your own, and then look back on your own while a presence hovers over your shoulder and someone else’s emotions and reactions to events flow through the drift.” He takes another deep breath; his heart rate is getting too fast and his head is feeling too light.

“And with that being said, I’ve got some real bad memories. Bad enough that Amanda used to try and convince me that they were just vivid nightmares. I think Ritch believes it’s a dream for whatever reason– or maybe he’s still on her side or something?– I don’t know, but it doesn’t work for me. I still can’t talk about it, but thinking like that and trying too hard to bury it is what made me break and sent me in that mood dip a while ago.”

He finally gets the courage to look up at the others and struggles to force his breathing to stay deep and slow. It helps that they only look concerned and surprised, rather than literally any other emotion his head was coming up with– fear and disgust, to name a couple. Although, he doesn’t know if the shock is a reaction to the information about what the drift is like, or to the fact that he’s actually talking instead of running and hiding in his room like he so desperately wants to.

“I don’t want to scare anyone. I can’t live through those memories– not now, anyway– so how can I expect someone else to?” Connor shakes his head, trying to ignore the nausea that’s slowly but steadily growing. “I don’t even know how Ritch is gonna do it. I mean, the only people besides us who really know about this are you guys and–”

Hank.

Hank, who let him sit at his table on Connor’s first day even though he had a reputation of eating anyone who came near him alive, and had nearly done so to Connor at first. Hank, who stepped in and helped make him eat after his mood dip even though they had barely known each other for a couple days at most; who, almost immediately after, lead him back to his bunker (a place no one has been to in a long, long time, supposedly) so he could give him a weighted blanket and stress ball. Hank, whom Connor told he lied on essential paperwork when Hank was giving him a snack from his stash (another unheard of thing) and decided to tell Marshal Fowler to give him and Ritch a second chance instead of to get rid of them. Hank, who, despite saying weeks earlier “You’re still a kid to me”, had asked Connor to call him by his first name and has always treated him like a proper adult even though he is quite literally the youngest person on this base.

Hank, who apparently loves (or at least used to love) dogs and, if the laugh lines and obvious protective instincts are anything to go by, used to be a kind, giving fellow who would laugh and smile easily; who now has to drown his traumas with alcohol and alcohol-induced sleep, not unlike how Connor drowns his own haunting memories with mind-numbing sleep brought by high-grade sleeping oils.

No one makes– has ever made Connor as comfortable as he does, for whatever reason. It’s been years since anyone has been able to break down Hank’s walls like Connor has been doing effortlessly these past few weeks. They both have their issues, but Connor thinks that could help if they were to ever enter the drift together. Hank wouldn’t be scarred by his memories, and Connor doubts the ex-pilot’s memories could affect him any more than his own traumas affect him now. Besides, Connor has a feeling that he won’t be declared ready-for-battle as quickly as Ritch will be, so that’s plenty of time to wear Hank down, right?

It’s not like the ex-pilot needs to do too much to get back into shape, anyway. Years and years of doing something over and over again makes every single technique and maneuver pure muscle memory that can’t truly be forgotten. That mixed with the fact that Connor based a lot of his own combat style on Hank’s and Marshal Fowler’s from when they were still active, they might fight better together than people would think. Plus, and Connor doesn’t think anyone else has noticed this between them averting their eyes from him and the hoodies he normally wears, but Hank is still rather built under that beer gut. He could probably carry Connor across the base if he really wanted to.

Scratch that, he absolutely could if he tried, easily. He almost wants to test that some day. Maybe. Possibly.

“Uhh, Connor? You good?” Josh tentatively

Connor shakes his head in wonder. “Yea, actually. I…”

He pays close attention to himself, how his breathing is back to normal, the nausea and lightheadedness are almost gone, and he only just now realizes that his hands were shaking again because they don’t feel that way anymore. Yea, his heart rate is still a little high, but give it a few minutes and even that’ll be back to normal.

He doesn’t trust this.

