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atlabeth · 11 months

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you’re beautiful — anthony lockwood

summary: a meeting goes wrong, feelings come out. you’d like to be sedated again, please.

a/n: so this started as part of “leave the door open” but then i decided i wanted something different (hence the wound dressing scene) but i really liked what i wrote there so here’s an entirely different fic! wow enjoy

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): reader gets stabbed, quite a bit of blood, couple death jokes, mention of not eating, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending tho

There was a saying in Lockwood & Company, courtesy of its namesake, that, if you had enough confidence, you could dazzle any ghost into submission.

Nothing but facetiousness of course, but it was true in a symbolic sort of way. If you didn’t believe in yourself, in every slash of your rapier and every circle of filings and every salt bomb measured to perfection, then there was no use showing up at all. You might as well sit down and wait for the ghost-lock to set in.

Lockwood’s words kept coming back to you every time you doubted yourself, his charming smile and eyes popping up in your mind, twinkling as he made you laugh.

And those words were certainly echoing through your ears as you stumbled through Portland Row’s door, a hand still pressed to your abdomen when you collapsed. Your rapier, still holstered, clattered against the floor.

George called your name from the kitchen, cheerfully oblivious to your joy. “You’re finally back! How did the meeting go?”

When you could only groan in response, he emerged into the hallway and his eyes instantly widened. “Oh my god— Lockwood!”

He rushed over and helped you up, propping you against the wall as his eyes darted all over. He took one hand away to push up his glasses, and you noticed he already had some blood on your fingers. “What in the world happened?”

“The meeting didn’t go well,” you grit out, sucking in a breath as a sharp column of pain shot through you.

“I could gather that,” George said wryly, and when you heard footsteps, you both looked up to see Lockwood taking the steps three at a time.

“What in the world happened?” he asked brazenly, a wild look in his eyes.

“That’s what I asked—” George said, and your breathy laugh was interrupted by a grimace.

“The meeting didn’t go well,” you repeated.

“I need actual details,” Lockwood called as he went off in search of the medical kit.

“Everything was fine,” you grumbled. “But as it turns out, our lovely source Mr. Pallworth was more skilled in getting into trouble than actually being an informant. He was in debt to some even lovelier relic men.”

“Oh, god,” George muttered. You winced as he put more pressure on your wound, having taken over for you. “I’m sorry, but this is so you don’t bleed out.”

“Did you get into a fight or something?” Lockwood marveled, bounding back over with a white box in his hands. “Because it looks like you were stabbed.”

“One point for Anthony,” you said groggily. “Mr. Pallworth ran off the moment he could, leaving me to deal with his mess. I was indeed stabbed. Only once, somehow. The relic men deserted when the police showed up, and I wasn’t far behind.”

Lockwood knelt down next to you, and he looked at you for permission. You nodded, and he pulled your shirt up to expose your wound. He did a good job hiding his grimace as he began to gently wipe away the blood, but it was still there. “Why did you come here and not immediately to the hospital?”

“I don’t know if you remember, Lockwood,” you breathed, “but this job that we’re doing is not exactly legal.”

“I don’t care,” he enunciated. “This is above our paygrade, and your life will not be on the line because of our lack of medical knowledge.”

“We either have to help her here or get her to a hospital,” George said, “because if we sit here bickering, she’ll bleed out before we make a decision.”

“I’d rather die here than a hospital,” you said.

“You’re not going to die here,” Lockwood said harshly, and his hands opened and closed into fists. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. He eventually let out an annoyed sigh and glanced at George.

“Phone 999,” he said. “She’s not dying because of her stubbornness.”

George nodded, grimacing at the blood on his hands—your blood, you supposed, which made it worse—and he ran off.

“I knew I shouldn’t have sent you there alone,” Lockwood grumbled as he started taking things out of the medical kit.

“No, you didn’t,” you said. “We had no reason to believe anything like this would happen.”

“Well— I should have known!” Lockwood’s voice rose, and his jaw clenched as he got himself back under control. He continued to clean out your wound, and you could hear George rattling off information in the distance to the authorities.

“You’re cute when you’re determined,” you said.

“I am determined to not let you die in our foyer,” Lockwood said.

“The foyer.” You mimicked Lockwood’s voice. “So posh.”

“If she’s being this annoying, she can’t be doing too bad,” George said dryly.

“Loopy from the blood loss,” you said offhandedly. You frowned as it sunk in. “Maybe I should go to a hospital.”

Lockwood heaved a very dramatic sigh as he continued to keep pressure on your wound. “At least you’re coming to your senses now,” he said dryly. He was still kneeling next to you, his hands covered in your blood, that wild look in his eye. “What the hell took so long?”

“I’m not…” you blinked the black spots out of your vision, “good with hospitals.”

“Well, I’m not good with you dying,” Lockwood said.

George came back over. “I’ve called the police—an ambulance is on the way.”

You groaned, half from the pain and half from the thought of the police. “We’re going to have so much explaining to do.”

“Leave that to us,” Lockwood said. For some reason, you found yourself grabbing his hand. He didn’t hesitate, his throat bobbing as he laced your fingers together. “Just hold on for a bit longer.”

You nodded, your mouth going dry for a moment when you looked at him— really looked at him.

There was unbridled fear in Lockwood’s eyes, the slightest glimmer of tears. If you weren’t slowly bleeding out, if the black spots weren’t taking over your vision, if your grip on his hand wasn’t loosening, you might have been embarrassed at his closeness, at his doting.

But apparently, you weren’t.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured.

And then everything went dark.

You were assaulted by a barrage of lights and beeping, too-bright fluorescents and the sterile scent of disinfectant alerting even your still groggy mind that you were in a hospital.

There was something in your arm—multiple somethings, actually. A tube with a lot of red in one arm, and another with clear liquid in your other arm. Blood and an IV, you guessed.

Right. You were stabbed, and one does not just walk away from a stab wound without a few problems.

You weren’t dead, though, and that surely counted for something. You would have to thank Lockwood later, for his stubbornness beating out your own.

“You’re awake,” a voice breathed, and you realized it was just the boy you were thinking about.

Lockwood sat next to you in a chair pulled up at your bedside. His tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and he’d draped his jacket on the back of the chair. His eyes were slightly red, but there was undeniable relief sketched into his face.

“I am.” Your voice was raspy from disuse, and you grimaced at the soreness in your lower chest. “How long has it been?”

“A few hours,” he answered. He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of his chair, and your eyes followed the movement. He was holding your hand— he’d been holding your hand. “You— um, you had surgery. A small one, it didn’t take too long, but—” Lockwood’s voice broke, and he laughed mirthlessly as he shook his head. “It was scary. Terrifying, actually, but…” he managed a smile. “You came out the other side. You always do.”

Your breath caught for a moment, and your grip on his hand tightened subconsciously. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Lockwood asked wryly. “It’s not your fault you were stabbed. You did a rather excellent job fighting them off, actually. It could’ve been much worse.”

“I’m sorry for putting you and George through this,” you murmured. “I worry about the two of you every second of every day, and most of the time it doesn’t come to fruition. This—” you laughed, which immediately turned into a wince— “I’d say this is fruition.”

“I’m just glad we got you here in time,” Lockwood muttered. He looked at you, his eyes boring into you with equal parts concern and desperation. You used to hate that about him, especially when you joined, how it always felt like he could look at you and know every single thing. “You said the police showed up in the fight. You were obviously injured— why didn’t you get them to call an ambulance? Why did you risk it all to come back to Portland Row?”

“I told you. The job we took on was illegal, and I felt it was going to be a much bigger mess than we needed to deal with.”

“I don’t care how illegal it was,” Lockwood said stiffly. “You were hurt— you were in danger. That comes before anything else, alright? You come before anything else.”

The intensity of his voice made you pause, unable to do anything but… look at him. His hair was tousled, no doubt from running his hand through it endlessly as he was wont to do whenever he was stressed. His undone tie and discarded jacket, his eyes, red from… from crying, most likely. He cried over you.

When your hand tightened around his this time, you did it on purpose.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “You’re probably the reason I’m alive.”

Lockwood managed to crack a smile. “It wouldn’t look good for the agency if my employees started dying. I don’t have very many to lose.”

That got a genuine laugh out of you, and you tried your best to ignore the subsequent wince. “Of course. That’s why I pulled through, to make us look better.”

“Your efforts are much appreciated,” he said, that small smile still on his lips as he rubbed mindless circles on your hand with his thumb.

The door creaked slightly as someone pushed it open, and a smile broke out on your face when you saw it was George.

“I was wondering where you were,” you said.

“Tea,” he said, lifting the drink holder with one hand and a box with his other, “and donuts.” He looked at Lockwood pointedly. “You’ve got to get something in you. It’s not exactly healthy, but the sugar will help.”

You looked at Lockwood. “You haven’t eaten?”

“I was preoccupied,” he said dryly.

“That’s no excuse,” you said. “Eat your donuts, and as soon as we get home, George is cooking you something.” You looked up at him. “Right?”

“Right,” George agreed. He handed Lockwood one of the cups and set the box on the table, and he smiled as he took a seat across from you. “You look much better. You’re bossing everyone around again—I take it you’re doing better too?”

“Much,” you nodded. “Thanks for getting me here, by the way. I’d probably have bled out if it weren’t for you.”

“Of course.” George took a donut from the box. “I can’t let you leave me alone with him.”

“Oh, I would never,” you said wryly.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to be alone with him after what you said,” George said offhandedly, and both you and Lockwood stared at him.

“George—” he started.

“What do you mean?” you interrupted.

He made that funny little expression where he knew he said something he probably shouldn’t have, and he busied himself with his donut. “Nothing.”

“George,” you deadpanned, “I’m the one in the hospital bed. I have pity points. Tell me.”

Lockwood sighed and leaned back in his chair, though you noticed he still didn’t let go of your hand.

“I’m guessing you don’t remember what you said,” George said slowly. “Before you blacked out, I mean.”

“No.” Your eyes darted between the two of them. “Why? Did I say something awful?”

“Not awful,” Lockwood said, still looking away. “Pretty far from it, I’d say.”

“Why are you two acting so weird?” you asked. “Spit it out!”

“You called Lockwood beautiful,” George finally said, and you just about died right there. “Right before you went out, you said he was beautiful.”

You blinked. Looked at Lockwood, who didn’t seem to be the slightest bit embarrassed—god, was he smiling?—looked at George, who was this time busying himself with his tea.

“You’re kidding,” you said.

“...He’s not,” Lockwood said, tilting his head to the side. “You did do that.”

“Looked up at him, said ‘you’re beautiful’, passed out.” George shrugged as he took another sip of his tea. “Quite dramatic, I’ll give you that. It drove Lockwood absolutely insane, too.”

“George,” Lockwood said sharply, “don’t you have a phone call to make?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. How could I forget?”

You weren’t even able to watch him as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with Lockwood. You wanted to melt into the bed. This was the absolute worst way for your feelings to come out, feelings that you were content to let sit forever and never really reveal. Apparently, you couldn’t even almost die with dignity.

“It’s alright,” Lockwood said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“No, I do have to be embarrassed.” You stared up at the ceiling. “I do have to be embarrassed, because my last words could have been ‘you’re beautiful’.”

“Why?” he asked. “Do you not think I’m beautiful?”

You groaned, and if you hadn’t been practically immobile, you would have buried your face in the pillows. “Get a nurse to sedate me again, please.”

Lockwood flashed that irritatingly pretty grin as he took your hand again. You hadn’t even realized he’d let go. “Relax. I think you’re beautiful too.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Even now?”

“Even now,” Lockwood said. “Always.”

“At least you’re not saying it half-conscious and dying,” you mumbled.

“I think it’s better I’m saying it now,” he said. “You know I mean it.”

You looked him in the eye. “You really do?”

“What did I just say?” Lockwood chuckled. “Always. Forever.”

You felt the heat creep to your cheeks. “I can’t believe this is what it took to get you to admit your feelings.”

“It took this for you to admit your feelings,” he countered. “It took you admitting them for me to admit them. I never really knew you felt the same way.”

“I guess I have a flair for dramatics,” you said wryly.

“It seems so,” Lockwood said. “How about after all this is done, when you’re good and cleared by the doctor, I’ll take you out for tea. My treat.”

“You pay my salary,” you said. “Everything is practically your treat.”

Lockwood grinned. “Do you want to go on a date with me or not?”

You smiled, and you pulled your joined hands closer. You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Excellent.” He smiled as well, a breath of relief coming out of him, and he leaned closer. “Just remember that you don’t have to get stabbed to get me to ask you out on a second date.”

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

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coochiequeens · 9 months

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A patient said something she thought was in confidence and he (the doctor) shared it with staff? And now TRAs are harassing a woman fighting breast cancer? That doctor needs to lose his license for violating patient confidentiality

A woman in Oregon receiving treatment for breast cancer has been dropped by her health clinic of 12 years because she expressed views critical of gender ideology.

Marlene Barbera, who is scheduled for a mastectomy later this month, told Reduxx that she had commented on the presence of a transgender pride flag that was hanging in the waiting room of the Richmond Family Medical Clinic in Portland last year.

Barbera explained that she had written a message to her doctor on MyChart, a website where patients can access their personal health information, describing that she found the inclusion of “political messaging in a healthcare setting” as “offensive.”

She, like a growing number of women, has “gender critical” views, rejecting modern ideologies that conflate biological sex and “gender identity.” Barbera mentioned she had faced rape and death threats from trans activists on X (formerly Twitter), many of whom would have identified with that same flag.

Initially, the Doctor, who she revealed had been her primary care provider for over ten years, said that he would not take the flag down. But while Barbera had initially believed their correspondence to be private, she later discovered that the note to her physician had been viewed and shared by other staff at the clinic.

This June, while attempting to leave a message for her doctor regarding blood test results, the issue continued to escalate. A receptionist at the clinic, who Barbera speculated was transgender, did not permit her to be patched through to her doctor.

“The person insisted I make an appointment. I have breast cancer and consequently an abundance of medical appointments so I did not want to do that. They got frustrated with my ‘non-compliance’ and hung up on me,” Barbera told Reduxx.

“Thinking it might have been in error, I called back. I was told I was ‘not allowed’ and that I must speak to the previous person who had hung up on me. I declined as things hadn’t gone well the first time.”

She then questioned whether the refusal from the first receptionist was due to her previous complaint about the trans pride flag in the lobby.

“I asked, guessing ‘did I hurt the trans person’s feelings?’ And the receptionist took offense to the question, asking ‘what did you say‘ slowly and with great emphasis.”

Weeks later, Barbera received an email from Oregon Health Science University’s (OHSU) Stein Berger, informing her that she had been “discharged from receiving medical care at the Richmond Family Medicine Clinic,” effective immediately, with services to be cut off from all OHSU Family Medicine Clinics, including immediate care clinics, from July 29th. The email did in fact specify that she was being removed “because of ongoing disrespectful and hurtful remarks about our LGBTQ community and staff.”

Barbera told Reduxx that the incident had sent her “anxiety through the roof” and that she was struggling with her mental health as a result of the stress.

“I have severe chronic agitated depression since teen years,” Barbera explains. “Now I have no primary care doctor and nowhere else to go. I have been made to feel like a worthless nothing.”

This is not the first time a woman has lost access to critical medical services due to her “gender critical” views.

In October of last year, a woman identified as Emma by the UK’s Daily Mail was banned from having an operation in London’s Princess Grace Hospital because she requested single sex accommodation. The woman, who had been scheduled for a complex colorectal operation, also expressed that she did not want to “use pronouns or engage with such manifestations of gender ideology.”

Despite having experience being the victim of sexual assault, Emma was banned from having her procedure at the facility for requesting single-sex care.

#USA #Oregon #Breat cancer #Richmond Family Medical Clinic #Portland #Marlene Barbera is telling the truth #Political messages don't belong in healthcare settings #Oregon Health Science University’s (OHSU)#Stein Berger should be fired

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novelizt · 7 months

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PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ childhood friends (to estranged friends) to lovers. angst w/ a happy ending.

WC ➺ 12.2k

SYNOPSIS ➺ to uncover the mystery of iris griffith's murder, it's time to face the music, cross the fence, and talk to a friend you never expected to become a stranger to.

WARNINGS ➺ mentions of the lockwood family tragedies, strained family dynamics, discussions and descriptions of murder

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader. lockwood & co. are aged up to about 18-years-old, I try to shoe-horn forensic science into psychical investigations (I am not a professional so... it's unrealistic, sorry.), and Lockwood calls reader cherry/cherry cheeks

NOTE ➺ I can't remember if Portland Row has wrought-iron fences. In case it doesn't, it does now — this is fan fiction. Also, this is the first time I've finished a story this lengthy and I feel really proud of myself. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Lockwood had laid eyes on you, you were a set of peering eyes over a wrought-iron fence. He could barely see over it, but he could remember how round and shiny your eyes were. All doll-like and unrealistic. Honestly, it scared him. You couldn't blame little Lockwood for scuttling back to his sister.

That same day, your parents had brought you over and formally introduced themselves. Between your parents's statuesque figures, stood you.

Contrary to your encyclopaedic eyes, your mannerisms were timid. You looked miniscule in your Sunday dress. You looked like a breeze could knock you over. Anthony couldn't help but feel bad for running from you earlier.

Following introductions, a terse dinner ensued. Your parents were doctors, the kind who would scamper about in hospitals in scrubs and white coats — people who believed in science. His were researchers who dabbled in spiritual devices of different cultures — people who preferred to find the emotional aspect in the supernatural. Suffice it to say, the conversation was very one-sided.

Even then, Anthony was determined to be your friend. He thought having pretentious parents, like yours, would spoil the fun in things like spinning tops or fencing or enjoying pie with ice cream after supper. (Your parents had insisted the sugar would make it difficult for you to sleep.)

Anthony had made up his mind before you even uttered a word to him.

The instant the adults had dismissed you to the living room with Anthony and Jessica, he had snuck you a pie with extra ice cream on top. He and Jessica had their backs to the door so in the unlikely event that your parents came in, they wouldn't see you breaking their rules.

You weren't much younger than Anthony back then, but with cherry smeared across your cheek and ice cream clinging to your lip, he thought you were as cute as a button. He wasn't aware that he had been smiling at you so widely.

He missed the knowing glint in Jessica's eyes.

Across the peaceful months you'd spent as friends, Anthony and Jessica would tell you about their parents' most recent findings and you'd tell them the most bizarre concepts you learned at the academy.

At night, Anthony would sit by the window in his attic room, flagging out written messages on a sketch pad. Across the way, you would poke your head out to read it.

lots of apples are falling these days. want some?

my parents won't let me

that's because an apple a day keeps the doctors away. i think they're scared

no way... papa says he cuts people open. how could he be scared of apples?

ew... and I dunno, cherry. do you want apples or not?

stop calling me that

apples?

sure...

come down

ARE YOU MENTAL??

He was, indeed, crazy. He had tiptoed all the way downstairs and grabbed his mother and father's favorite jackets on the way out.

In the bite of night and the glow of ghost-lamps, he looked up at your house to see your head poking out of of a different window, a crazed expression on your face. 'What are you doing?' you mouthed.

"Hurry!" He yelled back. He chuckled when you'd flinched and checked behind you. He held up the jackets and took a breath, watching in amazement as fog formed from it.

All while you tapped the window sill in thought. You took one more contemplative glance behind you, then shut the window.

You were vaulting over the fence in no time. He caught you, cushioning your fall with the jackets he'd taken and greeted you with an incandescent smile. Even in greenlight, your little heart skipped a beat.

"Here. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. We'd both be in trouble if you did."

He threw his mother's coat over your head. It was so big, it enveloped you like a gown. You tried to slip your arms through the sleeves but you only got halfway before you wiggled the limp fabric in his face. He swatted you away but folded them up enough so your palms could come through.