“I feel fine. Way calmer than a minute ago.” He adds doubtfully, scrutinizing his own steady hands as if they can give him the answers he wants. “I think I found someone I may be compatible with, but I don’t even know if he’ll want to pair with me to pilot a jaeger. But even that made me feel better.” He looks around at the small group with uncertainty. “I’ve rarely calmed down that fast in my life, and never outside of my own room where I can be left alone to think.”

North steps forward and carefully places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Seems like you’re the plannin’ type of guy. You always feel better when you have a plan, and hate when you don’t, right?”

Based on everyone’s light laughter and large smiles, he doesn’t hide his amazement and realization well enough. That makes sense, though, because he wasn’t trying very hard in the first place.

“That… That makes a lot of sense. Perfect sense.” Connor smiles.

He gestures forward, signaling that he’s ready to keep moving, and they all do happily. Connor doesn’t really stop thinking about how he could possibly get Hank to at least test their compatibility and get him warmed up to the idea of un-retiring.

He doubts that Marshal Fowler would have a problem with helping him get Hank jaeger-ready if Connor can somehow prove their compatibility and Hank’s willingness to start piloting again. If he would have a problem with it, he doesn’t think Hank would be on the base anymore, let alone still bunking in the jaeger pilots’ hall. Marshal Fowler doesn’t seem to be the type to play favorites and put friends first, but Connor could always be wrong.

As he slowly forms a plan in his head, he slowly becomes more at ease. It’ll take more in-depth thinking and several pages in his notebook, but where before he only had a vague hope, now he has a small chance, and that’s slowly becoming just enough for Connor.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Gavin is getting real tired of all this snooping around. He’s normally the type of guy to fling himself right into the thick of things and deal with the repercussions later; not because he doesn’t care about what kind of trouble he’ll get into later– at least not anymore– but because he doesn’t have enough patience to sit still and do nothing even though he knows there’s bad things going on.

He tried to convince himself over the past couple of days to just do as Luther and Fowler said and not get involved in the “Alex Knife Supplier” case, as he’s been calling it in his head, but nothing has happened to his top suspects at all and he doesn’t want those assholes to get away scot free. It’s one thing to just be an asshole, it’s another to actively endanger the lives of coworkers and allies. Even he knows that.

There’s still 20 minutes left of breakfast and he still hasn’t eaten or even entered the food court because he’s been too busy watching those assholes from afar in the hopes that he can catch anything that can bring up more of a case against them. He’d rather not tussle with them until he knows he can get into their bunker and confiscate whatever the fuck is in there, but right now it’s starting to look like he’ll have to tussle with them if he wants any evidence at all.

“What are you doing, Reed?”

Gavin instinctively spins around and throws a punch right at the man’s throat, but it’s expertly caught by none other than the Ritch Bitch. After a split moment of surprise from having his punch properly caught, rather than blocked or deflected (which other people have trouble doing sometimes), Gavin instantly scowls and rips his fist away from the other’s grip, silently hoping the goody-two-shoes decides against reporting him for assault or something like that.

“Don’t fuckin’ sneak up behind me, asshole,” he sneers, “And it’s none of your god damned business. So fuck off.”

Ritchie raises an unimpressed eyebrow– since when does this dude emote?– then tilts his head at him like a fucking dog. He shifts his gaze to the group Gavin’s been watching for the past hour.

“Isn’t that the group Alex hung around before he was thrown out?” he asks in a weird tone, almost as if he was aiming for interest or teasing and fell flat.

Gavin’s eyebrows rise in surprise for just a moment before settling back into a scowl. He hates how many times this prick has caught him off guard today.

“M’ surprised you even know that. Thought you were too busy bein’ the top of your class to pay attention to what the others were up to.” he turns back to the group, watching them laugh about something Gavin would probably want to punch them over.

Ritch steps closer to him, inviting himself into Gavin’s cover like an asshole, as he explains, “If anything, being the top of my class means I need to pay closer attention to the other trainees, since I’m somewhat a tutor and an example for them. But that’s besides the point, I know someone as impatient and conflict-hungry as you wouldn’t wait in the shadows without a good reason. What are you waiting for, hm?” the asshole taunts. At least he sounds more normal now. Gavin doesn’t know why, but it was really unsettling before.

He huffs irritably, but doesn’t immediately taunt back. He may as well tell a part of it. If Ritch is right about being top of his class, then maybe he’ll have some new input, as much as Gavin hates the thought of needing someone else’s help. A mission completed with someone’s help is better than a mission failed with escaped villains, after all.

“I think they had something to do with how Alex got his knives.”

To his surprise, Ritch just nods in solemn agreement. “What’s stopping you from interrogating them?”

Gavin huffs again, this time in irritation at the situation. “Fowler.”

“Ah. You’re not supposed to get into it, but nothing has happened yet, yes?”

Gavin whips his head around to glare at the human robot. He suddenly can’t be sure that that’s the expression his face actually makes, though, because the annoying asshole just nods like he’s confirming something to himself again.

“Have you tried getting into their bunker to check for clues yourself?”

When Gavin huffs, it comes out less irritable and more incredulous of how stupid this guy can be.

“If I could do that I wouldn’t be fucking bothering with this, now would I?”

The trainee just sighs and says, “Come on,” with a beckoning wave of his hand, then turns around and starts walking away. Gavin doesn’t move.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? And why the fuck should I follow your ugly ass?”

“If you want to be caught and get us in some serious trouble, then sure, keep talking that loudly. Also, I’m almost interested in seeing the asses you’re used to looking at if you think mine is ugly.”

Gavin barks a laugh that has very little amusement. What makes him think he can just start controlling the show out of nowhere like this?

“You? Trouble? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the golden child of the current gaggle of recruits or something?”

Ritch spins around and looks at Gavin with an obviously forced smug and mischievous smile. “If you honestly believe that, then you’re just like everyone else here and have no clue how wide my skill set actually is.” He turns back around and starts walking again. “Come or don’t come, I don’t care.”

It takes a second for Gavin’s brain to reboot because it’s obvious Ritch is obviously trying something new here and holy mother of god is it making him uncomfortable. This is not the Dicky Ritchy (that name was more than a stretch, never again) he’s been messing with for the past week or so. Once his head does reboot, though, his curiosity of what the hell baby-face is going to do and the irritation that he thinks he can one-up Gavin again wins over standing by the entrance of the food court and watching a bunch of assholes laugh a ways away as if they don’t realize they’re the scum of the earth.

He speed-walks to catch up to Ritch, because it’ll be a cold day in hell when he’s seen running or jogging anywhere that isn’t to a jaeger or a kaiju. Once he makes it to Ritch’s side, the other speaks in a soft tone.

“I don’t actually know where their bunker is, so you need to lead the way, unfortunately.” Gavin groans, but still pulls ahead slightly to lead. “How much time do you think we have until they return to the room, and are there any cameras?”

Everything about this encounter with Ritch is throwing him the hell off– not just how strange the man is being– but he plays along anyway, never one to turn down some scheming.

“The cameras in the pilot’s hall has been broken for months, maybe years. And the fucksticks will be out of the way for at least an hour. They always stay in the food court until they’re kicked out after breakfast is over, then they go to the gym for a while.” It’s why he avoids the gym like the plague in the morning.

“Perfect.” he smiles with that same forced smile as before. Gavin’s had enough.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re really startin’ to creep me the fuck out.”

That rips the fake smile right off the robot’s face. Good, that was the main thing bothering him.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

There’s a silent pause, then Gavin’s starts talking partially because he fucking hates silences and partially because he needs to never see that kind of expression on Retch’s (he may actually use that one) face again.

“So if I’m reading this right, you’re doin’ me a favor by apparently getting me into this dorm so I can raid their shit, right?” Ritch nods silently, so he continues, “Good. So I’m just gonna return the favor ahead of time and give you some advice because I hate being indebted to people. Got it, asstown?”

Ritch turns his head to properly look at Gavin, then nods again, slower this time. There’s no smart ass comment to the insult, though, unfortunately.