His father's jacket was huge on him, too, but he had the kind of air that made him look natural in it.

In his efforts to help you, his own hands had turned red from the cold. You seized them and stuffed them in your pockets, since your—his mother's—jacket had the lined pockets.

After huddling for warmth, you two grew warm enough to walk further into the backyard and pick up handfuls of apples. You found that you could only fit three apples in each pocket, so you held more by tucking your shirt into your pants and shooting them into your shirt. Anthony had done the same. You didn't realize how ridiculous your actions were until you saw how puffed his figure looked with that many apples stuffed down his shirt.

You snorted so loud it hurt, slapping your hand over your mouth to kill any more laughs that could alert the sleeping adults.

He turned his head to you, like an owl. It made more apples fall from your shirt as your shoulders shook. He shushed you, frantically glancing at the house. "What's wrong with you?"

You shook your head, riding the wave of maturity before it crashed. Little laughs and apples spilled from you. "You look like a pufferfish!"

He looked down and examined himself then, indignantly, he pointed at you. "You're literally spewing apples, you're just as bad!"

Restraint crumbled. Your hand came away and your laughs filled the silent night air. Anthony's laughs began to dance with yours until the pair of you were reduced to shaking stumps surrounded by fallen apples.

"Don't look at me! You're making me laugh!"

"Your face is funnier!"

"Stop it!"

"Cherry— You're only making me laugh more!"

It was no surprise that his parents had woken up and scolded you two accordingly. While they tutted at you, you two sat under the same blanket. Elbowing each other when they began to question who'd initated it.

You weren't a snitch. You did not tell, and they never found out who caused the trouble.

Jessica later rewarded you both with a cookie under their noses. You cracked your cookie in half to share with her. Anthony did the same to his, giving his other half to you.

—

Those memories were a far cry from the present. On some days, they felt like dreams. Now, all you are to him is a pair of peering eyes over wrought-iron fences.

Lockwood would catch glimpses of you on the way back from a case. He would nod, you would nod. Then both of you would continue on with your lives like the era of cherry pies and fallen apples had never happened.

Some days, he would turn the newspapers, checking to see if student doctor you had earned any new accolades in your scholastic journey to saving lives, but he never had it in him to say hello to you.

That morning's issue had you on the front page. You with your resplendent eyes and smile finally sporting a white coat at the ripe of eighteen, the first one of your age to earn 'Doctor' as a suffix to your name. Apparently, you'd applied your studies on forensic science to aid psychical investigations involving mummified body parts.

Seems you were doing well.

He placed the paper face down on the thinking cloth, ignoring Lucy's questioning gaze as he took a sip of tea.

"What's happened now?" Lucy asked, stretching her neck to see what made him so upset. She settled back into her seat after she set her eyes on the crossword puzzle, unable to glimpse the front page. "Kipps's crew?" she guessed.

"No, he would have his brow furrowed like this–" George turned to show his brows knitted together so hard they looked like they were drawn on with marker. "–if it was Kipps. It's got to be something else."

"Oh, right," Lucy said with bite, smacking her head like that made sense. "How could I forget?"

George shrugged, grinning like he had a secret on the tip of his tongue. "I don't know, Luce. Maybe it's the letters you've been receiving from one; Norrie White."

Lucy's chair scraped as she stood, gaping at George with anger tightening her mouth. "You went through my mail!"

"She wrote her name in marker. Red. Marker. I would have to be blind to miss it."

Lockwood kicked back and watched the drama ensue, a smile easing itself back on his face. Lucy and George's petty squabble was always a shot of espresso on a rather depressing morning. They made an excellent stopper to all his wonderings about the past.

"That was none of your business!" Lucy shrieked. In her fury, her hands itched to do something... to throw something.

Lockwood realized too late. He vaulted forward to pry the newspaper from her fingers, but Lucy's rage made her a savage. She chucked the newspaper at George with the velocity of a racing car.

The headlines collided with George's face with a resounding thud.

His glasses fell and landed with a unceremonious noise. Thankfully, unscathed from the impact.

The same could not be said for his nose.

George's face pulsed like he had been stung by the world's largest be. He splayed his hand over his nose to check for bleeding and groaned.

"That hurt..."

"Of course it did. I intended it to," Lucy huffed. She scooped up George's glasses and the paper. "That ought to teach you about looking at my correspondence."

"Didn't have to thump me that hard though," George grumbled, snatching his glasses back.

He looked like a dartboard bullseye wearing glasses. Lockwood couldn't focus on it though. His eyes were honed in on the newspaper Lucy was currently unraveling.

He bit his cheek and decided to finish his tea in one gulp. "Well," Lockwood started, fixing his collar as he stood. "I'd better see what we're taking on tonight. I'll be—"

"Hey, this is that girl next door." Lucy pushed her face closer to the paper to reassure herself that she wasn't seeing wrong. She'd seen that blouse and trouser combo on you a few days ago. "Yeah! That's her!"

George showed a rare kind of expression. A raised brow aimed at Lockwood. "She's a doctor now. How could that be upsetting?"

"Don't tell me you have a rivalry with her because she poked you in the bum when you were little," Lucy joked.

Lockwood's face flushed. He looked at the kitchen door, contemplating escape, then back to his friends. He leaned on the doorframe, attempting to look lax but coming off as stiff as a board. "Who said I was upset?"

"You were quiet over tea," George said.

"What of it?" Lockwood pushed.

George gave him an are you kidding me kind of look. "You never shut up when you can help it."

"And you did this." Lucy copied his pondering face, and Lockwood grimaced—reminding himself to school his expressions better.

"Please. For all things good, never do that again, and I am not upset at her—"

"Defensive now? You so are," George chuckled.

Lockwood's jaw ticked. "I am not—"

Saved by the bell. All three heads turned to the door with interest. It was still early in the day, so a new client was unexpected.

"I'll get it," Lockwood said. He left a prattling Lucy and George in the winds of his coat.

The doorbell rang again before he got to it. "Keep your shirt on—"

George and Lucy idled at the foot of the stairs as the door swung open. George let out a gasp, Lucy elbowed him to keep quiet.

Speak of the devil and he will appear. Though, you were more seraphic in that white dress, innocently festooned with embroidered cherries. Your smile was as disarming as ever. It was even brighter than the light haloing your hair.

"Hello."

Lucy tripped over air at the sweetness of your voice, now understanding how the word 'mellifluous' came to be.

Lockwood was indifferent.

Just staring at the back of his head, Lucy knew he was sporting an expression reserved just for Kipps and his crew. It made her want to kick his shin and tell him to get himself together.

"Hi," Lockwood finally greeted, tone bleak. "What are you doing here?"

"Lockwood," George finally intervened. Seems he was taken by how you carried yourself, too.

Both your and Lockwood's heads turned to him.

"Oh, you must be George Karim." Your smile widened, outshining the light above the door. "And Lucy Carlyle. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Lucy and George rarely agreed on things, but they spoke like they were on the same wavelength then. "Pleasure is ours."

A little laugh escaped you, just as graceful as the swish of your skirt. You introduced yourself, discounting your new title. "My parents asked me to invite friends to my celebratory dinner tonight but I don't have people I'd really consider friends." Your honeyed eyes drifted back to Lockwood, trying not to wilt under his blasé gaze. "I was thinking you three could drop by. No need to bring anything but yourselves. We have pie and ice cream for dessert."

Hope was alight in your eyes. The insider statement flew over George and Lucy's heads, and apparently, Lockwood's too. Your expression dampened as it struck you.

"That sounds nice," George said pleasantly.

Lucy nodded in agreement. "And it's not every day we get invited to a free meal."

"With pie." George was already dreaming about it.

Lockwood let out a breath. "Sorry. We have a case tonight."

"No, that's for Friday night," George interrupted. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"

"That's right," Lucy doubled down.

Both of Lockwood & Co.'s best simply blinked and grinned at Lockwood's taut form.

"Great," you quipped. Your eyes lingered on Lockwood but moved to George and Lucy when he showed no interest in being civil. "I'll see you tonight, then. Have a nice day!"

"You too!"

Lockwood gave you a sufficient nod and lipped smile as he closed the door. The moment you were out of sight, the room turned sepia.

Silence for a moment, then George.

"There is definitely something going on here."

—

Despite Lucy and George's joint efforts to pry answers from him, Lockwood did not bend. When the light began to die outside, they retired to their own rooms to prepare. Finally leaving him in silence.

Lockwood chose to wear his usual get-up. The only difference was his waistcoat. It sported a thin, stylish red stripe down it's right side; George had worn an unstained shirt for once, so he did put a bit more effort into his looks that evening; and Lucy wore her best skirt and sweater to put her best foot forward.

"Now," Lockwood said as they all spiraled down the steps. "You have to remember a few things about our neighbors."

"And that would be?" George rolled his eyes.

"They're doctors," Lockwood answered like it was a sin.

"All of them?" Lucy asked with interest.

"Yes, the entire family," Lockwood confirmed. "You have to remember that when they start getting weird about our work."

"Why?" Lucy flicked a crumb left on George's shoulder once they reached the last step. "We get help from hospitals when we need to examine post-mortem documents. It's not like our professions are worlds apart."

"You mean I get help," George corrected firmly. "Not like either of you do the grisly work when it comes to research."

"Well, you're the best at it," Lucy said placatingly.

"'Course I am," George nipped.

Lockwood shushed them. "Regardless of what they say, do not loose your cool. They think getting you worked up means they win.

"They can't be that bad. Your girl was nice enough," Lucy said.

Lockwood's brows furrowed then unfurrowed. "She's not my girl," he said, opening the door with zeal.

"Sure," Lucy grinned as she slipped past.

—

34 Portland Row looked the same as 35 from the outside. The interior decor made it clear that the home was made up of doctors. Successful ones, by the looks of it.

You greeted them at the door with the same radiatant smile from the papers. Your dress was marvelous but Lucy and George could not help but look over your shoulder, into the opulence of 34 Portland Row.

Like always, Lockwood greeted you with a nod and addressed you by name. It wasn't much but you accepted it with cheeks strained from practicing your smile.

As you lead them to the dining room, their eyes wandered at their own volition. Lockwood couldn't help but do the same.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was as decadent as ever; the doorknobs had been changed to be made of glass and silver; the bookshelves were packed with newer books—likely yours; the wall next to the stairs still held your height measurements from years ago. He caught your eye as he did so, trying not to flinch at the waves of melancholy that crashed over him. He chose to look at the back of your head as the light of the dining room enveloped them.

Like every room in this house, a chandelier sat in the middle. Everything was gleaming. Not a speck was out of place, except maybe him. Perfect, just like the family that lived here.

The table was already set with steaming meals of steak, veggies, and mashed potatoes. There was a pitcher of juice in the middle but Lockwood noticed that he, Lucy, and George's glasses were already filled with water. Your mother had just finished filling the last one when she offered her most deceitful smile.

"Anthony Lockwood and friends..." your mother greeted. Her tone was eloquent but the drawl in it sent an unwelcomed pang of anxiety through Lockwood, he tensed then forced himself to relax. "Haven't seen you around lately, Tony."

"Running a business does eat time, unfortunately." He spared her a terse smile and sat at the chair you directed him to — just across from you. Lucy sat beside you, and George had the misfortune of sitting next to your father. Lockwood cleared his throat to break the silence. "You haven't aged a day, Mrs.—"

"Doctor, actually. We've had this conversation before," she chortled with a furled smile you would only expect from the devil's mistresses.

Lucy and George found sudden interest in their food. Your shoulders sunk, but like times before, you didn't say anything. Lockwood tried not to look surprised.

"Right... Doctor. My apologies." He straightened himself in his seat. "You two look swell. How has the winter been treating you?"

"Oh, it's absolutely tiring," your father said. He had the kind of tone that suggested that he was always pouting. At least he wasn't spitting venom while he was talking about himself. "Patients coming in but rarely being able to make it out. Terrible thing, really."

"Sorrows to those who have passed because of the upstart," your mother chipped in. "Our little darling saved some lives in lieu of her recent graduation, and she's only been a doctor for a few days!"

Your mother smiled at you. You refused to look up from your dinner. "All I did was administer CPR. The hospital was understaffed that day. I work in a different department, mama."

Her smile faded before her eyes snapped to Lockwood, her grin sharpening.

"Can you imagine that? Not even a day as a doctor and she's already on the papers. Real talent gets recognized straight away, everyone knows."

Your father did not finish chewing his steak before he joined in. "Kids these days run around wasting their time on things other than their academics. What do they expect to do after their talents fade, huh? Our girl has no worries in that department."

George pushed his plate away after a blob of spit landed on his potatoes. He thought it was best to put down his utensils as well. His grip was turning his knuckles white. Lucy had resorted to pushing her asparagus to calm the anger beginning to stoke in her mind. They were beginning to see why Lockwood did not want to come. The aforementioned remained with a practiced smile on his face.

Your eyes conveyed your apologies yet Lockwood refused to look at you. You were as meek as the girl Lockwood first saw over the fence. Your voice was weaker when you used it in this house. "Mama, papa. Those kids risk their lives to make living easier for everyone. Bravery like that can't be learned from textbooks."

"No, but keeping your nose out of that business altogether will keep you alive." Your mother's expression changed, a beguiling woman turning into medusa before their very eyes.

You sunk under the weight of her stare. You might as well have turned to stone.

"Knowledge keeps you alive," your father added. "Perusing supernatural business will only end with dead kids or orphans who have to resort to psychical work to get by. Some of them work up the nerve to call it a real profession."

A resounding ring resounded from Lockwood's side of the table. He had dropped his knife. His smile had gone. His lips twitched, like he wasn't sure what to do or say. Ultimately saying nothing.

Your eyes glossed over, anger and sadness swirling together in your belly. You were ready to let loose, to set your parents straight. Yet, one look at your father's face was enough to have you curling in on yourself.

The temperature dropped like the conversation had. No one said a thing when smoke began to choke the room.

"Well," your mother cheered. "Seems like the pie is ruined. I'm afraid we'll have to end supper here."

—

Lucy rushed the door open, just itching to unload the tangle of colorful words she'd thought up in that stuffy house of yours.

"They were horrendous," George said, throwing his flannel aside. "I thought that junior doctor was nice but now I know she's Medusa's spawn."

"She is. And have you seen her dad?" Lucy doubled down. She considered going downstairs to release her pent-up emotions but thought better of it. "Terrible, the lot of them."

Lockwood had thought the same cruel thoughts but hearing it from them made him defensive. You weren't bad. You were just a bystander. Your lack of responses hurt as bad as your parents's passive-aggressive jabs, but you weren't even close to being half the evil your parents were. He felt his stomach churning as they began to drag your name through the dirt.

"We are never going back there," George declared. "You were right, Lockwood."

"I need 24 hours of sleep to recover from it. I've never felt so murderous before." That was Lucy's way of saying goodnight. She started for the steps right after.

"I think we should go back. So you can finish the job," George said, following Lucy up the stairs.

Lockwood stumbled ahead, throwing his coat on the newel and collapsing at the foot of the steps. From where he lazed, he continued to hear Lucy and George bicker.

"Maybe you could call up that Norrie White to help you get away with murder," George said encouragingly.

"Don't even start on that, George," Lucy warned.

Her door closed.

"Fine," George said despondenty. "It was just a suggestion, geez."

His door closed, too.

Lockwood let out a breath. It felt like his soul had left his body for a moment of reprieve. He didn't have even five minutes of silence before he heard urgent taps reverberating through his ears. He sat up, alarmed, trying to assess where the noise could have come from.

After a quick sweep, he swung the kitchen door open and discovered you on the other side of the garden door, knuckles raping against the glass with a pained look on your face.

He contemplated leaving you out in the cold but decided that he wasn't that kind of person. He opened the door and wasn't all that surprised that your habit of forgetting a jacket stayed true. You were shivering.

"Anthony—"

"Give me a moment," he interrupted. He turned, walked back to the steps to retrieve his coat, then returned to drape it over your shoulders. "Come in. Sit. You never remember to bring a coat at night, stubborn girl."

You smile despite the frost on your face. Your face turns pink as the warmth of 35 Portland Row thaws you. He sits you on his usual seat and takes George's cushioned seat instead.

"Old habits die hard," you chuckle, holding his coat tighter. If you bent your head enough, you would get a whiff of him on it. You could have tried to do it inconspicuously but he was sitting right there, he would know. "I'm sorry... for everything. I thought they wouldn't– I really should have known they would say things like that. I apologize for them. I really do feel bad. If Mr. Karim and Ms. Carlyle are still up, I'd like to tell them as well."

"They've retired for the night," he reports. He redacts the part that they were discussing the demise of your family. "but thank you for coming to say that."

"And I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you add.

Lockwood doesn't say anything to that. In his mind, you would have stopped them if you were really sorry. "Why did you come here? And please don't say you're inviting us to another dinner."

"Goodness, no." You snort. "I... have a case. I don't know who else to surrender the evidence to."

His brows jump. "You're asking for psychical service? From me? Us, I mean."

You nod. "I hear that Ms. Carlyle is particularly gifted. What I think we're facing is something special. Something no regular agent can feel out."

"Why hasn't Fittes or Rotwell been put up to this if it's that important?"

"Because it's a personal study of mine." You drop a manila folder on the thinking cloth. Lockwood didn't even notice you were holding it earlier. "It's a closed case. An unsolved one. The autopsy is gruesome and justice was never brought to the victim. I searched her property myself and found the source. I tried to communicate with her but I can't do it."

"And you think Lucy is the Listener for the job?"

"Yes. I don't just want to get rid of a ghost, Anthony, I want to lay her to rest. To give her peace."

He leans back in his chair, drinking in the information while he raked a hand through his hair. "You investigated the area of the haunting alone?"

"In daylight," you said in your defense. "My sense of touch is useful enough for me to know if something is a source. Problem is, I can't get any psychical resonance to find out who had killed her."

"Amazing..." he breathed. He didn't know you had that level of sensitivity. Still, he had to think of this as an official case. He righted his posture immediately. "I'll ask George and Lucy in the morning. Can you come by at nine?"

"Yeah. My parents are at work before then. No worries about them."

"Good."

You nod, not knowing what else to do. "Good."

You stared at each other. Possibly taking in how much time had changed you; The scars he'd earned through the years, the callouses on your hands from studying, blemishes, changed mannerisms—and then the unspoken reminder that you had drifted apart after the Lockwood family turned from four to one. You were completely different people to the children who used to laugh through these halls.

"I better get going," you said. You couldn't handle Lockwood and his expressive eyes. You don't know if he was doing it consciously, but it was like you could see his sadness bleeding into the world just by glancing at them.

He nodded like a puppet on a string, pulling himself up and leading you to the garden door once more.

"Goodnight," you said, mustering a friendly smile that was, thankfully, returned.

"Night... Cherry," he replied.

You smiled for a moment more before you snuck back home. Neither of you remembered that you had his coat until morning.

—

You were knocking at 35 Portland Row at 8:55. You stood stiffly, not knowing how to conduct yourself after last night's catastrophe. Lockwood's coat was folded over your arm when George answered the door.

Opposite of the day before, his face was flat. If you turned around and left, you'd be doing him a favor. Unfortunately for him, you were there with intention.

"I need the help of Lockwood & Co."

George opened his mouth, probably thinking of some creative way to say 'shove off'. Lockwood's voice from the kitchen bellowed over his train of thought. "It that her? Let her in, Georgie."

George was mumbling something but he stepped aside and didn't stab you with a nearby rapier. You believed that meant there was a chance to redeem yourself.

You were lead to the receiving room where you were shortly joined by Lockwood and an either groggy or bloodthirsty Lucy. George had retired to the kitchen to bring in biscuits. You hadn't earned the respect to have cake in the vicinity.

Lockwood lead the conversation, eyes trained on you. It made you conscious enough to shuffle and pick at the frayed seams of his coat.