Gavin immediately launches into a half-taunting half-serious ramble, “Now I’m only gonna say this one time– so you better fuckin’ savor this, ‘cause I don’t do this shit for just anyone– but holy shit you need to stop making faces and using certain tones when you don’t actually want to. Like, you’re known for being a robot. You can’t feel emotions the way the rest of us can, or you just process them or show ‘em differently. That’s your thing, just like my thing’s being a fuckin’ dickwad all the time and Anderson’s is being a depressed drunkard.

“Don’t try to go full human on everyone all of a sudden. Just stay fuckin’ blank if you wanna. Only cowards give in to peer pressure and shit.” Gavin huffs in exasperation. He’s is in a very huffy mood today, apparently. “I don’t like looking at your ugly-ass, baby-faced mug as it is, and it is so much worse when you try to smile or some shit like that when you’re obviously not feelin’ it. It’s fucking unatural is what it is.” He shivers and curls his lip in exaggerated disgust.

Ritch just stares at him for a second, then states in his normal, flat tone, “The only unnatural thing here is how much you smell despite the fact you’ve been standing around and doing nothing for the past couple of days.”

Gavin smiles evilly, secretly thankful that Ritch didn’t try to go down the genuine route and is instead continuing their normal interactions. Of all the nasty names under the sun he could call him, “unobservant” and “stupid” are two he can’t. “Emotionally oblivious” and “ignorant” or “naive”, however, are not off the table.

“No, the unnatural thing here is that you’re a grown ass man and you use fruit-scented lotion.”

Ritch gives him a weird look, but it’s at least genuine, thank god. “I do not use lotion, I simply shower everyday, unlike some people.” He pauses barely long enough to look Gavin up and down before continuing. “It’s not my fault you prefer what is obviously scentless men’s soap when women’s soap smells nicer and is less harsh on skin.” He faces front again.

“Hold on,” Gavin wheezes, “You actually use women’s soap? Like, regularly?”

“What of it? Are you not secure enough in your gender and sexual identity that using a soap with fruity smells that come in colorful bottles is too much for your poor masculine mind to handle? Poor baby.”

Gavin wrinkles his nose. “Hell no. I’m gay as fuck but you still don’t see me using that girly shit. It’s a matter of preference, asshole. And I’m surprised you even know what gender identity even is, since you don’t seem to know much else about real humans.”

Gavin doesn’t realize what he just blatantly admitted to until he’s done speaking. Of course he has to be enough of a dumb ass to officially come out to the one dude who was raised by an old woman. God damn it, he’s probably homophobic. At least it’ll give Gavin a reason to punch him the next time he gets irritated with him.

Either oblivious to Gavin’s internal wariness or somehow reading his mind, Ritch explains in a condescending tone, “Amanda was insistent that we don’t treat people differently just because of how they identify, and one way of doing that was learning proper titles of people who aren’t ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ and other things your small brain would probably get bored with. But good for you for being just a normal ass and not a homophobic one. You’re slightly less likely to get punched now, anyway.”

That… is actually pretty cool, the fact that Ritch apparently has no problem with anyone who isn’t cis-het. It’s a complete plot twist and surprise, but it’s cool to know that the dude would only hate him because he’s him and not because he’s gay. He’s been tired of the homophobic jokes and slurs since the 5th grade, so it’ll be refreshing to have someone that’ll skip right over that genre of insults with him, as refreshing as it can be when they’re ridiculing one another, that is (which can be damn refreshing, if you ask him).

Gavin lets their talk end there as he slows down when they get close to the grease-heads’ bunker. He then silently checks the hall for anyone who could be watching or approaching, and quiets his voice down when he addresses Ritch, keeping a careful ear out for any footsteps or voices. He may be reckless half the time, but he’s not stupid enough to get caught breaking and entering someone’s private dorm.

“Well, asshat, this is it. Work your robot magic and hack us in.”

“It’s actually not hacking of any kind. I would ask if you want to learn how, but I doubt there’s enough room in your skull for a brain larger than a peanut with how huge your ego is.”

An involuntary, offended squawk bursts out of Gavin’s throat, and after a short hesitation where he lets himself be embarrassed before moving on, he smacks Ritch on the arm. “Move over asshole. My ego ain’t that fuckin’ big, asshole, you’re mistaking me for yourself.”

Gavin sees Ritch roll his eyes. “First, look at the keypad, you see the numbers that are more worn down than the others?”

“2, 5, and 7? What about them?” Gavin replies in a more serious tone, suddenly a lot more invested in this than he thought he would be.

“Those are the three numbers that are in the code. Basically, over time, as the same buttons get pushed over and over, the oils and pressure from fingers either wear down the ink of the numbers, or tint the glass over the buttons and give it a tan or brownish look compared to the other clear ones, depending on what kind of keypad it is.”

“Okay then, genius, how do we know the order of the code, ‘cause–”

“I wasn’t done,” Ritch interrupts, “The first button is usually the most worn down since the most oils rub off and degrade it more than the others, but in this case, since there are only three numbers worn down for a four code password, the most worn-down one is the one pressed twice, the next worn down is probably first. And when there are repeat numbers in a code as short as this, they’re rarely one directly after another.”

“So the 2 is repeated, and the 5 is probably before the 7.”

“Yes.”

“What if the twos are actually right next to each other. What if they’re both first and last?”

Ritch actually smirks this time. “I’ll be smart about it and we hope for the best.” Gavin gives him an incredulous look as he continues. “How many tries do we get to do this?”

“Three. If you fuckin’ think you can–”

“Watch and learn.” Ritch interrupts fuckin’ again as he gives his full attention to the keypad.

He tries 5272 first and is denied, then immediately tries 2725 and the door unlocks with a small, green flash of light.

Gavin doesn’t even know how to react. “What the fuck. I thought you said the 5 was first!”

Ritch just nods and opens the door. “ I did, but there are other variables that I don’t feel like going over right now, we don’t have time to waste.” He nods to the door he’s holding open, “You go in and investigate and I’ll stand guard out here. I’ll knock if I think someone is coming so you can get out. Wouldn’t want you to get caught and rat me out to lessen your sentence, or have you get both of us caught in the first place.”

“Ha ha. I’m glad you’re not coming in, anyway. You’d just get in my way, bitch.” He shoves past the trainee, purposely knocking his shoulder into his.

“Close, but no cigar.” Gavin turns and looks at him in confusion. “My name is Ritch with an ‘R’, not a ‘B’. I can understand if you misread it, but mishearing it when you have no documented hearing problems is a different matter altogether.” He sighs dramatically while maintaining his straight face, which is kind of odd to witness, but not the same odd as before. “At least you’re learning, it was closer than ‘Dick’, anyway.” He finishes as he shuts the door.

Gavin flips him off even though he won’t see it, then mumbles, “Fuck off, you prick.”

Gavin quickly looks around the smelly, messy bunker. Time for the fun part.

He knows better than to dig through places aimlessly and move things too much, so he goes to the tiny closets first. It’s crammed with useless stuff, but there’s nothing clearly illegal hiding in there and there doesn’t look like there’s a false back or bottom, so he closes it. The other personal closet is exactly the same– messy, but inconspicuous– so he moves on. He quickly checks under the bed (nothing) and on the top bunk towards the wall (again, nothing) before moving on to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, the first thing that Gavin notices is that the mirror is slightly crooked, which shouldn’t be possible since the medicine cabinet behind it is welded to the wall. He opens it and it’s immediately apparent to Gavin that there is a false back; the cabinet is way thinner and more warped than his and Tina’s are, and all of these things are supposed to be basically identical. The fact that it’s empty only accentuates how wrong it looks because there’s nothing blocking the false back.

He peels it back with ease and behind it is a stack of sheathed knives. Just judging by the handles of these weapons– and the fact that they were (poorly) hidden– they are definitely not pocket knives (the only knives permitted, since they’re mostly used for cutting wires and cables and are smaller, less harmful).