"You only gave us a few details about this case. Evidently it was murder but it was closed and unsolved for two decades."

"I have the rest here," you said, revealing another manila folder. This one was thicker, packed with all you knew about it. It was the real deal. As you passed it across the table, the three of them ogled at the vivid red 'confidential' stamp slanted across the front. "Her name was Iris Griffiths. She was a forensic scientist who cracked several unsolved cases in her time. She had sensitive hearing, from what her colleagues said. She wasn't working on any new cases before her housemate reported her dead on a random night."

"Was it during winter? She could have been ghost-touched." Lucy suggested with a clipped tone. She just wanted to close the case and never see you again.

You shook your head, reaching across and guiding Lockwood's hand to another page in the folder. "Her autopsy shows several lacerations and bruises but no remnants of ghost touch. Her body was already decomposing when she was found."

"And her flatmate? They could be a suspect." George pitched.

You shook your head again. "Celia Rodney was out of town with her fiancé. Several colleagues were interviewed and confirmed it."

Lockwood looked up. "Then we have to assume that it's someone from Griffith's personal life. Did she have a lover?"

"This is like the Annie Ward case all over again," Lucy groaned.

You continued nonetheless. "She did have a lover, actually. Howard Gasley was her co-worker and boyfriend. They had a good relationship, according to the interviews, so I don't suspect any foul play between them."

George leaned against the right side of his chair. There was a creak from the old thing but he ignored it. "What if their relationship was rocky behind the scenes?"

You looked down at the evidence file and sighed. "I guess we will find out when Ms. Carlyle's able to speak with her. All our suspects have solid alibis. To obtain justice for Iris Griffith, we'll have to be her witnesses."

George turns stiff. "We? Lockwood."

Lucy does the same. "You're asking me to communicate with a ghost?"

Lockwood tries to settle them down with a relaxed smile. "It's high time I stop scolding you for being good at what you do, Luce. Our client is explicitly asking you to exploit your talent and find us a killer. The client is always right. Isn't that right, George?"

George grumbles a reply you don't hear, and Lucy nods limply, like she can't comprehend the fact that Lockwood was being so lax about this. What happened to the dangers of communicating with ghosts?

Regardless, they realize that arguing with him was going to be a losing battle. He has that look in his eye—one akin to an adrenaline junkie who's about about to jump from a cliff, and his eyes are set on you.

Lucy and George watched as you returned his coat before they shot each other looks.

What happened to hating you and your white-coat family? Lockwood marched to the beat of his own drum, apparently.

They had their kits ready before dark and met you on the street you'd told them about. Lockwood saw your peering eyes over the run-down house's picket fence and quickened his pace.

"Lovely place," Lucy drawled, eyeing the chipping paint with faint curiosity. Two decades could do so much to a nice house.

"Very lively," George seconded with bite, side-stepping the corpse of a rat.

"I have the source inside, under a chain net," you inform them. You push open the door, wincing as the hinges break and send the wood slamming to the floor. "I hope the house holds long enough to finish this investigation."

"Finally," cheered Lucy. "something we can agree on."

Lockwood was contemplating over how to behave himself. One second, he was keeping pace with you, then walking ahead the next, then falling behind you. He cycled between all three, ignoring George's rolling eyes and Lucy's sighs until all four of you reach the second-floor's lavatory. Luckily, no one had fallen through the floor.

"Do tell me we're not dealing with supernatural turd," George begged.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'll be the one doing the Listening so you can take your complaints outside, George."

"This might be worse," you answer them when you pull off the chain net from an odd looking thing. It looked like a starfish wrapped in ripped and yellowed tissue paper. Lucy gagged when she took a second look.

"Mummified hand," Lockwood said aloud, trying to keep a placid smile on his face. "I always tell you to never mess with mummified body parts but we'll have to make an exception."

"Mummified parts bridge the forensic and psychical field, unfortunately." You cover the source back up as a mercy to Lucy. "They couldn't find her hand before they autopsied her body. Found this under a plank in her bedroom."

"Handy," George said dryly.

Lucy glared at him. "Not the time."

"I'm not sorry," he replied.

"You could have mentioned this sooner," Lockwood interjected, turning his head to you.

You gave a smile in response. "I think it's just another piece of evidence that proves someone had been very angry with her."

"Did the academy teach you to smile so morbidly?" George questioned.

"No, that's just her face." Lockwood said gravely.

George spared you a look that resembled concern. "Pity."

You dropped your smile and walked passed a chuckling Lockwood.

—

Lucy couldn't hear a thing while there was light out. Even with the chain net off, all she could hear was George's heavy breathing.

Lockwood had everyone sat in the disparaging kitchen to have tea and some biscuits before night fell. All the courtresy of Lockwood & Co., of course. Papers spread across the table, rehashing the details in hopes that it would help Lucy discern which questions to prioritize once she made contact with Griffith.

George squinted his eyes at the court transcripts. "There's an awful lot of witnesses."

"It was a big case. Griffith did wonders to connect the world of science and the psychic." You dipped a biscuit into your overly sweetened tea; it was not so coincidentally your favorite brand, and took a bite. "She inspired me to study. It's been a dream of mine to solve her case."

George nodded with the most plastic smile on his face. "Wonderful. We're fulfilling childhood wishes while Lucy experiences rediscovered trauma."

You sighed and sunk into the rotting seat. There was no salvaging an acquaintanceship with George at this rate. You lulled your head to look at Lockwood. He spared you a smile but looked away just as quick.

"Don't interrupt me, that's all I ask," Lucy said as the clock struck six.

Papers were put away, circles were drawn, several more candles were lit, and Lucy hunkered down in the lavatory. The door was closed to give her room to work, leaving you to stand between Lockwood and George. You hobbled from heel to heel as you eyed their rapiers and their weary wandering.

The silence reminded you too much of home. Words poured out of you to chase away your parents's images in your mind. "How strong are Ms. Carlyle's talents? I've only heard heresay about her abilities."

"None of your business—"

"She's the best Listener in the field," Lockwood answered. Even in the dim light, you could see his smile pull higher. It made your heart do funny things while your stomach dropped. "I ought to think she'd be on parr with Marissa Fittes, given enough time. Maybe even better."

George nodded in agreement, turning his head as the ghost-lamps outside flickered to life. The green hue bled into the room, dimming the atmosphere even more.

You leaned against the wall as a chill crept out from under the lavatory door. "I have no doubt that we'll be able to get our answer then."

"Oh! Ow!" George exclaimed.

You didn't have a rapier or any form of weapon but you turned to him like you could help, just to find he was simply hugging himself.

"Got really cold all of a sudden. Felt like something passed through me," he said. He looked down at his thermometer. "Temp's dropped significantly. This visitor is a force."

"That's why she got the best of the best to do it," Lockwood boasted, winking your way and changing his stance as a spectral glow began to flicker under the door.

"Do we have a guess on what we could be facing?" you asked, backing away.

Lockwood didn't miss the tremoring in your hands. "No, but where where is a lack of knowledge, there is faith. We'll make it out this alive."

"Oh," you laughed unhumorously. "how reassuring."

"He's good at that," George added flatly.

Lockwood held out an arm, guiding you to stand between him and George. Their backs turned to you, their rapiers raised and at the ready.

"Here," Lockwood didn't look away from the dark as he unclasped a salt-bomb and a flask of lavender water. He held them out and you took them with shaking hands.

Malaise stalked in on you three, making the hairs on your arm stand. You gripped the salt-bomb and lavender water for dear life. Pressure squeezed down on your chest and your heart raced for a danger unseen.

"This much activity before ten? Griffith must have had qualms about dying." George said.

Lockwood chuckled, nodding along. "Wonder how nobody reported this much activity if the source was hidden all this time."

"Nobody wanted to visit this place when the killer was still at large," you answered, struggling to keep your tone even. "Some kids started some rumors during the court proceedings. They said someone just wanted the house badly enough to kill for it."

"That would be unfortunate," George said. "Imagine all that commotion over a killer who simply wanted real estate."

You tried to stiffle a laugh but failed. "It does sound ridiculous."

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, catching your faulty smile before a scream shook the Earth.

"Lucy?"

"Lucy!"

"Ms. Carlyle?"

She came bursting out of the lavatory, two fingers pinching the mummified hand, and looking quite disgruntled before she stood in the boy's protective circle.

"We might need Little Miss Doctor to stand in the iron circle," Lucy said, fumbling for her rapier and holding the source a ways from her body. Frost was gripping at her gloves.

The plan was scraped with one glance to the circle. It had been thrashed by Griffith from the time Lucy came tumbling out of the lavatory.

"Type two," all three of them agreed.

"What happened?" asked George. His eyes darted down the hallway with more apprehension than before.

"She got angrier and angrier the more names I mentioned," she answered. "I felt like she was about to drown me."

You took the mummified hand from her grasp. The sigh she let out was laughable. "Did she say who killed her?"

Lucy shook her head as she readied herself. Miasma was building. Fear gripped you like nothing you'd experienced before. When you touched the hand, that feeling multiplied. You heard murmurs but nothing substantial.

Shell...

Kill me...

Secret...

You couldn't stitch those words together to come to any conclusion. You were crossing your fingers that Lucy could. The possibilities kept you up at night. If you weren't thinking about your estranged friendship with Lockwood, you were thinking of getting justice for this woman you didn't even know. The cold pinching your skin from the source was a reminder that it wasn't over.

Like a light in the dark, Lucy looked at you and said, "She kept nodding her head whenever I asked if some person killed her; She said yes to Rodney. She said yes to Gasley—"

"So even she doesn't know who killed her?" George laughed emptily. "Brilliant."

"We might have to investigate more on our own to find more details." Lockwood nudged your side. You thought it was to shield you from the cold but that would be too presumptuous. He had bumped into you to swipe away the apparition of Iris Griffith.

She came and went like a zap of electricity. Frantic and unpredictable. Every time you caught sight of her mauled face, your heart picked up. How these three hadn't double over from heart failure was a mystery. Your knees gave up when she'd appeared beside you.

Your eyes watched her in slow motion. The rippling gashes in her plasma, her sneering face, her slashed dress... She was a hairsbreadth away from you before your instincts kicked in.

Your blood fell to your feet but your hand reached into your pocket in a panic, saving yourself as you pulled out a silver button. You threw it at her face and, fortunately, it was enough to disperse her ghost.

Lockwood let out a loud breath of relief but jumped back into the rhythm when her apparition reappeared. "Was that my mother's button? Nevermind. Time to make our exit! Luce, where's the chain net?"

She clicked her tongue. "Dropped it. Her manifestation appeared right in front of me."

"Go get it then!" George rushed, swiping at the air and setting off the first salt-bomb of the night.

"I would if I could," Lucy replied with a bite in her tone. She grimaced at the hand in your vice. "It's in the toilet."

"Pick it up! You've held worse." George backed into Lucy. They switched places.

"It's best if you don't," you advised. "This place has been deserted for years. Who knows what kind of bacteria's been growing in the bowl."

"Oh, you have to know everything, don't you?" George hissed.

Lucy didn't snap at you this time. "Listen to the doctor, George! Did we bring any more chain nets?"

Lockwood reached for your shirt, tugging you towards him as Griffith bit the air where your head would have been. He held you between his arms as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks. Lockwood's breath tickled your ear. The warmth of your face was a juxtaposition to the cold encasing your hands. "My bag! It's a bit away. We'll have to split up."

"Try not to die," George said with false sweetness. He and Lucy ran the opposite way you and Lockwood had.

Griffith chased them. The farther she got, the more you remembered how to breath.

"Calm down, cherry cheeks, ghosts can feed off of your fear," he tried to pacify you. The rasp of his voice evened your heart rate enough for you to get your brain turning again.

"Right. You're right..." You looked ahead, through the darkness and could barely make out the lumps on the ground. "Chain, we have to get the chain net."

"I've got you," he assured.

Even if your pivotal functions had returned to normal, your legs hadn't gotten the memo. Getting up made your knees buckle and legs feel like cooked pasta. As if the cold eating your fingers weren't bad enough.

Lockwood caught you around the waist, holding your weight while he held his rapier at the ready. "Hold on to the source and remember the salt-bomb."

You nodded firmly, clutching both to your chest as you two made a joint effort to get to the bags.

You were almost there, just passed the iron circle that Griffith had broken through, when she appeared above you like an unwanted mistletoe.

You screamed, Lockwood said something to console you, you threw the salt-bomb without taking off the clip, and Lockwood quickly sliced off the top to set it off. Salt sprayed over you two. His body folded over yours as it showered down.

Griffith's yells faded for a moment, a moment long enough for you to slide forward and grab the chain net that clung onto the side pocket of Lockwood's kit. Your hand wrapped around it, Iris's spectral glow kissed your skin, you felt the chill of it — she was colder than her source.

Suddenly, Lockwood had tugged you back towards him. His pull was strong enough to knock you onto your side. It would bruise but at least you weren't ghost-touched.

You wrapped the mummified hand in the net and sighed as the glow faded away and the screaming ceased. The frostbite on your fingers were worth the pain. You were alive.

Silence and heavy breathing ensued.

You rolled the rest of the way on your back, heaving for breath you won't get back. Not while Lockwood remained hovering over you.

The candles had been blown out in the earlier attack. The only light came from the ghost-lamps that sifted through the broken windows. Everything was in that ugly shade of bottle green... but that didn't make him any less magnificent.

Sweat collected on his brow, his mouth was agape—chasing for breath, and his lips were curled in that kind of smirk you could only dream about. Holding your breath did little for your racing heart.

"You okay, cherry cheeks?" His lips moved like their one purpose was to enrapture you.

You nodded dumbly, unable to find your words.

—

Portland Row was cloaked by the night when you four made your escape.

The three of them headed for the 35th while you bound up the steps to your parents' place. George and Lucy gained enough respect for you to wish you a good night before heading in, successfully tuckered out. Lockwood remained, staring at you with his hands in his trouser pockets.

He raised his brows at you then motioned to your front door. "Head on in. It would weigh on my conscience if I don't see you home safe. Your parents would have my head."

"You..." you paused at the fog before you. It was colder out than you thought. "You called me cherry cheeks earlier."

His stance turned tense. He rocked on his heels before he mustered a smile. "Old habits die hard... Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," you reassured, returning the smile. "I missed it."

"You don't mind then?"

You shook your head. "Never did."

His smile broadened, teasing a glimpse of his pearly whites before he looked at his shoes to hide it. "See you tomorrow then, cherry."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him. These days, both of you were tall enough to see each other clearly over the wrought-iron fencing. You missed the days you had to tiptoe to show him a smile.

You had no problems shooting him a smile from over the fence. You had no problems coming home to your perfectionist parents. You had no problems imagining your world without Lockwood in it... but you missed him.

Now that the events kept replaying in your head, all you could think while you looked at him was I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry.

Lockwood had the talent of knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't bring yourself to. He forgot how when you had grown apart. Now, in the quiet of the night and the privacy of the stars, it came back to him like the memories he tamped down by closing his window.

"What's wrong?" He asked, setting his hands on the freezing iron fence.

You feel the knot in your throat and the tears in your eyes. It hurts to hold back. Your lungs are lined with spikes as you take a breath. It feels like you're cracking your ribs open as you cave and admit to him, "I don't want to go home to them."

It may have been a trick of the light, but you swear there were tears in his eyes, too. His smile had changed. It was the same one you were accustomed to—the one he used to welcome you into his parents's house all those years ago. Like no time had passed at all, he beckons you. "Come on in then. 35 Portland Row is always open for you. It's your home, too."

—

One night's sleep on 35 Portland Row's most uncomfortable couch was worlds better than the comfy bed in your own cold home. You stretch like a cat to work out all the kinks in your joints, smiling at the air for no reason other than the happiness that filled you the moment you realized you were at the Lockwoods'. Your frosted hands had been wrapped up over a very sleepy catch-up the night before.

Ambient music was playing in your head as you took in your surroundings. The browned books and the disarray of trinkets left all around you were more home than anything you were used to.

It felt like you were wading through the most pleasant dream.

It all screeched to a halt the moment you swung your foot down and stepped on something squishy and loud—it groaned like a beast.

Terror clawed out of your throat in the form of a scream. Juttery legs hopped onto the back of the couch to gain height, and weary eyes looked down at the monster under the bed— er, sofa.

The lump inflated, made of patchwork quilt... until that fell away to reveal a very disheveled and very grumpy Anthony Lockwood.

"Ow," he simply said.

Your soul returned to your body. You offered a little laugh as you eased back down on the couch. "Sorry, Anthony."

"Don't worry yourself," he assured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was the one who snuck down here."

You were a kid when you admitted to being afraid of being alone. It was thoughtful of him to come down here to keep you company when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.

With a fluttering belly and a sheepish smile, you reached out and patted his sleepy head. "You've always been good to me. I should be more grateful."

He opened one eye to look at you while he rubbed the sleep out of the other. A corner of his lip tipped up into a lazy smile. "You can start with a 'thank you', darling."

"Thank you," you said all too quickly. The deeper octave and the rasp in his voice had finally hit home. It made your cheeks warm.

Judging by the growing smile on his face, he had accomplished what he was intending to.

Your shoulders jumped. A knock broke through the calmness of the air. You turned and saw George in an apron and kitchen mitts. "Are you two going to give each other goo-goo eyes all morning or are you joining us for breakfast?"

—

The investigation resumed as soon as the breakfast plates had been cleaned.

You split into two groups. George and Lucy were off to the archives to work out all of Griffith's social connections, and you and Lockwood were off to the hospital to look for documents that contained the same M.O. or similar timeline to Griffith's case.

"I thought police were the only ones allowed to hold information like this," Lockwood admitted as you two shuffled through files upon files in the hospital archives.

"Most of it, they do. I just hope there's something here relevant to our case," you reply. "If we have to hand this off to detectives, DEPRAC will get involved. They'll just close the case and leave it be."

He nudges up to you after a good three hours of finding absolutely nothing. "Let's look at the last few cases she solved. Could have a clue."

"All of those are solved though," you respond. You were biting your nails at this point. You had to find something before questioning Griffith's ghost again—for Lucy's sanity and for the group's safety.

Lockwood took you by the shoulders just as you began to imagine the worst. "Cherry," he said to snap your attention to him. "If we can't find anything, I don't want you joining us on this one."

"What?" You back away from him in your incredulity. "I helped last night, didn't I? This is my investigation as much as it is yours, Anthony."

"This visitor is a type two, cher. It's not as simple as solving a case. This means lives are in the balance—"

"I'm aware." You put your foot down. You slapped his hands away and shimmy a thick stack from under the desk. "I'm aware of the risks and I consent to them." You pick up the one at the top of the stack and shove it into his chest. He had always liked the curiosity in your eyes, so he was taken aback by the void in them as you looked at him. "I have enough people treating me like I belong at home or behind the safety of iron fences—I do not need you to coddle me like that. My parents do it enough."

He watched your back as you look through the second file in the stack. "You know I don't mean to coddle you..."

"You're doing it right now." Your tone carries a point. "You're telling me to sit this one out because it's too dangerous."

"It's risk assessment—"

"You're underestimating me—"

He slams his hand down on the paper you're idly reading. Bringing your attention to him. "I do this because I don't want to lose you."

Your anger falls away.

The reminder of how how much he'd lost occurs to you. It makes your arms grow limp and your heart to shrink. You can only stare at him with those same eyes he can't unsee even when his are closed. He hates the way he's made sadness swim in them. "Anthony..."

He said your name with the same caution. "You want to know why I became distant?"

"People grow apart when they grow up, Anthony. It's not your fault—"

He knelt beside you, laying his heart out right then and there. "I couldn't stand watching you with your perfect family. They always said any field tampering with the supernatural was a death sentence. I hated how they were right. I hated how they made you so small. I couldn't watch you like that. I hated that you turned into a doctor, just like them. I hated how they were so bad and so cruel, but they were always right."

You were quelled into silence. Biting your lip to keep the tears in. He held your hands delicately, careful of your injury. His touch was light but you knew you would feel it for hours. You held his hands with as much strength as you could muster, even as your skin burned and screeched for reprieve, you did not let go. "They are wrong about you..." you whisper to him.

He went on, plastering on a smile you knew was fake. It sheared your heart to know that. "I knew they were right when they said you would do great things... But they said so many other things that hurt. I couldn't stand being around. It just made me remember that no one was around to defend me anymore. I'm sorry that I had to leave you out, too. Seeing you reminded me of everything they said and I... I couldn't shake it."

Your eyes hurt so much. You gave up somewhere along the way and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight them. I wanted to say so many things but they've always been so- so..."

"Scary?" he supplied with a pathetic laugh. "I know. Don't blame yourself."

You bobbed your head, sniffing as tears went. "You don't have to apologize for all that, Anthony. I'm so sorry, I didn't stand by you when you needed me. But I am going to see this case through to the end, I've dedicated my life to it."

Even when you were hiccuping and heaving for air, you wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek. His heart surrendered to you then.

"Okay... And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored you like I did," he said again, just because he felt like you needed to hear it.

"No. I'm sorry," you reply. Vehemently wiping his eyes. "Anthony, come on. Don't cry. I'm not worth crying for."

"Oh, don't say that," he said lightly. "You're worth everything, cher."

Both of you manage a smile but neither of you are well enough to hold it. You laugh at each other's attempts.

You came clean to him too: How your parents had made you the sun of their solar system; How they poured their knowledge into you like you were a cup meant to hold their images in vivid color; How they moulded you into being the projection of a golden girl—their magnum opus. You carried the weight of their world. Most days, they acted more like teachers than parents. It got worse the older you got. Trophies and medals took the places of photographs until all you became was your achievements.

"They were so hard on you..." he said slowly. It was just sinking I just how trapped you were. You were cornered in a place that was supposed to covet you.

"Still, I should have defended you. I hate that I didn't," you said, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. It was the most ungraceful thing he'd seen you do but it brought him back to the cherry pie incident, and he found that he couldn't even think of you in a bad light.

"It's water under the bridge. I hate your parents, but there is one thing we can agree on," Lockwood said, cracking a semblance of a smile.

You cocked your brow at him. Teary eyes and all, he still found you as cute as a button.

"I would make you the sun of my solar system, too. They got that right."

With a snort, you said, "You're good at buttering people up, you know that?" You shoved his shoulder to shut him up but he caught the red on your ears and the smile you hid with a tilt of your head.

—

When you rendezvoused with George and Lucy, it was around 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun was dipping and the ghoulish were about to walk the earth. If George or Lucy noticed the redness in your eyes, they said nothing of it. You hurried along inside the stranded house and relayed newfound information.

"The last case Griffith reviewed involved a woman named Shelly Carson. She immigrated from America and died at 17 while she was interning for Hayes Inc." You flipped the file open on the kitchen table over tea. "They profiled the case to be a suicide but I don't think Griffith agreed." Your finger pointed to the lower left corner where Griffith would put her stamp of approval. The line was void of it. "She wrote 'Garrote not rope??' on the unofficial report. Carson's case could have been a murder."

The information set off a spark in George. He was rubbing invisible dirt from his glasses and finished doing so as you concluded your assessment. "We found a Shelly Carson in our search too," he said. Everyone lent their ears. "She was friends with Griffith in childhood. Alongside Rodney and Gasley. The four of them were close friends from well-off families."

"Ah, they're rich. Explains a lot," Lucy snorted. George ignored her quip.

"Turns out Rodney and Carson were both interested in Gasley. Rodney moved on with some bloke named Jerome Holt, but she suspected him of having an affair with Carson. Holt proposed to prove her wrong."

Lockwood tilted his head. "Sounds like gossip, Georgie."

George brandished an old leather diary. "We tracked down Howard Gasley. He gave us this."

Lockwood lit up. Sitting up with renewed energy. "How did you manage that?"

Lucy grinned. "The death of his girlfriend weighed on his conscience. All I had to do was tell him that her ghost can't be put to rest. Spilled like a waterfall after that."

"So, he did kill her?" You asked.

"Well, that's the difficult bit... The rest of the pages were ripped out and he didn't explicitly say he did. Maybe he did do it, he likes ripping things." George revealed, pointing the diary at the mummified hand in the net. "I think he's involved, one way or another."

Lockwood looked at it, then looked at Lucy. "What do you think, Luce?"

She looked at all three of you with a gleam in her eye. "I think we're about to find our killer."

—

The set-up was same as last night, except the iron circle had been extra fortified to fit all four of you in case things get out of hand. Lockwood stuffed lavenders into your pockets as Lucy lit the the candles.

"If you die tonight, I will not forgive you," Lockwood said as he put a salt-bomb in your hand.

"Same goes for you," you retort with a smile.

He returns your grin, tapping your sides and making your heart flutter before he sets off to help George with inventory.

You cross the chains to help Lucy in the lucky room chosen to host the seance in. With all the furniture pushed to the walls, the sitting room was the epitome of morbid. The carpet was patterned in a way that made it perfect for summoning and the cobwebs embellishing the place contributed to the unsettling ambiance. Lucy herself was lighting candles around the source. You took a pack of matches and helped light the rest of them.

"How are you feeling?" you asked as you lit the last candle and killed the match.

"Confident," she replied. She even spared you a smile. "And you?"

"Scared. Excited, mostly."

She bobs her head. She had a far-away look in her eye before she asked, "Your room is an attic room, correct?"

The nature of the question surprised you. "Yes. Why?"

A smile teased her lips. "I knew it." She looked at you like she saw right through you. "Lockwood was loitering near the window this morning. Just thought it was odd."

You hear him in your mind then — cherry cheeks. Warmth crawled up your neck as Lockwood and George entered the room.

"What are you two blabbering about?" George questioned, off-put by Lucy's smile and your flushed face.

"Nothing," you said together, one more pitched than the other.

George didn't look convinced.

Lockwood spoke up. " You ladies ready? Let's catch ourselves a killer."

The door was left open with an heavy stopper, giving you ample room to run to the iron circle in case things took a turn for the worst. Though, you doubted it would. The other three shared the sentiment. Some kind of energy buzzed between you four and livened the room, something that wasn't there the night before.

Lucy looked between you and Lockwood with a knowing expression you only ever saw from Jessica Lockwood. It was gone as quick as it came but the brief blast from the past made you dizzy. The resemblance must have been what made Lockwood so comfortable with her.

Lockwood had crossed the room and stood by you. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled forward in your daze.

He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "7:30's a good time. Ready, Lucy?"

"Ready," she confirmed. With a tug, the iron net came off of Griffith's mummified hand.

George and Lockwood reconsidered their stances with their rapiers as warmth was immediately sapped from the room. It was akin to jumping into a lake without testing the waters. Blood rushed to your ears. The whispering began again.

"We're here to help you," Lucy said calmly.

Wind began to pick up despite the windows being closed. Lucy persevered. "Iris Griffith, I know that you're experiencing a great injustice. Let me help you. Talk to me."

Lucy closed her eyes. You trust that she was establishing a connection with Griffith. The chill subsided by a fraction, her eyes were moving rapidly like you do when you're in the middle of a dream.

"There's a spectral glow behind you, George." Lockwood caught that faster than you. He was glaring down at the opposite corner of the room.

George's face remained impassive. "You'll tell me if she gets too close."

"Shush!" Lucy threw a hand up in the air. "Shell... Shelly? Yes, what about Shelly Carson? She died before you. You saw her case. They got the autopsy wrong, didn't they?"

A faraway scream interrupted the silence. You fumbled forward. Lockwood caught your arm. "Careful there, cherry cheeks." You lived up to your nickname.

"They all kept... Secret...?" Lucy murmured. "They all killed you to keep a secret?"

If this were a cartoon, you imagine everyone to have exclamation marks above their heads. Finally, some of the mystery began to come into focus. Who are 'they' and what secret were they so desperate to keep?

"Secret... Shelly Carson?" Lucy's expression lightened and the room grew slightly warmer. "Yes! Their secret is Shelly Carson. No? Oh, then what— They killed her to keep the secret... then paid people to say they were innocent."

"Rich people," George tutted.

The anticipation was killing you. All those nights of research, pouring over case files and autopsies were boiling down to this. You gripped Lockwood's sleeve to ground yourself. He glanced at your hand, worried you were seeing something he wasn't, but felt a smile twitching on his lips when he noticed the elation on yours.

Lucy'a voice pierced the air. "They killed her to keep what secret?"

The silence, the anticipation, and the chill in the room melded.

"Rodney pregnant? With Gasley's—" Lucy shut herself up. It was like a bad episode of a telenovela, but this was real, and someone had died because of it. "And when you were about to uncover the truth about Shelly... Rodney and Gasley they got you, too? I'm sorry to hear that. Gasley must have regrets. He had left a diary and... your, ah, hand so we could uncover your story."

It wasn't the most peaceful way to end a talk with a ghost. As soon as Lucy finished the conversation, the apparition of Iris Griffith had appeared once more. Contrary to your hypothesis, finding out the motive and her killers did not put her to rest at all.

She wailed louder than the previous night and zipped about even faster than before. Nothing Lockwood & Co. couldn't handle though. You showered the room with lavender and salt as Lockwood & Co. danced with a ghost.

—

You all appreciated a bit of silence after getting your ears blown off by a visitor. The world clearly didn't like you enough to grant the request, judging by the hunched and fuming figures of your parents blocking the door to 35 Portland Row. They sported crossed arms and crossed expressions. Your mother, specifically, was blowing steam from her ears.

Seeing your sweaty and worn form only confirmed their suspicions: You'd been running around with ghost hunters.

"You ungrateful brat..." your mother muttered.

Lucy stepped forward, blocking her way to you. She was hardened by her own experiences and least expected the horrid woman to turn on her own daughter for simply doing something outside of white-tiled establishments. You were grateful for it.

That only stirred the pot for your parents.

"We sheltered you, spoiled you, and educated you to be the lady you are today. You are our legacy." Your father harumphs forward. "We made you what you are and you would throw that all away by risking your stupid little life for some miniscule ghost adventure!"

George is the next to block their way. He wasn't that protective type, but he did look the part when he wanted to. "It was her childhood dream. Let her live." Leave it to George to be forward.

Your mother stamped her feet. The display was so awfully childish you had to look away. "You are children who don't know a single thing about building a foundation for a good life! You are going to run my daughter to ruin!"

Because of her display, Lockwood & Co. weren't so intimidated by her anymore.

Lockwood had stepped ahead, completing the wall that prevented your iron-fisted parents from getting to you ever again. "We're the best psychical agents in London. We expect a little more respect, doctor."

You could hear the smile in his voice. You couldn't help but smile, too.

With a last burst of anger, your father yelled to you. "You either come home or you find your own way. I'd rather live without a daughter than live with a disappointing one."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you had given your whole life to live up to the version of you they were dreaming of. Even if you had achieved all that, all it took was having a moment of autonomy for them to turn against you and disregard your sacrifices.

Lockwood had turned to you with a face so full of hope, it brought you back to the other night at the horrid dinner party and the night you snuck out to pick apples. After all that's happened, you found it in yourself to steel your resolve and face your father with bravery that felt unnatural but oh-so addicting.

"I'm going home," you told them.

You walked passed a stunned George and a speechless Lucy. Lockwood was far bluer than the two, but you shot him a smile that put all his worries to rest.

When you were kids, he was the one to take you by the hand and drag you off on a new adventure. This time, it was you so took his hand and pulled him passed your parents's skyscraping figures and into the comforts of 35 Portland Row.

Home, at last.

The first thing you saw as you pulled Lockwood through the threshold was his smile, radiant as ever. He didn't give you much time to admire it. He swooped down and stole your first kiss before you could even blink.

You could hear Lucy and George laugh over your parents plights. You were tired, sweaty, and covered in salt but all you could think of was; you should have done this sooner.

The next morning, you submitted the evidence and psychical report to the relevant authorities, convicting Celia Rodney and Howard Gasley for their crimes. Griffith's source was relinquished from your possession and burned at the Fittes Furnaces, marking the end of Griffith's case. It was the best thing you could do to bring her peace.

Shortly after, Lockwood and Co. welcomed you as the company's official forensic consultant, and in 35 Portland Row, you were finally comfortable in your own skin.

You and Lockwood now stand on the same side of the fence. There is no need shyly avoid your peering eyes when he could have the satisfaction of seeing them flutter close as he kisses you.

Thought, it is nice to remember that all this started with those peering eyes over wrought-iron fences. You and Lockwood reminisce those days over a cherry pie with extra ice cream or an afternoon picking apples from the backyard.

Every now and again, Lockwood would toss an apple over to your parents's side of the fence to scare them.

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

LOVELOCKED (PEOWIF BONUS CHAPTER)

NOTE ➺ Thank you to everyone who made it through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. It's the first time I completed a project this big so I hope it brings you some joy. To everyone mourning the seasons we'll never get, I'm with you. To my fellow writers, I'd appreciate a tip or two to improve my stories. To everyone in general, may you continue finding fics that comfort you 💙

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood angst

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dykonradish · 5 months

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Trans and Antifa Activists Violently Attacked Women at an Event about Violence Against Women in Portland on November 19th, 2023

Women's Declaration International (WDI), a volunteer run organization focused on protecting women's sex based rights had organized a speaking event at the Hollywood Branch of the Multnomah County Library in Portland, OR for November 19th. The theme was protecting women and children, with speeches planned about topics like keeping prisons single sex and the nordic model for prostitution.

Note that some of the women involved with this organization also work with conservatives, but many don't, and that the main demographic of the group is women over 50. The event was specifically made to be a non-violent direct action and demonstration of the first amendment rights of women to speak about sex based rights.

So what happened? According to statement from WDI on November 18th - on November 9th, it leaked that a local group planned to protest the event by throwing food at the women attending, WDI planned to go forward with the event. Then, on the 16th, the library security folks requested a meeting with the organizers because the library had found threatening social media posts about the event. On the 18th, there was a threat of gun violence against the event.

The library was committed with going forward with the event, stating “Multnomah County Library resists censorship in all forms, it is the responsibility of library staff and leadership to provide free use of our locations to all patrons of the library. As an organization that adheres to free expression as defined by the Library Bill of Rights, Multnomah County Library does not discriminate against any organization, regardless of viewpoint. Our primary goal is to provide a safe place for freedom of expression and speech.” There was also vandalism of the library,

This, in combination with the threats of violence led the library branch to shut down normal operations for that day out of concerns for the safety of staff and patrons. They allowed the event to go on but could not guarentee the safety of attendees.

The evening prior to the event, the tires of some of the WDI attendees were slashed outside of their airbnb.

WDI didn't want their event to endanger the library staff so they moved the event to outside of the library, planning to speak on the sidewalk. There is a reduxx article about what happened after that and many posts on WDI's twitter but here is a quick overview:

30 to 50 masked activists, mostly males, surrounded the 10 women from WDI who were speaking about male violence against women.

The activists threw cans full of liquids at them and sprayed women with mace at close range.

The activists punched several women and kicked them while they were on the ground.

The activists specifically targeted women who were filming, multiple women had their cameras and phones stolen.

An elderly woman in her 70s who was walking by and not part of WDI was assaulted.

The women from WDI did not fight back, sticking to their principle of non-violence.

The police were called and didn't show up.

4 women had to go to the hospital to be treated for injuries. Some of these injuries are pictured on WDI's twitter.

#wdi #male violence #violence against women #gender critical

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andhumanslovedstories · 4 months

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I’m excited to see if I get snowed/iced into the hospital at some point this weekend. I’d really prefer not to, but unfortunately Portland only has one snowplow that they borrow from Old Man McGregor who lives up in the mountains and hates strangers, so I do have to be prepared for the possibility

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vintage-portland · 1 year

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St. Vincent Hospital, circa 1956

Aerial of St. Vincent Hospital, circa 1956. City of Portland (OR) Archives, A2004-002.4005. View this image in Efiles by clicking here.

View On WordPress

#Oregon #Portland #St. Vincent Hospital

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warrenposts · 1 year

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I Know It Hurts

I Know It Hurts (Lockwood x Reader)

Request: Prompts 3, 11, 12 with Scenario 1 for @avelinageorge + 3 with Scenario 4 for anon

Summary: You get hurt on a job and are forced to face a phobia in the hospital followed by comfort from Lockwood back at Portland Row

Warning: Slightly graphic description of needles

Word Count: 5K

Requesting Information Here Masterlist

“Y/N!” Screamed Lockwood.

You barely registered his desperate voice as your back hit the fence of the cemetery, having been forced off your feet and tossed to the side by the Ghost. You fell to the ground and looked up to see Lockwood slicing the ghost through the stomach with his rapier. You’re not sure how he made his way across the grounds to you so quickly but you're glad he did.

The ghost dissipated for a moment and Lockwood turned his back to you, shielding you in case she apparated close by you again. “Lockwood,” you groaned, struggling to stand after the blow to your side. It took you a moment, but eventually you pulled yourself up to your feet and stepped away from the fence, grimacing with each crunch your boots made on the gravel.

You were confused as to why it hurt so much more than it should have and glanced down only to be faced with blood, fanning out on your shirt. You couldn't pull your eyes away from the sight and started to feel sick, hands shaking as your mouth went dry. Time slowed down for a minute before you were quickly snapped back into reality when you felt someone grab your arms.

"Y/n," Lockwood was shaking you gently, holding your biceps to keep you upright. That seemed like a good idea since you felt yourself tip back, about to stumble back into the fence. "No, no, no, none of that." You heard him insist as he pulled you away from the hazard.

Your body responded limply and feel forwards, which he let you do this time by wrapping his arms around you and slowly lowering you to your knees then safely into his arms. He held you in a seated position, keeping you upright against his chest.

Groaning at the sticky sensation you glanced down and flinched at the sight, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"It's all right, I've got you," he soothed. "It's not that bad, you're gonna be okay. We'll get you-"

He was interrupted by the sound of Lucy calling out over the now hauntingly silent graveyard, “We got it! We got the source! It’s over...” Her voice trailed off as she and George came to a halt, eyes widening at the sight before them.

After a second of shock, the two ran over and dropped down by your side. "We've got to get them to a hospital!" George analyzed, although it didn't take a genius to draw that conclusion. They were all thinking the same thing as they watched the blood pool on your side.

"No!" You interrupted, choking back a sob as Lucy pressed her hands down over your wound, something Lockwood seemed too in shock to remember to do. "I'm okay, no hospitals," you strained, trying to push Lucy away, hoping it would ease some of the pain. The two boys were quick to stop you and you threw your head back in pain as you fell back into Lockwood’s chest.

"You need help, Y/n." Lockwood insisted. "We're not equipped to deal with this."

"Please," you begged. "I can't do hospitals, with all the death and needles and," Your words were cut short by you trying to catch your breath ad you began to panic at the thought.

All eyes on you were drowning in sympathy. "It will be easy, I promise."

"Don't lie to me," your voice was small and helpless, something they'd never heard from you before. You couldn’t help the tears that fell from your eyes as you became more and more aware of the pain. Reality started to kick in when you heard the DEPRAC relief sirens, blaring down the street and you shot a hand up to grab one of the arms that Lockwood had wrapped around you. He tightened his grip on you and you started to tremble, struggling to come to terms with the fact that whether you liked it or not, they were taking you to a hospital.

Lucy coaxed, "We'll be there the entire time." You vaguely heard her sniffles as she bit back the tears threatening to fall.

“That’s right,” Lockwood spoke softly into your ear. “We won’t let them hurt you.”