Before he can do anything else about this new discovery, though, he hears the bunker’s door click open and shut again. Gavin’s in the middle of trying to figure out what to do when Ritch barges into the bathroom and grabs his arm.

“Gavin, we need to get out of here!” Ritch hisses and grabs Gavin’s arm right above the wrist and yanks him out of the bathroom.

He tries to yank and twist out of the trainee’s grip, but he isn’t successful. “Give me a second to grab–”

“I don’t care! We need to go. Now!”

Suddenly he’s being shoved further away from the bathroom. He hears the medicine cabinet slam closed, then the trainee tugs Gavin towards the bunker door with more strength than he expected. He tries again to pull his arm out of his grip, but Ritch moves his hand and presses his thumb into the sensitive part of the inside of his elbow. He’s yanked in a direction then hears the bunker door clicks shut behind them along with any possible evidence that he now knows for a fact is in there. He doesn’t even remember the code to the door anymore, all he knows is that the five isn’t first, so he can’t get back in.

He takes a split second to look up and down the hall and sees that it’s completely empty. He could have easily grabbed at least one of those knives. Hell, even using his phone to snap a quick picture of the stack of them with the false back in view would be enough to warrant a search of their dorm– possibly even have them suspended immediately while the investigation starts– and this fucking prick pulled him out for no god damned reason.

Overcome with anger, he blindly kicks out where Ritch’s knee should be. It works. The asshole goes down for only a second before he rolls into a crouched position facing him, his expression angry and hard. He gets up to his feet smoothly, but Gavin isn’t stupid enough to believe that his muscles are actually as relaxed as they seem, they’re combat-ready, and this asshole is three seconds away from getting his fight.

“Gavin, cut it out. We need to go–”

“No! Let me back in you fucking asshole! There’s no one here!” he shouts, spinning with his arms spread out wide, showcasing the nothingness that is in the halls. “You’re just being fucking paranoid. We need those–”

Ritch suddenly punches him in the jaw. Gavin takes two steps back, but quickly rights himself.

“I said. Shut. Up.” Ritch snarls, but his attention is on something behind him, and Gavin uses that to his advantage.

He quickly throws a punch towards Ritch’s collarbone and throat area, but the little devil twists just in time for Gavin to only catch the sensitive part where his shoulder meets his pec.

At least that should bruise real nicely. Get what you deserve, asshat.

He doesn’t get much more time to think about it, though, because there’s suddenly a fist coming straight at his face again, and he ducks. Gavin throws a punch to his gut, but his opponent spins out of the way. He then aims a punch to Ritch’s face, but that gets caught and twisted. He aims a kick at the asshole’s knees before it can get too uncomfortable, and even though Ritch loosens his grip to dodge the attack and he’s able to get his fist free, the trainee doesn’t go down like he wanted.

There’s a moment of hesitation from both of them. It’s only long enough for Gavin to see Ritch scowling and to get himself in the position to effectively whoop some ass. His partner-in-crime-turned-opponent doesn’t take his attention away from him again, and instead uses the moment to study Gavin’s stance. He has no doubt he has the same kind of attentive scowl on his own face right now.

Gavin makes the first move, moving as if he’s going to punch with his right hand when he’s actually planning to go to the left. Disappointingly, Ritch doesn’t fall for it, and catches his arm. Gavin dodges his attempt at tripping him, then aims a blow at the stubborn asshole’s neck. He ends up letting go in order to dodge Gavin’s move, but is back quickly with a punch of his own. He ends up catching and tries to shove Ritch into a more vulnerable position, but he ends up letting go to dodge a kick to his gut.

This guy definitely has more skill than the average trainee, especially for one this new, that’s for sure. Although, that won’t change the fact that he’ll mess up or tire before Gavin will, and he’ll be in a heap of trouble and pain for blowing up the plan.