Time was warped in your mind and you only clued in to the fact that you were being pulled into an ambulance on a gurney when you could no longer feel Lockwood behind you. You started to panic as the paramedics shoved your friends away, telling them they can meet you at the hospital.

“No, no, no, no,” you objected. “They have to come with me they-AH!” You were interrupted by a sharp pain in your side and looked down to see the longest needle you’d ever seen embedded into your side. Continuing to scream, you jerked away and tried to fight them, doing anything you could to dislodge it from your side. The paramedics held you down tightly while they fished out the anesthetic and all the distress you were feeling built up in your throat. “LOCKWOOD!” You screamed as tears streamed down your face.

You vaguely heard the voice of Barnes, shouting out to let Lockwood into the ambulance and before you knew it, his grasp returned, exactly where it belonged.

You were quick to squeeze his hand, tighter than you ever thought you could. Everything was so intense and moving too quickly for you to catch up. "Lockwood," you sobbed. "Please, make them stop," you begged.

“It’s alright. I know it hurts,” he soothed. “We’re almost done, I swear.” He kept glancing over to the people surrounding you, silently asking for any indication that the words he was saying had any truth to them.

Despite his comforting hand tightly holding yours, thumb rubbing gently over yours, you couldn't keep the agony at bay. You still felt the air catch in your lungs and strangle you, taunting you in your torment. The ambulance felt hot and much smaller than it actually was and there was nothing you could do to control the rapid suffering of your lungs. Lockwood’s voice was far away but you were still happy to hear it, it being the last sound you hear as your eyes fell shut and you drifted off into suffocating darkness.

When you awoke, Lockwood was already awake. He sat by your bed, sleeves rolled up his forearms to sit just under his elbows, one of which was propped up on the armrest as he rested his knuckles against his temple. You could see his tie was missing and he'd undone a few buttons on the shirt that was now disheveled, blood-soaked and smudged with grave soil.

His eyes glanced over to you and when he saw you shifting around, he was quick to move and take a seat on the edge of the bed to instantly start fussing over you, “Try not to move,” he coaxed. “You're okay, but you shouldn't move.”

In an attempt to sit up, you glanced down and immediately took notice of the IV needle sticking out of the back of your hand. Lockwood sighed in sympathy at your realization. You took a shaky breath, feeling the bile build in your throat. “Lockwood.” You hadn’t planned your next words; in fact, you were barely aware of the one you’d just said.

“I know, I know,” he hushed.

Your throat was starting to hurt with all the hyperventilating you'd done. "I-" You couldn’t do this again. You were exhausted from the anguish that today had caused you. Impulsively, you decided that if nobody was going to listen to you then it was time you pulled off the Band-Aid yourself. You reached down, fumbling to grab the IV line but Lockwood grabbed your hand and pulled it away while the other stayed petrified on the bed.

He sighed, frustrated that he couldn't make this easier on you. “I was hoping you’d sleep through all of this-”

“I can't do this again-" You whispered, voice hoarse from all the screaming. He’d never heard such desperation in your voice and every moment of it made his heart ache.

“You need it," he insisted, rubbing his thumb over your hand while you squirmed uncomfortably. "To stop it from getting infected.”

“I can do that with a pill,” You argued, dropping your head back onto the pillows behind you, no longer able to hold the weight of it up as you started feeling hot and sick.

He reached out and shifted the monitor so you couldn't see the time left on the IV drip. “It will be out before you know it," he soothed.

Every word that left your mouth was purely impulsive and happened without any prior thoughts. “I’m going to pass out," you choked, hardly registering what you were even saying, "or I'm gonna rip it out." Honestly you didn't even mind which; you just wanted one to happen soon so you could have some peace and get rid of the sickly feeling that rolled in waves over your body.

The needle on your hand started to feel bigger than it was and the quantity increased. Soon you felt one poking every vein in your body, tormenting your vulnerable position.

Rapid beeping echoed throughout the room as you heart monitor increased speed. Lockwood was quick to react. He let go of your hand and ducked under the IV line to crawl into the bed. He positioned himself behind you, holding you more upright so you could breathe easier. "It's alright," he whispered. "I'm here, I've got you, just breath and everything will be okay."

He held your hand in your lap and kept his other arm around your waist. Your heart warmed at his actions. He didn't even think about it, you were scared and he wanted to do everything in his power to help you. You tried to listen to him and took a deep breath of air but it was shaking and croaky. Regardless, it helped for a moment but soon your attention returned back to the needle and you tightened your grip on Lockwood’s hand instinctively.

He let out a forced laugh and began whispering into your ear. "You think you’re stressed? Your bestie George was practically pacing a hole into the floor.”

His words caught you off guard, it wasn't a strange claim but why was he bringing this up now? You shifted slightly to look over your shoulder at him and, while minding your wound, moved you so you were tucked under his arm. You still rested on his chest, but now had a better angle to lock eyes and ask, “Is he okay?”

“Completely bonkers," he insisted, cracking a mischievous grin. "By now he’s probably broken into the café, trying to cook you something better than the hospital food.”

You let out a small laugh, which at this point felt like such a foreign concept. "I wouldn't put it past him."

“Can you imagine?" He teased, "Lucy pulling him by the legs, up in the air as he clings to the oven?”

Giggling again, you tilted your head in thought. “Knowing him, he’s stealing a heart or something from the cadaver lab.”

Lockwood furrowed his eyebrows, putting on a fake look of concern. “Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have left him alone.” He began glancing at the door, comedically trying to look into the hallway for your friends.

“He’s with Lucy," you defended in an unconvinced confidence, if that could classify as defending him.

“Yes," he laughed and countered, "the second worst influence.”

“The first being you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow to his theatrics.

“No! George." He argued, "He stole the skull remember?"

“Yeah and Lucy stole ring, twice,” you mocked. "Remember?"

“Maybe she is two,” he caved, smiling at how your demeanor had changed. He didn’t dare ask if you were feeling better, but he never let go or stopped the soothing tracing on your hand.

“Okay so ‘You, Lucy, George, me’,” You listed, looking up at him for confirmation.

Scoffing, Lockwood did a double take and further continued the debate. “George is not last.”

You groaned and leaned your head onto his shoulder. “I’m afraid to say it but he is usually the voice of reason in our little group.”

“We’re doomed,” he replied, resting his head on top of yours.

“It’s not like he enjoys it,” you defended. “It’s just that the bar for what we consider responsible is so low, thanks to you.” He would have loved to point out that your current condition rated you at least third on the ranks but he didn't want to redirect your attention back to your situation.

“Okay fine,” he gave in and negotiated. “Lucy, then Me, George. Final ruling.”

You gently shrugged causing him to lift his head off of yours, much to your disappointment. “I can live with that,” you agreed. “If you’re comfortable being wrong.” Lockwood narrowed his eyes as he smirked and opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by a voice entering the room.

“Sounds accurate to me,” George agreed, entering the room with Lucy by his side. They looked uninjured but still worse for wear, tired at the very least.

She glanced at the needle but Lockwood kindly and subtly shook his head. She couldn’t stop wringing out her hands in discomfort, unable to bear seeing a sight so similar to Norrie. It hurt to see her best friend in such a state and couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so she was grateful when George took the lead.

“Don’t worry,” He nudged your arm and flopped onto the chair by the bed, stretching his legs out onto the mattress. “When we get home, I'll make you Noon Khamei,” he smiled, even more so when you mirrored his expression.

Lockwood let out a ‘tsk’ and scolded in an amused voice, “You’re too soft on her.”

“Says you, cradling her in your arms to distract her,” he proclaimed, his often deadpanned voice now laced in humor.

Lockwood felt a pang of nerves in anticipation of your reaction but you didn't start panicking. Instead, you smiled softly and croaked out in a small voice “It’s helping,” you admitted. “But do you know when I-” As if on cue, the monitor next to you began rapidly beeping and Lucy was quick to react.

She was yanked out of her concerned trance and announced, “The drip is finished, I’ll get the nurse.” Before speeding out of the room. It was obvious that she couldn't wait to get you out of there.

When Lucy returned, she had a nurse in tow. The two stopped at the door and Lucy rasped out, “George? Could you come here?” She looked nervous and assumingly only called George because she didn’t want to pull Lockwood away from you.

You watched the two intensely as they spoke to the nurse; whatever Lucy was hearing seemed to dial up the concern that already took residence on her face and George began shaking his head, clearly disagreeing with what he was hearing.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” You asked, not taking your eyes off them, hoping it was clear to Lockwood that you needed him to either lie or comfort you.

He shrugged and joked, “They’re probably just interrogating George about the missing hearts in the morgue.”

You wanted so badly to take comfort in his words but by this point you were at your limit and just wanted to go home. “Please just get me out of here,” you exhaled.

“It’s alright,” he whispered into your ear. “I know it’s been rough, but you’re safe now and I won’t let go of you again.” You took a deep breath, taking in his words and feeling a wave of comfort when he pressed his lips to your head.

The three approached and you swallowed your fear as best you could. “Give it to me straight, Doc,” you joked, although your voice didn’t have a whole lot of humor to it. “How long do I got?”

He nodded and ignored your discomfort. “We’re concerned about the state of the environment in which you were injured,” he explained. “You said it was a cemetery fence that cut you?” He asked. Despite him doing his best to explain himself, you began to feel impatient. You just wanted him he’d get to the point so you could go home. The walking on eggshells was starting to bother you after a whole evening of pain and losing your autonomy.

“That’s right,” Lockwood answered after seeing you freeze. “Nasty accident,” he eased, always trying to dampen the danger of any situation.

“Well, we believe that it’s in your best interest to receive a tetanus shot,” he announced. “To prevent serious infections that may have congregated from the rust on the fence.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you reassured, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I've had them before. When I was a kid,” you confirmed.

“It’s not always enough and a sixth dose is always recommended at your age,” he pushed. “It’s the best avenue to prevent us from having to see you here again.”

‘Was that supposed to be a joke?’ You thought. “I’m sure it will be okay-” You started to get the uneasy feeling that regardless of what you said, he was going to do as he liked. That’s what doctors usually did. ‘No, that’s not fair. It’s his job and he’s just trying to help you.’ You reminded yourself. ‘You’re just stressed out. You have to remember, your friends are here. Lockwood is here.’ That’s when you looked around and realized that in all the commotion, you’d forgotten that you had people looking out for you.

At first the idea that you were being forced into a situation that you hated, one that made you so afraid and sick with no control over what happened to you, just reiterated how cruel DEPRAC had been to you over the years. But it wasn’t like that anymore, you had your friends and they were just as intent on getting you home as you were. It was a new experience that you were still getting used to but it was true none the less.

“It’s alright, It won’t be like before, I swear,” Lockwood promised, maneuvering himself to look at you directly. “I’ll be here the entire time.”

“We all will be,” Lucy chimed in, this being the first time she’d confidentially spoken all day. She lurched forward to grab your hand and you barely noticed the needle that was still lodged in your hand.

“Only when you’re ready this time,” George added. “Only when she’s ready,” he repeated, looking at the nurse who nodded in confirmation.

You thought for a moment. You still had no choice on the outcome but this time your friends were going to make sure it happened on your terms. “Okay,” you whispered, looking upwards, trying to remain as confident as possible.

Your friends all started smiling, their chests swelling with pride as the nurse left the room to prepare. George spoke first, “I had no idea you were afraid of needles.”

“George,” Lockwood gently scolded but you were quick to ease their minds.

“It’s okay, hospitals have always bothered me,” you informed. “They stick you with the needle when you’re not ready or prepared or even aware it’s happening.” They all nodded and you tried to find the words to explain yourself. “It’s like, the moment a doctor walks into the room, I know that nothing I say or do matters, I've been completely robbed off all autonomy.”

“It won’t be like that this time,” Lockwood promised, now sitting beside you on the mattress. He cycled between rubbing your back and gently brushing your hairline as you spoke.

Smiling, you locked eyes with him and said with absolute confidence, “I know. I trust you.” George and Lucy shot each other a look that neither of you caught.

You didn’t tear your eyes away from him until the nurse returned with a second following beside. They explained that they were going to remove the IV, give you the shot then you could be discharged.

“Are you ready?” Lockwood asked. It had been the first time you’d ever been asked that before getting a needle and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded.

The man from before got to work disconnecting the IV from your hand and you couldn’t help but feel the nausea return. However, the moment you started taking deep breaths, your friends all started talking to you about random facts from the case. Lucy held your hand and Lockwood refused to move from your side.

When the nurse asked him to move, he simply swapped sides to give them access to your arm. As he took his seat on your opposite side, he brought a knuckle up to your jaw and gently turned your head to be looking at him, pulling your attention away from the needle in her hand. “Just let us know when you’re ready” he asked, causing the nurse to halt her actions.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on him and whispered, “Go ahead.” You still felt sick and uncomfortable but you knew you were safe and it was enough to help you get through the last of the prodding.

When it was finally over, proud smiles were plastered onto your friends faces and George let out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. “Brilliant, let’s get you out of here then,” he declared before rushing off to collect the discharge papers. Lucy followed, practically sprinting after George.

It had been almost two hours since you were finally sent home and George had made the Noon Khamei cream puffs he’d promised and Lucy had given you a blue teddy bear she’d bought from the gift shop in her frantic exit to collect the discharge forms. They made tea and Lucy sat with you for a while George went upstairs to check on Lockwood.

After a while, Lucy had started to doze off on the couch and you encouraged her to go to bed. She was reluctant to leave you but you promised that you were happy with some quiet time in front of the fire. Since then, you had sat on the couch finishing your tea and fiddling with the blue, fuzzy bear that Lucy bought. You hadn’t seen Lockwood since he set you down where you’d asked and you’d began to worry that you’d exhausted him today.

After George went up to check on him, you’d heard the shower running for some time. Since then, it had been silent and all you could think about, now that you were alone was Lockwood. How in your moments of distress, all you wanted was him and when faced with a situation where you could barely breath, he’d made it all the more bearable.

Your frantic thoughts were interrupted when you heard someone step into the room. “Nice teddy bear” Lockwood commented, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed in a pose you were sure he’d practiced. His hair was slightly damp and he was now dressed in black sweatpants and his grey hoodie. You always found it comforting to see him in such a calm, domestic state.

A smile broke onto your face, “I’m calling it ‘Henry’.”

Lockwood shook his head and pushed himself off the doorframe and began walking over to you. “After the ghost that nearly killed you today? You’ve lost it.” It didn’t take long before he was towering over you as you sat, nestled on the couch. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“I’m sorry I yelled today,” ignoring his question, you were quick to apologize, now much more conscious than you were on the field. “The pain made me a little delirious and you were just trying to help."

“Don’t be,” he shook his head in an unsteady fashion. He didn’t look so good; a little shaken and disturbed. “It was a rough day," he shrugged. "For all of us.” You were waiting for an unconvincing smile but he never gave one.

“I’m just glad to be home.” Something warmed in Lockwood’s chest every time somebody described the place as ‘home’, you could see it in his eyes, clear as day.

For the first time since you arrived home, he locked eyes with you and you let out a breath of relief when you saw the subtle smile on his face. “Well perfect reason to never let it happen again,” he joked before his smile turned bitter sweet. “I couldn't bear it,” he admitted.

The silence made you a little uncomfortable under the circumstances, you weren’t sure what he meant by that but you decided to overthink it later. So instead of asking you just raised your plush bear up a little higher and asked, “Couldn’t bear it?”

He tried so hard to not smile, but he couldn’t hide it, “Damn, Lucy.” You laughed at his feigned frustration and set the bear down next to you on the table.

“Will you sit with me?” You asked, scooting over on the couch to make more room for him. “It really did help at the hospital.”

Lockwood swallowed and took a nervous breath, fidgeting slightly where he stood. “You need to rest,” he declared.

“But- But," you fake stuttered, feigning a pout in a dramatic fashion. "It's so uncomfortable over here all on my lonesome."

“No,” he insisted, a genuine smile now slowly growing on his face. He narrowed his eyes in false disapproval, the smile giving him away. “I won’t spoil you just because you have been so careless as to injure yourself.” For a moment, he lost the humor in his tone and it felt like you were being scolded.

“Really,” you pressed. “I’m sorry I panicked so much, I just-”

Lockwood was quick to interrupt you and softly asked, “How could you ever be at fault for that?” He seemed serious in his question, genuinely confused as to why you held yourself accountable for that.

“Maybe you’re just not bothered because you’re so infatuated with me,” you teased. “Can’t do any wrong in your eyes.”

He held the eye contact, almost challenging you and you were relieved that your usual dynamic had come back into play. “Oh, you’d like that wouldn't you?” He asked.

“It was nice taking advantage of how much you care for me,” you opposed. You both has matching smiles lighting up your faces. It was a nice contrast from the previous events of the night.

“I’m afraid to say, I'd gladly do it again.” He admitted, “You might be on to something.” It almost sounded like a confession or admission but you chose to accept it as confirmation.

“How do you always know exactly what I need?” You asked, “at the hospital, you completely distracted me.” It was a fair question. You were aware of how well you all knew each other but Lockwood seemed to have a hold over you that you couldn’t quite identify.

“Because you’re obnoxiously vocal when you’re uncomfortable,” he teased and gave in, taking a seat next to you before shaking out the blanket that had begun to slip off your lap so it was now covering you both.

“Well, that’s because I know you’ll cater my every need and desire," you mumbled, leaning in immediately to his side.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, mumbling into your hair.

“Everything is a little sore,” you admitted. “But I’m glad it’s over, I feel better now that I’m here.” You didn’t specify whether you meant Portland Row or your current position, but it didn’t really matter. Either one was true.

Feeling your eyelids start to drop, you turned as subtly as you could, nestling further into his side, hoping he'd pull you in to cuddle closer with the arm he had draped over your shoulders.

He didn’t pull you in, instead he tapped your arm and started indicating for you to sit up. "Uh-uh," he softly protested, guiding you to an upright position. “You shouldn’t sleep on the couch in this state. Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Immediately you threw your head back and began pouting at his actions. “Nooo, it’s so hard to get comfortable,” you practically sulked. “And you just sat down," you added, hoping to appeal to his own exhaustion.

"We'll I wouldn't have if I'd known you were this tired,” he bickered back. “Besides, what does that matter?" he asked.

"I don’t know,” you mumbled, not shifting your weight to keep him on the couch. “It’s just more comfortable with you,” you admitted sheepishly.

His heart burned at the way you practically buried your face into his chest, he tilted his head back, starting at the ceiling to hide the giddy smile that fought its way onto his face. “Well, you don’t get everything you want just because you’re hurt,” he goaded, still nudging you to sit up.

“I get you, don’t I?” You asked, locking eyes with him after he gently pulled you to your feet.

“You do,” he whispered and he held your face gently in his hands before tilting your head down to press his lips to your forehead. You closed your eyes and held his wrists tightly, leaning in further as didn’t to find much separation between the two of you anytime soon. “You do get me.”

"Will you stay with me tonight?" You pleaded, looking up into his eyes. “You need to rest just as much as I do.”

“Well, in the interest of not giving in to everything you want,” he teased, gently shaking your head in his hands, causing you to laugh and pull them away from your cheeks. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. “Whatever you want.”

“Lockwood?” You asked softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He hummed in response. “Don’t forget my bear.” The frustrated huff that left his nose was worth the profanities you were likely to read on the thinking cloth in the morning.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co season 2 #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood and co x reader #geroge karim x platonic!Reader #lucy carlyle x platonic!reader

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 23 days

Note

What’s your pov on her pregnancies? Of the body or surrogate?

I'm opening Pandora's Box tonight in honor of the eclipse.

I'm 80/20.

20% of the body because:

There are tiny skinny-Minnie people in my family who didn't gain any weight during their pregnancies except in their faces and in the baby bumps (as photographs of Meghan depict), so I know it's possible.

That one appearance of Meghan where she accompanied Harry but hid backstage until he cajoled her out. She was not looking her best that day (very puffy, bloated face) and seemed a bit angry, to me, at being called out/forced onto the stage to stay hello.

Padding the bump - which some celebs do, especially when their bump isn't the typical "cute" baby belly - can explain the difference in sizing day-to-day.

How early it was announced.

How long it took Meghan to lose the baby weight - she was still carrying a lot of extra weight at Trooping 2019 (and the weight gain was amplified for me by poor styling choices with her hair, hat, and outfit).

80% surrogacy because:

There was no PR about Meghan's pregnancy compared to Kate's, and Meghan has always done the "anything Kate can do I can do better" PR competition every chance she could. If Meghan had terrible morning sickness, it'd have been all over the tabloids about how much worse than Kate Meghan's morning sickness is. If Meghan didn't have any sickness, it'd have been all over the tabloids about how much better and hard-working Meghan is during her pregnancy.

The excessive belly-groping and coat-flicking. Yes, she was doing that on purpose to get all the cameras and attention, but IMO she was doing it so excessively that it crossed into "the lady doth protest too much" territory for me.

The bending over and squatting down with knees and feet together. I've never been pregnant but I am a bigger girl who carries her weight in her midsection and who also cannot bend or squat down with knees, ankles, and feet together.

The alleged deal she had with Trevor that if she had a baby, he would pay for a personal trainer and a nutritionist and a nanny so she could whip her body back into shape. That's not someone who wants to be pregnant (but of course, people *can* change their minds. But still.)

The "rules of engagement" that Meghan and Harry sent to their Windsor neighbors/community about how the neighbors couldn't speak to the Sussexes or take their photographs.

The inconsistencies between what Harry reported in Spare and what the Portland Hospital's actual procedures are and the people who were involved.

Meghan choosing to deliver at Portland instead of Lindo and refusing to serve the baby on a silver platter after birth. The Lindo photocall is one of Diana's five* iconic photos. Are you telling me that Meghan happily copies Diana's outfits, copies Diana's pregnancy woes (emotional/mental distress to the point of self-harm), copies Diana's complaints about the BRF and the grey suits, copies Diana's second pregnancy announcement, and copies Diana's Panorama makeup...but she draws the line at copying Diana's Lindo photoshoots? And has a controlled photoshoot with one television camera and one photographer instead?

Meghan's birth "stories" matching more of the American Hollywood stereotypes than actual British practice.

Just one papwalk during all of her second pregnancy.

Hiding her belly with a giant-ass purse during the NYC baby shower after having spent the evening partying with friends, including Markus Anderson.

Harry's first appearance after Archie's birth being in the horse stables at Windsor instead of around the hospital (as William and Charles had been) and also Harry's "babies change so much in two weeks" comment.

Tacky social media influencer games with Archie's first photos under the guise of "privacy" - showing us the back of his head first, or his hand or his foot. Just show us the damn baby. No one cares about him that much.

Editing Archie's birth certificate.

Sara Latham bungling the media strategy for Archie's birth announcement. (Let's be real here. It's not Kensington Palace that fucked it up. It was the Sussexes' own people giving KP the wrong information in the first place.)

In the same vein of Meghan's "anything Kate can do I can do better" PR competition, there have been no stories about how Meghan felt of the early baby days. Kate and her family/friends have gone on record about how difficult the first few weeks with George were. Where is Meghan's equivalent? If Archie was a terrible newborn, then where are the stories about how much worse than Kate Meghan had it? Or if Archie was a happy, easy newborn, then where are the stories about how easy Meghan found motherhood? Instead the only story we got was "oops, it's feed time. Gotta go. Peace."

How early the pregnancy was announced.

How quickly (and suspiciously) the clinic/practice that Meghan used for her second pregnancy closed soon after Lili was born.

On that note, I don't subscribe to the theory that a lot of you may have (and which has ended up in my inbox quite a few times) that Archie doesn't know who Meghan is because he didn't smell her milk in South Africa and had a reaction. First off, PLEASE stop sending me that. I REALLY don't want to read about Meghan's breasts anymore.

Second, I don't think the Sussexes having nannies to help care for Archie is the kiss of death that many of you think it is. Some people just aren't baby people or little kid people. Some people like the older years better, when the kid can talk and is a little more independent and mobile. I've always suspected that that's Meghan and Harry, because all of their PR about wanting kids or liking kids has alwas featured older school-aged kids. They're not baby/toddler/early years people. And that's OK. That's not something to condemn them for.

And I don't think it's fully fair to call them out on their hypocrisy of what they said they wouldn't do as parents before they had children. Some of the hypocrisy is deserved (like the comment about not dressing their kids as Victorian ghost children but then turning around and giving Lili a Victorian ghost child dress for her 1st birthday photo), but they do deserve more grace than they're sometimes given; people just don't know how hard parenting or having children is until the baby is here. Yes, ding them for saying they'd never have a nanny but then turning around and hiring two or three, but also let's acknowledge that they know they can't (or don't, or won't, however you want to say it) care for their own kids themselves and hired responsible caretakers.

Finally third, I don't think Meghan ever breastfed those kids. Maybe she tried in the beginning with Archie, but if she did, she gave up pretty quickly. Those kids are formula babies. That's OK! So I don't buy the theory she was taking hormones and her weight gain was hormone-induced. Again, it's because of the missing "anything Kate can do I can do better" competition here.

*Diana's top 5 iconic photos are (in no particular order) the wedding dress portrait, the Lindo photos, the Taj Mahal photo, the Panorama photo, and the Revenge Dress photo.

#ask #sussexes #brf #theories

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oblivious-idiot · 1 year

Text

Don’t wanna see you crying anymore

Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: after Lockwood deems you housebound while your injuries heal from a case (broken arm and cracked ribs), you reconnect with Kipps, which only makes Lockwood jealous

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst, language/swearing

Word count: 1.5k

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader, Quill Kipps x fem!Reader (in the past)

AN: This is my first bit of writing so I apologise if it's not the best haha, I also have no idea how to end these either oops. I'd love any feedback but please be kind!

You’d been working for Lockwood and Co. for a while by now, it had just been your first anniversary with the team when Lucy joined, and you were all the more grateful to have another girl in the building. After previously working for Fittes and then joining Lockwood and Co, you’d quite frankly needed a change of pace. You and George had been close friends while you worked at Fittes together, which is how you ended up joining the team at 35 Portland Row.

Lockwood you couldn’t quite get your head around - he always seemed to pay attention to you while you worked for Fittes, maybe it was because you were dating Kipps at the time, maybe it was just that he didn’t like Kipps all that much. The two of you had grown quite close in the past year though, you’d had your fair share of arguments and patching each other up after cases. It was only after Lucy had joined that you realised you had fallen for him and his soft security.

You and Lucy were getting ready in your shared room before your next case after having a disagreement with Lockwood in the kitchen if you should come or not. As you were going over a few newspaper clippings Lucy looks at you from the bathroom mirror.

“You should go easy on him, you know.”

“Go easy on him? What for Lu?” You scoff

“He’s just looking out for you y/n, he doesn’t want to see you hurt” she says as she walks over to you on the bed

You chuckle a little and look up at her “Lu, we fight ghosts for a living, I’d be surprised if we didn’t get hurt once in a while”

She takes hold of your hand “you know what I mean, smartass. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, it would break him to lose you”

You sit up straight and look at her soft smile, confused as to how she thinks he likes you “wha-, Lu he doesn’t-, we’re just friends”

“Just try not to be too reckless tonight, alright?” She gets up and smiles at you again, before heading downstairs.

Surprisingly, the case didn’t go as plan. The alleged Type One that you and George had been researching all week turned out to be a Type Two. You knew something didn’t feel right when you picked up this case, but Lockwood was so adamant in taking it that you didn’t want to crush him.

You and Lucy were trying your best to hold off the Type Two while Lockwood and George went to look for the source. You could tell that you’d began to tire and you didn’t know how long you could keep going. You looked at Lucy worriedly, but that was your mistake, because the ghost lunged towards you causing you to lose your footing. You fell down the first flight of stairs, your foot getting caught in the bannister and your body slams so hard into the wall you go out cold.

It had been about a week since the case when you were finally allowed to leave the hospital. Your arm was in a cast after breaking it in your fall, as well your chest and ankle being tightly bound - the doctors had told you that you’d cracked a rib as well as spraining your ankle from getting caught in the bannister. Lucy and George picked you up from the hospital, but when you asked about Lockwood, Lucy just smiled at you softly.

“It’s been really hard on him y/n, this past week. He’s been worried sick”

You look at them both confused “but it’s not like it was his fault, he didn’t push me down the stairs, did he?” you say a little sarcastically to try and lighten the mood.

George sighs and looks at you, “you know what he’s like y/n. He blames it on himself for not getting to the source fast enough.”

“He really cares about you y/n” Lucy chimes in “just go easy on him, okay?”

When you got back to 35 Portland Row, Lockwood was waiting in the kitchen. You smiled at him as you hobbled over to give him a hug. He looked like he hadn’t slept since you’d last seen him.

He sighed once you’d all gathered around the kitchen table. “I think it’s about time we had a talk” his eyes settling on you and your broken arm.

“Y/n, you’re not to go on any more cases until you’re fully healed.” He hangs his head when he sees your hurt expression. “This isn’t up for discussion. We cannot lose you, I-“ he cut himself off and left the kitchen before you could get a word in.

You hastily got up from your chair and followed him, trying not to hurt yourself as you went. "Lockwood!" you called after him, making him stop in the hall. Once you caught up to him you couldn’t read his face “I’m sorry y/n, you just need to heal. I can’t have my best agent getting more hurt on my watch.” He squeezed your hand and smiled before heading upstairs to his room.

After another week being housebound, you'd began to get restless. Although Lockwood was keeping his distance (you think he still feels guilty for your injuries), he almost scolded you for daring to put on your coat because you were out of milk. As an apology later that night he gave you one of his hoodies, in which the larger size made it easier for you to wear with your cast.

Shortly after the team left for another big case, you hear a ring at the door. You assumed it was George forgetting the chains again, but instead it was Quill Kipps.

"Hey," his voice was gentle as he studied you all bandaged up. "I, uh, I heard you were on house arrest, so I thought I'd stop by to check on you"

You smiled "I'm not your girlfriend anymore Kipps, you don't have to check on me." looking down, you notice the brown paper bag in his hand "I-, did you bring sandwiches?"

A big grin spreads across his face "Your favourite. I haven't had them since you left" You invite him in, knowing you didn't have much of a choice when Kipps made up his mind.

Over the next week, Kipps would stop by the house on his days off and have lunch with you. You hadn't told the team, you didn't know how they'd react, but it was nice to have the company every one in a while, the free food was good too.

One day Lucy and George went out to the store for food while you and Lockwood went over files for the current case you were all working on - Lockwood still wouldn't let you out in the field but it was nice to be included again. You hear ring of the doorbell and Lockwood goes up to answer it, the next thing you hear is his rapier unsheathing and raised voices.

You hobble your way out to the hall to see Lockwood pointing his rapier at Kipps, who was holding a bag of fresh sandwiches and... flowers?

"Anthony, put your bloody rapier down" you say, but he doesn't move. "Anthony, put it down" raising your voice this time.

"I'm curious to see what the weasel is doing here, trying to charm his way into stealing our cases now? Nice try Kipps but I don't like flowers" he smiles dryly.

"They're not for you, Tony, but I'll keep that in mind for Valentines" Kipps says sarcastically.

Lucy and George arrive back and they both give Kipps a strange look, before looking at you in the hallway. Kipps hands you the bag and flowers "I'll call you later" and he flashes Lockwood a look before leaving.

Once Kipps was gone, you brush past Lockwood to go sit in the Library. "Y/n!" he calls out after you, before following you into the room.

"What's going on y/n?" Lockwood says softly as he sits next to you, he sounded hurt. "If you needed anything while we were gone, you could've told me..."

"Anthony, I haven't left the house in weeks, I can't work, all I get are the four walls of this house." You look over at him "What I needed was company. I needed you. And Lucy and George"

He takes a hold of your free hand brushes your hair out of your face. "I'm sorry. I just-, you know how I get with you and Kipps, if he hurt you again..."

"Anthony look at me" you say as you squeeze his hand "I am never going back to him or Fittes ever again. This is my home now."

"Thank god," he chuckles softly "I remember the day you arrived here, looking for George. You were such a mess."

"Gee, thanks for making me feel better Lockwood" you laugh and push him away softly.

#allie writes #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #quill kipps #lucy carlyle #lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co imagines #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #lockwood and co x reader #george karim

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outsideratheart · 1 year

Text

Secrets & Lies (Christen Press x reader)

Based of this request.

A/N: This is the longest fic I have ever written with 11,599 words. I hope it isn’t too long and that you all like it. One more thing, ANGST!!!

You had been keeping a secret since the day you were born. Only a few people knew about it and that's because someone else told them but at what point does a secret turn into a lie?

You spent your childhood having bi yearly surgeries but they were only temporary fixes until the doctors felt your heart was strong enough to take the stress of a more complicated surgery. This came when you were 15, it meant you could play the sport you love, and to the naked eye your condition was non existent as long as you took your medication. It wouldn't be the last surgery you had, in fact the doctors told both you and your mom that they would have to do the same surgery again in around 10 years.

It resulted in you learning to live one day at a time and you never looked too far into the future but you couldn't ignore the fact that every year is one step closing to needing a second surgery. So when you turned 25 you couldn't help but feel like you were on borrowed time. Two years after that, the hospital visits became a monthly occurrence in order to keep an eye on your condition and your doctor was surprised that your heart was holding up well and it was but that feeling of being healthy soon came to a halt.

First came the shortness in breath followed by the chest pains, they are symptoms that you are all too familiar with. At first it was manageable but then it got hard to hide the toll it was taking on your body.

"Are you ok kid?" you feel a hand rest on the small of your back as you bend over in attempt to catch your breath after a sprinting drill.

"It's getting worse" you look up at your captain Christine Sinclair "I'll be ok, I have to be. The olympics are around the corner and I can't miss them" the panic in your voice sparks concern within the Canadian.

"Ok, ok, calm down. We will handle this like have in the past, just me, you and the doctors. Have you told Tobin or any of the others how bad it's getting?" you shake your head "Maybe it's time you tell Christen. The two of you have been tog—“

“No! Christen doesn't need to know"

"And when will she? When she is calling an ambulance?"

Christine Sinclair had many abilities and the one you hated the most was how well she showed tough love.

"No Christen and no Tobin. This is my fight and I know how to handle it" you know that the conversation is no where near over but you don't have the energy to talk about it and you don't want to risk the rest of the team hearing you.

At first only you and the Portland Thorns team doctor knew about your heart condition but then your mom told Christine when the thorns were playing Gotham. She wanted someone to know about it in case you were to have an episode. They didn't happen all that often, especially as you got older, but when they did come they were bad.

Portland were in Houston playing the dash before the players would go to their respective national teams. It meant that you had to pack for 3 weeks away. You made your checklist, packed your bag and then went through the list twice, you had everything.

The Thorns ended up beating the dash 3-1 with goals coming from you, Tobin and Lynsey so when you arrived at camp you were all in fantastic moods although yours could have something to do with the fact that you would be seeing Christen for the first time in a month.

As you enter the reception you are told that you are the last to arrive and the team are in the conference room handing out room assignments. As you enter the room you eyes eagerly search for your girlfriend but she isn’t there, worry starts to set in and you nudge tobin who in suit shrugs her shoulders. So her girlfriend and best friend didn’t know where she was. You are just about to raise your hand to ask the question when you feel two arms snake around your waist.

“Looking me for” Christen says quietly as not to interrupt Jill.

You remove one of her hands and place a kiss on the back of it.

“I better not be sharing with Kelley again” You tip your head back to rest on her shoulder.

“You’ll be happy to know I persuaded Jill to let us room together but you have to be on your best behaviour”

“Me!” You turn to face Christen. Your increased volume becoming apparent when Jill calls you out.

“Is there something you would like to share with the team” Jill encourages you to speak up.

"Nothing she can repeat in front of the youngens, right Y/N?" Kelley teases.

The defender knows that you will bite straight away if the teasing had to do with your relationship, more so what goes on behind close doors. You are on the verge of retaliating when Christen places her hand over your mouth.

"Sorry coach, continue" Christen tells Jill.

The team meeting runs a little big longer than you had hoped. Jill taking this time to discuss the basic plan for the camp as well as assigning rooms and then reassigning them when she gets complaints.

You and Christen waste no time in making up for being away from each other. It might have been a few years since the two of you started dating but the way she makes you feel never failed to catch you off guard. The connection you shared reminded you of fireworks and no matter how many times they went off you always jumped.

The two of you cuddled in bed, covered in nothing but the white hotel bed sheets. Christen's head rested on your chest whilst her hand traced shapes on your stomach.

"Your heart feels like it is about to beat out of your chest" whilst Christen jokes it is a reason for concern to you.

You think about it for a second. The Thorns schedule has been gruelling recently and you knew that you were putting stress on your heart but it was fine, you were taking your medication then it hit you, you hadn't taken it this morning.

"My heart will always skip a beat for you" you stare up at the ceiling in fear that Christen will see your pain if she looks you in the eyes.

The pair of you get ready for training all whilst worry starts to sink deeper into your thoughts. Christen knew you took several supplements in a morning but she didn't know what they were and you wanted to keep it this way. When you are on your way down to the lobby you see your chance.

"I'll meet you down there. I forget to take my vitamins" You daren't use the word medication because you know it will cause her to worry. It's the reason why she has no idea about your condition. You saw what the worry did to your mom growing up and you wouldn't put that on your girlfriend.

Luckily Christen doesn't ask any questions and she doesn't follow you back to the room. By the time she gets to the lobby the whole team is there ready and waiting.

"What, no Y/N?" Pinoe asks her fellow forward.

"She forgot her vitamins" Christen says fully unaware of the looks that are shared between Emily and Tobin.

Emily tips her head towards the elevator and Tobin picks up on what she is suggesting.

You are rummaging through your bag hoping that you will find your medication but it is no where to be found. You thought you packed enough for the Thorns trip and the national camp but you hadn't. You didn't know what to do, you knew that if you told Dawn about it she would have you benched and that couldn't happen because you were playing Canada and the team needed you. The sound of someone knocking at the door pulls you out of your head. At first you ignore them, you had more important things going on right now and the person on the other side of the threshold could wait but the knocking continued only louder and more persistently.

"Y/N let me in"

Tobin, just the person you both wanted to see and did not want to see. When she enters she recognises the panic on your face immediately.

"You forgot?" Her tone reminds you of your mom and you didn't care for it.

"I'm fine now" It was a lie but you didn't have a choice "I'm just tidying up. You know how much of a neat freak Chris is"

You had been taking this medication for 12 years surely you built up enough strength to live without it for a week.

Training was tough to say the least but you chalked it down to the Arizona heat. Tobin kept a close eye on you and even went out of her way to partner up with you during drills which pissed you off more because you wanted to work with Christen. Dawn watched you from the sidelines and at first you didn't think anything of it until you saw her whispering in Jill's ear.

When the coach calls you over in the middle of scrimmage, it gains the attention of the entire team. Players only ever got called out of a game when they were in trouble but Jill eyes wasn't filled with anger, they were filled with pity and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw Dawn mouth 'i'm sorry'.

"Do I need to be worried?" Jill asked.

Here's the thing with Jill. You know she knows and she knows you know she knows but the two of you have never spoken about it. She keeps an eye on you during training and Dawn let's her know if there is a reason for concern.

"No. I forgot to take my medication this morning so it's taking a little bit longer for it to work"

Another lie.

"You were struggling out there and don't say it's because of the heat. I have seen you when we play in Australia and you aren't phased at all"

"I'm already feeling better. Watch and you will see that I am fine" you shut down the conversation before it can go any further.