The only thing that Gavin is able to focus on after that is where the next punch or kick is coming from and where there’s an opening for him to punch or kick back. One one hand, he’s feeling confident because he hasn’t been hit a single time beyond that first jaw punch. He’s been catching, blocking, and dodging all of his kicks and punches. He’s pretty positive that the only injuries he’ll have from this fight are maybe sore hands and some bruises on his arms from the amount of blocking and deflecting he’s doing.

On the other hand, however, Gavin’s really starting to get pissed off because Ritch is taking about as much damage as he is right now, which is none. The damn asshole doesn’t even look tired yet. Not that Gavin’s getting tired– he can keep this pace up for a while longer– but what kind of trainee as new as Ritch is able to keep up with a well-seasoned pilot and brawler? He already knew Ritch was good, but he wasn’t supposed to fucking match Gavin like this in a fight.

Once Gavin accepts that this won’t go anywhere unless he switches things up and stops playing by sparring rules, he lunges forward with most of his weight to punch Ritch in the diaphragm with the hope to knock the wind out of him. It almost works, but Ritch dodges at the last moment and kicks him in the back of the knees as he passes, making Gavin collapse roughly onto his hands and knees. Just before Ritch can pin him down, he shoves himself up into a handstand and his heel narrowly misses the asshat’s jaw as he leans out of the way.

He sees Ritch quickly swoop his leg out to knock his arms out from under him, but Gavin springs up and flips back onto his feet. He spins to face his opponent and aims yet another punch to his face, but it’s caught and isn’t immediately released like before. A hand comes flying towards Gavin’s neck, but he blocks it, grabbing the other’s wrist and twisting his arm down. Ritch suddenly spins himself so his back is facing him, then grabs Gavin’s wrist and yanks him closer. Before he can do anything to prevent it, Ritch shifts his balance and flips him over his shoulder.

Gavin somehow manages to twist himself so he can land in a low crouch and wastes no time in jabbing an elbow back. It doesn’t hit anything, but Ritch does loosen his grip so he get free. Gavin rolls out of the way before he can get kicked down, then grabs Ritch’s ankle as it returns to the floor. He stands, bringing his opponent’s leg up by his shoulder, but instead of toppling over like he expected, Ritch quickly switches his weight to his hands and latches his free leg around Gavin’s middle, and when he lets go of his ankle to shove the menace off, Ritch latches that one around as well. Gavin knows what comes next before it happens, and lets himself be twisted and forced to the floor by Ritch’s weight, allowing him to sit on top of Gavin’s chest.

He lets this happen because he was able to control how he landed, and made sure his feet were planted on the ground just as his back hits the floor. He immediately jerks his entire torso off the ground before Ritch can properly situate himself again, and thus makes him topple over for just a moment. A moment is all Gavin needs, though. He spins onto his stomach and tucks his legs under him at the same time, then rapidly sits up and shoves his head up and back. Ritch dodges the headbutt attempt, and Gavin watches him roll backwards into a standing position as he spins and stands to face him.

In that split moment of stillness where they’re trying to predict each other’s next move, Gavin suddenly realizes that, for the first time in literal years, he’s having genuine fun sparring with someone. It would probably scare him if he weren’t so focused on the surprisingly competent trainee. He doesn’t even have enough room to think about or process why he would or should be scared. God damn Ritch and his god damned surprises at it again, the fucker.

Before Gavin can gather his head long enough to make the first move, Ritch suddenly jumps on him, somehow spinning so his thighs are clamped around his neck and head. He uses his weight to try to topple Gavin over, but Tina tried to do this to him one too many times before, so he knows to go to a wall so he doesn’t immediately go down. He then reaches up to twist and pull Ritch’s knee out to the side with his fingers pressing against the nerve bundle on the inside of it. Judging by the surprised noise Ritch lets out, he wasn’t expecting that, and he starts to slip. He suddenly shoves off the wall, leaving Gavin scrambling to regain his footing while keeping that knee tight in his grasp. Just before Gavin can properly get his balance back, Ritch leans back and slightly to the left, bringing them both down. His plan is faulty, however, because all Gavin has to do is put his hands down and land in a handstand and Ritch’s legs slip past his head, leaving him free to back handspring back onto his feet just as his opponent sweeps his leg where his hands used to be.