When you're back on the pitch you score within seconds and dedicate your goal to your coach with an arrogant salute. Instead of it making her believe you're healthy, your celebration makes Jill think the opposite. You are trying too hard to show her you are ok.

The next couple of days are more difficult than you would like to admit. You were tempted to ask for a personal day and fly back to Portland but it would lead to more questions and you were trying to keep your amount of lies to a minimum.

With game day getting closer and closer, you begin easing off the physical side of preparation. You took a back seat in training and when asked about it you stated that as your role as captain you want to use this time to pass on your knowledge to the younger players.

When it comes to the afternoon lift session, Dawn pulls you aside and tells you that you will be working alone. She puts you on the treadmill whilst the rest of the team focus on the weights. Her attempt at testing your fitness isn't as subtle as she hopes.

"Wait, why is Y/N the only one doing a fitness test?" Tobin asks. Christen wants to know the same thing. She had seen the change in your behaviour over the past couple of days. It happened in the blink of an eye, one minute your the confident player the world loved the next you are on the sidelines trying to catch your breath like a rookie.

"Because I am the fastest on the team and Dawn wants to see if I can improve my stats from last camp"

Your girlfriend buys it, Tobin on the other hand isn't so easy to persuade. In the end she walks away but not before talking to Sonnet who looks at you and shakes her head.

Great! You aren't well and now you have pissed off the two people that could out you to the entire team.

"I've seen you watching me and I'm fine but if I am sick then I will get worse by doing this" you whisper in Dawn's ear before setting the treadmill to 15 where you begin sprinting as if you have a perfectly good heart.

By the end of the treadmill test you can barely breathe. Dawn helps you to chair before getting you a bottle of water. You hear her shout of Christen and within seconds your girlfriend is by your side.

"Y/N breathe for me" Christen begs. She had never seen you this out of breath.

"It hurts" you clasp both of your hands over your chest. This couldn't be happening, not here, not now.

"What's going on with her?" Christen asks dawn.

"She is--" Dawn tries to answer but Tobin and Sonnet come running over.

"She took an elbow to the chest in our last game and it's causing her some problems" Tobin tells her.

"She'll be fine. Here, use this" Sonnet gives you an ice pack knowing that it helps with your chest pains.

Your hands shake whilst you hold the cold block to your chest, so much so that Christen ends up taking it from you.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Christen asks.

When you look to Christen you see the hurt you are causing her and this is because she didn't know about a tackle that didn't happen. In a matter of seconds you go from feeling pain to feeling guilty.

“I—" part of you tries to tell her the truth, even it it's only a half truth.

"It's best if she doesn't talk" Tobin cuts in.

Dawn tells you that you're done for the day and that Christen should take you back to your room. Your girlfriend talks to the performance coach in hopes that she can tell her what to do to make you feel better.

"I don't know what's going on with you but you cannot tell her when you're like this. She will think you’re ill" Tobin whispers in your ear.

"That's because I am ill and I always will be. She deserves to be with someone who isn't a burden" your breathing begins to even out.

"Y/N don't do anything stupid. You trust us with your secret, you can trust her too"

"No, my mom trusted you. I didn't want people to know because they look at me like—“

"Like what"

"Like that" you point at both of the friends "Like I'm broken"

Walking away you feel their eyes burning into the back of your head but you don't look back. Christen stands near the door with her hand extended waiting for you to take it.

Once back in your room Christen goes straight into the bathroom and begins running the bath. It is something that calmed the two of you but funnily enough you haven't done it whilst being at camp. Your girlfriend comes back out to find you laid back on the bed, your eyes closed with one hand on your chest. She can just about hear you counting your breaths.

"Join me" Christen says from the door way but she doesn't get an answer, you don't even move.

"Baby, come join me" the softness in her tone when she calls you the name that made you feel like you're the only girl in the world gets your attention.

"I think i'm just going to lay here for a while"

"Look at me" your girlfriend demands and upon doing so see her standing there in nothing but her underwear "I wasn't asking"

The smirk that pulls at your lips in uncontrollable. The sight you saw had the power to bring to your knees and the past had proven that.

"Then I won't say no" you stand and remove your shorts and as you walk towards her you remove your top.

Christen is the first to get into the bath and she slides forward so that you can slip in behind her. She grabs your arms, wraps them around her and then covers your arms with her own.

"I love you Christen Press" you place a kiss to her jawline "but if something were to happen to me then I want you to move on" you feel a tear roll down your cheek but you cannot wipe it away "Please don't waste your years mourning me and don't be afraid to open your heart to another. You wouldn't be betraying me and although i'll be gone, i'll always be with you, in here" you place your hand over her heart.

"Y/N--" Christens shifts her weight.

"Don't look at me"

This was strange. You and Christen are very open about your feelings and aren't scared to be vulnerable around each other but whenever you shared these moments you wanted to feel as close to her as possible which lead to the two of you having eye contact.

"You are my one true love Y/N Y/L/N and should the worse happen, that will never change. I cannot make a promise to move on because I am not in control of my heart but I will promise to let love in should it come to me"

"I will love you Christen until my last day on earth and then long into the afterlife"

This time you don't stop her as she turns in the water so her legs are either side of you. You craved her touch and reassurance that everything would be ok only she couldn't tell you that. That night Christen makes you forget about how this pain in your chest has ended in the past and you don't think twice about whether you future is going to last a year or ten years.

Game day came on day 5 without your medication and you were starting to regret not going home to get them. Sleep had become nothing more than a long nap and every time you ran it felt like a marathon. Still you had been able to downplay your struggles and Jill put you in the starting 11 despite being concerned about you.

You knew there was one person you couldn't fool and you did your best to avoid her until the whistle. At the pitch inspection you stayed away from the Canadians but you saw Christine staring at you from a distance, by the look on her face you knew she knew. When she tipped her head towards the tunnel so she could speak with you, you shook your head.

"You should go see her" Christen nudges towards where your club captain is standing.

"And fraternise with the enemy. I would much rather fraternise with you" you whisper in her ear.

It seems that Christen buys your distraction as she doesn't bring it up again even when Christine waits by the locker room after the warm ups.

You think you have managed to evade your friend's questioning but when you stand in the line waiting to go out you have a bad feeling in your gut so when Christine walks by you grab her arm and pull her back towards you.

"I didn't bring enough medication with me" you confess.

Up until now you haven't been scared but the look Christine gives makes you feel just that.

"How long?" she keeps her reply short given the crowd of players that surround you.

"5 days" You see Christine eye up Jill as she walks past "No, don't. I can handle this game but you need to know if case something happens"

"What makes you think that?"

You bring you hand to your chest "gut feeling" you reply.

Once gain Christine's expression changes and the worry is not something she can hide. She pulls you into her arms and whispers in you ear.

"I know you can handle it especially when playing so be smart out there kid"

And that is exactly what you do or at least for the first 50 minutes it is. All of sudden you feel your chest tighten and you feet give way underneath you as your body goes into fight or flight response. You do everything in your power to fight but it is too hard. Within seconds you are laid out of the floor, instead of your heart beating rapidly it is slow, too slow.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" Christen kneels beside you.

Your eyes lock onto her, she is the reason why you want to fight but your lack of response does more harm than good. The team don't know what is happening so they don't call the medics over.

"Is it your heart?" Tobin asks having no care in the world about who hears her.

"What's wrong with her heart? Is this about the knock you took?"

You had been dreading this moment but somehow it has turned out worse than you imagined.

"I'm" you take a deep breathe "sorry"

"Why are you sorry? Tobin what is she sorry for? What is going on?"

Tobin looks at you and you use whatever energy you have left to shake your head.

"Sincy" you look at Tobin and she understands what you want but she doesn't want to leave your side.

Emily picks up on this "It's ok, i'll get her"

The defender turns to get your team mate only to see the opposing captain already running over.

"Move out of my way" Christine pushes her way through the white shirts.

"Sincy, it hurts" tears start to fall as fear begins to set in.

"Tobin get your medics now"

Christine looks at your team mates but her gaze ultimately falls on your girlfriend who looks petrified. Christen has one of your hands in hers, squeezing it so tightly that part of your fingers have turned white.

"I don't want to die" your words earn gasps from your team mates. Some of the Portland players are trying to hold back from crying as they know what this could mean.

"You're not going to die" Christen places a kiss to the back of your hand "Why would you die? You can't die. Christine" Christen looks up to the older player only to see her holding Tobin in her arms as she tries to console her "Tobin" at the sight on her best friend in tears she knows that something much bigger is going on.

The medics come running onto the pitch and in that very moment you realise that the secret you have kept for the last 27 years is about to come to light. When one of them starts asking question you know that you don't have it in you to answer them, a mixture of not wanting to and not having the ability to.

"She has a heart defect and hasn't been taking her medication" Christine says when she realises you wouldn't say it. Your club captain proceeds to explain your condition in detail as well as your medical history.

"No" Christen shouts "She is fine, tell them you're fine Y/N. You're not sick, you just took a knock in your last game. I know you're not sick because you would have told me, we don't have secrets" tears are flowing freely down your girlfriends face.

"Y/N" Christen whispers when she feels your hand slowly loosen it's grip from her own.

"I don't want to die. I wan’t—" your breathing hitches once again as your bodies tries to inhale a much oxygen as possible.

"Baby, no" Christen leans forward and rests her forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry. I love you" those are are the last words you say and Christen is the last thing you see before it goes black.

"She's going into cardiac arrest. I need everyone to back up so we can try and save her life" One of the doctors say as the other one sprints away in search of the defibrillator.

"No, i'm not leaving her" Christen holds onto your unconscious form. It is only when Ashlyn pulls her away does she let go and begins sobbing into her friends arms.

The team stand there, helpless, as they watch the medics try to resuscitate you. All of them feeling a mixture of emotions. Some are angry at you, why didn't you tell them things had got this bad. Others feel guilty having known nothing about your condition, they begin wondering if the signs where there and they had just been too ignorant to see them.

Christen feels every emotion under the sun but the strongest one of them all is rage. You were her girlfriend and not only did you keep this from her, her best friend did too. You were the two people she trusted the most in the world yet today made it clear that trust wasn't reciprocated.

You are loaded into an Ambulance and taken the the nearest hospital. Christen is asked if she wants to go with you but she says no. The game gets suspended and the teams head back into their locker rooms. The US players planned on getting changed and heading straight to you.

The atmosphere in the locker room is something that neither of them have experienced before.

"You knew!" Christen shouts at Tobin.

"Chris" Pinoe tries to pull your girlfriend towards her locker but fails.

"No, I deserve an answer. My girlfriend was sick and you didn't tell me"

"It wasn't my secret to tell Christen. She made us promise not to tell you"

Tobin's words didn't exactly instil faith and calmness in her friend.

"Us?" Christen takes a step back and she scans the locker room. Now that's she is looking, it is very obvious who knew and who didn't "Emily, Lindsey. You knew too" Christen couldn't believe it.

"I didn't know things has gotten this bad. Y/N has episodes but she handles them on her own" Emily tells her.

"She doesn't like to talk about it" Lindsey adds.

"And Christine Sinclair knew" It isn't a question. The woman's action on the pitch made it obvious that she is very aware of your condition.

"I did"

Turning around Christen comes face to face with the women she was talking about.

"I have known since the beginning" the invisible spotlight that was placed on Christine made her nervous "I'm going to the hospital. Come with me and I will tell you everything"

Christen quickly replaces her boots with a pair of trainers, grabs a jacket and follows your captain.

Christen sat in the hospital waiting room alone. The seats either side of her remained empty because although her teammates wanted to support their friend, they knew it was just as important to give her space. It didn't make sense at first, you being ill, but then she begins replaying some of your recent conversations. Obviously the one you shared in the bath a few nights prior wasn't as hypothetical as Christen thought. Did you really think that Christen could move on from you?

"Family of Y/N Y/L/N"

Upon hearing your name the entire USWNT flock towards to the man clad in scrubs.

"I'm her girlfriend" Christen says as she stands directly in front of him.

"I'm sorry her file says to only discuss medical matters with direct family or Christine Sinclair, is that you?"

Christen couldn't believe what she is hearing. Even when you are in god knows what condition you are still determined to keep this from her.

"That's me. This is Christen Press and you can discuss Y/N's condition with her" Your friend has had enough of your secrets, Christen deserves the know the truth and at this point she knew that you could no longer hide it but that you would still try.

"Unfortunately Y/N coded again on the way here. Her heart had to work overdrive just to beat regularly and in the end it couldn't take it"

"No, She" your girlfriend couldn't believe what she was hearing "She can't die"

"She's alive Miss Press" The doctor confirmed "What I meant is that her heart couldn't take it which lead to the incident during your game. I spoke with her doctor in Portland and we agreed that minor surgery was needed until she can have a full exam when she returns home. Y/N is in recovery right now for observation then we will move her to a private room. I will have someone come get you when she is allowed visitors"

Christen stands frozen in her spot. Her mind, body and soul had grieved your death twice now even if it wasn't permanent.

"This is a good thing Chris" Tobin ignores the looks she gets as she talks to her best friend.

"How is this good Tobin? She almost died, no she did die. I lost her"

Tobin tries to pull Christen into a hug but she fights it. She takes her anger, which is rightly or wrongly is aimed at you, out on Tobin before surrendering.

"How could she not tell me Tobin? I'm suppose to be her person, she tells me she loves me yet—“

Christen is cut off before she can finish her sentence.

"You really don't get it do you" Christine says. After speaking to the doctor she found a seat near your Portland team mates "Y/N does love you more than you realise. It is the reason why she hasn't told you. I know that doesn't make sense but it does in her mind. Y/N has never told anyone about her heart condition"

"That's not true. You know, Tobin, Lynsey, Emily and I guess Becky knows, oh and dawn too, maybe even jill"

"You're right but that's not because Y/N told us. Her mom is reason why we know. She told us for this exact reason, in case something happens to her daughter and she isn't there to help her. In Y/N’s eyes she was protecting you by not telling you"

"That does sound like Y/N" Ashlyn sees sense in what the Canadian is saying.

"It doesn't make it ok"

"No it doesn't and for what it's worth Tobin has been begging Y/N to tell you since you started dating" Christine comes to her team mates defence.

Christen knows deep down that none of this was Tobin's fault and that her reaction was uncalled for. The way Tobin looks at her is something she has never seen before but then it hits her. You might have been her girlfriend but you are Tobin's best friend.

"I'm sorry Tobin. It just the thought of losing her is—“

"I know. It's scares me too"

When the pair hug, the team awe in response. For a brief moment the energy changes but it doesn't last long.

"Y/N is awake"

Having not needed to be told twice, Christen heads straight towards the nurse.

"You're going to have to wait sweetie. Y/N only wants to see Miss Sinclair"

It hurt. Once again you were choosing Christine over her and quite frankly Christen has had enough. A huge part of her wanted to say 'screw you' and leave. If you didn't want to see her then she wasn't going to stick around.

"Let's go get a coffee" Pinoe suggests which Christen agrees, Tobin follows in suit.

The three of them return just as Christine is storming through the hallway. Clearly nothing good happened in your room but it wasn't clear if the bad thing was related to the incident or something else.

"Christine, wait" Christen grabs her hand as she strides past them "What's wrong"

"She's unbelievable and all yours. I'm done"

Christen heads straight for you room, alone. The rest of the team know that there is conversation that needs to be had between the two of you and they had no right to be a part of it.

The sight itself is worrying. You are laid in the hospital bed, hooked up to several hospital wires and have a nasal cannula which is helping you breathe. All in all you didn't look well and it made the next words that came out of your mouth that much more frustrating.

"Don't look at me like that, i'm fine" your attempt at reassuring your girlfriend seems to have the opposite affect.

"No more lies Y/N. You're not fine. I watched you die, do you know what that was like?" Christen starts the speech that she had been planning in her head for the last couple of hours.

When you see her eyes begin to well up you want nothing more than to get out of the bed and comfort your girlfriend but you simply didn't have the strength. Instead you used what strength you did have to move over slightly so there was room for her near you.

"Come here"

Christen does so happily. Even though she is mad she has been craving the feeling of being in your arms and the solace it brings her.

"You knew this would happen. It's why you talked about you dying when we laid in the bath. You held me in your arms and we had a conversation which you knew could happen whilst I thought you were being hypothetical"

"I meant what I said. When I die I want you to move on with your life, not live in the past, in our past" once again you cannot bring yourself to make eye contact with your girlfriend.

Christen hovers her hand over your chest before placing it on your heart. The room goes quiet, enough so that you can hear her counting the beats under her breath. She is worried about you and you knew what the next couple of months would look like. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. You never wanted things to come to this and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason for Christen’s pain. It’s why you know the thing you are going to next is the right thing to do.

“Why did Christine leave?”

Well it looks like Christen is going to be the one to initiate the conversation only she has no idea what is about to come.

“I told her i’m not going to have the surgery when I get home. If I do then I'll miss the olympics and that isn’t something I am willing to do. I am going to have another minor surgery and work with the doctors so that I make it until the summer”

Christen lifts her head so she can see your face and what she is met with worries her. You are blank, almost emotionless but it was the facade you chose to put up in order get through this talk.

“No! You—“

“Christen the last few years we have shared have been incredible and I wouldn’t change a thing. I know you are mad at me for keeping this from you but I don’t regret it. If I had it my way you would have never found out. I wanted to protect you from the pain that comes with my condition because I saw what it did to my mom and I won’t have you going through the same worry”

“Y/N” Christen doesn’t like what she is hearing.

“I love you Christen Annemarie Press more than anything in this world and it’s why I can’t be with you”

Her eyes well up within seconds. Her breathing becomes erratic and it matches the increasing beeps on your monitor. You may be calm on the outside but the wires hooked up to your chest tell a different story.

“No. You don’t get to tell me your dying then break up with me, that’s not how this ends, I won’t let it” Christen refuses to acknowledge that you have decided to end your relationship.

“Chris” You reach out for her hand but she pulls away just as your fingertips touch.

“Why are you doing this? We’ve talked about our future, marriage and kids. I may not have known you were sick but you did and you still had those conversations. Were they lies too?”

You get up out of bed against your better judgement. You ignore the pain in your chest and the rapid beeping coming from behind you.

“I never lied to you, I withheld the truth, there is a difference. Those conversations we had were a fantasy, one that made me look forward to a future I knew I might not have. I am doing this because I love you way to much to break your heart just because mine is already broken”

Your emotions are starting to get the better of you whilst Christen has tears rolling down her cheeks. It was naive to believe you could break up with the love or your life and not have her fight for you.

“You are so selfish Y/N” Christen’s sadness has turned into rage “I am willing to stand by your side though all of this and you are pushing me away. You are making a decision for our future without letting me have a say”

“I might not have a future Christen!”

The volume of your tone is the last straw. Doctors who had been monitoring your vitals come rushing into the room to make sure that you are ok, your team mates follow in suit.

“Miss Y/L/N I need you to get back into bed before you rip open your stitches” One of the nurses try to usher you back toward the bed but you don’t move.

“Christen, Listen to me. I am doing this because I love you, one day you will see that. I have to let you go”

Christen waits in your room to hear you out but she doesn’t respond before leaving.

When you are back in bed you cannot bring yourself to look at any of your team mates. There are those that knew and some that didn’t. You chose to stare out the window and your friends leave one by one, soon enough it is just Tobin and Emily in the room.

“You’re not getting the surgery?” Emily asks you. She had been the one to follow Christine to find out what happened.

“I can’t. I want to go to Tokyo and I can’t if I get it. My doctor said the risks are very high given the stress that my heart is currently under and he’s not sure if it can take it. I meant what I said on the pitch, I don’t want to die” The blonde understood your reasoning and didn’t question it any further.

Tobin on the other hand. She has had enough with your stubbornness and you knew that a lecture was coming.

“Please don’t” you beg her

“You two were made for each other and you just threw that away, why?” Tobin asks you.

“Because it easier to mourn someone you hate than someone you love”

The next month was tough. You were back in Portland, a place you called home, but you had never felt more alone. Your friends were mad at you for not getting surgery, even Christine only spoke to you when her captain duties called for it. Christen spent the first week after the incident texting and messaging you. She was fighting for your relationship but you couldn't step into the ring for her.

You had to take a temporary step back from the team to recover and get back to a place where you can play high level soccer. You released a statement saying that you were stepping away in order to focus on your health. You didn't give the fans anymore details and they respected your wishes, the press on the other hand, well they wanted to know what the damage was.

Truth is you missed your friends and the loneliness that your stubbornness caused became overwhelming which only made things worse. Your doctor was pleased with the improvements you were making but after the first few weeks things took a turn for the worse. The temporary surgery you had in Arizona had reached its limits a lot sooner than your doctor had hoped.

It was three months later when it came to a head.

"When do I have to make the decision?" you ask.

You had just completed another round of tests and as you sit in your doctor's office you can tell by the energy in the room and the lack of eye contact of his behalf that things weren't good.

"I would like to do this as soon as possible and before you ask, it is my recommendation that we do the full repair"

"But what about the risks? I want to go to Tokyo and you said the best way for me to do that is to have the smaller surgery and reevaluate when I get back"

"Y/N if we don't do this surgery I cannot guarantee that you make it to the summer"

"So what you're saying is I have the surgery or become part of the 27 club?" You let out a small chuckle but nothing about this was funny.

"I'm sorry things have come to this and I know it isn't what you wanted"

"It's ok, these things happen" It was as if you had already admitted defeat.

When you get up from your chair it's as if time had slowed down. You walked over the window which ironically looks over Providence park. You had made so many memories there and you truly thought you would have years to make more, now though you're not too sure.

"Can I give you a piece of advice?" your doctor stands beside you "Talk to someone. It doesn't have to be about this but you can't close yourself off from everybody. You shouldn't keep your friends at arms length Y/N, they are there because they want to support you"

"I don't want to become their problem" you confess.

"I made a promise to someone but they're not my patient you are" He goes back to his desk "Christen Press calls my office once a week to get updates on you"

You were both happy and angry after hearing this. On one hand it was nice to know she still cared but you had been killing yourself, literally, so that you could keep her away from this and your doctor has been telling her anyways.

"You had no right"

"No I didn't but it was the right thing to do. That women loves you Y/N. When faced with death most of my patients live life there's no tomorrow. They do all the things that are on their bucket list, they make memories with their friends and confess their feelings but you, you have done the opposite. You refuse to see or speak to anyone unless it is unavoidable and you push away the woman you love most in this world. I made a decision, one that I won't apologise for"

At this point your doctor was like family so he didn't mind calling you out when your were being stubborn or stupid.

"What if I hurt her?"

Dying doesn't scare you because you had been preparing for it your entire life. Being the reason that Christen cries herself to sleep at night, that is one of your greatest fears.

"You already are by pushing her away"

You knew he was right. It became obvious the moment you broke up with her but in your eyes you were hurting her a little bit now in order to keep from hurting a lot more later on.

"Can I call you tomorrow with an answer?"

"Of course"

When you leave his office your phone feels like it's burning a hole in your pocket. Every part of you wanted to hear Christen's voice but something was stopping you.

Ignorance had been your greatest ally as of late. If you weren't at the hospital or at rehab then you would tell yourself that you are healthy but you were no longer able to ignore the uncertainty of your future. Portland has been home since you went No1 in the draft so subconsciously you take yourself to Providence park which isn’t all that strange considering it’s about this time of day when training ends. You stop at a poster of you and Tobin after you won the championship last season, the two of you looked so happy and carefree.

"It's a good photo" you don't need to turn around in order to know who is there.

"Y/N and Heath, Portland's unstoppable force" It was a nickname that the fans gave the both of you years ago and it has stuck ever since.

"Well one of us is" Tobin jokes.

"I guess I deserve that. I've missed you Tobs" you hug her tightly with a force that she returns.

"You're scaring us Y/N. Everyone is worried about you. Christen isn't herself, she is barely sleeping, every time she closes her eyes she sees you on that pitch or worse. She told me the other night that she finds herself walking through cemetery and it is your headstone that she goes to"

"I never wanted any of this to happen. I just wanted to protect her, you do know that don't you?"

"Of course I do and she does too. I know you don't want to talk about it but please tell me you're getting better" Tobin pleads.

"I wish I could. I'm not going to go into detail because I don't want to put you in a position where you have to lie but I need to have the big surgery, the one I have been putting off, and i'm not sure if i'm ready to have it yet"

"You're scared?" Tobin asks and you nod "You will make the right decision Y/N and I know you want to do this alone but if you want me to then i'll be by your side through it all"

The offer meant more than Tobin knew. You truly thought that your behaviour over the past couple of months had burnt the bridges that you call your friendships.

"Thank you Tobin"

She joins you as you wander the city but after an hour she picks up on the fact that you wanted to be alone and before leaving she reminds you once again that she is only a call away should you need her.

You find a bench that over looks the water. You put your earphones in and dial Christen's number, praying to the higher powers that she answers, she doesn't. It didn't come as a surprise, you didn't deserve her time. You try again only this time you decide to leave a voicemail.

"Hi bab—, sorry I mean Christen, it's Y/N. I have been told that I should talk to someone and you are the first person that came to my mind. I—“

"Y/N? Are you ok? Is something wrong"

"Christen?" you pull your phone out of your pocket to see if the call has connected "you didn't pick up, I thought I was leaving a voicemail"

"Sorry I was in the shower. Is everything ok?"

"I want to talk to you but I need you to treat me like the old Y/N, not the weak and broken Y/N"

"You're not broken Y/N. You are human and sometimes humans get sick"

"Chris, please"

"Girlfriend Y/N or cocky and confident Y/N? Just so I know which Y/N I am speaking to?" she chuckles slightly as she allows herself to get lost in the game are playing.

"The one that loves you unconditionally"

"My favourite Y/N"

You ignore the butterflies that you feel when you hear Christen's voice. Despite everything that is going on with you and her, she still manages to calm you down without even trying.

"I remember the first time you took me home to meet your family, I was so nervous. I know how much they mean to you and although you are this independent woman who doesn't need anyones approval, you still wanted theirs and I thought for certain I wouldn't get it"

This was news to Christen. She couldn't have imagined this is how you felt given the way you strode into the Press family full of confidence and not willing to let anyone get in the way of your relationship.

"I didn't know that"

"Can you remember the end of the night when you Dad asked to speak to me outside?" you hear Christen hum on the other end "That was the calmest I had been the entire night"

"Y/N, that doesn't make sense"

"It does because I knew the 'nobody will be good enough for my daughter' speech was coming. He asked me if I deserved to be in his daughters life and I said no. It was an easy answer because although I had known you for a few years, we had only being dating for a few months and in that time you showed me just how amazing you are and part of me knew from the moment I met you that you were too good for me Christen. The next morning Channing and Tyler cornered me in the kitchen and asked me the same type of question. The only person who didn't was your mom"

"She told me to tell that she's really mad at you"

"She'll have to get in line. Can I continue?"

You take her silence as a yes.

"Your mom asked me why I don't trust that her daughter is making the right decision. I said because i'm not capable of loving you like you deserve and whether it be in one year or ten years, I will break your heart"

"Y/N"

"She told me breaking someone's heart isn't always a bad thing because if you have the power to do that then they must love you with every fibre of their being and that isn't something to be sad about. She said when the day comes, I won't do it on purpose because if I do then I would be hurting myself in the process"

"When the day comes? She knew?"

"I asked myself the same question. Her words were filled with so much comfort that I was sure she did but it wasn't possible"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I knew from day one that this wasn't going to end well and I pursued it anyways. I was selfish and I have hurt you when I spent years making sure that didn't happen"

When the line goes quiet you are sure that Christen has hung up. You wouldn't be angry if she did, it was nice of her to give you the time that she had.

"Can you remember the night before the world cup final when we walked the streets of Paris?"

This is how the rest of the night went. You and Christen went back and forth sharing your favourite memories from your time together. Every so often she would change the subject to your health but it was only for a second then she would go back to her story.

The night draws in and the temperature drops but you are too content sitting by the water, admiring the view and talking to Christen. A dog comes running up to you, the bark makes Christen question where you are.

"Y/N where are you?"

"On a bench"

"You should go home"

"But I don't want to say goodbye"

Both of you go silent. The heaviness of the words you just said bring back the reality of what has been going in.

"There's no reason for you to say goodbye" Christen says and it's obvious even she didn't believe the words that are coming out of her mouth.

"Chris"

"No, I won't have this conversation with you over the phone. If you want to say your goodbyes then you do it in person"

"I love you and my heart, as broken as it may be, belongs to you and it will do until my last day on earth and then long into the afterlife"

A strong sense of Deja Vu hits you and Christen. You had said this before but the meaning is different now.

"Stop"

"I need surgery Christen and the risks are high but if I don't have it then I don't know how long—“

"Y/n, please" Christen begs you from her end of the phone "I know you broke up with me and I know why but I love you"

"Christen, stop. I can tell what you're thinking. Please don't come to Portland"

"But I want to be with you"

"I am only a phone call away but I need space to do this ok?"

"I want to make a deal. No more radio silence. You call me every day, whether it is a good day or a bad one. I'll give you your space but I need you in my life"

Christen's determination was admirable and you wouldn't expect anything less.

"We have a deal"

"Pinky promise?"

"Ok"

"I need to hear you say it"

"Christen I pinky promise to call you everyday"

You decided not to get the major surgery. Life is short, you know this more than most, so you took your chances and worked with the physios to get you fit and healthy in time for the summer. It was difficult and there were days that you felt like giving up but you persisted, maybe a little too hard.

The bad days came along more than the good days but you kept your promise to christen. You called her everyday, sometimes twice.

You were promised a spot on the olympic roster if the doctors cleared you. It didn't matter if you didn't take part in the camps. The staff and players knew you belonged on the team, you could take a year off and still step on the pitch like no time had passed.

Just before the send off series, a rematch against Canada was organised. Due to the history of the fixture both teams felt they owed the fans a full 90 minute match. They agreed to have the game in Portland seen as though the city means so much to you.

Christen wanted to go to your apartment as soon as she landed but in the end she chooses to respect your wishes.

Your absence in the locker room was obvious. It was the first time that the national team had played without you in years and each player struggled with the thought of not having you on the pitch with them. Christen kept checking her phone every few minutes, you hadn’t had your morning call and something didn’t feel right. What she saw next seemed to add fuel to the fire.

“You can’t wear that?” Christen says when she watches Mallory change into her shorts. There on the left side was the number 7.

“Y/N told me to wear it” Mal’s defence was honest. She remembers getting the call from you, at first it was strange but then you explained the reason why and the young forward saw it as an honour.

“She would never do that” it is Tobin who speaks up “It’s her number and she wouldn’t give it up, not when she knows she’s—“ your best friends stops herself when she realises what you have done.

“When she’s what?” Mal asks.

“Never mind” Tobin retreats to her locker where she tries to call you only to get your voicemail.

The game ends in a 1-1 draw. Both halves were uneventful but the post match press conference made up for that. Canada goes first and as Christine Sinclair sits down she has no idea what she is in for.

The US team watch from the changing room given that their captain is next and they want to see what she gets asks.

“Christine do you have a comment on the latest news regarding your Portland Thorns team mate Y/N Y/L/N?”

It was a question that threw not only her off but the entire USWNT locker room. As far as they were aware you were recovering well and on track to return to the team.

“What news is that?” Christine says as she ignores the pit that is forming in her stomach.

“What are they talking about?” Christen asks Tobin. The insecurities of been left in the dark regarding your condition come straight to the surface.

“I don’t know” Tobin tries to hide her worry.

The journalist who asked the question remains quiet. It was clear that Christine didn’t know what he was talking about and he knew that a press conference wasn’t the right place to tell her and he shouldn't be the one to do so.

“Tell me, please” Christine encourages the journalist.

“I have a source that tells me Y/N was brought into OHSU this morning by ambulance and that she was rushed into emergency heart surgery” she can tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t want to say it.

“This press conference is over” Christine leaves and heads straight for the opposing teams locker room.

The room that holds your team is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. They were all in a state of shock that left them frozen in their spot. The first to move is Emily who calls your number time and time again hoping that if she does it enough then you will pick up. Tobin is next, she calls you mom who doesn’t answer either.

“Hello”

Christen’s voice fills the locker room.

“Ok, I understand”

Her team mates watch and wait for her to tell them something, anything. Christen takes a deep breathe before turning her attention to the team.

“That was her doctor’s office. All they can tell me is that she is in surgery”

Christen takes a deep breath. A few days ago she begged you for honesty and against your better judgement you gave it to her. You told her everything and what followed was never part of your plan. After cooking a meal together over face time Christen asked you to say goodbye and you knew you owed her that. It wasn't a sad goodbye and you didn't talk about your past. You talked about a life where you are healthy, get married, have children and live long enough to grow old together then at the end you said your goodbyes.

It is the reason why Christen remains in her locker when the rest of the team get ready to go the hospital. Even as Christine comes to tell them the news that they already know, she remains still and calm.

"Christen, get your stuff together, we need to go" Tobin tells her.

Yet she doesn't move.

"I'm not going"

"I understand that things aren't great between the two of you but this is bad and she needs you"

That's the thing, even though you wasn't dating, you and Christen were in a good place. There were no more lies between you and it made your friendship stronger than it ever was.

"I've already said my goodbye and I don't want my last memory to be of her in a hospital bed"

The team couldn't believe what they were hearing. They had no idea you were at a point when goodbyes were necessary.

Given the seriousness of the surgery you were having, most of the team decide to go back to the hotel while a handful of them went to to the hospital.

Christen however asks for space and the team give it to her. She doesn't go back to the hotel, instead she goes to your apartment and uses the key you gave her to let herself in. She goes straight to your room and gets changed into a pair of your joggers and grabs a hoodie as she brings it up to her nose she takes a deep breathe in, it smelled just like you.

She gets into your bed, the one that you shared many times before. Then she gets her phone, opens up your thread of messages and scrolls until she find the one she is looking for. It was a voice note followed by the text 'don't listen now. Wait until it's time'. At first she thought it was vague but right now she knew now is the time you were referring to.

Hearing your voice knowing that there's a chance she won't hear it in person again brings Christen to tears and all you're doing is mumbling words of frustration as you have knocked a drink over whilst recording.

"Sorry about that. Now, what was I going to say? Oh yeah, I love you. It's been a while since I have told you that but if you're listening to this then i'm guessing you need to hear it. I know you are scared right now but I want you to know everything is going to be ok, I promise"

"How can you promise that?" Christen says to the phone.

"And I can promise that because you are one of the strongest people I have ever met"

She laughs at little at how much you know her.

"I know we said our goodbyes but now I want to say thank you. Living the life I have means that I have cherished everyday I've spent on this earth and those days have been better than I could have ever imagined because I got to share them with you. You see I was determined not to fall in love but then you came along and I found out how naive I was to think I had a choice in the matter"

"I didn't have a choice either Y/N" she replies as if you are there in the room with her.

"I never feared death growing up but now the thought petrifies me and it's because I have something to lose and somebody to live for. I want a future with you, I want to marry you, will you marry me? No Y/N what are you doing you can't ask the women to marry you over voice note pull yourself to together"

A small chuckle escapes christen's lips are she listens to you tell your self off.

"Would you marry me?"

She had never heard you sound this unsure before.

"I would" she answers your questions.

"I hope you said yes otherwise this next part is going to be very awkward. I take it your in my apartment right now and in my bed, if I am correct then you can open the draw to the left of you where you will find a small box"

Christen's interest had spiked. How did you manage to plan all of this over a voice note. Just as you said she finds a red box and awaits further instructions.

"Open it"

She does so and finds a diamond ring.

"This ring is open for interpretation but for me it's a reminder. Should I die I want you to remember the love that I have for you. I bought it during the world cup but I told myself that I would only give you it after I had told you about my condition. Can I class this as me giving it to you?"

You are about to answer your own question once again but out of nowhere you begin coughing and Christen winces at the sound. She doesn't know when you recorded the message but given that you are in surgery she can guess it was recorded in the last couple of days.

"Sorry, give me a minute"

Christen listens as you try to get your breath back.

"I really hope this is not the last time you hear my voice" she can tell you are scared.

"My dying wish is that you find peace"

"Don't say that" Christen begs.

"I truly am sorry for the pain that I have caused you. I never wanted it to happen. Goodbye my love"

Christen waits for you to say to more but you don't. That is the last part of the voice note. She lays in your bed long enough to watch the sunset through your window. In the same draw that held the ring is a photo album, one that you had made. There were photos taken over your career, of you and your friends and quite a few of you and her.

Later that night Christen receives a text from Tobin saying that you are out of surgery and that you should wake up in a few hours once the anaesthesia has worn off. Then she received a second message saying that you had woken up but Christen stayed in your apartment. When her phone goes off again she assumes it will be Tobin asking why she hasn't come to visit but that isn't the case.

Have you been watering my cactus?

Christen cannot believe it. You have just had major heart surgery and this is the thing you say.

You don't need to water a cactus. They live in the desert.

I knew that. I was just testing you.

She doesn't get the chance to respond before you send another message.

I know I scared you. Will you come and see me? It doesn't have to be today, it can be in a couple of days or whenever you are ready. It's not like I can go anywhere.

I'll come by the day after tomorrow. You need your rest.

You were disappointed to receive Christen's reply. You may have been surrounded by your mom and close friends but the only person want to see wasn't there.

Just as she said, Christen walks the halls of the hospital two days later. She finds your room but cannot muster up enough courage to go inside.

"She's ok" your mom's voice causes her to turn on her heels "The wires make it look worse than it actually is"

"I don't know if i'm ready to see her like that yet" Christen admits. It was the reason why she had waited this long to come.

"I understand but she has been waiting for you. You were the first person she asked for when she woke up"

"Is she alone?"

"No Tobin is in there with her now. She hasn't left the hospital since she got here after the game but she was asleep when I left. I'll give you some time with her" and with that your mom walks away.

The door to your hospital room opens and you are expecting your mom or more doctors but instead it is the person you love most in the world.

"Hi"

When you see Christen you notice the dark circles in her eyes and the way her smile is forced. You look her up and down as if doing your own inspection and that is when you see it.

Christen is overcome with emotion as she saunters over towards you and before you can say anything her lips are on yours. Nothing in this world compared to moments like this, when your connection with Christen is proven through a small act of intimacy.

When you pull apart Christen sits on the side of your bed.

"Nice ring" you hold her hand up just enough to see the diamond glisten in the lights.

"Crappy proposal"

At least now you know Christen listened to the voice note and wasn't just snooping around.

"It's wasn't a proposal remember? And I don't recall telling you which finger it was for" There is a hint of playfulness in your voice but the truth of the matter is you were happy to see Christen wearing the ring but then she takes it off and gives it to you.

"Y/N you gave me this ring because you thought our story was over but it isn't. Regardless of how long it is, we have a future together and I want to spend it with you so no more running, no more secrets or lies and no more protecting me from this" Christen gentles rests her index finger on your heart "You may not have proposed but right here I take the vow to love you in sickness and in health and to be your partner in the good times and bad"

You didn't know what to say. Christen knew everything and she still chose to stand by your side. You always said you didn't deserve her and now you know this more than ever but the difference is you are determined to spend your life making up for the years you spent keeping her in the dark. You will earn back her trust and show her just how much you love her.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt one shot #uswnt imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #christen press x reader #christen press imagine #christen press one shot #angel city fc x reader

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