Jesus, this is a lot more flipping than Gavin is used to doing. He can’t exactly flip in a jaeger and it’s been years since his gymnastics class.

Feeling that his back is literally to the wall and watching Ritch flip back on his feet, still relatively untouched, he pushes off of it for more momentum, hoping he can take him by surprise or something. Just as Gavin reaches him, the trainee drops on onto his back and twists and curls at the same time. He doesn’t understand why until a boot hits the backs of his ankles hard and forces him down. Just as Ritch pounces to pin him down, Gavin turns onto his back and tucks his legs in. His opponent barely stops himself in time before he springs his legs up, so Ritch doesn’t get launched away like he was hoping. Gavin instead uses that momentum to sloppily flip into a crouch.

He dashes up and nails Ritch in the gut with his shoulder and lifts him off the ground, ready to slam him back down to disorient him. He doesn’t get to because he flips forward out of his grasp. Next thing he knows, there’s an arm in front of his throat and he’s being shoved down and backwards, so he twists so he’ll land on his stomach and breaks his fall. He instantly twists and kicks his leg out to get Ritch on the ground too, but the asshole jumps to his other side. No matter, because now Gavin can wrap both arms just below his knees and he forces the man down hard.

He jumps up to get on top of Ritch, who is already rolling onto his back, but is held back by another set of arms. He immediately lashes out and knocks whoever was holding him back in the head, but it was enough to get his mind out of the fight just enough to understand that they’ve gained an audience at some point. Ritch must not have realized yet, though– or maybe he doesn’t care– because he sets himself into a crouch and Gavin is already shifting his weight to dodge right to avoid getting rammed into–

“GAVIN! RITCH!”

They both instantly freeze and go tense. Ritch’s eyes are wide with alarm and are focused beyond his shoulder. Gavin has a feeling that he and Ritch are thinking the exact same thing.

Oh Shit…

Gavin slowly, cautiously, spins around to face a very angry Marshal Fowler. There are around 15 other people who have apparently been watching the show, if the way Chloe is shooing them away harshly is anything to go by. There’s one burly man who looks like his job is probably moving heavy materials around here who is clutching his bleeding nose.

In an attempt to put off dealing with Fowler for as long as possible– and maybe a little bit because he’s kind of concerned because he didn’t hold back on that headbutt at all– Gavin takes a step towards him.

“Oh. Shit. Your nose isn’t broken, is it–”

“Reed. Stern. My office. Now.” That voice was the worst one. Fowler is usually yelling or “not mad, just disappointed”, but that was the calm angry voice. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t “Gavin” and “Ritch”, it was “Reed” and “Stern”.

Wait, “Stern”? Why does that sound familiar?

Ritch lightly brushes his shoulder, silently urging him to follow the marshal. With one quick glance back to the injured man, who Chloe is now hopefully leading to a nurse, he does. They silently walk side by side and keep close enough to Fowler that he can hear their footsteps following him, but never get closer than five feet, as if they’re afraid he’ll randomly snap and start laying it on them. Who knows, he might. Gavin has never been in a fight that big before.

God damn it, they are so fucked.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: I want to thank everyone who read this again, and thank you all for being so patient with me. I’ve had this chapter almost done since the middle of January and it’s been killing me to not be able to finish it and have it posted. But it was a crazy few months, then some other crazy stuff happened, then quarantine kind of zapped all of my motivation to do anything.

But anyway, I hope this long chapter was worth the disgustingly long wait. I’m going to really try to get an update out every Monday, but I can promise that you’ll never go longer than a month without an update from now on. Comments (even if they’re just as simple as “nice chapter”) do wonders to motivate me! And I also have oneshot requests open to help motivate me! Here’s a list of ships I’ll write for!

Thank you for reading (and powering through me super long note) and I hope you stay safe and have a wonderful day/night! 💕💖

16 notes · View notes